#ethereous writes

[ethereousdelirious]

Sicktember 2024 Day 3 - Con Crud

HEE HEE this is my favorite fill I think.

Malva gets stuck babysitting Siebold when he comes down sick on the last day of a summer camp

I meant to interpret "con" as "conference," and that sort of morphed into "giving speeches to kids at a nerdy summer camp for high-achievers."

Anyway.

Six days.

Six days of snot-nosed kids (no, literally) and Siebold's smarmy smiles, six days of getting sneezed on and drooled on and stared at. Six days of chain-smoking behind the latrines so she didn't snap at the next little delinquent who open-mouth coughed on her leg, and now the plague has reached her door.

Malva took a drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke in Siebold's face. “Don't stand so close to me.”

Siebold coughed and sputtered, his face going red, red, red. But he backed off, dabbing at his eyes with an honest-to-god handkerchief.

“I don't need your germs all over me,” Malva added, and took another drag. Silver-gray smoke curled in the air, warping her view of the placid waters sparkling outside the Kalos League castle.

Siebold pressed his fingertips to his chest, perfect nail beds on full display. “Germs?”

“I can hear you mouth-breathing from here.” Malva turned to him, the better to let him see her roll her eyes. “I'll venture a guess: you woke up with a sore throat and a stuffy nose, but you thought it was just your allergies acting up. So you took a pill, and you're just now starting to think ‘my, that’s strange, why do I still feel like Toxic Sludge?’”

Siebold blinked, jaw falling open in picture-perfect surprise. “Well—”

“Ask me how I know.”

He eyed her warily, tugging at his jabot. “How do you know?”

“Because—” she stubbed her cigarette out on the castle wall and tossed the butt in a nearby ashtray— “about a hundred sniveling little children have told me the exact same story over the course of this week.”

Siebold was quiet for a moment, looking her over like he was worried she might burst into flames. “I do have allergies.”

Malva pulled out her lighter and flicked it, and the little orange flame danced in Siebold's eyes. “And be assured, I wish you the best of health.”

—

Siebold fell asleep in the car. Malva stared at him, slack-jawed and snoring and no less handsome for it. Siebold embodied the kind of bland, blond beauty that smiled benignly out at the world in eternal passivity. He was safe. He was boring. And he was definitely sick.

His body was stiff in the backseat, legs splayed and knees bent awkwardly to accommodate the divider separating them from the driver. His pure white smock wrinkled against the cold black leather seat.

Clean, all of it.

Malva leaned over to better study her own reflection in the tinted divider. A beauty on the edge— audacious beauty teetering on the verge of ugliness. That was the only beauty worth pursuing.

Siebold awoke with a gasp and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. “Oh.”

Malva smirked, though he couldn't see it. “Welcome back.”

“Malva.” Siebold sniffled and shifted his hands so he could speak without uncovering his eyes. “I'm afraid you were right.”

Of course she was. And now she'd have to deal with his whining for the rest of the trip— for the rest of the day. She settled back, leaning away from Siebold as much as she could lest he grab onto her hands in a fit of passion. “Well, it's only closing ceremonies. You can handle a little speech, can't you?”

“Not just a speech,” Siebold moaned, and indeed listed to the side like he wanted to rest his head on her shoulder. Instead, he flopped against the armrest, rattling the untouched bottles of water in the cupholders. “There's the battle, too.”

Malva squinted. “Battle?” Had anyone said anything about a battle? Maybe she'd read the word somewhere on the informational flier before the flames had fully engulfed it…

“That's the grand finale.” Siebold looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. “You and me in a—” his breath hitched and he swallowed with visible discomfort— “in a glorious, 3v3 battle on the main stage. Ugh.”

Malva eyed him, flopping around on the armrest like a Magikarp. He really did look ill. Somewhere in the hours they'd been trapped in the car, his face had gone as pale as his smock. When he spoke, his consonants stuck together in the back of his palate, a sure sign of a dry mouth. “Drink some water.”

“Malvaaa.” Siebold, to his credit, heaved himself up and reached for one of the bottles. “What am I going to do?”

She turned away to look out the window. Red rock stretched out before her, reaching out toward a clear blue sky. “We're coming up on Coumarine City. I think you should beg me to buy you a to-go coffee from JavaJolt while you consult with a pharmacist.”

“Very well.” Siebold pressed the glass bottle, not to his lips, but to his forehead. “If I survive the trip.”

—

By the time they reached Coumarine, Siebold had gone red in the face and started to shiver and sniffle.

He got out of the car like every motion hurt him, and leaned against the door without shutting it. “I… I really don't feel well.”

Malva crossed her arms. The longer they spent here, the greater the chance she might just abandon the whole summer camp and check herself into the seaside spa for a day or three. “I can see a pharmacy right over your shoulder.” Siebold gave her a pathetic look under heavy lids before straightening up and shutting the door. Malva just stared at him. “Well?”

“Dearest Malva,” he began, and had to stop to cough. “Dearest, most esteemed Malva. Won't you please do me the favor of purchasing me the finest to-go swill from JavaJolt? I should be ever so grateful.”

She could keep pushing. But the sea breeze ruffled her braids and cooled the temper simmering under her sun-warmed skin, and Siebold truly did look like he was about to keel over. It was probably an act, at least partially— she'd seen him moved to tears over a hangnail. But she could hold the favor over him, maybe shame him into silence the next time he started whining.

“What's your order?” she asked, studying her fingernails.

“Oh, um.” He stifled a cough behind his lips and seemed to lose his patience for the game. He pressed a palm to his forehead and slumped against the car, smearing red dust up his sleeve. “I don't know. I don't— Whatever won't make me nauseous. Please.”

Malva gave him her best Holocaster smile. “As you wish, Duke Siebold.”

She turned her back to him and sauntered for the waterfront. Lysandre would drop dead if he ever saw her set foot in a JavaJolt. She'd have to send a gift card to the prison. One of the especially twee ones that featured the little Jolteon mascot making Baby-Doll Eyes up at nothing.

She pushed her way into the coffee shop's interior and walked straight up to the counter. Siebold needed espresso, a shot of DayQwil, and a gag over his mouth.

…Maybe she could withhold the coffee until they reached Shalour. A good dose of decongestant ought to knock him right out.

Something to consider.

—

Siebold slurred his way through his closing ceremonies speech, his JavaJolt cup held lazily in one hand. He leaned hard into the shaky wooden podium and didn't bother to swipe his hair out of his eyes when the wind blew it out of place.

He finished and Malva gave her own speech, shorter and absent of the cloying sentiments in Siebold's.

When it came time to battle, some of the drugged haze lifted from Siebold’s eyes. He leaned hard into his Type advantage, but— Right at the end, the color drained from his cheeks. He gave commands seconds too late, choked on his words, staggered.

It lost him the battle.

Malva smirked and crossed her arms, recalling Pyroar with a lazy motion. “And that’s precisely why a bad Type match-up isn't the lost cause you might think it is,” she said, turning to the crowd.

Dozens of bug-eyed kids clapped and cheered and stamped their feet in the grass. Malva curtseyed, and somewhere in the corner of her eye, caught the tell-tale white sweep of Siebold’s apron. He staggered down the steps at the side of the stage and ducked behind a wide oak tree, just out of sight of the kids. Clutching at the trunk, he doubled over like he was about to be sick. His complexion, white as ash, corroborated the conclusion. Malva grinned.

There was her ticket out of here. No more Camp Junior Genius, or whatever it was called. She took her time down the steps, subtly bypassed her seat, and reached Siebold just in time to watch him faceplant into the dirt.

Oh. Wonderful.

Siebold stirred a few seconds later, mumbling and clutching at his chest, and Malva shushed him, staring out at the lake with her tongue between her teeth.

She needed a fucking cigarette.

“No ambulance,” Siebold muttered. “Don’ wanna scare the kids…”

“I had no intention of calling an ambulance.” Malva flicked her lighter open and shut, open and shut.

“Mmh.”

Malva stared into the tiny flame. She'd have to get Siebold out of here somehow, and he clearly needed a doctor.

Below her, Siebold got to his knees and coughed, and burying his face in his arm barely muffled the sound.

“Get up.” Malva looked down at him, red-faced and teary-eyed, his apron all stained with dirt. With a sigh, she extended her hand. “Come on. Before you frighten the children.”

—

Six hours.

Six hours waiting in the emergency department of the Shalour City Hospital while Siebold sniveled and coughed and burned, six hours of corralling herself with threats of Diantha's lecturing if she left Siebold alone here. Six hours of torture, and now Siebold had cost her a night on the town.

He shivered beneath the blanket some nurse had brought him, appraising Malva with dark, narrow eyes. “I suppose you want to leave,” he said, not for the first time that evening.

Malva crossed her legs, settling back in the vinyl chair she occupied. “Diantha would have my head if I left you here alone.”

“I'm in good hands,” Siebold said. Malva looked around at all the nothing. No doctors, no nurses. Siebold alone with his IV and his fever of precisely 39°. He bristled. “It's a hospital.”

He stared at her under dark, heavy lids, eyes dull and face slack. The ugly fluorescents only washed him out further, tinted him chemical green and blanched the pink on his cheeks and eyes to a cold lavender.

Malva sat up, heat raging into her face. She'd spent all day babysitting Siebold, and this was the thanks he levied at her? A tepid declaration of freedom, only nine hours too late. “Here's how this is going to go,” he said, clenching her hands on the chair's plastic armrests. “I'm going to stay right here until you're cleared to leave. Diantha is not going to give me another lecture on ‘bettering myself’ and ‘paying my debt to society.’ And you are going to spend the entirety of your recovery coming up with a way to thank me. Understood?”

Siebold hiked his blanket further up his shoulders, shrinking back into himself. He nodded and swallowed thickly. “I— Yes. I understand. Thank you, Malva.”

She smiled sweetly at him, so wide her eyes scrunched up. “That's more like it.”

[demaparbat-hp]

Zuko drank in the sight of her because some part of him knew he wouldn't get another chance to do so.

She was the most glorious being he had ever seen.

Mother Wolf guides us to the end of something in For the Spirits Chapter X: Following Your Form.

What will the Southern Seas bring? What depths has she pushed us into?

[strawberryyyenthusiast]

Steve is Morticia and Eddie is Gomez, do not fight me on this.

Eddie quite literally falls first and falls harder, immediately becoming obsessed with Steve. He brings him gifts, greets him with an exuberant amount of kisses each time he sees him, looks at him with so much adoration in his eyes that everyone feels like they are interrupting a private moment.

Steve warmed up to Eddie after a few days. It took him a bit but then he became extremely devoted to Eddie. He calls him the strangest pet names and accepts the quirkier side of himself once he lets himself fall into love with Eddie. He begins to wear flowy clothing and when he sees Eddie approach, he presents his neck or arm as an invitation for Eddie to place his lips on his skin.

They sit on each other’s laps interchangeably, share food from one another’s plates, and practically agree on everything. They may fight, but the aftermath only lasts for minutes at best before they are rushing back to one another, missing the presence of their other halves.

They share blood and clothing and help the other get dressed. The little things that other people, different people, wouldn’t think to do. Steve and Eddie need to be close to each other in every way possible.

Steve even wears an intricate golden locket around his neck everyday that has a lock of Eddie’s hair in it, while Eddie has Steve’s name tattooed across his chest.

When they die on the same day, five minutes apart, they are buried together in a joint coffin, holding hands, in a desolate cemetery in the middle of nowhere. Maybe one day, someone might stumble across their grave and be able to witness the greatness of their love, even after death.

[hajimeseyo]

You're staring, Izana notices. 

He has no idea who you are, really, but you've been trying (and obviously failing) to sneak subtle glances at him the entire time since he stepped into the convenience store. It's starting to throw him off, just a little. For all he knows, you could be a spy from an opposing gang. Not a very good one, though. 

Your gaze follows him as he walks towards the cashier and pays, and even as he walks towards the exit, plastic bags in hand. He pays it no mind as he feels it shift off him, the sound of the cashier greeting you the last thing he hears as he steps outside the store. 

It didn't seem like you were going to pick a fight with him, he might as well just leave it be. 

Besides, any gang that dared to come after Tenjiku would just be mercilessly crushed under his heel. A spy or two wouldn't change that fact.

The clouds above him rumble, dark and heavy, and he frowns, looking up at the cloudy sky. It would be a pain in the ass if it rained while he was in the middle of walking home. Maybe he could call Kakucho to pick him up. Or he could just buy an umbrella from the store right behind him…

The sound of footsteps snap him out of his thoughts, and he glances to the side to see you, head lowered and lips mouthing numbers as you take inventory of the things in your plastic bag. You don't seem to have noticed him, he notes in amusement.

His theory proves true when you look up, done from counting, and nearly jump at the sight of him staring straight at you. Your eyes are wide, the way you freeze reminding him of a prey caught by its hunter, and he can't stop himself from having a little fun. 

“You were staring at me quite a lot earlier, huh?” He says, relishing in the way your face flushes with embarrassment, and the way you instantly try (and fail) to school it into a look of nonchalance. “Is there a problem?”

You cough awkwardly, eyes suddenly unable to look at him despite being fully glued onto him just minutes ago. Izana watches you squirm, all too used to these shows of discomfort. Based on most of his past interactions, you'll probably come up with some lame excuse on why you were staring at him, then take the first opportunity you have to run away. Or get defensive, and aggressively deny you were doing anything of the sort. People always act the same when confronted with their actions. Izana's used to the same old song and dance. 

He wonders which route you’ll take.

To his surprise, you take neither of them. 

You seem to come to a decision, gaze snapping up to him, nervous but suddenly full of what seems like determination.

“There's no problem, I was just staring because–” You falter a little here, cheeks reddening a little again, before you pull yourself together with a quick shake of the head. “Because, well…your eyes.”

“Hm?” That response certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. “What about them?”

“They're beautiful.”

The words are said so plainly, without a trace of any doubt, and Izana is shocked speechless. 

While he doesn't deny that he's good looking, the word ‘beautiful’ and any part of him have never been together in the same sentence before. That he's heard of, at least. Even if any of his subordinates had the guts to consider him ‘beautiful’, they definitely wouldn’t have the guts to say it to his face. Granted, you probably don’t have any idea who he is, but still. This is definitely a first.

(And even so, the thought that something about him could be beautiful was something that had never occurred to him.)

“...Really?” The words come out in a whisper before he could stop himself.

You nod vigorously, and once again Izana is thrown off by the fact that it's something you're so sure of. As if the thought of it being untrue has never even crossed your mind.

His response seems to appear to you as an invitation to talk more, as you continue speaking, hesitation fading away with each word that comes out of your mouth. “They're just such a beautiful shade of purple, like amethysts. I've never seen anything like it before. And paired with your long white eyelashes and white hair, you look like someone's painting came to life.”

"I don't know if anyone's told you before, but you're really a sight to behold."

There's a light, pleasant feeling in his chest.

He doesn't know what it is. 

“Ah!” You suddenly slap your hands over your mouth. “I spoke too much! God, I must've sounded like a creep, I'm so sorry–”

A laugh cuts you off from your panicked rambling. Izana doesn't quite know why he's laughing, but seeing you panicking over saying the wrong things despite being fully shameless literally right before just seemed so funny, and well, there's such a nice warmth in his chest; indulging in it doesn't hurt, right?

(He doesn’t notice the stars in your eyes as you stare, almost in awe, at his laughing visage.)

“What’s your name?” You’re interesting, he’s decided. It would be a shame to let you just slip away.

“[name].”

He lets out a hum. “[name], huh…got it.” 

“Wait.” You call out to him, just as he turns and begins to walk away. “What’s yours?”

He doesn’t notice, but as he turns back, there’s a genuine, serene smile on his face that would’ve shocked even the noisiest Haitani twins into silence at seeing it on the face of the highly feared leader of Tenjiku.

“Izana. Don’t forget it.”

(He’s scolded nonstop by Kakucho when he shows up at home, soaking wet from the heavy downpour outside.

“It’s not like you to be so careless.” Kakucho huffs, drying his hair roughly with all the fierceness of an Asian mom. “You knew it was going to start raining on your way back, why didn’t you just call for one of us to get you from the store?”

Izana hums unconcernedly. “I was already walking away from the store, I couldn’t just stop and turn back.”

“Huh?? Why the hell not??”

“Don’t be stupid, Kakucho. I would’ve looked so uncool.”

“??????”)

(part 2 here!)

[theetherealbloom]

CLOSE TO YOU

Summary: A commute crush turned meet cute with Pedro Pascal

Paring: Pedro Pascal x Fem!Reader

Warnings: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, Commute Crush, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Meet-Cute, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Alcohol, Club/Bar Setting

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Happy Close To You release day! I’ve waited for this song since 2018 LMAO. Usually, I don’t write about real-life people, but I really can’t help it since this song is SO Pedro Pascal-coded. Just know that this is fictional and if this isn’t for you, you don’t have to read it! Keep scrolling :> And for those who stay to read this delusion of a fic, hey girlieeee I see you <3 

P.S. I’ll be doing a bunch of fics related to Gracie’s new album that comes out next week!

Song: Close To You by Gracie Abrams

| Main Masterlist |

It all began as a harmless crush on your morning commute. The New York subway was your daily stage, a bustling backdrop as you headed to meet a client. As a social media coordinator, your days revolved around managing high-profile partnerships, coordinating with celebrities and Instagram influencers to craft campaigns that seamlessly blended their brands with consumer appeal. 

But today was different. And of course, you recognized him. 

You noticed him immediately – Pedro Pascal, seated right in front of you. Lost in his book, with a iced quad espresso in a venti cup with extra ice and six shots cradled in his hand, he exuded an effortless charm. His dark, curly hair framed those whisky eyes that glanced up and met yours. Just for a second, you were frozen in time, captivated by his gaze. You quickly looked away, not wanting to seem rude, yet feeling the familiar flutter of a crush brewing.

Did he smile? You swore he did, and your heart skipped a beat. The train doors opened, announcing your stop. Reluctantly, you stepped off, joining the throng of commuters spilling onto the platform. As you ascended the steps, the city's vibrant energy washed over you, but your mind was elsewhere.

Walking towards the restaurant for your client meeting, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. The way his presence ignited a spark within you, a longing that seemed almost irrational. Here you were, burning for a man who didn't even know your name. And yet, in the anonymity of the subway, a fleeting connection had stirred something deep inside you.

It had been a few weeks since that subway encounter, the memory of Pedro Pascal’s whisky eyes lingering in your mind. In the meantime, you had started managing social media for Sarah Paulson, whose busy schedule had her juggling multiple projects and interviews.

Sarah's latest project, a Broadway play titled Appropriate, was garnering critical acclaim and several award nominations. Your job was to promote her involvement, ensuring every post captured the essence of her talent and the play’s success. Though you hadn't been working with her long, you were pleasantly surprised when she invited you to watch one of her performances.

That night, you arrived early at the Belasco Theatre, adorned in your favorite long dress and practical flats, mindful of the commute back to your apartment. Ushered to a seat close to the front, you settled into the plush red velvet, feeling a mix of excitement and anticipation. As the audience trickled in, you busied yourself with casual texts to friends before putting your phone away, taking in the theatre's intricate architecture and the stage's grandeur.

Moments later, an usher guided someone to the seat next to you. Curiosity made you glance to your right, and there he was—Pedro Pascal, settling in beside you. Your eyes widened in recognition before you quickly looked away, a quiet panic bubbling in your stomach and tightening your chest. You fidgeted with your fingers, a nervous habit, trying to quell the flurry of emotions and resist the urge to stare.

As the house lights dimmed and the show began, you couldn’t help but steal occasional glances at him. The man who had unknowingly captured your heart was now mere inches away. The performance on stage was captivating, but you found yourself equally entranced by the man sitting next to you. In the soft glow of the theatre lights, you wondered if he remembered that brief moment on the subway, and if fate had just given you a second chance to connect.

When the show ended and the cast took their bows, the theatre erupted in applause. Pedro, sitting right next to you, cheered loudly when Sarah stood with the rest of the cast on stage. His genuine enthusiasm for his friend made you smile, and as you glanced at him, he looked down at you with a radiant grin. 

Your heart raced, and for a moment, you felt a concrete connection that was almost tangible. Both of you opened your mouths to speak, but just then, an usher cleared their throat, drawing your attention.

“Mr. Pascal, Sarah Paulson is asking for you backstage… if you would follow me, please,” the usher said, causing Pedro to hesitate, torn between staying with you and fulfilling his friend's request.

“Uh,” Pedro began, glancing between you and the usher. Seeing his dilemma, you made the decision for him. Gathering your things, you offered a polite smile to both Pedro and the starstruck usher.

As Pedro glanced back at the usher, you seized the moment to make your getaway. You might have heard him call out, "Wait!" but you didn't stop. Stepping out onto the bustling street, the city lights of Broadway twinkled around you, a stark contrast to the growing ache in your heart.

The possibility of what might have been gnawed at you, the fleeting connection slipping through your fingers. A voice in the back of your mind echoed doubts, whispering that you didn't quite belong in this world of beautiful, glamorous people. You tried to shake off the feeling, but the bittersweet sting lingered.

You begin to walk away from the theatre, weaving through the crowd lined up for autographs by the backstage door. Just as you're about to cross the street to catch your subway, your phone vibrates in your clutch. Stepping aside, you see Sarah Paulson’s name flashing on the screen.

Shit. 

You quickly answer, praying your voice doesn't betray your nerves. "Hello?"

"Hey!" Sarah's voice is warm and enthusiastic. "How are you? Did you enjoy the show?"

"Yeah, I did! You were absolutely incredible," you say, offering genuine praise and shifting your weight to your other leg.

"Thank you so much! Oh, where are you right now? Are you still nearby? I had told the usher to bring you backstage with Pedro, but it seems like they forgot."

"Oh, um, yeah, I'm near the backstage door," you reply, glancing at the crowd still waiting for autographs.

"Perfect! Some of us are going out for drinks later, and you are welcome to join us!" Sarah’s excitement is infectious.

You stammer, "Uh, I..."

"It'll be great! I promise. I'll introduce you to everyone. You're my best social media manager by far."

Taking a deep breath, you muster, "Okay, yeah, I'd love to come."

"Great! I'll send you the address of where we're headed. We'll meet you there!" Sarah says, her smile practically audible.

"Alright, see you soon." You end the call with a click, clutching your phone tightly as you take another deep breath to steady your nerves and keep the world from spinning.

A ping alerts you to a new message. Glancing at the notification, you read the address and know exactly where to go. With a mixture of excitement and anxiety, you put away your phone and head towards the bar, the city's lights guiding your way.

It took you a while to figure out how to get there, but eventually, you arrive at the bar. As you step inside, a warm hum fills your body, the lights and the pulse of music thrumming through the room. The smoky, dark atmosphere feels electric, bodies moving in a rhythm that seems to make the air itself burn. 

Under the soft pink light, everything seems slightly surreal, yet oddly perfect. You spot Sarah, who immediately pulls you into a warm hug, which you happily accept. As you exchange pleasantries near their table, you feel at ease, enjoying the camaraderie. 

Then, suddenly, you sense a shift. You glance up and see Pedro looking right back at you. Your heart skips a beat as your eyes meet, and in that instant, the crowded room seems to fade away. 

There he is, the man who had unknowingly captured your heart, his gaze steady and intense. As Sarah guides you over to introduce the rest of her friends, castmates, and of course, Pedro, you feel a pull between the two of you.

You muster the courage to speak, telling him your name, and even through the loud speakers and endless chatter, you hear him say your name with a breathless relief. Finally meeting the mystery girl he saw on the subway seems to have stirred something within him.

When you shake hands, there's a lingering touch, a silent acknowledgment of the connection between you. You can't help but duck your head a little, feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze. 

"Nice to finally meet you," Pedro says, his voice soft yet filled with warmth.

"Likewise," you reply, your own voice tinged with a hint of nervousness.

In that brief exchange, you both sense something unspoken, a silent understanding that this meeting is more than just chance. And as the night unfolds, amidst the laughter and music, you find yourself drawn to him, unable to resist the magnetic pull of fate.

As Sarah goes to mingle with the rest of the group, you both stand there, caught in a moment suspended in time. The air crackles with anticipation, and you can't shake the feeling that if you asked him to, he'd give up everything just to be close to you.

"You have a way of lighting up a room," he says, his voice low and full of sincerity as he leans in closer.

A blush creeps up your cheeks at his words, and you find yourself smiling despite yourself. "And you have a way of making me feel like I'm the only one in it," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the night wears on, you find yourself completely enchanted by Pedro. His easy charm and quick wit captivate you, and it's as if the two of you are in your own little world, separate from the chaos of the club.

He tells you stories about his acting career and his passion for music. You share your dreams and aspirations, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence that you've never experienced with anyone before.

Throughout the night, there are moments where your hands brush against each other or your eyes meet in a lingering gaze. Each time it happens, a spark of electricity shoots through your body, igniting a fire within you.

At one point, he leans in closer to whisper in your ear over the loud music. "I have a confession to make," he says, his warm breath tickling your skin.

You turn to face him, your heart racing with anticipation.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a delightful shiver down your spine. "I can't deny that you've caught my attention since the moment I saw you on the subway."

The admission sends your heart racing, and you can't help but feel a surge of boldness. "Funny, because you've been on my mind ever since," you confess, meeting his gaze with newfound confidence.

His eyes light up with a mixture of surprise and delight, and you can't help but be drawn to the way his lips curl into a playful smirk. "Is that so?" he teases, his voice a low, husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod, feeling a rush of exhilaration coursing through your veins. "Absolutely," you reply, unable to tear your gaze away from his captivating stare.

Before you can say another word, he takes a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a dance choreographed just for the two of you. Your breath catches in your throat as his hand brushes against your neck, sending tingles of anticipation racing across your skin.

And then, in a moment that feels like it's been plucked straight from a romance film, his lips meet yours in a soft, tender kiss. Time seems to stand still as you melt into his embrace, the world around you fading away until there's nothing left but the two of you.

As you pull away, breathless and exhilarated, a sense of euphoria washes over you, like a chemical override in ultraviolet. "I just wanna be close to you," he murmurs, his words sending a thrill through your entire being. A smile dances at the corners of your lips as you revel in the electric connection between you.

"And you could be mine tonight," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, the words tinged with a hint of playful flirtation.

He chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with affection as he leans in closer. "I think I could get used to being yours," he says, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity, melting away any lingering doubts or fears.

He can't wait to fall in love with you.

[mymercyprevailss]

[mischievous-thunder]

Wade and Logan x In Another Universe quotes:

[noxemma]

I'm sure this has already been done, but I was rewatching Two Towers and I could not unsee the parallels of Aragorn trying to return Arwen's necklace and the mix tape scene from 12x19 🫠

[pencilofawesomeness]

Fairy Tail Platonic Week: Day 5 [Prompt: Injury, “Nobody hurts my friends”]

(and the scar prompt if you count how I draw Erza but that is less than intentional lol). For @ft-platonicweek

Erza and Natsu have such a great dynamic, in this sort of murky water between friends who share a braincell and Erza taking on the scary older sister role. Natsu having his first real on screen breakdown when Erza got hurt/almost died in the Tower of Heaven arc did something to my brain so it was time to reverse the situation. ahaha. I don't have full context to this other than what I imagined whilst drawing it, but let's say Erza is rightfully pissed and wearing her ass-kicking clothes for a reason. True friends can be feral together and feral for the sake of each other—one of my favorite dynamics :)

[isolated-ink]

Take me where the forest meets the ocean

In her mind, she could almost see him. A figure in the shadows, watching her with quiet, steady eyes. There was something about him that felt safe, yet dangerous all at once. Not the kind of danger that would hurt her, but the kind that came from carrying his own pain, his own battles. His presence felt like a warm fire on a cold night—comforting, but with a power she couldn’t ignore.

She imagined the way he’d hold her, not to keep her trapped but to remind her she wasn’t alone. He wouldn’t need grand words or promises; his actions would speak for him. A warm hand on hers, a hug that lasted just long enough to chase the shadows away. Even in silence, she would feel it: “I’m here. I see you.”

But she couldn’t ignore the darkness in him, either. It wasn’t cruel or selfish—it was the kind of darkness that came from surviving hard things, the same kind she carried in herself. It scared her a little, but it also made her feel less alone.

[sen-ya]

part 6/7

can u guess at which point I rewrote this a few months after the fact lmao

[op comic masterpost]

[pg1]

no dialogue

[pg2]

panel 2:

Note (from Law): I've been thinking of my parents a lot these last few weeks. Thinking of Lami. Those happy days I got with them. At first I thought I was even considering this because I might catch a glimpse of them in our kid, and that's a piss poor justification for having a baby. But what I've realized this week is I'm not just nostalgic for a family I've lost. Lu-ya, I'm enamored by the idea of enjoying that comfort with you. (the note trails off, continuing down the entire page)

panel 3:

Luffy: You got a lotta words here, Tra--

panel 4:

Luffy: Oh, shit. I said the wrong thing, didn't I?

panel 7:

Law: ...No, we said the same thing.

[pg3]

panel 8:

Law: So we're doing this.

Luffy: Guess so

panel 9:

Law: We're doing this. Fuck. I'm doing this.

panel 10:

Law: When did I get as stupid as you?? This is gonna suck so fucking much!

panel 11:

Luffy: If you're not gonna be okay then I'm changing my answer.

Law: I've done worse for less.

Luffy: I don't like that.

Law: We're decided, alright?

[pg4]

panel 12:

Law: I'll be uncomfortable for awhile. What else is new? I can handle it.

panel 14:

Luffy: Fine.

Law: Heh.

[pg5]

panel 15:

Law: Sigh. I should probably talk to Kaya-ya again. I don't think I actually had to stop my SSRI at least...

panel 17:

Luffy: Did you say again?!

Law (speaking over him): Oh, no.

Luffy: You told Kaya?!

Law: It was a...m-medical consultation!!

Luffy (speaking over him): So I can tell my whole crew?!

Law (speaking over him): That is an entirely different conversation that I will not be having right now.

[ethereousdelirious]

I'm BACK

Here's (nearly) 3k of sickly rat man E.lias B.ouchard

With special guest appearances by J.onah M.agnus and B.arnabas Be.nnett 👀

Set in S2 with heavy spoilers for S4

Peter had a bloodhound’s nose for suffering— Elias’ suffering. If he wasn't the one to cause it, he was sure to be the one to make it worse, to revel in it. Oh, yes, he'd dote and smother, fret and fuss, all of it with that insufferable grin on his face.

“Ih'tshuh!” Elias kept his eyes shut, scrubbing away the itch from strands of pomaded hair that had long since broken loose.

And, as though Elias’ misery had reached a threshold that had summoned him, Peter answered: “Bless you, dearest.”

“Ugh.” Keeping his face buried in his hands, Elias leaned forward until his forehead touched his laptop. The edge of his desk dug into his stomach, the newest entry in a list of discomforts that had begun with a sore throat that morning and lengthened gradually throughout the day.

Peter's shuffling footsteps made the floor creak and when he spoke again, his voice came closer. “Not feeling well, are we?”

Elias peered through a gap in his fingers to give the Beholder some quarter. Peter, of course, had no immediate designs on his life, but it never hurt to be thorough.

When he failed to answer, Peter rested a hand on his back and gave a low whistle. “You know what you've got?”

“One person too many in my office,” Elias said into his palms, peering over the tips of his fingers to better glare at Peter. The light from his laptop stabbed into his eyes, sending a spike of nausea downward from his temples.

“A fever,” Peter replied. The thin gloss of concern in his voice only put a shine on the sadistic glee beneath it.

Elias’ sinuses burned. He took a tremulous breath through his mouth to no avail. “Aht'sch! Eh'kscuh!”

He had to curl in on himself to keep from slamming his forehead into his laptop (oh, Peter would have just loved to witness that), and the subsequent ache ran around his ribs and down his back and made him shudder. No, he didn't need Peter's insight, nor the Beholding's, to know that he was running a temperature. The body aches and chills were proof enough.

Peter cocked his head as Elias reached for the box of tissues Rosie had discreetly delivered him earlier in the day. “Don't tell me you've lost your voice now?” he asked hopefully, and then laughed. “Wait, you couldn't!”

“Do you need something?” Elias asked finally, satisfying himself with the social faux pas of blowing his nose without leaving the room. His voice came thin and pinched, exhausted despite his best attempt at some bravado.

“Yes,” Peter said, smiling broadly, “but it appears I'm so overcome with concern for you, my dear friend, that I've entirely forgotten what it was.”

“I don't have time for this.” Elias turned his blurry gaze back to his laptop, where a disordered spreadsheet awaited him.

Peter was quiet for a few blessed moments, allowing Elias to paw through a pile of receipts and expense reports, most of which bore Tim's handwriting— deliberately messy, oftentimes completely incomprehensible.

But Peter's presence, quiet though he was, kept Elias' shoulders tense, his brow furrowed. Whatever Peter's game was, he had no patience for it, and yet, there was no escape.

“Ehk'tSCH!”

“And I suppose reimbursements can't wait a few days,” Peter said mildly, handing Elias a tissue.

“No, Peter, they can't.” Elias scrubbed his nose without any regard for the irritated skin above his lip. “If I submit these late, then Tim will know his efforts to delay me have succeeded, and I simply can't reward his childish outbursts with even a hint of success or he'll— Ah.” A burn ran through Elias’ nose, breaths teasing the back of his throat.

“Oh, don't leave me in suspense now.”

“EHT'SCHUH!”

“Bl—”

“Don't.” Elias fixed Peter with a watery glare, shoving the tissue so hard to his nose that it hurt. “He’ll devote all his efforts to annoying me, and I can't have that.”

Peter leaned in, wrinkling his greatcoat against the edge of Elias’ heavy wooden desk, and pressed the back of his hand to Elias’ forehead. His pale eyes glimmered with some faint amusement. “You're missing something rather obvious, you know.”

Jonah Magnus, James Wright, Elias Bouchard. All the sort of cool-blooded men who paled when they got angry, who trembled with it and spoke very softly.

Normally.

All the blood rushed into Elias’ face, supplementing the fever pressing insistently against Peter's hand. “Do forgive me,” he said with venom, scowling at his spreadsheet, “Rosie neglected to inform me I hired you as an advisor.”

“Oh, don't be like that.” Peter withdrew his hand and Elias’ whole body shivered at the loss of contact and it hurt, ached in all his joints and made his head throb. “I'll even tell you what it is… for a price.”

“Peter— hh'ekSCHUH!” Hot tears streamed down Elias’ cheeks, irritating his feverish skin. Worse than the discomfort, he hadn't managed to duck away, and now a wash of droplets made rainbows on his laptop monitor. Disgusting… “What is it?” he asked stiffly. The lack of Beholding buzzed somewhere deep inside himself, teaming up with his headache and congestion to make his head spin. Feed and be fed… And Elias bore witness to only his own display of misery. Such paltry melodramas were of no interest to the Eye.

Peter laughed. “I hope that wasn't an attempt to compel me! I didn't feel a thing.”

Whether it was, Elias couldn't say. “Peter.”

He was a man who could eat a loss no matter how bad it tasted, who knew the value of biding his time. Still, it stung, somewhere deep beneath the misery and feverish confusion, beneath the headache and the burn in his sinuses.

He reached out with a shaking hand and shut his laptop, dirtied screen and all. His eyes watered, spilling yet more tears down his cheeks. “What's your condition?” he asked, face pressed to his handkerchief.

He'd rendered himself all but powerless for the moment, burying mouth, nose, and eyes into the gray cotton. A shudder ran through him at the emptiness and he forced himself to peer over the top of the handkerchief. Unlikely as it was that Peter had wanted him dead (at the moment), there was no point being careless.

Peter, for his part, stood as benignly as ever. Anyone would have thought him a kindly old fisherman, save for the uncanny hunger evident in that smiling mouth. “Isn't it obvious?” he asked, and chuckled gently, as though Elias’ sniveling was as endearing as the antics of a beloved grandchild. “I am terribly worried about you, my friend. But I know, I know—” here, he raised his hands in apparent surrender— “you have such a hard time accepting help. But I insist, you simply must let me look after you in this time of weakness.”

“Eager to play the voyeur, are we?” Elias said into his handkerchief. It had already grown damp and clammy with fever-sweat and the run-off from his tortured nose, and he couldn't help the shivers that ran down his spine.

And Peter smiled.

Elias made a last effort to claim the information from Peter's psyche, but all he earned for his efforts was a wave of giddiness. Peter gave no indication that he'd even felt the attempt. “Well?”

“If you're so eager to p-play nursemaid—” A tickle flared in his sinuses and retreated, eliciting a gasp. “Oh, for God's s— AHK'KSTCH! Dammit…” Sweat ran freely down his temples and hair hung in his face and his tie pressed on the base of his neck and his suit clung to him— yes, he was in a real fever now, perhaps the worst he'd ever had away from the comparative safety of a sickbed. “Nnh— just… tell me.” He couldn't draw a full breath; his heart raced. “Please.”

“You are in a bad way.” Peter laughed quietly. “Just call out sick.”

A large chunk of Elias’ psyche crashed to the floor, sending spiderweb cracks running through a few of the pillars holding up his self-control. He stared dully at Peter as the fever worked its way through him and his thoughts struggled to move through the oppressive heat.

Strategically… it wasn't the worst move. It was generally better to be underestimated than overestimated. Although, he'd have to find a way to keep tabs on Jon.

Well, when all the paths forward were excruciating, he might as well choose the one that allowed him to go to bed in the foreseeable future.

—

The chill air of the Archive bit into his skin, drawing shivers down the length of his body. Still, he kept his arms by his sides, clinging to his last scrap of dignity. Peter had helpfully angled him toward a mirror before steering him toward the Archives, and there had been nothing for Elias to do but slick his hair back (though his pomade had long since lost its grip) and carry on.

He could do nothing to mitigate his pallor or the deep, irritated pink of his nostrils, nothing to correct the dark circles under his eyes or the seams of blood on his chapped lips.

But he could keep from curling in on himself like some defeated, helpless little mortal. And so he strode down the hallway, with the fluorescents burning his eyes and shivers rippling the muscles of his back.

Rounding a corner, he found Tim and Jon staring at each other like alley cats, both of them stiff, defensive.

When he came within earshot, something struck him hard across the back, forcing an expulsion of air from his lungs that turned into a coughing fit.

The distinctive buzz, sticky salt on his skin, foreign-foreign-foreign skimmed across his psyche— No doubt Peter thought he was being clever.

“Er…” Jon's voice. But what was he… Dammit, why couldn't he just see? “Elias?”

“Jon…” Elias choked. Somehow his forearm had found the wall. He straightened up with a pang of discomfort that echoed through his entire body. “Tim.”

“Did you need something?” Tim asked, unimpressed as ever. “Or did you just come down to give us all the spooky flu?”

Slipping into the dimwitted persona of Elias Bouchard took less effort than he'd feared. “I just came down to tell you…” Ah, and just when he thought he couldn't possibly feel any worse, a wave of dizziness passed over him: not vertigo, but the dangerous, stomach-turning giddiness that always accompanied a fainting spell. “I'm not feeling well. I've come down with something and I'm going home for the day.”

“Really?” Jon asked.

“You don't have to sound so surprised, Jon.”

“Just… didn't think that was something that could happen to you.”

“Well, it is and it has,” Elias said stiffly. Frantic breaths washed over his cracked lips and the world began to gray at the edges. He stumbled back and hit something solid, and Peter’s fingertips dug into his shoulders.

“Huh!” Tim snickered, making no effort to keep his amusement hidden. “Best wishes for the recovery you deserve.” He turned to go, leaving Jon staring down Elias in apparent fascination.

Peter's hands burned on his shoulders, contrasted by the damp chill of the Lonely on his back. Sweat or condensation stuck to the back of his neck and a few icy droplets snaked beneath his collar.

Beneath it all, the strength of Elias’ patron kept him upright. He hadn't been abandoned, no, but he couldn't reach it, either. All he had was his foundation, and the feverish tremors running through him threatened the stability of even that small comfort with every passing moment.

“Jon.” Elias sighed, projecting stuffed-shirt exasperation as well as he could. “I haven't lied to you yet. This would be an awfully stupid place to start.”

“Right.” Jon straightened, still examining Elias curiously. “Well, ah. I hope you feel better soon. I suppose.”

The image of him faded as he walked away and the Lonely’s rushing waves grew louder and louder in his ears…

“My dear Jonah…” Barnabas. Fingers in his damp curls. “I came as fast as I could when I heard of your condition.”

Jonah opened his eyes. Barnabas’ blurry face greeted him, dark at the edges except for where the candlelight lit his features in shades of yellow. “You…” was all he could manage before he started to cough.

“Oh, don't speak, Jonah. Just rest, please.” Barnabas reached for him again, ran his fingers down the side of Jonah's face.

With his eyes slipping shut, Jonah forced his hand up from under the covers, intertwined his fingers with Barnabas’.

If he had to be ill, at least he was in good company.

When Elias opened his eyes (Jonah's eyes), it was Peter who greeted him. He sat a few feet away from the bedside with an ear-to-ear smile that spelled nothing but misfortune. Whatever had kept him from killing Elias, be it fondness or pragmatism, contained no hint of Barnabas’ tender concern all those years ago.

He hadn't propped Elias’ head up, either, and pain spread out through his tortured sinuses, culminating inevitably: “ik'STCH! HK'TSCHUH! HH'ETSCH!” He curled in on himself, driving himself upward, out of bed, knees buckling.

“Elias, Elias.” Peter caught him and sat him on the edge of the bed, leaving him to nurse a running nose by sniffling and hoping for the best. “Stay in bed. You're very ill, you know.”

Peter—”

“Just tell me what you need and I'll fetch it for you.”

“Anything you desire, Jonah, I'll get it for you. Any book, any diversion. Anything.”

Elias sniffled and fixed him with a baleful look, but there was no getting around it. Even just sitting here, his head spun and his heart pounded. “...tissues.”

“Oh.” Peter’s smile sharpened, his eyes turning colder. “You can do better than that.”

Elias sniffed. “Will the great and magnanimous Peter Lukas please fetch me some tissues?”

“I'm not sure I like ‘magnanimous,’” Peter said thoughtfully, but he got up anyway. From outside the room, he shouted, “Maybe ‘his Loneliness’.”

Slowly, painfully, Elias got back in bed. His head throbbed with every slight motion. He stacked the pillows clumsily and fell back against them.

“Look at this, Jonah.” Barnabas opened his handkerchief to reveal an orange, peeled and sliced. “Please share it with me. You know they're terribly tart; I can never eat the whole thing by myself.”

Jonah’s fever had only just broken that morning, but he managed to sit himself up without assistance.

His hands shook, though, and Barnabas pressed an orange slice to his lips for him. Sweet liquid trickled down Barnabas’ fingertips and Jonah chased it with his tongue.

“Here we are!” Peter's bulk filled the doorway. He'd taken off his greatcoat to reveal a thick sweater mottled with oil stains. Of more interest was the tissue box in his hand, which he flung carelessly in Elias’ direction.

“Thank you,” Elias said drily, promptly burying his nose in a handful. He blew his nose, propriety be damned, and fell back against the pillows. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

“I gathered that.”

Peter sat on the edge of the bed and rested his palm on Elias’ forehead, clearly enjoying the mockery of domesticity. “That little Archivist of yours rounded the corner and your legs went out. I caught you of course, and I took you home. But, you know, it was the funniest thing. I got turned around on my way to the front door, and I'm afraid a fair few of your employees saw me carrying you.” Peter ruffled Elias' hair, smiling down at him.

He could have shifted his hand a few inches, wrapped it around Elias’ exposed throat, pinned him there.

He could have taken a pillow, held it against Elias’ face.

He could have done any number of things and might at any moment, and for all Elias knew, the only thing keeping him at bay was the promise of mutually assured destruction.

“I'm going to try to sleep now,” Elias said primly. “I suggest you leave me to it.”

If Peter was disappointed at Elias’ lack of reaction, he didn't show it. He nodded shortly and stood up. “I'm sure I'll find a way to occupy myself.”

Barnabas’ hair stood up at odd angles, the obvious product of many a long night awake at Jonah's bedside. But his weary smile was as genuine as any Jonah had ever known, and tears glimmered in his eyes despite it. “I was terribly worried about you, my dear Jonah. When I received word that you'd collapsed, I nearly wept.”

Jonah was already slipping back toward sleep, but he offered Barnabas a smile even as his eyes slipped shut. “...glad you're here.”

That kind of naive trust was far behind him now. He’d shed all that childishness in pursuit of greater things. There was no point in missing it.

In missing him.

Jonah Magnus had made his bed. All he could do now was lie in it.

[mothinabottle]

Possessive woman 😮

Whenever I think of fem! Syd, especially when it's the yandere Syd, I think of Chae Yuri design wise

Bonus commentary of the day: Women are pretty, I like those who are a bit unhinged or really strong. Maybe that's why I also adore Maki Zenin, Akali or Reze

I've also been thinking that I might need more mutuals, as I barely know ppl who play DoL. Oh, well, too shy for that ;;

[glitterrosesnzz]

intolerable

well,, it's late but at least i got it done faster than i did the last time!! w/anderer b-day fic is a go-

word count: 3k

The Wanderer discreetly separated himself from the rest of the party, harshly rubbing at his nose as he stepped out onto the much quieter balcony. He eyed the flowers that had been tied around the balcony’s rails with distaste, then let out a sigh. 

For the past week people had been preparing for the Dendro Archon’s birthday, stringing up decorations left and right. In the Wanderer’s opinion, they’d severely overdone it. Especially with the flowers. The pollen levels in the city had been intolerable for the past few days, and was borderline unbearable now that Nahida’s actual birthday was in full swing. 

Not that he was going to actively complain about it. The birthday girl herself seemed quite pleased with everything, after all. 

The Wanderer wasn’t having a good time though, that was for sure. 

Hell, it was to the point where he’d even gone through the trouble of sneaking into the Akademiya Nurse’s office and stealing some allergy pills this morning. Normally he wouldn’t bother, as most medications didn’t have a very strong effect on him anymore, but today was just- 

“Hh’IShKiu!!” The sneeze snuck up on him too fast for him to even attempt to stop it. The resulting burst of anemo rustled the nearby decorations, and he quickly stifled the following sneeze into silence. 

“Oh, there you are!” 

The Wanderer stiffened, lowering his hand away from his face as fast as he could. Sethos hurried over to him, stopping just inches away from him. Way too close. The Wanderer took half a step back, not that Sethos seemed to notice. 

“I was wondering where you went.” Sethos said, “Was the party getting too loud for you?” 

“...I simply had my fill of putting up with those annoyances.” 

“Sure sure sure. Well, do you mind if I stay out here with you until you feel like going back in?” 

“And what, exactly, makes you think I plan on going back in there?” 

“...The fact you haven’t left yet?” Sethos tilted his head to the side with an innocent smile on his face. “Normally when you’re really done with people you vanish entirely, but you’re still here, so…” 

…Sometimes the Wanderer really hated how easily Sethos seemed to understand him. He avoided eye contact, looking out at the night sky, and thus missed the moment when Sethos’ expression shifted to one of slight concern. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Sethos asked. 

“...Fine.” The Wanderer glanced back at him, nervousness striking him as he registered the look on Sethos’ face. “Why would you even ask?” 

“You keep uh…” Sethos mimed rubbing at his nose with one hand, and the Wanderer abruptly realized that, oh, he was doing that. 

He lowered his hand away from his face again, but unfortunately that had the consequence of- 

“Hihh-” The Wanderer turned away, tilting his hat down to hide his face better as he- “Hh’nNxtii!! Heh- hiH’xNtiu!! Hh… hHN’xTii!! Hh’INkshiu!!” 

The wind blew strong enough to knock some of the flower decorations off the railing, sending them fluttering down to the ground below. Sethos looked down at them, and then back at the Wanderer, who was still turned away. 

“...Hat Guy, are you-” 

“I’m leaving.” 

“Wh- hey, wait!” 

Sethos reached out to grab him- but was just a moment too late, as the Wanderer activated his halo and took off. 

~

Sitting in the corner of the rafters of the Sanctuary was only a marginally better position than the one the Wanderer had been in before. Only marginally, of course, because he was inside. 

It would’ve been a lot more than marginally better if Lesser Lord Kusanali hadn’t decided to decorate the rafters and ceiling with her oh so beloved plants as well. 

Still, even despite the disgustingly sweet scent of the flowers playing with his nose, the Wanderer stayed in place. There was a reason he hadn’t immediately retreated to his room, after all. 

The sound of the doors opening interrupted his thoughts, and he held his breath as Nahida padded into the Sanctuary. Her arms were filled with candies- and of course, with even more flowers. It was to the point that some of them were falling out of her grip, leaving a small trail of flowers and candies behind her. The Wanderer rolled his eyes, knowing he’d likely be the one responsible for cleaning that up later. 

Sure enough, it did not take her long to notice the rather obvious box that had been placed in the center of the room. Setting her armful of things to the side, she curiously walked up and opened it- and let out an excited little gasp as she pulled out a shiny golden diadem, looking it over and admiring the details before placing it upon her head. 

The Wanderer relaxed slightly. She liked it. Good, he hadn’t spent weeks learning the slightly more complex methods of forging jewelry for nothing. 

(It was a much more delicate process than that of forging a sword, but the Wanderer had found himself liking it nonetheless). 

Of course, he ended up stiffening up again as Nahida started looking around. 

“Wandererrrrr!” She called, “I know you’re in here somewhere!” 

The Wanderer shifted a little, hiding himself deeper in the shadows. 

Of course, that was the exact moment his body decided to rebel against him. 

The tickle that he’d been trying to ignore all day suddenly turned into a more stinging, burning sensation that cut right through the Wanderer’s attempt at keeping his breathing shut down. His breath hitched, and he covered his mouth with his hand, trying to muffle it. 

“Hih… hH-” He managed to stifle the first sneeze into silence, as well as the second. But the third… “Hh’NxtTii!!” 

Shit.

“There you are!” 

Double shit. 

The Wanderer’s eyes snapped open to be faced with Nahida standing on the rafter he was sitting on. …She must’ve teleported up as soon as she heard him… 

Nahida’s excited smile faded as she finally got a good look at him. 

“...Are you okay?” She asked, “You’re crying.” 

The Wanderer blinked- and then hastily wiped the allergic tears off of his face as he stood up. 

“I’m fine.” He hissed, before slightly softening his tone. Only slightly, of course. “You shouldn’t be up here, you’re going to fall, you dunce-” 

He picked her up, fully intending on floating them back down to the ground. 

Big mistake. 

He should’ve known that she would be covered in pollen. 

With his hands full of one heavily pollinated dendro archon, the Wanderer was left with no choice but to snap his head to the side as fast as he could, sneezing away from her. 

“HihH’iKShii!! Hh’Shkii!! HhEh- hEH’IShiu!! ‘Kshiu!!” The burst of anemo that swept through the area was enough to knock down some of the decorations, sending them tumbling to the floor. Nahida herself gripped on to her diadem, making sure it wouldn’t get sent askew as she stared at the Wanderer in shock. 

“Are-” She started, her ears drooping slightly with realization. “Are you allergic?” 

All the plants in the room seemed to visibly wilt slightly at her question, and the Wanderer internally panicked. 

“Snf- ugh, n-noohH- hiH’inKShii!!” Was his very unconvincing answer. Nahida gave him an extremely unimpressed look in response, which would have been way more effective if the Wanderer wasn’t currently holding her up off the ground like a dangling cat. Still, her expression made the Wanderer wince, and he used a moments pause between sneezes to jump off the rafter, using anemo to soften their fall instead of floating down like he had previously intended. Doing this messed up Nahida’s hair more than it was already, but she didn’t bother trying to readjust it, instead continuing to stare at the Wanderer as he set her back down on the ground so that he could free his hands. 

He harshly rubbed at his nose, trying to make the itch go away. 

Nahida was still staring at him. 

Not being able to think of any other response, the Wanderer decided to just stare back, keeping the side of his hand pressed against his nose. 

Nahida crossed her arms. 

The Wanderer did his best to glare at her despite his vision starting to get blurry from unshed allergic tears. 

Nahida was still staring at him- 

The Wanderer unwillingly broke the staring contest as his eyes slipped shut- 

“Hh’Kshii!!” The sneeze slipped out before he could stifle it, and he let out a quiet groan as more decorations got knocked down by the resulting gust of wind. 

“You are allergic.” Nahida said, her tone sounding final. “...So you’re the one who broke into the nurse’s office this morning…” 

“I wasn’t- do you expehH- …expect me to be responsible for every c-crime in Sumer-hH’Shiiu!!” 

“Bless you!” 

The Wanderer shuddered at the feeling of divine dendro energy washing over him. Nahida at least seemed to realize what she’d done if the apologetic look she was giving him was any indication. 

“...Putting possible criminal activities to the side-” She said, “-why didn’t you tell me?” 

The Wanderer looked away from her, refusing to be lured into answering by her wide green puppy dog eyes. Jeez, what was it with green eyed people and pestering him today…

“Hh- hH’inKshii!!” Another string of decorations fell down, and the Wanderer’s shoulders noticeably slumped. Somehow, this small action was all that was needed for Nahida to put two and two together. 

“...Oh.” She said, “...Still, you should’ve just told me- I wouldn’t have minded if there were fewer decorations! I want everyone to have a good time during the Sabzeruz festival- that includes you!” 

…The Wanderer wasn’t really sure what to say in response to that, so despite the look Nahida was giving him, he chose to say nothing at all. 

Instead, he walked past her, absentmindedly patting her on the head as he went, heading towards his room. Nahida let him go. 

~

“Say,” Aether said, a few months later, “-which plants are you allergic to, exactly?” 

The Wanderer, who, before this moment, had been laying on the ground having a fairly normal relaxing time, visibly stiffened. 

“...I’m a puppet, remember?” He deadpanned, “I’m not allergic to anything.” 

“Hm, doubtful.” Aether said, “Especially considering I have two eye-witness accounts stating otherwise.” 

Those fools had snitched on him? The Wanderer silently vowed revenge in his mind. 

“...Ugh. Why does it even matter-” Today's date and how close it was to a certain other date suddenly sprung into his mind, unprompted, and he immediately shot up into a sitting position. “You are not getting me in a flower crown for my birthday.” 

“I was thinking more along the lines of giving you your own personal Sabzeruz festival but-” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“-it wouldn’t exactly be great for the birthday guy to just sneeze all the decorations down, now would it?” 

The Wanderer’s face flushed slightly, which severely downplayed the effects of the glare he leveled at the Traveler. Aether seemed to find this amusing if his smirk was any indication. 

“I’ll ask you again-” He said, “-which plants are you allergic to? …C’mon it’s an easy question- unless… do you not know?” 

The Wanderer… did not deny this. He didn’t confirm it either, but Aether seemed to take his silence as an affirmative answer anyways. 

“Well, that complicates things… I guess an easier question would be if you’ve only reacted in Sumeru? I have some Inazuman plants we could use instead-” 

Aether rummaged through his bag- and then froze as the Wanderer suddenly reached out and grabbed a hold of his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. 

“There’s no need to do anything for my birthday.” The Wanderer said, narrowing his eyes as the glow in Aether’s chest changed from blue to green. “...Don’t you dare-” 

Aether silently raised an eyebrow at him, and then released a wave of dendro energy, causing plants to grow at their feet. The sakura branch he’d been trying to take out of his bag expanded, the petals overflowing from it. 

The Wanderer immediately let go of Aether’s wrist, activating his halo and shooting up into the air, seemingly in an attempt to get out of the pollen’s reach. 

“...I take it by your reaction that plants from Inazuma are also a no-go?” Aether asked, crossing his arms as he stared up at the Wanderer, who seemed to realize that his reaction had inadvertently given him away. 

Instead of attempting to deny it again however, he instead chose to stick his tongue out at him- and got a handful of flowers thrown at his face in response. Aether didn’t even have the grace to look the slightest bit remorseful as the Wanderer’s breath hitched- 

“Hh’XnTii!!” The Wanderer dropped by at least an inch as his halo flickered, not even getting through a second hitching breath before, “Hih’nNxtii!! Hehh- hH’xNtiu!!” 

His halo vanished completely- and it was only due to Aether catching him that he didn’t end up slamming into the ground. 

“Let gohH- go of mehH- hiH’KShhii!! ‘Kshiu!!” 

“Hmm- no.” Aether readjusted his hold on the Wanderer as the other started squirming, somehow completely unaffected by the gusts of anemo. “I think I’ll keep you here until we figure out a solution to this problem.” 

“It wouldn’t- wouldn’t be a problem if- hH’Kshyii!!” 

“Oh that one was cute-” 

“Shut up!” 

“Wait, I’ve got it.” Aether said, “We’ll take you to the Simulanka, the plants there are all fake, after all.” 

“Sure, whatever- hiH’iNkshii!! snf- can you let go of me now?” 

Aether obediently set the Wanderer down. The Wanderer immediately distanced himself from him, attempting to readjust his clothes- which was pointless as another sneeze sent them askew again. He pointedly ignored the way the Traveler laughed at him in response. 

~

“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this.” The Wanderer grumbled as a necklace of paper flowers was placed around his neck. 

“Hey, you said no flower crowns.” Aether said, “You said nothing about flower necklaces.” 

“Aren’t those practically the same thing-” The Wanderer was cut off as Aether suddenly leaned closer, frowning. 

“You feel warmer than usual…” He said, pressing the back of his hand against the Wanderer’s cheek as the Wanderer avoided eye contact with him. “I know you vanished for a while yesterday, you didn’t get into any trouble during that time, did you?” 

“Tch.” The Wanderer knocked Aether’s hand away from him. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” 

“I didn’t say that there was.” Aether looked over the Wanderer’s appearance. “Though, now that you mention it…” 

Aether reached out and snapped his fingers in front of the Wanderer’s face, summoning a flash of light. For a moment the Wanderer’s expression screamed betrayal, before it twisted into something different altogether. 

“Why- hH… hiH- hEH’NxtTii!! Hh’Nxt!!” 

“I knew it.” Aether said, watching as the slightly red-tinted glow faded from the Wanderer’s eyes- which were of course now glaring at him. “You’ve gotten yourself stuck with an elemental reaction again, haven’t you?” 

“...It’s none of your business.” 

“Kinda is actually considering we’re in a world made out of paper and you’ve just shown that you’re a potential fire hazard-” 

“I am not-” The Wanderer paused, thinking through his words, before mumbling, “...Don’t worry about it. I can deal with it.” 

“Nu-uh, absolutely not.” Aether said, “I’m not just gonna let you feel bad on your birthday. C’mere-” 

The Wanderer dodged backwards just before Aether could grab a hold of him. Aether froze for a moment, shocked, before narrowing his eyes at him. 

“So that’s how you want to do this, huh?” He asked, “Fine then.” 

Aether lunged at him, electro crackling over him to give him a speed boost as the Wanderer dodged out of the way again. The Wanderer turned on his heel, taking off running, but- 

“Gah!” The Wanderer ran right into Sethos, who immediately reached out and grabbed onto the Wanderer’s arms to steady him. 

“Woah there-” Sethos said, “...What’s going on? Kusanali sent me back here to check on you two since you were taking so long…” 

“It’s nothing.” The Wanderer hissed out- at the exact same time that Aether said; 

“The Wanderer is swirl-stuck again.” 

Sethos blinked, and the Wanderer glared over his shoulder at Aether, mentally calling him the rudest swears imaginable. 

“...Swi- oh, that’s the elemental thing Kusanali told me about, right?” Sethos asked, inspecting the Wanderer more closely. “You do feel pretty warm… let me guess, pyro?” 

The Wanderer stared down at the ground, mumbling something under his breath that sounded like something along the lines of ‘is it really that noticeable?’. He pointedly did not actually answer Sethos’ question, so Aether decided to do it for him. 

“Pretty sure about it.” He said, “Hold him still there, would you? He needs to get rid of it before he can go to the party-” 

“Wait wait wait!” Sethos looked almost nervous, “Uh, if I remember this correctly- well, I. Do not want to end up burnt-” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ve got it covered.” Aether said, standing behind the Wanderer, reaching around and placing his hand over the Wanderer’s mouth and nose. “...Literally.” 

The Wanderer himself looked almost resigned, not bothering to try and squirm out of his position, but even so- 

“I’m not going to sneeze.” He said, voice muffled by Aether’s hand, “I don’t even need to.” 

Sethos and Aether shared a Look™. The Wanderer realized just a few seconds too late what the two of them planned to do. 

“Wait, don’t-” 

“Hah-” 

“Heh-” 

“Hihh- hH’kshiu!!” The Wanderer’s body jolted forwards, and it was only due to Sethos and Aether holding him that he didn’t double over. “Hih’iKShhii!!” 

“Look at that, we barely did anything and he’s sneezing already.” Aether said, smirking. Sethos seemed to be having a hard time keeping himself from making a similar expression if the way his lips were twitching was any indication. Not that the Wanderer noticed. 

“Hehh… hH- H’iShHhiu!! hiH’IsHKii!!” Without being able to stifle- with the pyro energy still in him, it was kinda hard to stop. “Hh’shKiu!! Hh- heH’inKshiu!! Ngh… hH’KSHii!! ‘Kshiu!!” 

A few more sneezes tumbled out of him before Aether finally spoke up again. 

“You can let go of him now.” He said, pulling his own hand away as the Wanderer’s breath caught on another hitch. “I don’t sense the pyro energy anymore.” 

Sethos let go of the Wanderer’s arms, and the Wanderer immediately backed away from both of them, putting his own hands over his mouth to catch the tail end of the sneeze fit he’d been forced into. 

“Hh’iKshii!! H’eshii!! Hihh- hEH’iKshiu!!” The trees rustled with the breeze that got sent through them, and the Wanderer sniffled, rubbing his nose against his wrist. 

“...Feeling better now?” Sethos asked, wincing as the Wanderer glared at him. 

“You’re both intolerable.” 

“Well,” Aether said, “You’ll have to tolerate our intolerableness for a bit longer. We still have a party to get to remember? Even if it is a rather small one.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” The Wanderer muttered, “I’m only doing this cause Durin wanted to, okay?” 

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say.” 

[theetherealbloom]

LORD I’M SO UNWELLLLLLL PLEASEEEE AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[mymercyprevailss]