#despite the canonical horrors lol

[savedpeople]

//i haven't written negan in a long time and haven't written the ship for even longer, but today (technically yesterday now, the 17th) was negan and rick's @mercyprevaild anniversary, so i found myself thinking about them anyway

[gelatinorifice]

The closet is glass

[vaguely-concerned]

sophia seeing cailan's body hanging there when they go back to ostagar, and suddenly all she can see even through the rot and the ruin is just how much he looked like alistair...... :'(

a mental image that totally will not haunt her through alistair's many years on the throne as rebellions and assassination attemps come and go. doesn't send her unhinged and unwise even a little

[reikunrei]

i don't think i'll ever get over how the byIer fandom made a ship that could have been interesting so entirely boring and flat. like. how did you do that. i'd be impressed if it weren't so disappointing

[devilsskettle]

idk if this is even really a bad thing in fan spaces but i think that a lot of people are just not very genre savvy when it comes to engaging with the media that they enjoy

[sobredunia]

Oh boy.

[vintagecandy]

Now for the 1920s reimagining of Jonathan Crane ! sorry this explanation is even longer lmao

As everyone's been saying, I should do the rest of the Dork Squad to match 1920s Jervis, and so here is my Jonathan! Easily the hardest to draw out of the three-- but I must say! Despite being outside my expertise, I'm a little surprised how much it looks exactly like I was imagining! Even if it took me ages but that's just procrastination lmao.

Anyways! What is his deal? Well, for one, design wise I did go a more drastically different direction from his usual look by doing a literal scareCROW. He's much more bird like, with a plague doctor mask being common imagery in steampunk, but he's still very southern themed with his messy broken overall strap and patchwork coat. Even his wings are rustic. ( he can't fly just glide btw lol ) Also! I leaned hard into the color orange instead of his usual green gas because it..... bugs me that both Crane and Nygma have a bright green in their color palette. I just want them to have distinct colors if they're going to be a trio. And look how vintage halloweeny he looks !!

So why is he so well dressed out of costume? Well! This Jonathan Crane is not a psychologist at all, here he is the very successful grandfather of horror movies in the silent film era. ( An illustrious origin, i hope canon Crane would be proud lmao ). This is referenced in how his face looks, he's wearing white powder and black makeup that's usually meant to emphasize key features on blurry film like his upper lip and around his eyes. And yes, he just keeps his makeup on during most events, and people just accept he's a little on the... eccentric side.

To me, the archetype of the mad artist fits Jonathan's vibe perfectly. When it comes to striking fear, he's a perfectionist, a trait that drove him to learn every single skill necessary himself, from costume design to props to making his own cameras to mechanical engineering, to.... a "fear gas" that was supposed to gently encourage immersion in the audience but ended up becoming a dangerous chemical weapon.

For his origin crime I am thinking !! Full blown Scooby Doo style monster mystery!! With some nuance! Crane, as a first impression, gives off an immediate air of pompous, aggressively impatient, pretentious director type. His presence is big and dramatic, but its distinctly not southern-- in fact, he seems to play up something between a hollywood accent and a thespian one. But this is all to cover for his farm hick background that he was once very ashamed of.

As a child of a failing farmhand during an infamously dry and dusty era, Jonathan developed an extreme resentment for his country existence from both the bullying of other children for all his strange quirks and the severe verbal and physical abuse of his father, driven to alcoholism by the stress of poverty and the loss of his wife. Originally offering his artistic ideas as a means to help them, he grows sick of their closed mindedness and berating and runs away to learn about the emerging potential of film in Gotham City.

Its been many years, Jonathan now in his early 30s, he finds himself surrounded by the shallow, champagne aristocrats that reflect his childhood bullies. Feeling wrong in his own skin, he develops a sightly unhealthy obsession with the escapism he finds in performing as the monsters in his movies.

But upon discovering that the corrupt rich of Gotham plan to push legislation that would negatively effect farmers like his own history, and that they expected him to be amongst those who support it, his irritation with the shallowness of society reaches its limits. In day, he would feign support for their behavior to cover his tracks, but at night he would don the mask of the Scarecrow, rumored to be the vengeful spirit of a farmer who was hanged, and who he believes to be a more freeing expression of himself than his true face, targeting not just the rich but striking fear in their laborers to scare them off land. And it works. So, he tries bending the will of society more.

Is he doing this out of any moral conviction or just spite and a love for the role? It's... hard to say.

As the Scarecrow, his methods are so effective he's near uncatchable, even by Batman. Its only by solving the mystery of who is under the mask are they able to catch him. They surprise him during one of his screenings, jump him in the dark, and prove his subtle use of fear gas in the theater to the police once he's cornered. Instead of being angry, he goes to the mad house applauding Batman's performance.

What an interesting character they play. He's very inspired.

[sethdomain]

have this epic fail scu tommy design. My take was trying to gave him the same aura as Knive from trigun have. Sort of like a white dove covered in blood type of vibe. But i htink he's too tommy for that.

If I can write my own Scu!Tommy, I would definitely make him an eldritch abomination and more body horror i guess(partly him doing it on other people) and he would be more uhhh terrifying then canon.. cuz canon he's a soappy wet cat lol. Also his backstory would be very different i guess...

His backstory would be the mad scientist(condi) doing illegal shit, he's batshit insane and on some shit and experiment on tom. Errr his motivation is that he want to create fucking uhh super-human, genetically engineered super-human. So he created Tom aka the patient zero. He's a test tube baby and uhh it goes wrong bla bla bla apocalypse happen. If its still the same as the scu video sorry i forgot half of it and i make up whatever happened in my brain lol.

why does the mad scientist do this? Because he's crazyyyyyyy and sillyyyy. No, he just have some sort of savior complex

scu!tommy were a child who's prone to be sickly, mostly because of his diet that consist of normal human food, while he himself does not have normal diet like most people does. He eats human.

the mad scientist doesn't know this because who the fuck would have that in mind. For now, the scientist tries to fulfill his nutritional deficiency through bags and needles(idk how it works im not a doctor) and feeding him normal human food, despite Tommy protest on how he cannot stomach it and make his stomach upset.

Also forgot to mention he still does experiment on him, but its still tame. standard stuff like, his intelligent, capabilities and substance that might be his weakness. Suffice to say, the result satisfied the scientist.

anyway im bored typing stuff i might continue my backstroy rewrite ramble and how i write 100 days scu in other post.

[unistaryo]

Hey I read recently one of your works and I really enjoy your style of writing and I find the way you write really comforting!!🙃☺️ I was going to ask if you could do headcannons on Alucard as a dad with another vampire. (I know canonically it wouldn’t happen ever but i was just curious lol)

Alucard as a dad with a vampire child (headcanons)

//I don't know how, but I somehow got extremely sick💀. So I'm sorry if this is ooc

I feel like you will most likely adopt a child who was turned into a vampire during a mission, immediately taking the role of a caretaker and forcing Alucard to do the same

The first couple of days or months he wouldn't really accept the role of the father figure

It would take a lot of convincing from your side for him to even stop trying to get you to stop parenting the child

He sees himself as someone who failed as a human, who willingly became a monster and he is very aware of his nature, Alucard can't comprehend how you can even think about him in such a positive way

But he will eventually comply in his own twisted way, maybe after your child has proven that while they can be a creature of the night, they still have some sort of humanity in them

maybe the child drank blood from an animal but is still compassionate to other people

Alucard loves and hates the child's innocence at the same time

He sometimes teaches your child how to control their vampiric powers, but it will mainly remain your responsibility (he's afraid the child will take too much after him)

He will definitely tease you a lot about your parental tendencies like "Where are you going? You know, you can barely handle one"

Despite this, his love and respect for you increased even more than before, again because he seems to value determination, will and courage

Alucard will definitely bring the child on a mission, maybe on one who isn't so bloody as usual. If you aren't on board with this he will do it in secret, unless you talk to Integra

Integra will command him to stop until the child has grown

The vampire does have his dad moments, trust me

He melts every time he sees you and his kid having a moment

If somebody other than a few range of specific people dares to comment about you two in a bad way, that person will either be traumatized for life to straight up killed

Alucard will play a lot with your child, he isn't far from teaching him how to transform and many more

Those two will prank soldiers in the most unhinged way

The child will love horror and adventure movies with extreme violence in the future, trust me

But, given how Alucard is one of their main caretakers, they will also become violent and mess with people on purpose (Alucard will either be entertained or curse himself because of this)

If something happens to the child, BLOOD WILL BE SHATTERED

He will have no mercy on whoever even looks at his kid in a weird way

(in Ultimate) Seras and Pip would be more than happy to help with babysitting, and the overall process of taking care of the child, more Seras actually, but Pip finds a good opportunity to get closer to the vampire

In the end, both of them will become extremely attached to your kid

Integra will remain distant, but it is clear she also cares a lot about the child, often forgetting they are a vampire

Walter will provide with the necessities but won't be extremely involved. But he will babysit from time to time, and even train them in small ways

(in 2001) Seras will help like her ultimate counterpart, but I feel like she will take them out more, even showing them her old home

Here, Integra will be a lot more distant, letting comments slip more often regarding the situation, but still cares immensely about them, even if she doesn't show it

I don't know why, but I feel that this version of Walter is more fatherly, so I think he will be more involved in the child's life, maybe even letting them accompany him in the mansion when he doesn't have an important task

Peter Fargason will sometimes entertain the child in small ways, only if the others aren't looking, but will mostly keep his distance

[megamagimugi]

He's-a Gone

Luigi time! To suffer, that is.

(CW: character death)

This is obviously a sort of comlementary piece to I Was-a Too Late. But it's more than just that as it also illustrates a certain fun, dark what-if idea I had. Please keep reading if you're intrigued!

Lore:

Luigi's Mansion, the first game. Everything goes the same as in canon until the final boss fight, when Luigi defeats King Boo in his Bowser costume. After King Boo comes out and Luigi intends to suck him in, the villain laughs and reveals the truth: Mario's painting was an illusion, so was everything Madame Clairvoya saw. All just to mess with Luigi. Meanwhile the real Mario wasn't just captured by the Boos, he was immediately killed by them on their King's orders. The only physical thing that's left of him in this realm is the five items Luigi found - hidden by the Boos for Luigi to find, another part of King Boo's sick game.

Luigi is able to finish the fight despite his shock and grief, fueled by the anger King Boo never expected from him. After getting out of the painting the plumber discovers that it is indeed empty, no Mario or anyone else in the portrait.

Heartbroken and guit-ridden, Luigi goes back to Professor E. Gadd's lab and gives him back the Poltergust 3000. He doesn't even want to stay long enough to see what is going to happen to the ghosts. Of course the Professor tries to offer some semblance of comfort, but we all know it's not his forte.

So Luigi leaves, only taking Mario's five items with him. He notices that the mansion has disapeared without a trace. The reality of it all finally hits him, and he practically collapses onto a nearby tree's large root protruding from the ground, putting down the precious items around himself, only leaving the matching red hat and the letter in his hands. He should have known something was off. After all, the Mario he saw in the painting was wearing his hat and both gloves.

Looking at all these items, to his growing horror he can't help but imagine what exactly might have happened to his brother and what his last moments might have been like. He hugs the hat to his chest and rereads Mario's note several times, knowing that the brief warning was his brother's last words to him.

Luigi can do nothing but cry for the beloved brother he couldn't save, desperately wishing it was his warm, living and breathing body pressed to his chest rather than just a couple of his belongings.

But Mario is truly gone, apparently having met such a horrific fate that not even a single part of his body is left in the physical world.

[Good night]

…I'll leave the rest up to your imagination ;) Sorry if I got carried away with my description. Occasionally even I enjoy being a little dramatic, though I'm no writer whatsoever.

Yeah, I'm not apologizing for making this one - I was nicer to Luigi than to his bro, at least here the Mushroom Kingdom and everyone in it (except for Mario lol) is still okay!

But alas,

You can no longer play as Mario (warning: this is a video with sound)

Rest in spaghetti, funny wahoo man.

@federthenotsogreat I'm tagging you because you said you wanted more Mario art like I Was-a Too Late, thought you might like this one too!

@drones-of-innocence Also tagging you because you were interested in my idea.

Edit: Tagging a few more mutuals who might want to see this based on their reaction to my previous angsty work just in case, feel free to ignore. Or ask me to remove the tag if you want, no problem.

@silenzahra (remember, no rush) @c-lavanda @jell-o101 @stripetkattelalala54-gf

@luigixfanxayjay @itsavee4117

And you @giddlygoat just because you have a Luigi's Mansion AU and I thought you might appreciate this... Also because I'm a fan 👉👈

[sewersaga]

HOPEDRUNK EVERASKING: moze, jing yuan, aventurine x reader

header art creds: nixeu on patreon! pls go support them bc this is almost exactly how i picture reader lol

pairings: foxian reader x unnamed individual (for the plot,) foxian reader x moze, foxian reader x jing yuan, foxian reader x aventurine(end game), (all separately but in the same timeline she's an old slutty fox ok)

warnings: implied sa/coerced sex, trauma tm, sexual cotent (the closest i'll EVER get to smut, too much yapping, none of the pairings except the last one are healthy so if you're a moze or jy stan idk what to tell you, no names are used on purpose but it's pretty obvious who's who, the first man is not a canon character!! read this for more context on the last few paragraphs

bee talk: this is an extension to the aforementioned fic set in @kii-nami and i’s hsr universe! (hence the mention of her gorgeous angelic lovely glorious oc alisa in the last section) i owe her my high school diploma and firstborn child

word count: 11.5k

When you were a little girl, you dreamed of a fairy tale romance.

You’d hide your face behind your books, pretending to study the various medicines and their uses so not as to fail your tutor’s harsh examinations, but your mind was worlds away. Back then, nothing was off limits, nothing too selfish, too rash, too inconceivable. 

Yes, a noble youth would indeed one day sweep you off your feet, and take you far, far away from this life filled with pressures and scorn. It was a naive little dream, but it was all yours nonetheless. 

At night, awake amongst your schoolwork and your notes, you’d imagine what such a man would be like. He had to be handsome, of course. Charming. Being rich would be a nice bonus, too.

He had to be able to make you laugh when the expectations of your family made you want to curl up in a ball and cry. And when you inevitably shattered, he’d have to be willing to piece you back together again. 

When you were a young adult, freshly graduated and bright eyed, you learned that real life romance didn’t work that way. You couldn’t just conjure up an image of your ideal suitor and expect him to materialize before you like magic. Still, your heart had an irksome little tendency to attach itself to the wrong people. 

The first one came to you, bruised and bloodied. 

Battle had wrought upon him its fair share of injuries, crimson red in various states of drying smeared upon his tanned skin. Despite his condition, the only wound you were tasked to stitch was a small gash on his chest, a few centimeters below his collarbone. 

Despite not being new anymore,  the contusions your brother assigned you to treat were nothing more than busy work for someone of your knowledge. You got the feeling he wanted to keep you as far away from the horrors of war as possible, but one didn’t need to see dying men to hear their mournful cries. 

The man winced as you stitched his laceration closed, casting his gaze somewhere behind you, fixed upon the dead and the dying that surrounded him. “Did you need more painkillers?” 

He blinked, turning back to you as if remembering your presence. “No. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Oh,” You spoke softly, your hands never halting their ministrations. The wound was small enough that you were already almost done, and considering his overall condition, the pinching pain of the needle was probably the least of his worries. “You flinched, so I thought I was hurting you.”

“It’s not you,” You felt his gaze upon you, and hyper focused on your work, you refused to look into his eyes, afraid of what you might find there. “Have you ever seen a patient die?”

You stopped abruptly, his sudden inquiry leaving you sufficiently rattled. “What?” You looked up, but his attention was elsewhere, focused upon the other wounded patients in various states of agony. Realizing he wasn’t going to elaborate and meant exactly what he had asked, you sighed. “Not one of my patients, no. But in this line of work, people are always going to die.”

He laughed, and you bristled, tying off a surgeon’s knot with more force than intended. “Aren’t you too young to be speaking like that?” He craned his head to look down at you, his tail swaying slowly behind him with mild amusement. “How old are you, anyways?”

“Not much younger than you,” You replied, beginning the final stitch. “Haven’t you ever learned it’s rude to ask a woman her age?” He chuckled again, and you poked the skin of his chest. “Stay still, or I’ll never finish.”

“What if that’s what I want?” He asked, rather brazenly, and you shook your head almost subconsciously. 

“I don’t care what you want,” You tied off the final knot. “And unless you want to end up like those dead patients you care so much about, make sure to keep this clean.” You put your instruments to the side and he leaned back, letting out a sigh of relief. You realized then that despite what he had said, the process had been rather painful, if not uncomfortable at the very least. “And try to stay alive, alright?”

“Sure, sure. I look forward to seeing you again.” He stood up, stretching with a light groan despite the mangled state his body was in. You watched him limp away with mild horror as he threw you an absentminded wave. 

“You won’t.” You stated resolutely, but he was already too far down to hear you. 

He was right, of course. You saw him again on many, many different occasions. Sometimes he’d have a minor wound that just absolutely required your attention. Other times he requested a consultation with his favorite medical professional over whatever splendid meal your brother and the other cooks had prepared for dinner. The night he stole you away from the camp, you realized you’d fallen for him.

You watched him under the waning moonlight, sharing a bottle of rice liquor he’d somehow taken from the field hospital. He’d worked his way into your heart rather easily. But it wasn’t a bad thing then, your vulnerability, your propensity to fall wholly and completely.

“You’re such a liar, [Name].” Despite addressing you directly, he didn’t meet your gaze, his own fixed upon the stars. 

“What do you mean?” He took a swig of liquor. There were so many stars that night. 

“You act like you don’t give a shit,” You scoffed abruptly, snatching the bottle from his loose hold. The liquid burned your throat. You weren’t yet used to drinking, and your mind felt clouded with a heady sort of fogginess. “But you care about every single one of those patients more than anyone else.” 

“I don’t.” You shake your head, blinking away your disorientation. You stared ahead, and your head felt so heavy that your body began to lean upon him almost subconsciously. “I don’t care.”

“You’re a liar,”  He repeated, much softer. His hand cautiously wound its way upon your back to adjust you to an upright position, but found itself more comfortable around your waist. You didn’t move, nor did you complain. “It’s not a weakness, you know. Caring about people.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You spoke bitterly, but hardly above a whisper. He was so close then that you could hear every breath, feel the rising and falling of his chest. He lifted the bottle to his lips with a shaking hand. “If I care about them, and they all die, then what does that leave me with?”

“Your heart,” He was so close then. Your head felt so heavy. The stars were blurry and bright. “Your empathy. Lose that, and then there would really be nothing left of you.” 

“You have the wrong idea of me.” You were hardly aware of the way you were nuzzling yourself further into his side, conscious only of the warmth of his body, and barely of the words he spoke almost directly into your ear. 

“You can say that, but you know that I’m right,” The hand around your waist pulled you closer into himself, as if such a thing were even possible. Your vision was hazy, and every sensation felt amplified. “I like you, [Name].” You parted your lips to respond, but they were met with the mouth of the bottle that he held to your lips. You swallowed as he tilted it upwards, no longer feeling the pain of its acrid taste upon your tongue. His free hand found your chin as he set the bottle somewhere on the ground beside you, wiping a stray drop of liquor from your bottom lip. 

“I like you, too.” You said those four words for the first time, your face in his tight grip. He kissed you, tasting like rice liquor and fallen stars. 

He wasn’t anything like that imaginary lover you’d dreamed up as a little girl. Not even close. But still, you loved him, and he needed you. 

You had information he didn’t have, secrets discussed in clandestine rooms by ailing officers receiving treatment. You had a body to keep him warm at night, his grip upon you as tight as it was that night he kissed you under the stars. You gave him everything you had, even when the only thing you wanted was to be left alone.

Or, perhaps, the only thing you wanted was to be wanted. It didn’t matter, because everything soon came crumbling down, coating you in ashes and stardust. 

There was so much death, so much destruction. Had you known he was working with them you would have never—

But you had. You had unknowingly done the worst thing you could have ever done. And it was already done. They were already dead. There was nothing you could do to save them. 

So, you had no choice but to leave. Traitor, rogue, fool. All of these descriptors could be attributed to you. But they could never call you a liar, for you had never loved him with anything less than your whole heart. 

The second one appeared to pull you from the endless shadows of the abyss.

Some years after the disaster, you remained in the most desolate corners of the Yaoqing in an impromptu self imposed exile. Every night you’d lay down restlessly, tortured by the cries of the dead and damned echoing in your ears, and every morning you’d wake up with their blood between your teeth. It was an unbearable sort of existence, but every cell of your being knew that you deserved it. 

And you knew that you weren’t the one who suffered. Not really. You knew it was your cross to bear as the one responsible to live with the guilt of what you had done. Running away was selfish enough, and you found the endless punishment of remembering your misdeeds each and every day to be more than fitting. 

And thus you punished yourself, every single day. Cold river baths, freezing nights spent underneath the elements, deadly medicine trials. You’d do anything to feel a fraction of the pain and suffering you’d indirectly wrought upon others.

Yes, you’d continued to hone your skills even under such circumstances, collecting medicinal herbs and creating various antidotal elixirs in the subconscious hope that one of them would kill you.  It was a self centered, cowardly wish, but it was all yours nonetheless. 

Each night you spent in exile, those long dashed dreams of romance turned into feverish vignettes of death. It teased you, seduced you relentlessly, and each time you awoke in a cold sweat, wasting away further and further by the day. Your obsession with self deprivation quickly grew out of hand, and you hadn’t realized how sick you were becoming despite the evidence making itself known upon your person. 

One night, you danced with death itself. It held you like you were the finest treasure in the world, kissed you like you were too good to give up. Death dripped venom upon your lips, and you swallowed it like sweet ambrosia. 

And then, it disappeared into nothing, crow-feathered and equally as fleeting. 

You didn’t wake up that morning. Or the next one. Or the morning after that. 

They told you that you’d been asleep for five days. The kind folks of a small village on the fringe of the Yaoqing had diligently cared for you, patched up the wounds from your exposure to the elements and nursed you through your medicine and hypothermia induced fever. 

They didn’t know who you were, of course. News traveled slowly to this region, and to them, you were simply a weary, sick traveler in need of their aid. 

It took a while to get them to tell you how you’d ended up here in the first place. Your impromptu research “base” had been far from all facets of civilization, you’d made sure of that fact. And of course, you weren’t exactly in the state to ask many questions when you’d first woken up. 

Once your fever had finally broken, the woman caring for you became candid about the good samaritan who’d saved your life. “He was an odd gentleman. Didn’t say a single word. Dark clothing, hood over his head, ashy hair. Brought you here cradled in his arms like you were a treasure.” You weren’t sure how to respond. 

You left early the next morning while the village was asleep. The night was so quiet, and with the whispers of your deal with death at your heels, you made for the forest from whence you came.

It took an entire day to make it back to your previous spot. Whoever the man was who brought you to your caretakers had to have had either superhuman speed, strength, or both. Not to mention the gall to disappear before you could thank him properly. 

It didn’t matter. Now that you were healed, you were ready to settle into your old routine.

But you realized while collecting some herbs for an antidote that it seemed a little odd to continue your pursuit for reprieve when someone, mysterious as he may be, had put so much effort to drag you from the abyss with his bare hands. 

Almost subconsciously, you dropped the handful of plants you were holding. Your body moved on its own while your mind remained preoccupied, searching every dark corner of the area for some sort of sign. The wind obfuscated your search, rustling the leaves of the trees, and your shadow taunted you with its insistent presence as the sun set in the westward direction of that little village.

Having thoroughly run through your options, you stopped in the middle of a clearing. You noticed for the first time after your long day of travel that you were exhausted, and suspected that perhaps you hadn’t fully healed from your bout of illness. Instinctively, your gaze drifted to a patch of the herbs from earlier just a few meters away from you, the bright flowers seeming to beckon to you. You stood up, intending to heed their call. Perhaps now was as good a time as any to—

“Looking for someone?” A quiet, almost uncertain voice spoke from the farthest reaches of the clearing. You froze, lithe fingers brushing against the leathery petals of the poisonous flower. 

Frightened and suddenly hopeful, you glanced over your shoulder only to find no one there. You turned your attention back to the flowers, and the wind pummeled at your back with unknown urgency. A ghostlike tap on your shoulder, and you turned around to find him standing behind you. 

Tall, hooded, clothed in dark hues, and ashen haired, he looked exactly as the woman had described him. Despite having shown himself to you, there was an air of insecurity to him, as if he was unsure of exactly why he’d done what he did. 

Still, he tilted his head at you inquisitively, seemingly content to stay silent until you’d given him an answer. 

“Yes,” He didn’t react, continuing to stare at you in that odd, unreadable way. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” He returned your question, his gaze flickering toward the patch of foliage behind you. “And after I took you all that way to the village.” 

“It was you.” You responded incredulously rather than answer his question. “I’ve been wanting to thank you, but they say you disappeared before I even woke up.” You tilted your head at him, mirroring his actions. “Why?”

“There was no further need for my presence.” He stated bluntly, once more glancing behind you. You fidgeted with your hands behind your back like a guilty child. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh,” You were sufficiently caught off guard by his lack of willingness to allow you to skirt around the question. “Well, I thought I might have left some things back here. Medicines and such,” You unwittingly and rather tellingly gestured to the plants that seemed to be so very intriguing to him. “Just wanted to come back and check.”

“Wrong answer,” He stated matter of factly, and your eyebrows furrowed. “You didn’t have much with you, but I left all your belongings and medicines with the villagers.” He blinked, his expression as unchanging as if he hadn’t completely called your bluff. “I made sure to warn them that one dose too many could kill the average Foxian.”

“How did you manage to carry me and my stuff too?” You quickly redirected the conversation, crossing your arms over your chest and sincerely hoping to distract him from discovering the real reason behind your return. 

“Simple. I have pockets.” He showed you the insides of his cloak, which were indeed outfitted with handy storage pockets. “And you aren’t exactly hard to carry.”

You reluctantly decided to continue your interrogation, much to your shared dismay.“Well, how did you find me here in the first place?” This particular question seemed to succeed in making him uncomfortable and he blinked quickly, seemingly caught off guard. “And why did you bring me there?” 

He closed his eyes momentarily, sighing resignedly. “I just happened to be passing through. You were unconscious, so I brought you to the nearest village.” He turned over his shoulder, walking back in the direction of the wooded area. “You ask too many questions.” 

“Well, thank you.” You called after him, quieter than intended. He didn’t respond.

He made it a few more steps towards the dense thicket before stopping abruptly, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Aren’t you going to follow me?”

You hesitated. “Where?” 

“Back to the village. You’re still sick.” He stated as if his intentions were entirely obvious. You blinked, incredulous. 

You followed him back, of course, complaining and bitching. Because he was right, you were still sick. And he had to carry you most of the way there, which was rather awkward because this time you were actually conscious. 

But the main reason you allowed him to take you back to the little town was because he hadn’t properly answered your question about why he even saved you in the first place. Because there’s no way he simply stumbled upon you in the middle of a desolate forest, far from the rest of humanity, to say nothing of cell service. A part of you wondered if he just wanted someone to be indebted to him.

You weren’t sure, but you didn’t get that impression. He was blunt, but undeniably kind, stolid, but somehow charmingly awkward. And if testimony from the villagers was to be believed, he was most talkative around you and others could hardly receive even a grunt from him. 

And after profusely thanking the kind folks that had so selflessly cared for you in your hour of need, and a week’s worth of well needed rest, you felt significantly better. Of course, your physical condition was back in good shape, thanks to a superfluous amount of meals cooked by your host and devoured by you (and that man never seemed to have an appetite, if the amount of his food he tried to discreetly add onto your plate meant anything,) and you regained some common sense. 

Yes, after some time with the villagers, who were entirely content with living a simple life far out of the reaches of the Xianzhou modern conveniences, you learned three simple truths. 

The first. What use were you to anyone if you suffered until you were nothing at all? You quickly busied yourself with day to day tasks—doing laundry, helping make meals, treating the scraped knees and skinned elbows of the children—and you learned that the better state of mind you were in, the more you could do for others. And that mysterious companion of yours seemed to have a sixth sense for whenever your guilt and self-loathing began to take over, and was so good at distracting you that you didn’t even know you’d been distracted until your attention was successfully diverted. Sometimes at night, plagued by images of the horrors you’d seen unfold before you, you’d hear rustling by your bedside. Thinking you were imagining things, you’d close your eyes again, only to open them blearily and find him standing by the window, his back towards you. You didn’t know why, but the fact that he stayed with you even then made it easier to fall asleep.

The second. Isolating yourself made things impossibly worse. Your unfounded fear that everyone could smell the evil on you and would treat you like a pariah was proved false daily by the kindness of your hosts, who treated you like a member of their own family. And even when the villagers left you alone, that crow feathered weirdo remained stuck to you like your shadow. As annoying as it may have been at first, it kept you away from your own thoughts, even if you were just sitting in comfortable silence. 

“Do you ever even sleep?” You asked one night across the still darkness, his back turned to you as he gazed out of the small window at nothing in particular.

“I don’t need to.” He didn’t turn around, but you knew you still had his full attention.

“Everyone needs sleep.” You teased lightly, tiredly.

He sighed. “Let me rephrase that. You need to sleep more than I do.” 

“I think I’ve done enough sleeping,” He didn’t respond, but you caught him glancing over his shoulder at your form in the small makeshift bed, sitting upright amongst the pillows. “Do you want to sit with me?” You weren’t entirely sure what possessed you to ask. You were even less sure what possessed him to agree, fixing you with an uneasy stare before awkwardly sitting beside you on the pallet.

You stayed up the entire night talking. Or, rather surprisingly, he did most of the talking. Neither of you discussed anything important, but his calm company was soothing, and as he spoke quietly of ordinary things, you found yourself closing the distance between the two of you. You moved gently, slowly, and at the same pace he unstiffened, allowing you to rest your head upon his shoulder.

You fell asleep like that sometime during the early hours of the morning. And perhaps you were dreaming, but you swore you felt a gentle hand stroking your hair as you drifted off.

And thus, the third truth was the most frightening. A part of your heart had attached itself to that man, for as eccentric as he was, he never left your side. At first, you attributed your feelings to the sole fact of him having saved your life, but as the days crawled on, that irksome flutter in your chest persisted. And the more time you spent with him, the more he began to talk, and the more you began to listen. You were never any good at that before. But with him, it came as naturally as breathing.

The first time you kissed him, he melted into you.

He had been laying beside you on the pallet, having become more comfortable with the casual intimacy and reassurance the two of you shared. Your faces were close, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breathing fanning across your face, how it quickened when you brought a gentle hand to the cut of his jaw. You spoke his name softly, and it seemed like he stopped breathing completely. “Thank you.” You whispered across the pillow. Then, you pressed your lips gently to his. 

Yes, he melted into you like it was something he was waiting for his entire life. And perhaps it was, because his existence seemed like a terribly lonely one. And every time he shut his mouth for fear no one would listen to a word he had to say, the piece of your heart he carried with him wrenched in his hand. 

He held you so tightly that the both of you feared if he let go you’d shatter. You were the first to relinquish your grip.

You left the village after a nondescript period of time, preemptively mourning the loss of the simple life shared with its inhabitants and your unorthodox benefactor. You’d all mutually decided it was the best decision for you, and although your next destination was as of yet unknown, you found yourself caring for the implications of the future less and less. 

It wasn’t out of a sense of nihility, though. In fact, it was quite the opposite, for that man who stayed by your side day in and day out had managed to possess your thoughts enough that you were unable to think of a future that didn’t have him in it. 

So, you traveled, sticking vehemently to the fringe towns on the outskirts of the Yaoqing where whispers of the current events of the more inhabited areas were few and far between. You slept beside him in their various inns or in the houses of generous townspeople, his watch by the window relinquished for an insistent focus on the way you breathed while you slept. 

You didn’t really know your way around your homeland, having only left the city on the grounds of your self banishment. So he led the way, sometimes carrying you, always holding your hand as you forged an unknown path with no destination in particular.

At least, that was the impression he had you under. 

“Looks like we’re getting closer to civilization.” You commented offhandedly, having just checked out of a month’s long stay at a riverside inn. The place had been lovely, and you relinquished your cold baths for warm soaks in the hot springs (which had taken an insurmountable amount of convincing for him to join you, which he only did when you reminded him that you had already seen him naked, a fact that left him sufficiently flustered.) 

He simply grunted in response, and you furrowed your eyebrows, for he usually was more than willing to entertain even your most frivolous remarks. Yes, something was different that day, and he’d hardly spoken a word to you despite maintaining a loose hold on your smaller hand. “Am I allowed to ask where you’re taking me?”

He didn’t answer. Your stomach twisted as you came to a horrifying realization. How stupid you’d been to not realize—

“We’re heading towards the city, aren’t we?” Thinking aloud, your words were less of a question, and more of a conclusion. He stopped abruptly, lowering his head. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I didn’t know how,” He spoke almost shamefully, his gaze still fixed upon the earth. “You know it’s what’s best.”

You dropped his hand, betrayed now that he had finally confirmed your suspicions. “I don’t know that. You know I’m never going back there. Who sent you? I should’ve known that they would do this.“

“[Name],”  He turned to face you. You didn’t say anything. The wind rustled through the trees. He sighed. “It was General Feixiao. She—“

“General? So she’s a general now?” It was your turn to cut him off,  scoffing bitterly with your venom tipped canines on display. “A promotion or two, and she’s sending her crows to take me back there. I should’ve known.”

“I don’t know what you think you know, but you’ve got it all wrong.” He almost looked hurt, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter. All of this to bring you back to the place you never wanted to see again, and to think you’d fallen in love with him—

How foolish you’d been. How idiotic for you to have been led astray by that wind that rustles feathers and claims naive hearts. 

Dusk approached. Your shadows lengthened. “I’m leaving.”

“If that’s what you want, then I can’t stop you.” He spoke, sounding bereaved. You wondered if he knew he still held your heart in his hands, the pumping blood cascading through his lithe fingers. 

“It is.” Perhaps you were a liar, for you knew what you wanted at that moment, and it wasn’t to leave him here, hope-drunk and silently begging you to stay. 

And it was your duty to deny yourself of the things you desired. 

You walked back into the direction of the woods as the sun set, the abyss claiming you once more. Your dreams dissipated like shadowy wisps as he left for the city, taking a piece of you with him.

And you left, as you’d promised to do, for you’d never lie to him the way he had to you. Not ever.

The third one offered you wisdom in a golden chalice, and you drank it gratefully, the warm wine burning your tongue as it slid down your throat.

The Xianzhou Luofu was positively the last place you’d ever expect to end up following your retreat back into the darkness. But alas, you had concluded that as long as you stayed on the Yaoqing, there’d always be someone trying to drag you back from whence you came. And you weren’t going back there, not ever. 

Getting there was the first challenge. Luckily, some of that man’s directional expertise had rubbed off on you, and you managed to head due south, following directions from the inhabitants of the places you stopped along the way until you made it to a smaller port city. 

When you smuggled yourself amongst the cargo on an unattended ship— something that would likely be next to impossible these days, you suppose— you had no idea where the vessel’s final destination was to be. You could’ve ended up on an entirely different planet for all you knew, and you didn’t care. The only thing you knew for certain was that you had to go, and it didn’t matter to you where. 

And you’d definitely underestimated the difficulty of the trip. You thought after traversing almost the entire perimeter of the Yaoqing, you could handle anything, and frankly, you had incorrectly concluded that you were small enough to hide comfortably on the cargo ship. 

You’d been terribly wrong. And funnily enough, you also failed to consider what would happen if the ship wasn’t as unattended as it had been once it finally arrived to its recipients. Luckily, it wasn’t a very long trip, but it was long enough to bring that thought— along with a sense of insurmountable dread— to mind.

And how incredibly stupid of you it had been to fall asleep halfway through the ride. 

You were shaken awake an unknown amount of time later by an uncomfortable prodding. You sat up straight, fluffy ears standing at attention. You rose fast enough to hit your head on a nearby crate, and looked through hazy eyes at a pair of Cloud Knights, one staring at you with alarm, the other seeming amused. “This piece of cargo wasn’t on the shipment list.” The latter sheathed his sword, the hilt of which must have been that mysterious poking that had woken you from your deep sleep.

You blinked the shock away, recovering as fast as humanly possible. “Double check that list. You must not be looking close enough,” You deadpanned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, stretching out your legs. “Gonna tell on me?”

His companion spoke, a hand resting nervously on the hilt of his own blade. “We’re required by nature of our job description–”

“I don’t give a fuck about your ‘job,’” You groaned, standing up, brushing the dust and cobwebs from the peachy fur of your tail. “Are you turning me in to your boss or not?”

The nervous, younger looking Knight turned to his companion for an answer, who shrugged in response. He turned back to you, and despite the bite to your voice, you realized you likely looked thoroughly disheveled and even more exhausted despite your little cat nap. In fact, if you could see his face, he likely would be looking at you with unadulterated pity. “Zhi Peng, look at her. We can’t just…”

“Haitao. Zhi Peng,” A deep, coarse voice sounded from the distance. Both knights startled, sharing a brief glance that remained unreadable behind their helmets. “What’s so interesting over here?” The man known as Haitao cursed under his breath. Zhi Peng looked like he was about to wet himself. 

“What do we do?” You whispered, but neither man responded verbally, and while Haitao shifted to cover your smaller form, Zhi Peng remained frozen in place, horrified. “Is that your supervisor or something?” 

Haitao simply nodded. “What are you two doing?” The supervisor called, and his voice sounded closer. 

Your eyes widened with fear. Haitao cursed again. “Just stay quiet.” 

“Zhi Peng, tell me immediately what is happening?” The supervisor hissed, and you heard the meek knight in question let out a strangled cry that sounded oddly like he had been grabbed by the breastplate of his uniform. 

“The cargo. There’s a stowaway in the cargo.” Zhi Peng managed through a choked voice, and there was a thud as he was released upon the ground. You scoffed quietly, your sharp canines digging into your bottom lip. Didn’t take the fucker much pressure to cave in, did it? Although you did feel bad that he’d been tossed around on your behalf. 

“Haitao. Is this true?” The knight who had you trapped beneath his form glanced once more at you, and then at his officer.

Then, he grabbed your arm tight enough to bruise, shifting to reveal your presence. “Yup. Found this little fox hiding amongst the military shipments.” 

“Mother fucker.” You hissed. His grip on your arm tightened as he dragged you in the direction of the disembodied voice that you’d heard earlier, which belonged to an even larger man in a slightly different uniform. Just your luck to get discovered by the most spineless little grunts out there. You couldn’t have been captured by an officer, or even a general?

The larger man scrutinized you, his shielded gaze lingering upon you for longer than you were comfortable with. “I know who this is.” 

You blinked. “That isn’t possible.”

“Yes, it is. You’re the nurse that deserted the Yaoqing army all those years ago,” You froze. So he did, indeed, know who you were. Again, just your fucking luck. “We keep close military contact with our allies.” 

“I prefer ‘medic,’” You deflected, shooting Haitao the nastiest look you could muster as you attempted to wrench free of his grip. “Even ‘practitioner' is acceptable.” The man refused to relent, and you let out a noise akin to a snarl as your bicep began to burn.

“I don’t care what you are,” The officer brushed you off as easily as swatting a fly, and your eyebrows furrowed with further annoyance at being treated so trivially. “Do you two remember your orders for a fugitive situation?” He addressed his two underlings, who vehemently nodded with a chorus of yes sir’s.

“Fugitive situation?” You protested, unable to ignore the way Zhi Peng flanked the unoccupied side of your body. “That’s not what this is.” The other soldier grabbed your other arm, although significantly gentler than his companion. 

Ignoring your objections, the officer continued to deliver orders to his men, who began to march you behind him as you headed somewhere entirely unbeknownst to you. 

You asked quite a few questions on the way there. Where are you taking me? Am I going to jail? Will there be a bathroom? Are you sending me back to the Yaoqing? I’m hungry. Although the last of which was more of a statement. 

The point being that none of your objections nor your questions received competent answers. And the moment you reached an area you would later learn to be called the Exalting Sanctum, the soldiers on the other side of you promptly let go of your arms. Before you could even massage the pain of their grasp away, their officer had grabbed you again. “You two are dismissed. The General will know what to do with her.” 

The knights bowed respectfully to their supervisor before departing, both sparing you a second glance over their shoulders, one you met with a look that hopefully conveyed just how much you despised them. Once they were out of earshot, the larger man grabbed you by the back of the neck. “Now listen here,” You yelped as he leaned down, his gruff voice directly in your ear. “The General has requested you be brought directly to him for whatever reason. I personally couldn’t give less of a shit what happens to a traitor like you, but clearly he finds you useful in some way,” You were unable to control the tear that spilled from your watery eyes at the pain of his large hand tightening around your neck. “So you better not fuck this up for yourself, alright?” 

You didn’t move, warm teardrops streaming down your ruddy cheeks. Realizing he wasn’t going to relinquish you until you responded in some way, you nodded, with quite a degree of difficulty considering his hand was still indeed wrapped around your neck. He released you, and you fell to the ground, coughing. He didn’t wait for you to catch your breath before taking you inside.

“General,” He led you up the carpeted stairs in the General’s office, the deep red color suddenly foreboding as the man’s words echoed in your mind. What use could the General of the Luofu possibly have for you if not to punish you for your desertion? You were so stupid, in fact, in a lifetime of stupid decisions, this was by far the stupidest thing you could’ve ever done— “I’ve brought the Yaoqing’s fugitive.”

The Cloud Knights stationed along the landing of the stairs didn’t spare you a passing glance as you approached the General’s desk. The man let go of you, instead shoving you in his direction before bowing chastely. “I know it’s been a while since we discussed the protocol for her discovery, so I thought I’d bring her here for you to decide what to do with her.”

White haired, long-lashed and heavy-eyed, the General regarded the man before him with complete disinterest. “Thank you,” His gaze landed upon you, the sorry state you must have been in, and his serene expression faltered momentarily. “But, please, remind me where in the protocol it states that it’s acceptable to treat a woman so barbarically,” Slowly, tiredly, he rose from his desk, approaching you where you stood shakily upon your sore feet. “It’s deplorable.” 

For the first time, your impromptu captor was speechless. “Sir, I…”

“No explanation is needed. You can expect further disciplinary notice in the next few days.” The General refused to even meet his eye, his attention instead focused concernedly upon you. “You are dismissed.” 

He didn’t say anything to you immediately upon the other man’s departure, still scrutinizing your visible condition— the bruises on your arms from the Cloud Knights, the dirt and dust still clinging to your clothes from the cargo ship— and you sighed. “Am I under arrest, General?”

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “Not at all.”

“Then what’s my punishment?” You shrugged, shifting your weight. “You know, for treason.” 

He raised an eyebrow at you, and for some reason you got the feeling that you two were each having completely different conversations. He gestured to the chair behind his desk. “Have a seat.” 

“That’s your chair.” You raised an eyebrow, and he simply nodded in confirmation. Realizing he wasn’t going to continue until you sat down, you sighed, doing what you were told. Your feet were killing you from being cramped up for so long, anyways.

Once you had made yourself comfortable, he began to speak. “You’re not under arrest, nor are you receiving any punishment.” 

“Then why did you request for me to be brought here immediately upon my capture?” You fiddled anxiously with the fabric of your clothes, anticipating his response. “With all due respect, General, sir, it’s a bit confusing.”

He stared at you for a moment, unreadable, before suddenly bursting out into boisterous laughter. “Ah, it is, isn’t it?” Your mouth fell open, surprised by his swift change in demeanor, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Allow me to explain. I’m well aware of your talent as a medical practitioner. And considering that you currently owe a debt to the Xianzhou Alliance’s military, well…” He gently rested his palms upon the desk, leaning over you in a way that was more expectant than imposing. “We’d like you to work with our branch of the Alchemy Commission.” 

“Me? Work for the Alchemy Commission? That’s all?” You were unable to suppress the breathless, incredulous laugh that escaped your lips. “Forgive me, sir, but that’s a rather light punishment.” 

“I already said you weren’t being punished.” He raised an eyebrow, simultaneously amused and concerned. “Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know. But there’s one thing I don’t want.” You bit your lip, considering the possible ramifications of telling him exactly how to torture you most effectively. “If you don’t intend to punish me, then don’t send me back there.” 

“Right. You were rather lucky to end up here, aren’t you?” He chuckled once more, and who knew the Luofu's General was so good-natured? You supposed a man like that needed some entertainment to liven up his day. But it wasn’t going to be you. 

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” You scoffed bitterly, absentmindedly moving your hair from behind your shoulders. You saw his eyes widen in shock, and realized with embarrassment that your subconscious movement had exposed to him the bruise that the brute of an officer had left from his grasp upon your neck. “Oh. Ignore that. That officer of yours got a bit too handsy.” You shrugged, despite the tears you’d swallowed down after the initial incident threatening to rise back up in your throat. 

“That seems to be putting it rather lightly, don’t you think?” His good mood was effectively dashed, his worried gaze fixed upon your neck. Suddenly self conscious, you moved your hair to cover it once more. “And rest assured, after his behavior today, he is no longer any officer of mine. That isn’t how my men operate.”

You scoffed, recalling the behavior of the low ranking Cloud Knights before you’d even met the officer. “If you sincerely believe that, you don’t know your men at all.” You gasped sharply upon realizing the ramifications of your words, quickly backtracking. “Forgive me, that was incredibly disrespectful. And I’m already in this position—” 

“It’s alright. I suppose I do have some more work to do on the ground as opposed to sitting up in this stuffy old office all the time.” He sighed, offering you a small, reassuring smile. 

“Sir, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place is beautiful.” You gestured to your comparatively luxurious surroundings.  “Not exactly what I’d call ‘stuffy.’” Anything beats that dusty shipment container. 

“Anywhere can become stifling if you spend enough time there. Beauty has nothing to do with it. I’m sure you know that just as well as I do.” He laughed awkwardly, almost self-deprecating. “Ah, look at me, rambling on again. I’ll alert your supervisor at the Commission of your arrival. Your lodgings will be arranged at a nearby inn, so go wash up and get a good night’s sleep.” He reached for a spare piece of paper that rested upon the surface of his desk, quickly scrawling the name of the inn for your reference.  “Your work begins at sunrise tomorrow.” 

You gingerly took the paper from him, folding it gently before sliding it protectively into the pocket of your shorts. “I don’t know what I did to deserve such generosity, but thank you. Sincerely.” 

“You don’t have to thank me. You’ll pay off your debt soon enough.” He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. Neither of you moved. As if realizing the impropriety of his actions, he quickly retracted his arm, instead offering you a small nod.  “Go.”

You rose from your— his — chair and made for the exit, already envisioning the hot shower and warm inn-cooked meal you were going to have. Suddenly remembering the constraints of respect, you froze halfway down the stairs, turning to offer the General a stiff, clumsy bow. 

You left with his almost-fond chuckle at your heels, intending to scrub the remains of your idiocy from your skin. 

The Luofu branch of the Alchemy Commission was significantly different from the one back home. Although the work hours were just as insane, its employees genuinely enjoyed their jobs, if your master was anything to go off of. 

Dark brown haired with cutely pointed ears and deep ruby eyes, Lingsha was incredibly skilled, and just as well-composed. She smelled lovely, too, a fact you noted as she showed you where each of the supplies were located.  As she explained the rules with which the Luofu’s branch operated, you found your mind wandering elsewhere, wondering what kind of woman you’d be if only you had a calm spirit, to say nothing of impulse control. 

“I diagnose ailments a bit differently. I’m sure you’re familiar with aromatic therapy?” Lingsha spoke as she stood before a presently empty cauldron. A nice, herbal scent lingered around it, and you concluded that she had to smell so nice from working around aromatics every day. 

“Yes, we use it quite a bit on the Yaoqing. I’m definitely not as skilled as you are, though.” Your intentions on your first day were to emphasize your competency without seeming too confident. The last thing you wanted was for your new boss to think you were trying to outshine her in any way.

“Anyone can learn, and you already have the background, so don’t worry about that.” Lingsha had mercifully not seemed to glean that impression from you, treating you with kindness despite you really only being there to work off a debt wrought by your own stupidity. “I can’t teach you how to utilize the cauldron, though.”

You nodded, offering her a small, grateful smile. “Let’s get to work, shall we?” 

Despite your feigned eagerness to get on the job, she tried to breach a different, non-work related subject with you come lunch break. “You know, I once traveled far from home too.”

Unimpressed, you chewed your braised pork. “Really?”

“I followed my master when she was banished. It was quite jarring at first, but I learned so much and improved my craft.” She picked at her food with her chopsticks, seeming to favor attempting to connect with you over shared circumstances more than eating. 

“I see.” You, on the other hand, did not much enjoy having your meal interrupted by useless talking, no matter how good the intentions behind it may be. 

She sighed, noticing your unwillingness to converse. “All of this to say, I understand how you feel.”

Do you? You found yourself wondering, almost shamefully, for the woman’s intentions were clearly to make you feel more comfortable working away from home. But being young and irrational, you couldn’t help but believe your situation was undeniably unique. 

Of course, it wasn’t, nor were your experiences anything special. And realizing this, you kept your mouth shut, simply nodding in respectful acknowledgment of her statement. 

You finished the rest of your lunch in silence, your new mentor finally recognizing that you weren’t quite in the mood for conversation. You did, however, catch her sending a few fleeting glances your way, sometimes concerned, sometimes curious. 

The first day of your impromptu apprenticeship ended with barely any further words exchanged between the two of you. You parted ways with a few polite goodbyes, and you beelined for the closest restaurant with a myriad of conflicting thoughts swarming your mind. 

And the work did get significantly more bearable the longer you did it. Even the early mornings were alright, considering you had to get up in the wee hours of the morning back as a medic for the Yaoqing. Not to mention, with the minor ailments being the only ones Lingsha initially sent your way, you felt like you were back at the army hospital with your brother stifling you beneath his scrutinizing glare. It was all rather banal.

You weren’t the only one bored almost to death by day to day work, however.

The first time the General stopped by your office for a check up, you were on your best behavior. Convinced he was only there to observe your progress, you prepared to conduct a thorough examination  that addressed all of his concerns. 

“So, you’re telling me you’re experiencing extreme drowsiness.” You read from your notes, taking this far more seriously than you should’ve. He was indeed a patient, after all, and an important one at that. Even if he was just bullshitting you, you were under a medical obligation to heed his concerns. 

“Yes, doctor. My eyes are simply too heavy to hold open.” He spoke dramatically, although you got the sense he was holding back a laugh. 

“I’m not a doctor,” You simply stared, incredulous. “And there’s not much I can do for you in that regard. I can make you some tea?”

“Tea would be lovely,” He smiled up at you, although even with him being seated you were nearly at eye level.  “Come to think of it, I have the most wonderful tea set at the Seat of Divine Foresight.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit of a walk from here, don’t you think?”

“If you don’t want to travel all that way, I can bring it here.” He rose from the chair, towering over you once more as he made for the door. 

“Oh, you wanted me to drink the tea with you?” You began to follow him, and he sent you a mirthful glance over his shoulder. 

“You were the one who suggested it after all.” He noted, almost offhandedly, and you paused to consider the offer. 

“Well, I suppose I could take a lunch break right about now.” You also supposed that he’d never intended to leave the clinic without you, anyways. 

Agreeing to let him steal you away from your duties was a mistake. Because one lunch break became two, which became three, which became entire shifts once you realized Lingsha could easily handle the steady trickle of patients herself, and the General would always provide her an excuse for your absence— however ridiculous it may be. 

You met with him a few times outside of those sleepy afternoon hours, too. Once he realized your passion for fine Luofu cuisine, and having an impressive appetite of his own,  he took you to all of the best spots, and watched you fondly as you inhaled your meals. You’d share drinks afterwards, and without fail, he’d walk you back to the inn, sometimes with a gentlemanly hand hovering over your back so your tipsiness didn’t get the better of you on those tricky stairs.

And that was all it was, communion, camaraderie. Until the night you invited Lingsha along for dinner and drinks by way of apology for shirking your duties. 

You had far more of that familiar rice wine than usual, likely due to anxiety that the woman in question hated you for your truancy. After a few shots, you were limber and loose, your inside thoughts spilling from your tongue as if it were the most normal thing in the world. 

The General, despite his size and tendency to be able to hold his liquor, seemed a bit more far gone than usual, too, if the way he laughed and spoke quite louder than usual in response to your jabbering was anything to go off. Lingsha, in contrast, drank slowly, mindfully, sipping at her beverage while eyeing the two of you with a mix of concern and amusement. 

And neither of you really noticed when she gracefully ducked out, citing her early shift in the morning as her reason for departure. Your witty banter continued, your knee brushing his beneath the table, his much larger hand resting atop yours on the wooden surface. 

You kept drinking, of course. And things progressed. Very quickly. And you were, as always, horribly stupid. 

You remember him paying the bill, taking your hand as you stood up, swaying on your feet. The night was humid and starless, the condensation in the air contributing to the haze in your mind. He had a loose arm wrapped around your waist as you started in the direction of the inn. 

You remember, rather boldly, asking instead for a tour of his place. You remember him agreeing. 

His house was quite spacious. You stumbled past the entrance and he caught you, laughing intoxicatedly. You didn’t make it past the kitchen before he had you leaned up against the counters, his face centimeters away from your own. He was saying something, but your brain wasn’t registering. Rather than responding, or even asking him to repeat himself, you raised up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

Yes, things did progress rather quickly from there.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t remember— or enjoy — anything you partook in. In fact, you recall being rather entrenched in bliss as he had you pinned beneath him, your legs wrapped tightly around his hips to pull him impossibly closer. Your long nails clawed at the skin of his back and you were too far gone to tell him it was too much, or not enough, you weren’t really sure. Whatever the sensation was, it was incredible, your toes curling as he mouthed at the sensitive skin at the junction of your neck, a deft hand sliding between your bodies to push you over the edge. 

It was too much. And it wasn’t enough.

You woke up the next morning, somehow satisfied, moderately hungover, your face having been buried in his broad chest. Naturally, he was still fast asleep,  breathing serenely beneath you as long lashes brushed against his cheeks. 

And naturally, you sat up, oriented yourself, dressed, and left. 

It wasn’t anything you’d ever done before; slept with someone you cared about and left without another word. But you had a feeling it was the only way to do this without ripping yourself apart again, without leaving a piece of yourself behind beneath his once-pristine sheets.

And despite the way every single thing between the two of you had been turned on its side after a single night, you found yourself sitting behind his desk once more during your lunch break as he smiled down at you, gaze lingering on the poorly concealed marks just above the neckline of your shirt. You tugged it upwards as you’d been doing all day, but it was no use, for he leaned down to kiss you as if there weren’t numerous guards stationed around the entrance.

And you let him, like that’s how it was between the two of you all along.  

Which was to say that those breathless nights spent at his place after work became a frequent occurrence. And when you’d show up early to work the next morning, half asleep and abnormally chipper, Lingsha would only raise a suspicious eyebrow before telling you to rewash your hands and get to work. 

“I’ve always been quite curious if a Foxian’s sense of smell is as refined as mine.” Your mentor commented offhandedly after the two of you had just seen off a young Foxian patient who was experiencing abnormal tail shedding. Lingsha had performed some aromatherapy and sent the poor girl home with some oils to apply to the area on a strict regimen. 

You shrugged, your fingers absentmindedly and protectively rubbing through the silken fur of your own tail. “I wouldn’t say ‘as refined,’ but I’ve certainly got a good nose.”

She hummed in acknowledgment, peeling off her gloves. “Really? So can you detect the scent of other people on yourself?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as your hands continued working through your fur, unsure of the relevance behind her line of questioning. “Sometimes.”

“So, you must be well aware that you smell entirely of the General.” Your ministrations froze.

 You turned slowly to face her, only to see her expression as unchanged as before, examining her pristine cuticles as if what she’d said was the most normal thing in the world.  “I’m sorry?” 

“It’s not an unpleasant smell, it’s just so overbearing that your scent is layered all the way at the bottom.” She diverted her attention elsewhere, assuming an air of nonchalance as she began to rearrange her bottles of scented oil.  “What did you do, roll around in his bed or something?” 

You opened your mouth to respond, only to close it once more. “...No comment.”

“Aeons above. There’s my answer.” Lingsha groaned, setting a glass vial down with slightly more force than was necessary. 

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” You responded coyly, the embarrassment giving way to an unfamiliar yet deep seated urge to make her even more uncomfortable as a twisted form of deflection.. 

“That’s not entirely true. I want some answers.” 

And boy, did you answer her many, many questions. In fact, the remainder of your lunch hour was spent detailing the progression of the affair between you and the General. You were mildly disappointed that you missed out on spending the time with him, but you figured you could make it up to him in a rather meaningful way later that evening. 

Besides, the look on Lingsha’s face as you spoke— an amalgamation of shock, incredulity, and curiosity— was well worth it. And if the woman didn’t trust you before, she sure did now that you took the time to describe your sex life in intricate detail— in response to her insistent prompting, of course.

You met up with him that evening. And the next. And the one after that. And despite your habit of slipping out in the early hours of the morning like a creature of the night, you stuck around one morning. 

It was the dawn of your weekly day off, and you were positively exhausted from work and a myriad of other, irrelevant things, no thanks to the man who slept soundly beneath you. And even though you’d slept well enough yourself, you couldn’t help but feel restless as your cheek rested against the bare skin of his chest. 

You knew this was casual. It didn’t mean anything. Both of you understood that. But as you watched him sleep, your thumb absentmindedly tracing the mark beneath his eye, something familiar stirred in your chest. You didn’t want to leave. 

The feeling persisted as you ate breakfast with him, neither of you acknowledging just how far from the norm this was. It intensified as you stepped into the shower beside him, unwilling to leave each other alone for even half a system hour. It threatened to swallow you whole when he brushed your hair, large fingers raking through the damp strands as you leaned into his touch, horribly infatuated by the whole situation. When he kissed you in the pavilion after you walked him to work, you felt like you were drowning. 

What a stupid woman you were, you thought as you sat on the arm of his chair, his free hand wrapped around your waist as he pretended to focus on whatever dull paperwork sat on his desk. When the Master Diviner walked in, his grip tightened despite the look of unadulterated distaste she sent your way. “I had something important to discuss with you, General, but it seems you’re presently occupied.” Her words were dripping with acrimony, but you were too far beneath the waves to care. 

He hummed without sparing a glance towards the small woman. “Yes, I am presently inundated with paperwork,” His large palm slid further downwards, digging into your hip behind the desk. “If it can wait, we can discuss whatever it is at a later time.” 

The woman blinked, inhaling sharply at the shameless display before her. “Fine. I’ll come back at a much, much later time.” The General’s gaze remained fixed on the paper despite his attention clearly being elsewhere, if the hand caressing your backside said anything. “Or never.” Fu Xuan muttered to herself as she left, likely wishing to take her brain out and wipe it clean of the last five minutes. 

The more he made it clear he didn’t care who knew what existed between the two of you, if anything, the more you fixated on it until it was all you could think about. You’d been burned once, twice, by relationships wrought by your own selfless devotion, and you’d fallen into this one while caught in the throes of your own greed. So perhaps, it had to be a sign that this could work? 

And no matter how hard you tried, you could not stop yourself from craving his complete affections, in sharing every aspect of your life with him. Even though he was so often unreadable, you knew deep down that a part of you had stuck with him. You only prayed it was significant enough to last. 

One night, you held his face in your hands as you straddled his abdomen, and despite holding some of the control, you let him take everything from you that you had to give. When the both of you were thoroughly satisfied, he kissed you like you were his, and in all ways but one, you were. 

Your mouth didn’t give either of you much time to bask in the afterglow, for the moment you’d shifted to untangle yourself with him, it spoke without your common sense’s consent. “I’ve been thinking.” Perhaps this was a bad time, but you supposed there never was an ideal one for these sorts of conversations. At least you’d waited until he wasn’t inside you any longer. 

“Have you?” He said, his voice still low and rumbling in a way that made you shift uncomfortably atop him. “What about, my dear?” He pulled you down so your chest was flush against his, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your temple. 

You let out a quick gasp, trying to disguise the way his affection had left you reeling. “Us.” 

“What’s there to think about?” He responded good-naturedly, teasingly tugging at your tail.“We’re here, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but…” He clearly hadn’t yet grasped the seriousness of your train of thought, for his wandering hand abandoned the fur of your tail to grab a handful of your backside.  “Hey.” You warned, swatting it away as he laughed, unashamed.  “I guess I should start by asking this. What do you want from me?”

He blinked, his expression sobering as he finally caught your drift. “Whatever you’re willing to give.”

You scoffed. Despite your heart hoping otherwise, you should’ve known he’d dance his way around your questioning, ever-skilled at circumlocution.. “That’s a cop out.”

“I still don’t understand what you’re asking.” He clarified gently, his hands rubbing soothingly up your sides. Your annoyance deflated significantly, your body welcoming his touch. 

“Fine. I’m asking if you want me to be your girlfriend. Partner. Whatever you want to call it.” His hands halted their ministrations as he looked up at you, his expression indecipherable. 

“Where is this coming from?” He spoke after a beat had passed, tilting his head at you with what seemed like genuine confusion. Whatever it was angered you, because if he really had no idea what you were talking about, he must have been fucking you with his eyes closed. Because it was clear as day to the Cloud Knights, Lingsha, Fu Xuan, everyone who saw the two of you together, what was happening. 

“The fuck do you mean, ‘where is this coming from?’” Your annoyance morphed into a sense of betrayal, spilling from your mouth like murderous venom. “You take me out to dinner multiple times a week, I sit in your office all day like your little pet, I practically live at your house.” Then, the betrayal melted away to hurt.  “And still, I can’t tell exactly how you feel about me. That’s where it’s coming from.” Your sentence ended far softer, far more vulnerable than you intended it to. 

And he noticed, for a large palm came to cup your cheek in his hand, ready to wipe away the angry tears that threatened to fall. “[Name]—“

You pushed his hand away. “Answer my question,” You intertwined the hand you’d used to reject his touch with his own, still unable to part from him no matter how obstinate you felt he was being.  “We can take things slow if that’s what you want. No labels, or anything. I just need to know how you feel.”

You’d barely finished your sentence before he pulled you down to kiss him, slow and sweet. “I thought it was abundantly clear how I felt about you,” He spoke almost against your lips, your fingers still laced together, pushed up against the headboard. “You’re an incredible woman, [Name]. Witty, headstrong, beautiful,” His free hand brushed your bangs away from your face, coming to rest once more on your cheek.“But I cannot give you that which you desire.”

You hesitated, blinking confusedly at him.“What do you mean?”

“You know what you want, a trait that is inexorably admirable,” He paused, his gaze flickering away from your own to collect his thoughts. “But I know who I am, and it won’t be any good for you.”

Another cop out. Your canines dug into your bottom lip as you felt the pressure of your returning tears behind your eyelids. “You’re not being truthful.”

“I am.  I only want the best for you.” So that was how it was. Fine. You weren’t going to embarrass yourself any further by crying in front of him. You had lost so much in that moment, but you couldn’t let go of your fragile pride.

“I think I should go.” You dropped his hand, leaning back upon his thighs. 

He swallowed, looking reluctantly away from your watery eyes. “Perhaps that may be what’s best.”

You left that time, defeated and embarrassingly heartbroken. But it didn’t stop you from going back to him quite a few times, somehow convinced that what you desired deep down would change. But never once did you expect him to mold himself to your expectations, shouldering the blame for the failed relationship all upon yourself.

You were foolish then. For believing you could ever rid yourself of the desire to be loved wholly and completely. For believing you could change yourself rather than choose a different man to love. For suppressing your own heart beneath layers of impenetrable armor.

He taught you many things about yourself, rather inadvertently. You learned you could be alright on your own. You learned that love and sex were a gamble, a way to gain leverage on others without revealing the vulnerability that lay within your own losing hand. And you learned to stop denying yourself of the superficial little things you wanted, because you’d concluded that your heart’s deepest desire could never be fulfilled.

These lessons were incredibly valuable, and you held them close to your heart even as you sat aboard the mysterious Astral Express, gazing out the window at the vastness of the universe with your palms laying defeated in your lap. 

The fourth one took you entirely off guard, two lightning strikes in an open field, an asteroid upon a barren planet, a winning ticket out of a million losses. The chances of finding him in this life were astronomically low. But he was miraculously, blessedly lucky. 

Alisa would know more about this than I do. That is the thought that always crosses your mind in situations like these, when you watch him on the rare nights he sleeps peacefully, and something in your chest overwhelms you so much you fear you might die in his arms. You’d spent ages telling yourself you were never meant for love, and that little girl’s dreams of a fairy tale romance were never yours. But here you are, not only deeply enamored, but literally engaged, evidenced by that bewilderingly expensive gemstone on your ring finger. 

You can’t help but feel like you’d experienced everything in your life just for this terribly mundane moment, if not just for the way he looks fast asleep.

And perhaps you know more about love than you care to admit, for you’d proven your past self wrong on several occasions. You were alright on your own, sure, but you are far better with him by your side. Maybe you’d gambled your way into his heart, but your vulnerability is no longer a weakness. And now that you have the one thing you’d always desired, everything else is background noise. 

He means everything to you, you realized then. He is your heart, your ultimate weakness, your one in a million. You couldn’t leave this time, for there is nowhere else to go. 

You rotate the gold band on your finger absentmindedly, curling yourself even further into his body. He subconsciously pulls you closer, and you hide your face in his chest, smiling fondly to yourself. You hope he knows he’s stuck with you forever now. This love is blessedly and irrevocably yours. 

[planetdream]

VAMPIRE SEVENTEEN

this post contains: vampirism, canon vampire lore depending on who you ask. mentions of blood, bloodsucking ofc. and mentions of sex [grinding, strength kink, orgasms] darker themes for wonwoo’s [hypnosis + kidnapping, sorry]

💌 sorry, this was rotting in my drafts. each entry has a different vibe. enjoy <3 this was requested btw

the man, the myth, the legend; SEUNGCHEOL is one of the greatest vampires out there (up there with dracula and nosferatu). he’s thought to be a myth, a story passed down generation by generation of an evil vampire that lurks in the night, you know, the usual. but every so often there’s proof, small hints that seungcheol is actually out there, lurking amongst the living. he rarely shows his face, only to seduce—plucking off one, maybe two, or groups of people for his dinner. seungcheol lusts for blood over anything. [he is indeed very dominant and very sexy—if you ask him to bite you, he absolutely will but he's more than likely to turn you.] kinda gives dracula 2020 vibe if you’ve seen it; he’s adjusting to the new world.

JEONGHAN is a rather "stereotypical" vampire. gorgeous, elegant, got turned when his hair was bleached, thus he's blond, bloodthirsty, and somehow even sexier. he's not one to lie about being a vampire, nor is jeonghan ashamed of it (he has no regrets); he'll flash his fangs or drink from someone in public, he doesn't give a fuck. and of course, what a slut he is. he loves to drink the blood of the person he's fucking, right as they're creaming for him. has allegedly had the most threesomes out of the thirteen. patrick bates type, flexing in the mirror as he's fucking; mind u, he can't see himself. has had a hand in the creation of a few vampires (direct result of him being slutty)

in his current lifetime, JOSHUA has decided to lay low. he's had several lifetimes of partying, drinking freely and the usual drama in the vampire community (centuries of arguing over the same shit). right now, he feels a bit lost, like something is missing. but he’s gained way too many hobbies to keep track of and he’s even started that wine company he’s dreamed of (mind you that was 100 years ago). he’s yearning, aching, lonely. envisioning him to be the type to be constantly searching for a soul that's like his long lost lover…signs up for hinge (bad idea); all of his matches want him to drink their blood once they find out that he’s a vampire, he’s not really into those that are eager for it.

ok im thinking vampire prince JUNHUI. you meet eyes with him in passing on a busy day. since then, he's appeared in all your dreams (most of them being of the romantic/erotic variety besides the small, sudden glimpses of blood and horrors, physically feeling a piercing sensation in your neck despite being asleep), he's shown up across the street of your work only to disappear in a blink, you've seen him in crowded places, just staring at you—strange, soft music playing in your head whenever he appears, seemingly caught up in his mystery. he doesn't appear for you until he's sure you need him; typically when something fairly traumatic happens. he sweeps you away in a time of uncertainty, offering to be your protector and to show you 'a new world'.

vampire boyfie SOONYOUNG. in classic vampire suitor fashion; he wines you, dines you, and if you want sixtynine (and other pleasures) are definitely on the table as well. i just imagine him to be extremely sweet and well meaning; which leads me to believe, he doesn’t tell you that he’s a vampire until like date five (he already assumes ur his partner by then). has a dilemma of ‘will they really love me if they knew about my affliction’. so he tells you, voice shaking. and you’re just like ??? hoshi? a vampire? LOL…. then he shows you his fangs—you watch how they protrude from his gums in real time; it’s quick, if you blinked you would have missed it. realizes that might’ve been a little off-putting and gets embarrassed. it’s okay tho, bc it makes him hotter :p

WONWOO, your incredibly hot history professor. you catch him on a dark street near campus one night, teeth buried into the neck of one of his students; veins popping out of his skin, face red in hunger as he feeds and feeds. once he spots you, he drops his prey—eyes filled with a look that’s a cross between fury and disappointment as he stomps over to you. it’s unnecessary to run, he’s already caught you before you’ve even turned your back. he whispers in your ear, tone enchanting like a lullaby. when you wake up, you find that your dark surrounding is actually a small, velvety box that contains you; stripped of your clothing in exchange for old satin material.

another vampire of the elegant variety JIHOON knows exactly how he wants to live the rest of his life, and he's not exactly looking for anything 'new'. he sticks to his bubble, his same set of friends and he only gets out every so often; preferring to bury himself within his own darkness and stench (a singular coffin in a singular room with no windows) only to come out for feasting purposes. i think that the one thing that does keep him tied to the earthly world is music; and often, he has published his own throughout the years under various names and genres. to jihoon, the best part of living (or lack their of) is the music; in addition to experiencing as much history as he has.

vampire boyfriend SEOKMIN longs for your blood. he craves to bite you. literally just say the word and he'll bite you. but only if you want. did i mention that he wants to bite you? has to look away from you when you're talking because he gets distracted by the pulsing vein in your neck; it speaks to him, whispering the breezing sound of blood rushing. he has to either look away from you or lock eyes intently with you; which ends up just looking like he's begging for pussy. and truth is, it absolutely does get him hard just thinking about drinking your sweet crimson nectar….oh the things he’d do..

ok so MINGYU has an advantage bc not only is he a vampire but he's built! like yeah, his physique won't change now that he's a vampire, and yeah, he now has vampire strength—he still goes to the gym. kind of just out of routine, but he says it still gives him a euphoric feeling. that being said, loves to pick you up and throw you around. strength play. you remember the type of sex bella and edward had in breaking dawn? that’s a regular for mingyu. almost regularly having to by new bed frames because when mingyu fucks, he really fucks. don’t worry though, he’s not always rough!

i am inclined to believe that MINGHAO is throwing blade-style, sexy bloodbath vampire parties as a sort of side gig or he's just been swayed into the club scene this lifetime. he's the guy you keep seeing at the club for weeks on end, and when you lock eyes with him, you hear a whispering in your ear. and all of a sudden, you want to approach him but he's gone before you can. one night he's the one to approach you. thus queuing a heavy, steamy make out in the club followed by some grinding. next thing you know, you're at his place and he's showing you all that life can truly be, all of the pleasures and curiosities. he shows you his fangs, as well, doesn't care if you're scared or not (he likes the fear, though). he does ask to bite you; and if you say yes, he indeed marks you up.

VERNON got bit rather recently (couple hundred years). in his human life he was very curious about the concept of life as well as life after death, immortality, and subsequently, vampirism. he drove himself into become a madman until his studies led him to becoming his own study subject. he projects that, if he's lucky, in the next hundred years he'll be able to build a vampirism research facility. despite being a vampire, there are still some things that he doesn't know. and for some reason, even after becoming a vampire, his research is always with humans in mind. he wants to help humanity improve, evolve, possibly to something greater.

SEUNGKWAN found a way to get rich off of being a vampire. he's a celebrity; a multimillion dollar 3-book deal (the first being an autobiography, he's thinking of making a vampire 48 laws of power next) and a late, late, late night talk show. occasionally joins the news to talk about the latest in vampire society (he's a spokesperson of sorts, often campaigning for vampire rights and such) and politics. inclined to believe he was a vampire therapist at one point. he’s more than just a pretty face and excellent conversationalist, though, he's had to overcome a lot of trials and tribulations in his many lifetimes (the perseverance of a vampire now available at your local bookstore)

vampire lee CHAN is dangerous!!! he's snatching hearts and breaking them (and slurping the blood out of them). the type of vampire that just needs some black sunglasses and he's fully able to walk in the daylight (no, he doesn't sparkle, but he wishes he could). doesn't have many enemies unless you count some of his exes then well.... he's not into turning anybody because although he loves being a vampire, those first few thousand years were filled with so much agony—watching your loved ones pass on, witnessing horrors beyond your imagine and knowing that there is nothing you could possibly do about it despite your gift of immortality. he'd rather just drain people of their blood and leave it at that (genuinely thinks its foolish to want to be a vampire, and will be offended if asked to turn someone). seriously, don't ask him to turn you.

[inkofthebrain]

Imperial

[Paul Atreides x F!Reader] 1113 Words

Paul Atreides, Duke of Arakkis, takes the hand of the Emperor's eldest daughter for the throne, yet neither are pleased. They know they must learn to be civil, but what will it cost them...

Tags: post-Dune 2, strays from book canon, no use of yin, dune typical everything, Corinno!Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers kind of? ARRAIGNED MARRIAGE TROPE EXCEPT BOTH PARTIES ARE PISSY ABOUT IT, not proofread LOL.

Warnings: Dune typical themes, motifs, and actions

Previous Chapter Next chapter (coming soon…)

Dune Masterlist

Nine———

Everyone in their right mind knows not to stop a charging bride so the guards didn’t even lift a finger as you marched towards the lush estate gardens.

Caladan has become less daunting the more time you spend there, you only wish it will be the same for the landscape of desert you have been sentenced too. Your thoughts consume you, racing past behind you eyes and gone before you were to process them, as your feet patter off path to a small clearing by the cliff side.

Your eyes gazed over the crashing waves against the resistance of the cliff side and fate came to mind; when does it not. You never really believed in it but you have come to the realization that with enough time and planning, anything could be orchestrated.

Your fate in particular seemed to have been thousands of years in the making, and while you have tried to fight against it similar to the angry waves beating the stone—-the tide will always succumb to the earth.

The salty air entered your nostrils with a swift inhale as you attempted to soothe your aching heart. The emotion was somewhere between grief and anger for both your father and your stolen fate.

You lifted your left hand and examined your ring before adjusting it slightly, there was no method to your movements, you just needed something physical to bring you out of your head.

And that is exactly what happened when you felt a hand brush your shoulder. You instantly whipped around to see who had caught you, but all you saw was Paul.

“We have a reception to attend, you know” His tone was rather playful, despite the fact you charged away before any words could be exchanged.

You tired back to the water before speaking, Paul following shortly to your side. The friendliness between the two of you was comfortable, You both kept each other within an arm's reach both physically and emotionally. A fine line seen all too often in these marriages.

“I’m Empress, aren’t I to do what I please?” You quip.

“If only it were that easy”

“If only”

A comforting silence fell between the two of you as you soaked in the view. Who knew the last time you would see such vast oceans. Maybe Paul did. You had no idea of knowing.

His gifts were quite alarming at first but a clear symptom of his spice agony. Drinking the water of life is a pain you have only had the horror of hearing about from your fathers truthsayer. It was a brutal ritual not even the Sardukar could endure.

The lives of so many others entering your mind, the multitudes of paths, the multitudes of potential. All while retaining your current wants and desires. The bile had heightened almost every part of him, his intelligence, his fears, and the crushing sensation of a will not of your own.

“Tell me about Arakkis?” You asked him

“It’s baren, and the heat follows you everywhere and—“

“Not a Definition, Paul. About your time there. I’d like to know what I’m getting into.”

You were terrified to be thrown into his world. Adjusting to a foreign culture is always strenuous but being implanted in one where your betrothed is their messiah? It was hard to tell if the people would accept you or reject your legitimacy as a bride to their mahdi.

His lips straightened into a tight line as he pondered where to start but like most things in the imperium, it was nipped in the bud before it would foster. You heard Delia’s stride approaching from behind.

“While I love to see the new Emperor and Empress basking in one another’s company, there are quite a few important people who are expecting the both of you very soon.” Her hands were clasped down at her waist as she attentively waited. You nod your head and let out a small hum before turning away from the view.

“I have another quick change, hm?” You question, Delia Humors your small remark and lets out a small laugh before nodding her head.

“I’ll see you there, husband.” The word felt like a dagger shooting through Paul. As you stepped away with Delia, Paul continued to ponder on what his life has succumbed to.

He had just married a woman he barely knew, all the while leaving the woman who brought him to be the person he is now behind in the dust. He hadn’t told you about Chani, yet somehow there was an unspoken agreement between you two that some things were to be left unsaid. This was a political marriage after all.

Chani despised him, he had risen above her after swearing he would be equal to her. Now he is her emperor, her new suppressor. Paul couldn’t help but wonder if the path he was blindly leading you down would leave you hating him as well. Maybe that’s how it was fated to be.

———

Delia had you re-pampered in all your imperial glory as you were thrown into a room of hungry politically driven wolves with Paul at your side.

After lists of warm wishes and congratulations, many of said wolves dove in for the kill. Presenting the two of you with ideas, requests, and comments on their states. Everyone was there, from planetary governors to heads of houses, all for the same greedy purpose; power.

Connections mean everything in this court, you are unlikely to get far without them. This is what you were taught from a very young age, both false and true connections. Double sided “friendship” and backhanded comments on current policies were all the rage as you and Paul were forced to parade yourselves around the large room.

Once you and Paul were able to seclude yourselves in a far corner you decided it was time for politics.

“We need a new truth-sayer, I cannot bear the thought of Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam attempting to further stir my fathers corruption into our future.” You turned to face him, “she is all but fond of you”

Paul let out a short chuckle, “That I am very aware of. The Bene Gesserit are not my biggest supporters.”

You let out a small hum in response, “Your mother?”

Paul shook his head, “She is the Fremen’s, we mustn’t take her from them. Not after they have just gained their Dune back” With a nod of your head and the clasping of your hands, you direct your attention to the rest of the room. Trying to predict who wants to make a proposition next. Trying to predict where your future would take you.

———

Next chapter (coming soon...)

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[striveattemptfail]

knee deep in the couch seat and you're not eating me out | Logan Howlett/Wade Wilson, 1.8k, T

@poolvertober: Day 4 – Casual

Summary: Is it casual now? TW: Brief mentions of canon-typical body horror/violence and Logan's alcoholism but nothing descriptive. Rated because butts and Wade's vocabulary are involved lol. Read on Ao3

A/N: Title is a bastardization of Chappell Roan's Casual, because I obviously had to for today's prompt. (I am so sorry Ms. Roan /o\) Un-beta'd and I deeply apologize—I just wanted to get this posted before I chickened out again 😅🙏 Inspired by this fanart because I could not get it out of my head lmao.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

Logan has only been living with Wade, Althea, and Dogpool for a few months but there’s a few things he picks up on.

One: Never question what Althea does. Ever.

Two: Mary Puppins is a living vacuum and will put anything in her mouth given the chance.

Three: Wade can have really, really bad days.

If Logan sees Wade with the Deadpool mask on the moment he wakes up, he knows he’s in for at least five hours of the bitchiest man he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting. He doesn’t blame Wade in the slightest for having bad days (the fuck kind of hypocrite would that make him?) but it doesn’t mean he’s just gonna take it if Wade is being particularly annoying.

“Bub,” he says carefully, warningly, his voice low and gruff, “the only reason why I’m not skewering your skull is because I just finished mopping the floor. Get your fucking face off’a me.”

Wade’s got his face buried in his chest, nose tucked firmly in between the crevice of Logan’s pecs, his hands petting the skin there. He, predictably, shakes his head no.

Logan had spent the day cleaning the apartment, tossing away old garbage bags and tidying the random piles of stuff littered everywhere. Wade avoided him—as he usually did on bad days—leaving a room once Logan entered so neither of them would bother the other. Logan didn’t think twice about stripping off his shirt once he finished mopping the living room, already sweaty from half a day’s work. 

Of course, that’s when Wade decides to pop out of Al’s bedroom where he and Mary were hiding, immediately faceplanting into Logan’s chest as Logan’s dragging out the vacuum.

“Mmmno,” Wade hums, the sounds turning into one word. “Gotta recharge my battery. Your lovely mountains help with that.”

Logan growls, unsheathing his claws on his right hand. “Wade, I’m fucking serious.”

“Peanut, I’m fucking serious,” the moron parrots back, but there’s an edge to his voice that Logan recognizes is Wade being serious for once. Wade snuggles further into his chest, hands now kneading the flesh there, calloused fingertips occasionally brushing Logan’s nipples. “Just let me have this,” Wade sighs.

(Logan pointedly ignores the urge to preen at Wade’s easy affection and praise.)

He closes his eyes, slowly breathes through his nose, and counts to ten to stop himself from stabbing Wade through the temple.

Just because he can stab the dipshit doesn’t mean he should, he reasons. He just finished cleaning the floors and Althea would appreciate less blood stains on them, he reminds himself.

He rolls his eyes when Wade hums into his skin, mumbling nonsense that Logan doesn’t bother trying to parse out. Though he’s annoyed (very annoyed), Logan’s surprised that he doesn’t mind the contact as much as he thought he would. God knows when was the last time he had this kind of skinship with someone, how long it’s been since someone touched him without wanting to pick a fight.

Fuck. Logan must be getting soft from living here.

With a final hum and deep breath, Wade lifts his face from Logan’s chest to meet Logan’s eyes, chin now digging into Logan’s sternum. Despite the mask, Logan can tell that he’s smiling beneath the fabric.

“Thanks for the assist, honey badger!” Wade chirps. “I feel much better now.”

He grunts, rolling his eyes again. “Whatever. Now get the fuck off me.”

Wade pouts but relents, pulling away from Logan without a word.

Shit, Logan already misses his touch, what the fuck.

He doesn’t let it show on his face, jerking his head in a direction that’s vaguely out of the way of the vacuum’s direct path.

“Can I get back to vacuuming now, princess?” he taunts, but even he can hear that he doesn’t mean the insult.

“Excuse you!” Wade gasps dramatically, a hand lifting to clutch his chest. “The only princess here is my little Princess Puppins!”

At the sound of her name, the dog dutifully comes skittering into the living room with a bark. Logan sighs at the hair she’s already leaving everywhere.

(For a dog with almost no fur left, the little she does have scatters around the apartment, unending and always in places Logan thought he already cleaned.)

Wade picks up Mary and partially lifts his mask to immediately cover her face in kisses, cooing nonsense and praise. With the bottom half of his face exposed, she licks into his mouth (fuckin’ gross, but whatever), and Wade looks visibly more at ease than he did not even ten minutes ago.

Logan tugs the cable of the vacuum to move it out of the way, only turning it on once Wade and Mary are back inside the bedroom.

And if he turns his back to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his lips, well, that’s no one’s business but his own.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

The mission went sideways faster than Wade could make an innuendo about it. There were casualties that didn’t need to happen, body parts Deadpool didn’t need to lose, places where Wolverine’s claws didn’t need to go. The official X-men (that is, the losers that lived at the X-Mansion) handled the PR shitstorm headed their direction while Wade whisked Logan and himself away from the pesky news cameras already on their heels.

The two of them came home to an empty apartment, and once Wade was dumped into the pull-out couch he and Logan shared, Logan took off. Wade probably shouldn’t have let him leave—knew all too well the kind of spiral one could fall into after a shitty mission like that—but he also knew better than to push Logan before the man was ready.

Besides, he had six fingers, half a leg, and a nose he needed to grow back.

Logan, the asshole, only shucked off his own uniform once they arrived home and didn’t help Wade change before he left, so Wade hobbles around like a ballerina unwilling to dance on two legs as he strips his suit. He manages to finally get an old shirt and a pair of black short-shorts on before he falls over, ass hitting the floor with a fuck! Blind Al arrives home when he does, Mary Puppins in tow after finishing her nighttime potty. Al’s only acknowledgement of Wade is her cursing out him and Logan for leaving her to tend to the damn dog she didn’t even ask for, but the lack of heat in her words tells Wade the truth.

“Love you too, Al!” he calls out.

“Go fuck yourself, you uncircumcised dickhead!” she barks back as she shuffles towards her room. “And don’t forget to have someone look after the dog next time!” She slams the door behind her.

Wade manages to get up and grab a spare mask that doesn’t have a hole around the nose, slipping it on as he tumbles back onto the pull-out. Even though Blind Al is blind and can’t bask in the glory that is a nose-less Wade Wilson, he still doesn’t want to see his own ugly mug in random reflections around the apartment. Mary tucks into her doggy bed at the corner of the room and falls asleep while Wade lies on his stomach and spends time on his phone, scrolling aimlessly through different apps as his body regenerates.

The fact that glueing himself to his phone means he can pick up the second Logan calls him is just a bonus.

But he doesn’t even have to worry about that because Wade’s only grown back four of his fingers and part of his shin when Logan surprisingly returns home. He is also surprisingly not as shitfaced as Wade thought he’d be. He’s still definitely drunk if the way he’s grumbling to himself and shuffling around is anything to go by, but he doesn’t smell like he went through an entire bar’s supply of liquor, and he doesn’t look near as bad as when Wade first brought him to the TVA.

“Welcome back, peanut!” he greets, and Logan only grunts in response. As Logan begins to change into his clothes for bed, he says, “I gotta say, I’m impre—”

But before Wade can finish his sentence, a now t-shirt and boxers-clad Logan faceplants into his ass.

Twisting to watch with wide, bewildered eyes, Wade goes still as stone as Logan’s hands cup his ass cheeks. He’s pretty sure Logan doesn’t need his heightened senses to hear Wade’s heart with the way it’s trying to beat out of his chest.

He’s drunk he’s drunk he’s drunk and his face is in my ass, what the flying fucking fuck is happening?! is all Wade can think.

Before he gets the chance to say anything, Logan grumbles, “Can ya fuckin’ relax, bub?” His words slur together like he can barely make his tongue move. “Yer fuckin’ stiff as a board ‘ere and I’m tryna use ya as a pillow right now.”

Wade forces himself to calm down—drunk or not, he doesn’t want to be known as a horrible pillow.

“Peanut,” he says carefully, “as ecstatic as I am that our relationship has suddenly escalated to rimming, why is your face buried in my ass while I have clothes on?”

It takes a moment for Logan to answer, but eventually he murmurs, “M’rechargin’ my fuckin’ battery, bub.”

Oh, fuck him, Wade thinks, his traitor of a heart fluttering at this hot mess of a man. How dare he throw Wade’s own words back at him like this? That is ridiculously unfair.

Wade’s still stewing when Logan lifts his head to glare at him. “Ya got a problem?” he asks with a frown, the clearest he’s sounded since coming home.

Wade immediately shakes his head. He may be ticked that karma’s working herself beautifully right now, but he’s not about to waste the opportunity of having The Wolverine using his ass like a pillow.

“Absolutely not!” he reassures Logan with a grin, desperately hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s about to flip his shit. “But I was hoping we’d be naked when we finally hit third base.”

He has to joke about it, he has to. Or else his own stupid feelings will choke him to a death that would be more merciful than whatever the hell this is.

“Nah,” Logans says around a yawn, head falling back down to Wade’s ass. “Just want’cha like this.” Wade tries and fails to steady his rapidly beating heart when Logan moves to wrap his arms around his waist.

At the silence that follows, he thinks Logan passes out on him, but just as he turns around to focus on his phone again, Wade hears him.

“Just...” Logan whispers, voice unguarded and overwhelmingly soft, “just wanna hold ya fer'once...”

Wade swallows the lump in his throat. He doesn’t have the freaky super-hearing Logan possesses but he’s pretty sure he hears that.

He’s drunk, he’s drunk, he’s drunk, he reminds himself, it doesn’t mean anything.

He turns back to his phone, hoping that Logan is actually asleep, which means he can’t see the blush covering Wade’s entire face.

[fivelasanctum]

Dark Fivela hints are canon

Recently their was a slight leak over a dark scene where five dreams of Lila losing her mind. Looks like something straight from a horror film. Rather disturbing but adds new insight into their relationship. Being stuck in their limbo of being a hell on one side but heaven in terms of freedom and having their own world to grow closer in. The original poster said their were darker takes. Could see them putting emphasis on their shared madness. Skeletons from their closet haunting them (Mostly due to malnutrition and repeating the same actions of survival. That pushed their minds to the edge) Five has been paranoid and incredibly suspicious in the past. This dream most likely terrified him over his darker fears manifesting. Relying on Lila, being vulnerable, protecting her and making her his purpose to get her back home. What happens if he couldn't protect her mind from being broken? His did and that's originally how he created Dolores. Over the years he would attack, shoot first in his original apocalypse. Which was odd since nobody but him existed there. Not like in the case of the subway stops, where they never knew what they would be getting. Think his first inclination towards violence was a testament to the madness of being alone with no true escape. The extended cut of the leaked footage could have been Lila trying to choke him or seeing him as an enemy. Forgetting the present in favor of the past. Or Five being forced to kill her in defense. Being met with that reality would push him to insanity most likely. He has grown close to her by this point. They were family and friends with hints to the growing tension between them. Five burying his own feelings before the subway. Knowing how he tried to kill her in season 2, only for it to catch up to them again despite the years and time spent growing closer. In gamer speak this would have been an alternate 'bad end' 'for them. Killing each other or one being left surviving from the attack. Could also be an insight into Five's own darkness he is struggling to keep at bay. He succumbed to it the first time around in his timeline and with lila, felt it wouldn't happen again. Yet they had become each others rock. If one cracks then they both do. She is wearing the same outfit, has the same length of hair and similar lighting was used in the quick scene from the montage below. It's my theory that he woke up from that nightmare. Obviously troubled. Think lila comforted him or made one of her more blunt jokes, laughing loudly. That infectious laughter made five smile and do the same. Showing that she is still herself and able to be content with his company. Not to say she doesn't miss her old life but it's not seen as a third ring of hell given their was affection between them before all this had happened. I would say this takes place in year three. Their madness and break downs.

In the end, think the dark edge brought them closer. Both fighting back and embracing their darkness. Seeing each other at their worse. Possibly around that same time they helped each other more. Five removing the glass from her foot. Her in turn, doing the intimate task of shaving him and no doubt cutting his hair. The love and trust growing with those actions given the more than likely, brief breakdowns that occurred and the fear of madness tearing them down. Their relationship looks to be quite strong even before it became official. Lol or I might be overthinking by being so excited over something new from the subway storyline xD Perfect timing for Halloween~! Apparently Lila and Five can be the face of Spooktober coming up lol

[willowser]

now i wake up by your side—

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 2.8k+

tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies

tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️

Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.

It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.

But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to. 

You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.

You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.

Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.

Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?

During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—

Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—

“The hell are you doin’?”

Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.

You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”

Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.

When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress. 

It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.

Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.

You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”

The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—

“Oi.”

Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.

“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”

He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.

Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.

The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”

Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”

“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”

And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought. 

Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.

It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.

Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”

Awful, at giving them.

Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.

You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.

The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.

You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”

You’ve seen him die a thousand times.

Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.

Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.

And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.

If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”

Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek. 

You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.

Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”

“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”

“It's ass.”

“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”

He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.

Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.

You never know what to expect of him.

There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.

You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.

You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.

You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.

You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.

—And then there's nothing.

The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you

There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.

Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon. 

Returned, comforting and quiet.

(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.

Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)

(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)

(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)

(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his  heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)

(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)