#free-floating barrel

[historyofguns]

In his review of the Springfield Model 2020 Boundary rifle for The Armory Life, Wayne van Zwoll, an experienced hunter and firearms expert, praises the new bolt-action rifle for its blend of classic style and modern features. The Boundary is a sibling to the original 2020 Waypoint and stands out with its internal magazine and refined dimensions which make it easier to handle. It boasts a carbon-fiber stock, stainless receiver, and TriggerTech trigger, with a notable accuracy guarantee of .75 MOA. During range sessions, the rifle demonstrated impressive accuracy with a variety of commercial loads, shooting sub-minute groups. Offered in multiple calibers including .308 Win., 6.5 CM, and various 7mm and .30-caliber options, the Boundary is deemed a well-balanced, accurate, and powerful rifle suitable for diverse hunting challenges, solidifying Springfield Armory's reputation.

[dr3amlab]

WE'RE MARRIED????? ⎯ d.m x reader

SUMMARY ⎯ After a magical mishap traps you and Draco Malfoy in the Room of Requirement, you’re accidentally transported into your shared future.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⎯ Feedback is appreciated ! Tell me what you think.

If a Muggle had seen you sprinting through the stone corridors of Hogwarts, dodging portraits and ignoring the startled yelps of ghosts, they might’ve assumed you were training to outrun Usain Bolt. In reality, you were chasing Draco Malfoy. Again.

You skidded around a corner, your robes flying, and barely avoided barreling into a suit of armor. You reached the seventh floor just in time to see him disappear through the arched entrance of the Room of Requirement. Running even faster, you followed him in the room.

“Draco, what the actual fu—!” you burst out, just as the heavy door slammed shut behind you. You reached for the handle, jiggling it desperately. It's fucking locked. Your heart thumped against your ribs as you tried again, harder this time. No luck. “Y/N, do not start with me!” Draco hissed back, tugging at the handle. “This is not my fault.” luck. You pointed your wand, the incantation already on your tongue, until you realized: no wand. You gaped at him. “Not your fault?! You absolute dimwit, you stole my wand!”

“Technically,” Draco’s voice floated out lazily, “I borrowed it," he clutched the wand dramatically to his chest, "and I was going to give it back eventually.”

“Oh, eventually? That’s reassuring!” you snapped. You growled, lunging for it. You managed to yank it free and waved it furiously at the door. “Alohomora!” But the door didn’t budge. You banged on it. “Draco! Help me out !”

You tried again, with all the anger of a girl who had not signed up for this nonsense today. “Alohomora!”

Still nothing.

You gave the door a good, solid kick for good measure. Which did absolutely nothing, except hurt your foot and your pride.

“Oh come on,” you groaned, sliding down the door. “It never locks you in! That’s literally not how this room works!” You glared at Draco, “It's all your fault ! you’re insufferable!”

“You didn’t have to follow me,” he replied coolly, leaning against a bookshelf like he hadn't just locked you in a magical mystery room.

“I had no choice. You had my wand! That’s literally the definition of coercion!”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re very dramatic, y/n.” Draco tried to open it again, shaking it harder. “It’s actually, really locked.”

“This room doesn’t do that! It responds to need. It’s not supposed to trap people!” Draco turned to you, slightly pale. “Maybe it sensed our need to spend quality time together.”

You stared at him, deadpan. “I’m going to hex you.” He walked deeper into the room with casual arrogance. “Relax. Someone will come looking for us eventually.” You scoffed, “ah yes! Because everyone’s just dying to rescue Draco Malfoy.”

As you bickered, he picked up a glowing, peculiar-looking trinket from a nearby table. “Don’t touch anything!” you got up to stop him from grabbing the suspiscious object. “Relax, scaredy cat,” he teased with a smirk, turning the object over in his hands.

Before you could snatch it away, a blinding flash of light erupted from the object, and the ground seemed to vanish beneath you. You screamed, clutching onto Draco’s arm (because what else were you supposed to grab?) as you were sucked into what felt like a magical whirlpool. When the spinning finally stopped, you found yourself in… a bedroom? Sunlight streamed through a large window, warming the cozy space. The air smelled like cinnamon and clean linen. You were lying on a soft, cozy bed in a warmly lit bedroom that definitely wasn’t Hogwarts.

“What the fuck just happened?” you breathed. Before Draco could answer, a voice rang from the doorway. “Mum? Dad? You’re being weird again.” Both you and Draco spun around to see a little boy, no older than six, standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips like a miniature professor. His hair was a messy mix of your color and Draco’s, and his big, sparkling eyes were looking at you both like you’d lost your minds.

“Did he just—” you started. “Mum and Dad?” Draco finished, his voice hitting an octave you didn’t know he had. The boy sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes like he’d seen this a hundred times. “Oh no. Did you get hit by another memory-erasing spell? Uncle Blaise told you to be careful!” He stomped over to you, wagging a finger like a tiny scolding adult. “I keep telling you two: stop fighting near cursed objects!”

“Mum and… Dad?” you repeated in disbelief. Draco’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “what the fuck," he mumbled to himself, “Uncle Blaise?” he repeated, horrified. “Blaise is involved in this? No. That’s impossible.” The boy tilted his head, clearly unimpressed by his father’s panic. “Well, yeah, duh. Uncle Blaise is always involved. He’s basically your only friend, Dad.” Draco blinked at him, absolutely indignant. “Excuse me?! I have loads of friends—” The boy raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Name one,” he challenged.

“Honestly, Dad, keep up. And stop fighting in front of enchanted things!” Draco pointed at the boy. “Why does he sound like you?” You looked at him in disbelief, “He sounds like you,” you shot back. “Excuse me, I am far more elegant.”

The boy, thoroughly unimpressed, walked over to you. “It’s me. Scorpius. You named me, remember?” You turned slowly to Draco. “You named him Scorpius?” Draco lifted his chin proudly. “Wait, I kind of ate with that one," you scoffed “it sounds like a brand of ointment.”

Scorpius plopped down on the bed beside you. “You two do this every time. You fight. You fall through a time thingy. You get confused. Then you help make lunch and end up cuddling on the couch.”

Draco looked scandalized. “We absolutely do not cuddle.” Scorpius snorted. “You do. Dad always pretends he hates it but then hogs the blanket.” Before you could process that horrifying image, Scorpius stood up and tugged on your hand. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

You followed him through a hallway lined with photographs, the moving ones. One showed you and Draco dancing in a living room, laughing like complete idiots. Another had you both fast asleep on a sofa with baby Scorpius between you, drooling on Draco’s shirt.

You walked into the kitchen, still stunned. Somehow, this place felt familiar, it felt like home.

You cooked with Scorpius or tried to. Draco was promptly banned from using magic when he managed to explode a bowl of peas. You chopped vegetables. Draco folded napkins with unnecessary flourish. Scorpius supervised like a tiny dictator.

And when lunch was done, you found yourselves building a blanket fort in the living room. Somehow, Draco got way too into it. By the end, you were all squished together under a canopy of pillows and sheets, and Scorpius was telling you a very dramatic bedtime story about a hippogriff who dreamed of joining the ballet.

You lay there, watching the boy fall asleep between you, and something in your chest twisted, something warm. “Do you think this is real?” you whispered. Draco didn’t answer right away. He was watching Scorpius, a soft look on his face that you’d never seen before. “Feels like it.”

And then, a voice from the hallway: “Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” came your voice older and wiser as ever. You looked up to see… yourself. Future-you. She stared at you both with a mix of amusement and fond exasperation. “Not again.”

Future-Draco appeared behind her with takeaway and rolled his eyes. “I told you we needed to lock that stupid trinket up.”

“You said it might teach them a lesson,” future-you reminded him.

“They’re hopeless,” future-Draco muttered.

You stared at them in horror. “We’re… together?!” Future-you nodded. “Married. Happy. Occasionally homicidal, but in love.”

Draco sputtered, “Married? To her?”

“You literally just made me soup,” you snapped.

Future-Draco smirked at younger-Draco. “You love it. She keeps you humble.”

“And you,” you said, turning to future-you, “you’re okay with this?”

Future-you winked. “You’ll see.”

Before either of you could form a coherent rebuttal, the world around you started spinning again, and with a blinding flash of light, you were back in the Room of Requirement.

The door creaked open like it had never been locked in the first place.

You and Draco stared at each other, breathing heavily. You both sat in a sacred silent. Finally, Draco exhaled. “So… I guess we’re… soulmates or something?”

“I can’t believe the kid is named Scorpius.” You sighed deeply. You got up and dusted off your skirt, “I especially can’t believe I let you.”Draco followed you, muttering under his breath, “still think Scorpius is a badass name.” Well, at least he likes me better.” You teased.

“Not a chance, Mom.” You didn’t look back, but your lips curled. You both walked past through the open door.

Then Draco exhaled. "How do we get better now that we've had a glance at our future?" You glanced at him. “Let’s just start with not stealing my wand again.” Draco groaned. “That's though to not do... May Merlin help us all.”

[eepwtf]

(っ EEPWTF’S BOT DUMP ₊ DEFTONES INSPIRED ´ཀ`)っ

📼 NAVIGATION . 📼

TVD . SPN . MISC .

𓇳 DIAMOND EYES ALBUM—TRACK #1

TVD.

DAMON SALVATORE.

✦︎ ┃ diamond eyes.

❝ time will see us realign, diamonds reign across the sky. shower me into the same realm. ❞

⟡ ┃ rocket skates.

❝ you're red soaking wet, i'm right next to you. you're red soaking wet. ❞

ELIJAH MIKAELSON.

✦︎ ┃ you’ve seen the butcher.

❝ you slowly enter, 'cause you know my room. and then you crawl your knees off, and then you shake my tomb. ❞

⟡ ┃ se(x)tape.

❝ take me for one last ride, i'm out of my head. ❞

KAI PARKER.

✦︎ ┃ this place is death.

❝ no one else has a hold over me, like you do. you open up the covers, you lure me in. ❞

⟡ ┃ risk.

❝ i know what to say to take you, higher, higher. No one else can take you higher, but i will try. ❞

KLAUS MIKAELSON.

✦︎ ┃ beauty school.

❝ i watch you taste it, i see your face and i know i’m alive. you're shooting stars, from the barrel of your eyes. it drives me crazy, just drives me wild. ❞

⟡ ┃ prince.

❝ it’s a game that we like, we crave. yet nobody wins any way you decide, you try. ❞

𓇳 WHITE PONY ALBUM—TRACK #2

SPN.

CASTIEL.

✦︎ ┃ rx queen. (demon!user)

❝ 'cause you're my girl, and that's alright if you sting me, i won't mind. ❞

⟡ ┃ pink maggit. (fallen angel!user)

❝ i'll take your oxygen away, i'll set you on fire. 'cause i'm on fire. ❞

✦︎ ┃ teenager.

❝ new cavity moved into my heart today. ❞

DEAN WINCHESTER.

✦︎ ┃ digital bath. (fallen angel!user)

❝ you move like i want to, to see like your eyes do. ❞

⟡ ┃ change. (vamp!dean)

❝ i watched a change in you, its like you never had wings. now, you feel so alive. ❞

SAM WINCHESTER.

✦︎ ┃ elite. (vamp!user)

❝ you like attention, it proves to you you're alive. ❞

BONUS TRACKS .ᐟ ⠀ ♪ ݂۫

MISC.

BILLY LOOMIS.

✦︎ ┃ what happened to you? (fem!user)

❝ the sky is falling down, this night belongs to you. ❞

CATE DUNLAP.

✦︎ ┃ lucky you. (fem!user)

❝ and if you're feeling lucky, come and take me home, and if you feel loved. ❞

⟡ ┃ passenger.

❝ here i lay, just like always, don’t let me go. ❞

DEBRA MORGAN.

✦︎ ┃ smile.

❝ smile, you’re born again. do you feel love? ❞

⟡ ┃ swerve city.

❝ distant howling out, it keeps you floating around. ❞

JOE GOLDBERG.

✦︎ ┃ can’t even breathe.

❝ i can't breathe and arrive with my style, so watch you watch me. ❞

NATALIE SCATORCCIO.

✦ ┃ be quiet and drive (far away)

❝ it feels good to know you're mine, now drive me far away, away, away. far away i don't care where. ❞

RAFE CAMERON.

✦︎ ┃ lovers.

❝ the more you wait, the more you burn. before we break...through. ❞

⟡ ┃ when girls telephone boys.

❝ you always sharpen your teeth 'cause you're like that, and you're like that every time you pull heart back. ❞

SOLDIER BOY.

✦︎ ┃ cherry waves.

❝ the waves suck you in and you drown, if like, you should sink down beneath. i'll swim down, would you? ❞

⟡ ┃ rapture. (supe!user)

❝ i know where you are now, you twist everything else around. ❞

eepwtf’s note; this is a little a lil cringe but free will & whatnot. also damon and deftones fit so perfectly, he would definitely listen to deftones & kai… i feel like he would also. (he likes men moaning singing beautiful in his ear) i wasn’t going to make this as my bot dump but uhh… yeah my brain doesn’t cooperate with what i want to do so!

[19burstraat]

Random SOC Trivia I Gathered On My Reread

I'll be using this for fics, but it's fun just to read!

Jesper does not hold alcohol well (though this is according to Kaz, who is not exactly impartial)

Wijnstraat, Nemstraat, Havenstraat, Ammberstraat are all street names if you want em

Van Eck has been involved in trying to clean up the Barrel; pious. (Allegedly pious, I doubt he really is)

1/5 Van Eck (or general Kerch trading?) vessels are lost at sea

Kaz arrested three times at ten, twice at eleven, once at fourteen. Does stints in jail but it does not say prison (ppl assume he's been to Hellgate / another prison but I don't think so. He'd never have shut the fuck up about it if he had; I assume the Stadhall Jail)

Kaz's cane is lead-lined. I wasn't sure if this was canon or fanon

Kaz runs book on prize fights, horses, and chance games. Floor boss at crow club since fifteen-ish. Youngest to run a betting shop and has doubled the profits.

Gambling halls: Treasure Chest, Golden Bend, Weddell's Riverboat, Silver Garter

West Stave brothels: The Blue Iris, The Forge, The Obscura, the Willow Switch, the House of Snow

Van Aakster is the widow mercher who sees Nina to ease his grief

Inej likes orange cakes in white paper

Black Tips tattoo is a hand with first and second fingers cut at the knuckle, Razorgulls is 5 birds in wedge formation

Nina Jesper and Kaz definitely all have the crow and cup; the others don't

Jordie seems to like books

ridderspel and spijker are arcade games

Bilge, clams, and wet stone smell in the Barrel (per Retvenko)

Kaz definitely is partial to dogs; Smeet's hounds and the grey dog the Hertzoon household had, the windup dogs, the metaphors. He loves a dog metaphor sorry ur not real babycakes you'd have loved thematic web weaving posts

Geldspin is the cotton mill in Zierfoort, Firma Allerbest is a cannery. Both in Alys' name

Wylan was 8 when Marya 'died'

the black veil tomb is carved like an ancient cargo ship

3 flying fish on a grave: government. Palm trees and snakes: spices.

Inej's mother braids her hair with orange ribbons (colour of persimmons)

University a series of buildings built around the Boekcanal and joined by Speaker's Bridge (where people debate and/or drink). Boeksplein four libraries built around a central courtyard and the Scholar's Fountain

Shipping container at third harbour is a Liddie hideout; Jam Tart House is an old hotel near the slat that the Razorgulls use

Long scar across Kaz's right knuckle

Violating contracts and interfering with the market can get you hanged in Kerch; same sentences as for murder (this is. Insane)

Haskell holds court with his mates at the Fair Weather Inn every week

Belendt is the second oldest Kerch city and sits on the Droombeld River

Jesper was 7 when Aditi died

Inej has an uncle (who seems to have some sort of ringmaster role) and cousins; Hanzi and Asha

Kaz convinced a locksmith in Klokstraat that he was the son of a wealthy merchant who highly valued his collection of priceless snuffboxes, and that's how he knows what locks the rich are using

Hubrecht Mohren, Master Thief of Pijl, who Kaz doesn't appear to think much of; one of Haskell's old cronies

Martin Van Eck, Wylan's great great grandfather, was a ship's captain, brought back a big shipment of spices from Eames Chin and started the Van Eck fortune

Kaz and Jesper (+ other Dregs boys) taught Inej to fight

Kaz and Jordie are from a town near Lij, as per the 'Johannus Rietveld' exposition, but Lij is seemingly the closest major city/county so it's easier to just say they're from Lij lol

The last time the Council of Tides appeared in public was 25 years prior to CK

Kaz found Filip running a monte game on Kelstraat; he also got the clerks who turned over fake info, the fake attorney, the man who gave them free hot chocolate

The spelling of Zentzbridge lapses to Zentsbridge, not sure which is right or if they're actually separate bridges or if there's a lot of wrong quotes floating around lol

Dryden house symbol is the golden wheat sheaf bound with a blue ribbon; Van Eck is the red laurel but we knew that

Kaz taught himself finance and gambling hall rules

Church of Barter roof is copper and long has turned green

Church of Barter built around the First Forge / The Mortar, which is a flat lump of rock that's supposedly Ghezen's altar

Ghezendaal Hospital is. Idk. a hospital. Just thought ppl might want the name

[ranticore]

Forgive me if you’ve answered this before, but what do Ironwall horse-centaurs do when they badly break a leg? How does that all work?

A few factors contribute to irl horses being put down after a bad break - their being animals who can't understand the need for months of bedrest (and a severely decreased quality of life henceforth), their great size and weight making it impossible for one to stay even remotely pain free on just three legs, and the fact that bearing weight on a leg plays a significant role in their circulatory system - if the leg is not bearing weight regularly, venous return and drainage are interrupted. In animal welfare we talk about the five freedoms every animal must have to be considered in a satisfactory welfare condition, and one of the freedoms is freedom to express natural behaviour. For horses, an inability to run is a denial of the freedom to express natural behaviour.

All that aside, the mechanical issues that might arise from breaking a leg will impact a centaur as well - reduced circulation, pain from not bearing weight properly or on all four legs, etc. Breaking a leg would be a life-changing & permanently disabling event. But disabled people are not animals and they can make the choice to lie still in a sling to recover, rely on disability aids, and remember not to bolt on a bad leg if the instinct hits them. They would likely also need mechanical/someone else's assistance to lie down or stand up

I've seen a few designs for centaur wheelchairs floating around and I don't think they work mechanically as illustrated and didn't take into account the needs of a horse but I don't think any wheelchair would. In my own writing I've used wheeled body slings instead which allow the legs to be in a relatively normal "upright" position while the barrel is supported. The size and weight of the body would definitely alter the approach to handling bad circulation, a smaller pony type would face fewer issues than a big draught

[someweirdoreblogger]

Eternal Sugar Cookie feels, to me, an emotionally-deattached type.

Eternal Sugar Cookie, the embodiment of succulent indolence, is a passionate narcissistic tyrant who hides her devilish intentions with naked angelic pearly white plumes and lovely blossoms.

There is only sky, a heavenly hue, and an edgeless sea of aural iridescence. The sun never sets in her Kingdom, the privilege of sloth reigns supreme.

Clouds flourish in flowerless gardens of their own, floating, boundless, and enthralling. Free as far as the hand may reach; only surrender and desolation, desocialization. Careless indifference in her kingdom disgused as afloof relaxation.

A safe haven too-good to be true, paradise for the disillusioned.

Lesser Cookies will never trade their inherently selfish desires and greedy impluses for the releasing tranquility of purity or happiness. So why bother inspiring them if its so fleeting in their feeble lives?

Peace is the dying dream of a bygone era. She holds no hope for monsters, no heart for remorse.

But the one good thing about Cookiekind is how truly inconsistent their people are. To hold the attention of the Beast of Sloth is to never remember relief again. Suddenly grasped towards Eden beyond the mortal coil, above the ground, too far away for any other insolent hand to drag you from her gaze.

To have Eternal Sugar Cookie is to be hoarded, to be seen, and desired as her most prized possession. Know the chains of obsession in her illusion of beautiful delicate delusions.

Sometimes, at just the right moment, the snake will be tempted with fruit.

Spot the needles in the haystack. A feeble whisper, saddling a whisp of wind. Sugar in a barrel of tough bitterness and sourdough, a diamond in the rough; she exercises total control so so slowly. She then will much further isolate you, all sugar-worn wearing tender love-pink guise.

Her angelic, devil-soothed ardor is abominable. A monsterous obsession wrapped in pretty bows and rhymtic chrome, gleaming jewelic locks.

Eternal Sugar Cookie is a very silent, subtle influence at first;

That sinking anchor of annoyed resentment in the dark pit of your stomach?

That crawling absence, the shallow emptiness that swallows you whole, in a single moment, after every effort to get right back up again despite whats at stake?

That deafening ignorance disgused as content, indifferent consideration of any action or consequence?

That's her presence, a raising boiling hot deviance. A festering, stubborn pressure made apparent inside the private inner bowels of your heart.

Attached, stuck like glue, once you caught her eye prepure to face the inevitable consequence, the judgment of The Beast of Sloth; no intention of harmony. A virus, her nihilism rots away your best mental defenses, growing like a sinister tumor. Eating away at the most delicate parts of you.

Eternal Sugar Cookie was baked knowing what she most wanted, what precisely she craves in eager proportions. The Beast of Sloth won't allow balance or peace until you dismantle into pieces in her grasp. Tangled up in her deranged thorns, nice and tight with no hope of escape; Your new home, in her graceless nest of corrupted nimbus, nefarious vapors whispering false assurance and security.

You'd be surprised at just how fast she can steal the very oxygen in your lungs, in a blink, as naturally fleeting as a tiny droplet in a lake, a grain of sand kissing the bottom of the hourglass; Someone who can effortlessly order the natural cycle of air with a twitch of a picky to simply cease, that can touch the souls of other weaker wills without so much as moving an inch themselves.

She carelessly strips the tranquility, meaning, any definition from your most basic tasks, no choice in the matter, you won't know until it's too late to mourn those you distance yourself from. No one is safe. To grief where that familiar spark had gone; that you don't have the energy to entertain toward what you once knew and dearly loved, such precious time could be spent amongst better company.

Time is of the essence, especially for Cookiekind. You will pull the switch any second now. It won't be long before the flightless bird of her betrothed walks upon the line of separation between earth and sky, accepting the palm that covets their attention and volition.

Eternal Sugar Cookie is an overconfident sort, aloof and arrogant in her powess. She is quite certain of the outcome. Her kingdom is the right choice. She knows you best after all.

Your companionships and relationship to the outside world, as well as the inside, are nothing more than simple fleeting leaves, vulnerable against the harsh strife and fairness of nature. Prey in the eyes of beasts.

Physical mortal foundations aren't of use to her, of no effort, nor bother. So, logically, you shall lose it.

You, the source of Eternal Sugar Cookie's attention, must sacrifice yourself to her ambition; open yourself up in her kingdom, and indulge in sweetest indolence. Let her devour your pride. Eternal Sugar Cookie's bed is your heart, your soul, her precious possession. There stands no wall she can't phase through, no lock she can't break, no void she can't breach, pirvacy is non-existent. Closed rooms are a no-go.

You are hoarded, not allowed to stray from her gaze. While Eternal Sugar Cookie can help it, there is no fair fight.

Your pitiful pillars of support will eventually crumble. The walls shall stress; an agonizing tension and strain. They suffer great, horrific collision once your friendly little fledglings start putting their noses where they don't belong.

Eternal Sugar Cookie listens to no plea. She rips you apart from it in each matter, regardless of importance. Clean, cut, and dry.

In every physical and mental capacity, she will break the ties stubbornly binding your morality and petty mortal obligation, and the irony shall be lost to her.

From your society, childhood home, family. To Eternal Sugar Cookie, this is child's play. Her tumor will gentle put a haze over your eyes to effectively minimize your lively priorities and responsibilities til they inevitably shrivel like weeds and die into spiritual as well as emotional insignificance. Extended to your own youth and soul.

Severity; to let go of that burdensome weight, to feel light enough to let go of all else that binds you to your feeble Cookie existence, to just continue to be and sleep comfortably til the Sun, at last, dies and reaps everything with it. To fall so deep, dream so soundly that nothing matters to you anymore but to shut yourself off completely and utterly in the dark paradise of her promising embrace.

Asleep forever, in a fragile moment that stretches into dreamy nothingness, lids glued shut. Locked in the sealed halo of her interlocking fingers, fluttering like butterfly wings over delicate lashes, consistently prying curious divots in your crust. She sings you hymns, hushed; muttering, muttering, and still muttering.

No direction. Aimlessly drifting in silken-kissed fine laced illusion of possessive freedom, a white lie forged in a sleep like dead peace; frozen still as stone under the crude gaze of time, the threat of great cataclysmic collapse. Hopelessly trapped, locked, and no key. Inside your own deluded vortex of sloth and sinking fear, safely far away from the frantic worrying eyes and reaching hands of fellow Cookie friends and family, willing to run themselves to completely crumbs for a goal, they shouldn't even bother covetting.

What's the point?

Why should you care? It's all for not.

She has you right where she desires you. Right where it all feels as it should be. Eternal Sugar Cookie fogged your mind more than you will ever comprehend, and Eternal Sugar Cookie can ensure your compliance in any daring state. She will ensure personally, insisting you have always been this way, you merely needed to finally notice. That it's easier to simply embrace it, nothing more or less.

Poor you, trying so hard for absolutely nothing.

Why rush home when your beloved Kingdom won't even miss you anyway?

They won't even notice you've vanished. The night is tranquil. It seems to blend you in reckless abandon, leaving no room for space in her endless ether of blissful cloud and swirling fog; lost between the sweet rolls of twisting trees, risklessly coated by the primordial solitude of lazy mist, her hands will fly to hold you, to finally have you. This world has no use for you.

Nor do you yourself have attachments to the world itself, despite the screaming echo crawling and squirm like gummy worms at the back of your head.

Who cares about such careless opinions?

Clenching and still yet clenching, she broods like a proud mantis; caresses and touches you in off-handed strokes.

By the time you ascended above the mountains towards the Heavens with her, you have successfully shut out all your connections and motivations to the land below. The immortal mark potent from The Beast of Sloth is remarkable and undeniable, a divine certainty Eternal Sugar Cookie is obsessively determined to imprint for all eternity on your crust.

Here, in your own secluded area in her personal harmony of Sky what else could you ever want, what useless ambition could you ever hope for?Stuck in a blind dream where she regins supreme, so the insignificant distractions of the material Cookie world can never take you away from her.

Below, your dear kindred can never hope to see you ever again.

And if all comes up to Eternal Sugar Cookie's accursed fruition-

-you won't desire to return.

Because where in the world could you possibly want to bother going?

[archangeldyke-all]

mermaid reader and pirate/sailor sevika

sevika would be such a good pirate! she's ruthless and driven and really fucking smart, could you imagine her in one of those billowing white shirts??? i just nutted.

anyways, let's be cliche. it's so fun.

men and minors dni

you're out swimming when you come upon a shipwreck. judging by the wreckage still in flames, it had happened pretty recently. you swim closer, eager to see what kind of treasures were on board. as you approach the debris, you hear a groan. you freeze, your eyes scanning the water for a sailor as you sink into the water, just your eyes above the waves.

it's been a while since you had a sailor, and human is always a nice treat when you've been feasting on fish for a while. you bite your lip as you start slowly swimming around the various floating barrels and shrapnel.

there's a few dead men bobbing on the surface of the sea face down. you scrunch your nose in disgust as you navigate the bodies, swimming toward the moaning that's echoing over the waves. humans only taste good when they're still warm.

as the last remaining yards of the main mast sink below the surface, a loud, animalistic scream sounds out from behind you. you whip around. your eyes catch on a moving figure. as you swim closer, you're eyes adjust, and you realize that it's a human hugging onto a bobbing barrel. you grin, your sharp fangs descending from your gums as you duck beneath the surface and swim under the barrel.

two feet below the floating human, you can only see their flailing legs. you smile. human legs are so strange looking. you reach out to run one of your long, sharp nails down their pant leg, laughing when they start to panic, flailing around in the water. "what the fuck was that?!" you hear their garbled shout out above the water. you giggle, then wrap your hand around their ankle. a loud shriek rings out and they nearly kick your face with their free leg. you dodge them and swim away, slowly rising to the surface behind where they're scrambling to straddle the barrel and get their body out of the water. you chuckle.

the sailor whips around to face you, and you both simultaneously gasp.

it's a woman, you think in shock. her breasts are heaving, and the thin white shirt she's wearing is doing nothing to conceal her chest now that it's soaked. her silver eyes are wild, her black hair is plastered to her face, her brown skin is dotted with drops of water. a pretty woman.

"fuck." she whispers. you giggle again, swimming closer to her as she scrabbles at the barrel in fear. "fuck fuck fuck." she curses. you stop ten feet away from her.

"i've never seen a human woman before." you say. she freezes.

"y-you can talk?" she asks. you giggle. humans always ask that.

"what are you doing out here?" you ask. the woman blinks at you.

"are... are you gonna kill me?" she asks. you shrug and smirk.

"dunno." you say honestly. "never killed a woman before."

it's silent for a moment. then, "aren't you supposed to sing?" she asks. you burst into laughter.

"only if i was trying to lure you. but... you don't really have anywhere else to go, do you?" the woman studies you and you study her. "you're very pretty." you say. the human laughs. what a lovely sound. "what are you doing out here?" you ask her again.

"i... i was captain of this ship." she says. you blink.

"women can sail?" you ask. she scowls at you.

"'course we can." she grunts. "they just don't want us to."

you consider this, looking the woman up and down. she's shivering now, the shock and adrenaline wearing off. "doesn't look like it went very well." you say, gesturing to the floating bits of ship surrounding you. she growls.

"that's not my fuckin' fault! my navigator got scurvy!" she spits. you swim closer to her and she shuts up, gulping. you frown.

"are you scared of me?" you ask. she huffs a laugh.

"obviously." she says. you frown.

"why?"

"fuckin' look at you!" she says, gesturing her free hand at you. you look down at your body. "gills and fangs and shit! i thought mermaids were a fuckin' myth!"

you pout, sucking your fangs back up into your gums. "there. better?" you ask. the woman shrugs.

"depends."

"on?"

"are you gonna kill me?" she asks. you grin.

"dunno." you say again. she groans. "what's your name?" you ask.

"sevika." she says.

"how'd you get into sailing?"

"dad was a fisherman." she grunts.

"which flag do you sail under?" you ask. you've had horrible experiences with sailors who wave the flag with the red X on the white sheet, a few of their ships tried to hunt you for weeks. ships that fly the red X on the blue sheet carry tasty sailors, always fattened up and full of liquor. the woman before you chuckles.

"none of 'em." she says. you raise an eyebrow at her. "i... technically was not the owner of that vessel." she says, gesturing to the bottom of the sea where her ship has sunk. you grin.

"you're a pirate!?" you gasp. she shrugs.

"i guess."

"a woman pirate!?" you ask again. she chuckles at your excitement.

"yeah." she says. you swim in an excited little circle before reaching your hand out to sevika. she flinches away from it and you pout.

"come on. i'm not gonna kill you." you say, shaking your hand at her. she eyes you warily.

"right. i'm sure you say that to all the boys before you sink those freaky teeth into their throats." she says. you grin and giggle.

"well yeah, but you're not a boy." you say. she hesitates, still, and you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "fine. i'll just leave you here to starve to death. or maybe the dehydration will get you first. you'll start drinking the saltwater to quench your thirst and that'll be it. or maybe the sun will just cook you to a crisp when it rises." you say, slowly swimming away from the pirate. panic starts creeping over her face as you speak, and when you dip beneath the water, you hear her scream.

"wait! come back!" she shouts. you giggle and pop up six inches away from her. she jumps in surprise, her grip on the barrel slipping, and she starts flailing as she begins to sink. you quickly hook one of your arms under hers, pulling her back up to the surface and holding her as she gasps and sputters for air. "thank you." she says, as she clings to you. you smile.

the woman falls asleep in your arms as you swim her to a small deserted island nearby. on the shore, with half your body still in the water, you gently tend to her wounds, cleaning them out with saltwater before dressing them with strips of her shirt. she shifts and mumbles in her sleep, but doesn't wake. you admire her for an hour or two, pressing your ear to her chest to listen to her lungs, poking at her legs and studying her toes. when the sun begins to rise, you spend an hour catching and killing fish for her, dumping the headless bodies into a pile beside her sleeping body. it occurs to you that humans drink freshwater, so you begin to swim around the perimeter of the island, looking for a river or stream where you can collect some water for your new human friend.

when you return to sevika with a sack you'd made out of leaves filled with fresh water over your shoulder, she's starting to wake up. you claw up onto the beach to lay beside her, watching her twitching eyelids blink awake.

"you're real." she grunts. you smile. "thought i imagined you." she says, sitting up. there's sand in her hair, and you reach up to brush it out.

"your hair's so soft." you say as you twirl a lock of it between your fingers. sevika looks around her, taking in the island and the supplies you'd piled by her legs. she looks back down at you.

"you brought me here?" she asks. you nod. she blinks. "and the fish?"

"figured you needed to eat." you say. you nod to the freshwater. "got you water too." you say. "the kind you can drink, i mean."

sevika laughs, slightly hysterical as she takes in the scene. you frown.

"this is like... fifty pounds of fish." she says. you blink at her.

"yeah?"

"that's way too much fish." she says. you pout.

"i thought you'd be nice. you're a woman pirate for fucks sake, you're supposed to be cool! but all you've done since we met is call me scary lookin' and insult my fish!" you say as you start to shove yourself back down the shore and into the water. "i saved your life! and i didn't eat any of the fish i got for you. i mean, except for the heads. and i brought you to land and everything! you're fuckin' heavy, you know, and i swam you all the way here! and i haven't insulted your freaky ass legs once!"

you feel better back in the water. you duck your head under and swim ten feet away from the shore, twirling in a figure eight as you refresh your dehydrated body. when you breach the water, sevika's waist deep and scrambling, her hands reaching out as she searches for you in the waves.

she spots you and her shoulders slump in relief. you back away as she starts trudging towards you.

"would you quit swimmin' away, asshole? i'm trying to get to you!" she shouts. you roll your eyes at her but stop swimming, allowing her to doggypaddle over to you.

"you should be careful. the tide'll sweep you out and then you'll be lost at sea aga--mmph!"

sevika cuts you off with a kiss.

you've never kissed anyone before. some of the girls in your pack like to play with their food before they eat-- pressing kisses to enchanted sailors before tearing their throats out-- so you've seen it before. you just never got the hype.

at least not until now. because now, sevika, the pretty woman pirate, is pressing her chapped lips against yours, her warm human hands gently cupping your jaw as she hums against your mouth. now, you feel a whirlpool in your stomach. now, you feel an altogether different kind of hunger for human flesh in your chest. you wanna taste her, so you dart your tongue out to brush against her lips. she moans against you, one of her hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you against her chest. you shudder in her arms. she's strong.

sevika pulls away with a gasp after a while, and you hold onto her shoulders to keep steady as a dizzy feeling swirls in your head.

"i'm sorry." she says. "you're right. you've been nothing but nice to me and i've been a bitch. it's just a lot. i nearly died and then got rescued by a mermaid who chose to save my life and make me breakfast instead of singing me to my final sleep." she says. your eyes are locked on her lips, your tongue licking your own as you watch them move as she speaks. "you're beautiful." she says. "like... devastatingly beautiful. i can see why so many sailors would be allured by you." she says. you smile, your eyes flicking up to hers.

"we don't really eat that many humans, you know. before you guys had boats, our diet was mainly fish." you say. sevika grins.

"so... do you wanna eat some fish with me now?" she asks, gesturing to the tiny mountain of headless fish waiting on the beach. you bite your lip.

"promise you won't kill me and sell my body to scientists or something?" you ask. sevika laughs and kisses you again.

"yeah. 's long as you keep letting me kiss you." she whispers.

those terms seem pretty agreeable to you.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity

[arctrooper69]

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Chapter 14:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Canon violence

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

The trip back to your small shuttle seemed to take twice as long.

“... yeah the shuttle’s still there…”

The subtle echo of voices and gear drifted across the rocky terrain and you froze. For a moment it disappeared and you’d almost convinced yourself that once again this moon was playing tricks on you.

A haggard, hacking cough sounded from around the corner where piles of slag leaned and stacked over each other creating some sort of natural shelter beside the mouth of yet another cavernous mineshaft.

You dove behind a large boulder. Kriff. Cid had said the planet was uninhabited.

Is someone else after the jewels too?

Cid hadn't mentioned that either. You were going to have a serious talk with her when you got back.

If I even make it back in one piece. You rubbed your aching shoulder. From the way this mission was going, you weren't sure just how intact you'd be.

This place is a death trap. At least I have the jewels. Hard part’s over.

The roving light of a headlamp flickered against the rocks before blinking out.

“Karabast!” came a growling curse, “Those kriffing rocks better be worth as much as you say they are, woman!”

“Relax, Nakan.” a female voice snapped, sounding exasperated. “You’ll get your money.”

Two other voices squabled further away.

“Enj! Rico! Get your asses over here!” the female shouted. She sounded human, or at least humanoid.

Crawling slowly, you peered through the cracks of the boulder, to get a better look.

A human woman paced the ground and a large Nikto crouched a few feet from the edge of a mineshaft beneath the craggy overhang of shale. Nakan, the woman had called him.

The ones she’d called Enj and Rico were Weequay - male and female. The female spat on the ground. “We’re wasting our time out here, Boss. There’s nothing here.”

“There will be!” The human crossed her arms, “You just have to trust me!”

The male Weequay said something that you couldn’t quite hear and she nodded. The Nikto got to his feet and followed the others as they continued to search for a different mine.

The voices faded off into the distance, but you waited a little longer before coming out of hiding.

Dust floated through the air, forcing itself deep into your lungs and you choked. Eyes watering, you instinctively reached, pulling the fabric of your shirt to cover your mouth and nose.

Even the air is getting worse. It burnt your lungs. Almost there.

A brief flash of alarmed confusion was the only warning before you found yourself violently acquainted with the ground once again, head forced into the dirt and arms wrenched painfully behind your back, drawing a pained squeal as air was forced from your lungs.

“Hey, boss! Look what I found!” Scaled hands dragged you to your feet, maintaining the iron grip that trapped your arms painfully behind you.

“Get off, asshole!” You spit dirt from your mouth, throwing your shoulders forward to try and yank yourself free.

A sudden click and your jaw snapped shut. The hot dedlanite barrel of a blaster burned into the skin of your forehead. Muscles stiffened as the woman from before brought the blaster down your face, resting it just below your chin, forcing it up so that she could see your face.

“Just when I thought my luck had run out!” she chuckled, “You look like shit and you know what that tells me?”

You glared.

She continued anyway, “That tells me that you’ve been spelunking around here. You find any shiny rocks?”

Any fear left in your worn out mind hardened to a spiteful anger.

Get your own shiny rocks, bitch. These are mine.

Despite the dryness of the air or how your lips cracked and screamed for relief, you spat. “Kriff off!”

Pain exploded from your cheekbone, radiating down your neck as she whipped the blaster without warning.

She slowly wiped the spit from her cheek. “Fine. We’ll do this your way then.”

She turned to one of the Weequays. “Search her. Take what you want then get rid of her.”

The Nikto merely grunted as you kicked your foot back, struggling to gain some semblance of control as he pulled already screaming shoulders ever tighter, binding your hands behind your back.

Nausea flooded passages already inhabited with the adrenaline fueled struggle. It made you dizzy.

A hand jerked the pouch from your belt, renewing the fight to aching muscles. You threw back your head, connecting with the face of the Weequay who’d stolen the stones from your belt. He cursed, dropping the stones, hands flying instinctively to his broken nose.

You reached desperately for the bag of jewels, fingers just barely brushing the fabric.

If I can’t have them, then you definitely can’t.

Another tremor rattled the ground and you watched with numb satisfaction as the small bag tumbled from the ledge into the abyss below.

The woman slammed your head into the ground once more and your vision went white.

“Go in there and get those damn stones!” she snapped over her shoulder, “I’ll take care of her myself!”

The ground began to rumble. A larger quake this time. Stones and dust were violently tossed into the air.

“Shit, just go! Get out!”

Everything was silent then, so slow that it felt as if you were floating - propelled from the edge not by a boot, but by a gentle wind.

***

The Marauder lay so peaceful after that mission.

The memory came to you suddenly as if you’d slipped into a dream, mind desperately grasping to cushion a cruel reality as you tumbled down into the dark.

Omega and Wrecker were laughing because a stray piece of Mantell Mix had landed directly in Tech’s unruly curls and stayed there unmoving. Tech had moved on into the cockpit, yet still that sticky sweet stayed put. It was only when Hunter could no longer keep the grin from his lips nor the laughter from his eyes, that he’d noticed.

That’s the part that played like a holofilm over and over again. The subtly raised eyebrow at Omega’s joyfully hidden giggles. That spark of laughter in eyes that had been serious for too long. The muscles that rippled along his neck and jaw as he held back laughter that soon broke loose and the way he breathed so easily again - momentarily free from the weight of an ever changing galaxy. He was happy.

Oh, what you would do to give him that once more.

I’m sorry, Hunter.

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

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If you want to be on my taglist, feel free to send me a message! Also, asks are open! Reblogging is very much encouraged and it makes me do a happy dance every time any of my writing gets reblogged 😂❤️

[kayawolfhorse]

Day 23 — Following

—☾—

The Sandcastle’s wooden door falls shut behind Grian with a solid thunk that seems to reverberate through the uncut hush. He gives the room a cursory sweep before he sheaths his sword and shucks off his chestplate, wincing as his bloody fingers catch against its leather straps.

“Right, then, let me see your ribs,” Grian tells Scar after his armor is tossed alongside his own.

“Oh, it’s no bother, I can handle it,” Scar says, waving a hand and heading further into the castle.

Grian catches him by the hem of his crimson-soaked shirt. Pausing, Scar turns to meet his eye.

“Let me see it,” Grian repeats. Smiling slightly, he adds, “Besides, are you really going to waste an opportunity to take your shirt off?”

The grin that splits Scar’s face is cheeky, and slightly crooked where one corner of his lip raises higher than the other. His sigh comes in a breath of faux-defeat as he shakes his head and says, “You’ve sold it to me. Where’d you want to do this?”

Grian leads Scar to the kitchen and sits him on the edge of the counter as he sifts around the barrels for supplies. In one he finds bandages; it takes him a few more to locate a potion of healing. He wets a rag in the sink and takes a moment to rinse his hands free of the grime and blood sunk into the marred flesh.

Straightening up, he assesses Scar’s side. The wound isn’t deep—Martyn’s arrow had managed an impressive graze, one sure to sting for a while, but Grian’s fairly confident on the relative safety of all of Scar’s organs.

He hands Scar the potion. “Shouldn’t need more than a sip. I’ll wrap this, alright?”

“Aye, aye.” Scar salutes and uncorks the bottle.

Scar’s tan skin is warm where Grian’s fingertips brush against it. The conversation they find themselves in while Grian dabs against the wound is blissfully stupid, and Grian gives Scar’s shoulder a light whack whenever he starts to laugh hard enough to disrupt his wrapping. After a few passes around Scar’s torso, the bandages are secure.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Scar says brightly. Plucking the roll from Grian’s grasp, he reaches out for him. “Now, your turn.”

“What?” Grian takes a step back and frowns. “I’m fine.”

Scar points. “Your hands.”

“Ah.” The burn has faded to a dull monotone at the back of Grian’s mind, like how one eventually filters out the cacophonous racket of a mob farm. “Haven’t been thinking of those.”

“I’ll think about them for you. Come here.”

Grian obeys, and at Scar’s gesture holds out his right hand, palm up. Scar is gentler than Grian could ever dream of being, and he near-cradles Grian’s hand in his own as he cleans and wraps it. The furnaces’ gentle crackle floats through the comfortable quiet, interrupted only by the occasional rattle or groan beyond the sandstone walls. Something hums in Grian’s chest.

The ordeal repeats for Grian’s other hand; when it’s bandaged, Scar gives it a light squeeze before he releases it.

“Thanks,” Grian says, softly, genuinely. It feels wrong to disrupt the silence with things as superfluous as words.

In a single step forward, Scar’s leaning into Grian’s space and his lips are pressed lightly against Grian’s forehead. Grian’s lungs are suddenly, suspiciously absent of the air he swears was just there, and it feels as though the sun itself has blossomed alight within him, casting rays between every sinew of his being. He wills his arms to remain at his sides.

“Goodnight, G,” Scar says, and his crooked smile is sweet. He heads for bed and Grian’s left standing in the glow of the kitchen alone. The supplies sit discarded along the counter. The furnaces burn low. Grian follows Scar to sleep.

[historyofguns]

The article, authored by Clayton Walker and published on February 21, 2025, in The Armory Life, discusses Springfield Armory's "Gear Up" program for 2025, a promotion running from February 1st to April 30th. During this period, purchasers of a Springfield AR Series rifle or Hellion will receive a package of valuable accessories. These include an additional magazine, a single-point sling, and a Crimson Trace CT-103 Red Dot sight. The SAINT series rifles, including the 5.56mm, Victor, and Edge variants, are highlighted for their advanced features, while the Hellion is noted for its compact bullpup design. The promotional package is valued at up to $250, providing additional incentives for prospective buyers. However, to avail of the offer, eligible buyers must provide proof of purchase and complete an online redemption form by April 30, 2025.

[embarrassedanon]

A free trip to Australia to help his uncle's marine biology expedition sounded too good to be true to Simon. The weather was gorgeous, the marine life out of this world, the only catch seemed to be the crew.

Despite all of their typical Australian surfer dude look, these guys were total nerds. They knew everything there was to know about the ocean and had no qualms about making Simon feel dumb.

Whenever he asked, in his opinion, reasonable questions the whole crew, his uncle included would exchange glances, nudge one another, and chuckle in ways that made him feel two inches tall.

No matter, always the optimist, Simon decided he'd just focus on swimming and sunning. No use in trying to make chit chat with the nerds, even if they were unbelievably sexy.

On one of the days when they were diving down to a reef, Simon stayed up on deck, sunbathing and handing them flippers and vials for samples as needed. His hands, greased up sun tan lotion, sent a handful of supplies barreling over the edge of the dock. The crew, fathoms below would certainly notice if they saw their equipment floating past them to the ocean floor so Simon knew he had to act fast.

He dove in and ferried everything to the edge of the boat before hoisting himself back up. Just as he emerged from the water, the crew surfaced. As they removed their googles and respirators they were treated to the sight of Simon's hairless butt cheeks. His waterlogged bathing suit had sagged beneath the curve of his ass, flashing quite the plumber's crack to the chortling crew.

"Simon, buddy, your Marianas Trench is showing." His uncle said, eliciting guffaws from his crew.

Simon whipped his head around to let them know he wasn't even offended by his little marine-based slight, because only a nerd would know what that meant.

He was stopped in his tracks when over his shoulder he caught sight of his bare ass.

They were all looking at his exposed cheeks.

Blushing like a red snapper, Simon roughly pulled up the speedo, a grave overcorrection. The force he exerted on the suit caused the material to lodge in his crack leaving the underside of his cheeks exposed and, as became apparent when he turned around, his balls to spill out the side.

"Oy, why don't you get your poor nephew at wetsuit so he's not all shriveled up," one of the crew guys yelled out. The laughter was even louder now.

This was a total nightmare for Simon. A bunch of hot guys who already thought he was an idiot poking fun at his totally embarrassing wardrobe malfunction. And he was stuck in the middle of the ocean with no way to escape. He knew this trip was too good to be true.

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐫❜𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞

Summary ➳ Ship after ship, wreck after wreck, Edward was growing tired of searching ships. But he wasn’t going to believe some superstition.  

(A/n) ➳ Honestly, it feels nice being back. I posted a preview on IG but I deicded to write it again because I had no idea what to do. Enjoy!! 

Word Count ➳ 525 

Content Warnings ➳ Female/Mermaid Reader, small mention of weapons, mentions of alcohol use...  

The water was heavy, pressing in on Edward from all sides as he swam deeper into the shipwreck. The sunlight seeped through the cracks in the hull, casting eerie patterns along the rotten wood. His lungs ached from being unable to catch another breath of air, but he pushed forward always, tired of the endless search for the medicine vials.  

Thatch had rolled his eyes at the idea, claiming there was another way. “A mermaid’s blood, lad.” He’d said, clutching the hilt of his sword tighter. “That’ll cure any man’s ailment faster than those damn bottles.”  

Edward had laughed, humoring the old pirate, but he hadn’t believed a word of it. Hornigold on the other hand, was eager and agreed to Thatch’s idea. Edward played along just enough to keep peace, but he knew better. 

Medicine was real. Mermaids were stories. 

Silly ones at that. He was at sea for many years and not once has he seen one, stories of them were always told by drunken sailors, unable to stand on their feet, let alone hold a pistol.  

He laughed them off, letting them believe what they wanted.  

You lingered near the coral, observing him for some time. You noticed him the moment when a large shadow cast over you, a ship, followed by a bell of some sorts, and him following right behind.  

You watched him come out of the ship and to a barrel that was dropped into the water, he was there for a moment before coming back down.  

Your eyes followed him as he pried open a chest, rummaging through its contents. Gold coils, rusted trinkets, and shining gemstones were pushed into his pockets.  

He was not the first to take from an ocean’s graveyard, but he was the first you decided to follow.  

The goods you watched him take slipped free, floating aimlessly away. For a second, you just watched, rather amused. You waited until his back was turned and then you darted forward, collecting the runaway goods.  

Edward leaned into a broken section of the ship, you placed them in a spot where he would see them. But just as you finished, he stirred, turning sharply. 

A flick of your tail sent you swimming away.  

He caught something in the corner of his eye, something shimmering and quick, making him tense up a little.  

A giant fish maybe? He thought twice when he searched the ship and caught another glimpse of that tail.  

Sparkly, glowing, iridescent too he realized. Too bright, too unnatural to be a simple fish.  

He swam out of the wreck, following you from a distance. You led him through a winding cave system where the water pushed him unpredictably. He struggled against the currents, determined not to lose sight of you, but after a while, you were gone.  

He surfaced in a pocket of air within the cave, gulping in oxygen before diving again. There was another part of the wreck when he came out of the cave, and after searching, he found a chest.  

And there, on top of a chest, sat a single jewel, one that he favored over the rest.  

© Intoxicated-Chan 2025, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.  

[marcmarcmomarc]

I told you I would bring up @pmpknsoup’s post more times.

Feel free to comment or reblog how you think this would have gone.

———————————————————————————-

INT. THEODORE’S OFFICE IN SHADE ACADEMY - EARLY EVENING

(Team RWBY and Jaune face the main members of the Remnant Alliance, consisting of Team JNPR plus Oscar/Ozpin and Emerald, Team STRQ, the Ace-Ops, the Happy Huntresses, Winter, the Beacon Brigade, Whitley, Willow, Klein, Maria, Pietro, Ghira, Kali, Ilia, Oobleck, Port, Glynda, Theodore, Rumpole, and Zwei.)

RUBY: Listen. Thanks, everyone, for your patience.

RUBY: It took a while to figure out how to tell you, and I know being left in the dark about our whereabouts over the remainder of the winter, the whole spring, and the summer has left you anxious, but now, I’ve decided it’s time to reveal what’s been going on. Robyn, I’ll need your Semblance to prove all of this correct.

ROBYN: Uh, okay.

(Robyn steps away from the group, removes her glove, and joins hands with Ruby. Her Semblance turns on and glows green with every piece of information Ruby gives.)

ROBYN: So, you guys didn’t make it out of the pocket dimension before it collapsed. Where did you guys fall to?

RUBY: Well, after I fell, I regained consciousness on a beach surrounded by giant seashells. I tried to hone in on a giant tree, but just ended up looping in circles. Eventually, I had to stop, then found a mouse trying to pull a plant out of the ground. I pulled the plant, which turned out to be a cheese plant, out for the mouse, and fed it to them. After the mouse revealed that they could talk, I named them Little, and they decided to stay by my side as I tried to get home. Then we found Weiss and Blake captured in vines by a whole village of talking mice. It didn’t take much convincing to get them to let them go. Then we went to look for Yang and found a creepy Grimm-looking creature moving jerkily. And I mean very creepy. (IMITATING JABBERWALKER) “Stalking. Searching. Waiting. Listening.” (NORMAL VOICE) Then Yang came barreling out, already fighting the creature while missing her arm. Then Blake realized we were in our favorite childhood fairy tale, The Girl Who Fell Through the World.

(Confusion and wonder all around. “That fairy tale?” “The Ever After?” “It’s real?”)

OSCAR: That fairy tale actually happened? And the Ever After is real?

RUBY: Which means the creepy Grimm-like creature was the Jabberwalker from that story. Also, Weiss had a very hard time wrapping her head around the Ever After’s absurdities.

(Weiss blushes with embarrassment.)

WEISS: I did not.

RUBY: Our hands are glowing green, Weiss. Robyn’s Semblance never fails.

WEISS: Hmph!

RUBY: Then we went to the village in the King’s Acre to barter with the Jinxy Peddler, who had stolen Yang’s arm. Well, they don’t “steal”, they just “take things others aren’t looking at”. Fair is fair, right, Little?

ROBYN: Sounds like a legitimate businessperson.

WEISS: Right?

EMERALD: So, what was the Jinxy Peddler like?

VELVET: Was he cute?

WEISS: Cute? He was adorable!

RUBY: And, despite being older than he was in the book, his strategy was the same, selling treasures that are really other items in disguise. If my memory serves me right, he had a yellow scepter, a pink rabbit statue, and a marionette-like doll. Toy soldiers won the scepter, and we only got it back from them because Little tried stealing the marionette, exposing Jinxy’s treasures as fakes. The rabbit statue was another mouse, the scepter was Yang’s arm, and the marionette was one of Penny’s Floating Array swords. The soldiers followed us to arrest us for stealing Yang’s arm, or “royal property”, before I traded Penny’s sword, and told them she was the greatest warrior to ever live. “She was touched by magic, and she gave her life for thousands. She took a message of hope to the stars, and she saw the world through better eyes.”

(The gang gets emotional, especially Winter and Pietro, who are comforted by their loved ones.)

RUBY: The soldiers escorted us to the Crimson Castle for the birthday of who we thought was the Red King, but turned out to be the Red Prince, who was more of a spoiled brat than Weiss was at Beacon.

YANG: (nudging Weiss) Heh-heh.

RUBY: We challenged him to a game of chess, where he shrunk the girls to the size of chess pawns. Not that it hindered their performance against the Prince’s pawns. When we revealed that we’re humans and beat him, he threw a tantrum and wanted us beheaded, and the Curious Cat rescued us.

(More interested chatter. Nora gets giddy.)

NORA: The Curious Cat?!

REN: Were they as chatty as the book made them out to be?

RUBY: Mm-hm. Not to mention easily distracted. Anyway, they took us to look for ingredients for a Growgurt Parfait in the Garden’s Acre, and we told them our life story, but because we kept getting distracted with our internal conflicts, we kept losing them over and over again. After the third time, when they asked me how I’m supposed to save the world now that Salem has two out of four Relics and that Atlas is gone, we met an herbalist, a caterpillar named Herb. He seemed to be asking us questions to figure out what medicine he needed to make to help us. Looking back, he was being reasonable, as too little medicine is useless, but too much medicine is toxic. Eventually, Herb decided to just smoke a hookah for a bit and drugged us with leaves that made us see our past selves tempting us to “go back”. To be free. To be simple. To be whole. To be different. The other girls rejected and had already accepted their failures as something to learn from, but I almost gave in, before the Cat stopped me, then got Herb swallowed by a hole in the ground.

(The gang chatters in moods ranging from confusion to nervousness.)

TAI: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up. You guys did drugs?

QROW: Don’t let alcoholism be next, girls.

RUBY: Anyway, the Cat led us to a market to keep looking for the Parfait ingredients. Along the way, they told us about a process that occurs when an Afteran is no longer doing their assigned role, triggered by them losing their ways, wearing out, doubting themselves, or even just finishing their assigned tasks, upon which they’re taken to the Great Tree and repurposed into someone or something else with a new identity, personality, and role. Their memories are erased in the process, but the heart very rarely forgets. They don’t die. They ascend.

(Such a concept catches the interest of the gang.)

REMNANT ALLIANCE: Ooh.

EMERALD: Talk about a potential existential crisis.

RUBY: Hence why there was no Red King when we got to the Castle. He lost his game and ascended into the brat we encountered. And the hole that swallowed Herb was him starting his own Ascension. Anyway, after we arrived at the market and got all of the Parfait ingredients, the market was attacked by Jabberwalkers using Neopolitan’s Semblance. Oh, yeah, Neopolitan fell with us, too.

(Nora, Ren, Oscar, and Emerald grow worried.)

REN: Uh-oh.

TAI: Neopolitan? Who’s that?

RUBY: Remember Roman Torchwick, the criminal from Vale? Neo was his partner. She held me responsible for his death at the Fall of Beacon and wanted me dead to avenge him.

RAVEN: Was she that chick I saved Yang from on the train under Mountain Glenn?

RUBY: Yep. Then I disposed of her by opening her umbrella on an Atlas airship in the sky during the Fall of Beacon. Apparently she survived that fall without any of those Grimm surrounding us eating her.

OSCAR: Team JNPR and I last fought her right after Ironwood declared us fugitives.

RUBY: Then she fought us in the pocket dimension between here and Solitas. Heck, she was the reason Yang, Blake, and I fell. Anyway, we made the Growgurt Parfait and the girls grew back to normal size just as we got assistance from the Rusted Knight riding his white rabbit.

WHITLEY: Did Weiss go goo-goo eyes the second she laid eyes on him? She had a crush on him when she was younger.

BLAKE: I think everyone had a crush on the Rusted Knight at some point.

RUBY: Well, things didn’t help when he turned out to be a grown-up Jaune with longer hair and a beard, who grabbed a fruit that sent him back in time twenty years right after he landed.

(The gang gasps at the new knowledge of the Rusted Knight being not only Jaune, of all people, but Jaune thrown backwards in time, grown older, and living without his friends for so long.)

NORA: Oh, my Gods!

REN: Jaune, that really happened to you?

JAUNE: I was stuck there isolated from other human contact, too.

YANG: Weiss certainly loved how mature he was.

RUBY: And the white rabbit was a jackalope Jaune named Juniper.

NORA: After his team? Aww!

RUBY: Then Jaune told us his perspective on the Tree, that he believed it was death, that Alyx backstabbed her brother Lewis, the author of the fairy tale, who wrote the story the way he wished it happened, and that the Cat couldn’t be trusted. Before long, we got caught in a “punderstorm”, which creates a physical manifestation of a mental or emotional problem. Jaune, Weiss, Juniper, and I were sent to metaphorical and literal crossroads, while Yang and Blake were sent to two unstable bridges connected to a giant pillar that they could only make more planks to advance toward if they were honest about their feelings for each other. Yeah, Yang and Blake are girlfriends.

(As Yang and Blake blush at each other, everyone congratulates them.)

NORA: See, Ren? I told you there was more going on!

KALI: Our baby girl found love?

TAI: With my sunny little dragon?

RAVEN: Wow. She really is your daughter, Tai.

TAI: What’s that supposed to mean?

RAVEN: A tall confident blonde slinging dad jokes and puns and a brooding dark-haired beauty? A tale as old as time.

RUBY: Then the Cat bailed on us after mistaking us for selfishly using them to get home, and once the storm passed, Jaune let us spend the night in his house in the Origami Acre, then he introduced us the next morning to a village of paper stars called the Paper Pleasers. They seemed very dumb and clumsy at first, because of the daily disasters they were causing, but, at the end of the day, were very hospitable. He also named them after all of us. On his to-do list, I saw Ren, Ruby, Oscar, Nora, Neptune, and Pyrrha.

(Not a word is spoken as everyone exchanges concerned and uncomfortable looks with each other.)

RUBY: Anyway, a Paper Pleaser told us they kept causing disasters because they wanted to ascend, because their purpose was long since finished, but Jaune was stopping them because of his belief that the tree was death. They told us that the Tree isn’t death, but resurrection, rebuilding, and rebirth.

JAUNE: That must have been our waiter, the Blake Paper Pleaser.

RUBY: Then Neo’s Jabberwalkers attacked, and while we were distracted, the Paper Pleasers finally managed to off themselves by destroying the koi pond dam and drowning in the flood, then when the girls asked me to help comfort Jaune, I blew up at them for caring more about everyone else’s feelings or getting home, taking my mental health for granted and ignoring my problems…

(As Weiss, Blake, Yang, and Jaune exchange looks of guilt…)

(…everyone leans in anxiously. Things are getting even more interesting, but not in a good way.)

RUBY: …then I ran away, came across the Abandoned Acre, and entered a mansion, where Neo had made clone illusions of Roman Torchwick, Penny, Pyrrha, Professor Lionheart, Clover, Ozpin, and Ironwood, and used them to physically and psychologically abuse me, beating me up ruthlessly and blaming me for their deaths, and when the chaos was over, I felt no will to live or be myself anymore, not helped by Torchwick’s question: “Do you really think you can stand to watch more of your friends fall? Or are you ready to admit the truth, that the world would just be better off without you?”

(The gang regards Ruby sorrowfully. Ozpin can be heard sniffling.)

RUBY: Then Neo offered me tea made from leaves from the Tree intended to wipe me from existence. The Cat blasted her away, but then turned out to be evil and tried to possess me, while revealing that they had been trying to wear me down the whole time, then Neo fought them off and stomped Little to death, then I finally gave in, drank the tea, offing myself, and got swallowed by the Tree.

YANG: (tearing up) Oh, Rubes.

RUBY: Then I met a Blacksmith, who I also found at the market, or, rather, she found me, and then she presented me with a choice to either change my identity or be myself. I saw my mom Summer’s weapon and was treated to a vision of the night she left with Raven on another one of Ozpin’s secret missions and never came back.

(Tai turns accusingly at Raven.)

TAI: Raven?

YANG: She lied? She left with you?

RAVEN: Yeah… Hey, like I said to her, “First time for everything.”

(The gang gives her a look.)

RAVEN: Really? Sheesh. Tough crowd.

HARE: (to Ruby) Wait. Summer? Like, Summer Rose, the Huntress and leader of Team STRQ?

RUBY: Yeah.

REMNANT ALLIANCE: (walla) Summer?…Summer Rose?…The previous silver-eyed Huntress?…That’s Summer Rose’s daughter?

RUBY: And then, I remembered my mom’s words, “I love you just the way you are,” chose to be myself, and came back to help the girls fight the Cat. And we won.

(Cheers and applause all around.)

RUBY: And then Neo killed the Cat by using the Jabberwalkers to eat them. By the way, the Jabberwalker is the only creature to prevent Ascension if it eat Afterans.

BLAKE: On my count, there were a whopping five of them.

REMNANT ALLIANCE: (walla) Five?…Five of them?…Five Jabberwalkers?

SUN: Talk about overkill.

ELM: (after doing the multiplication math in her head) That’s gotta be over ninety teeth!

RUBY: And, according to the girls, Neo was possessed by the Cat, and she chose to accept Torchwick’s death and undergo her own Ascension. Oh, and Little ascended, too, into who we called Somewhat, and succeeded Jaune as the protector of the Ever After. By then, we had made it to the Tree by coming to terms with the truth, we’ll never be perfect, that even the most skilled Huntsmen and Huntresses have failed, and we walked through the door back home, landed inside the plane of the Tree, and met the Blacksmith again at her workshop. When we noticed two statues of the Brother Gods, she told us their backstory. That the Ever After was overfilled with plants and dangerous wildlife in its primordial years, but the Brothers were created to clear it out. Then they created the Afterans as well as the different acres for them to live in. They designed new creations that would replace them in maintaining the Ever After. This was how the Cat was created. They later created the Jabberwalker as a form of destruction. However, the two disagreed on whether it disrupted the balance or not and began to wage war.

OSCAR AND OZPIN: (both scoff) What else is new?

RUBY: The Blacksmith told us how balance isn’t supposed to be two opposing forces locked in battle; balance is an ecosystem, an organism, and a living thing, thus balance isn’t restored with force or manipulation, it’s restored naturally, requiring love and patience to see it through to the end. The Gods got to Remnant because the Ever After created a door to a “greater beyond” for them, so they can leave and experiment in creating new worlds as much as they like.

REN: Huh. So the Ever After came before Remnant.

NORA: (snickering) So the Tree basically said, “You think you have life sorted out? Then get out of my house”?

RUBY: Pretty much.

(Everyone laughs at the Brother Gods basically being “kicked out of the house” by their “mom”. Some Gods they are.)

YANG: Oh, my Gods, that’s such a hilarious way of looking at it. Thanks, Nora.

RUBY: Anyway, the Blacksmith told us that we impacted the Ever After significantly, just like Somewhat, Alyx, and Lewis, and that the Cat caused a bad impact. Then she de-aged Jaune, but let him keep his memories, which explains the white streak in his hair, and made us a portal in the desert on the outskirts of the city, and here we are.

(Ruby lets go of Robyn’s hand. The freedom fighter rejoins the rest of the Alliance.)

RUBY: So, I’m happy to announce that I’m not giving up the fight to save the world anytime soon! We’ve had a lot of ups and downs over the past two years, but we always pulled ourselves back together at the end of the day, and we won’t stop now! With global unity right at our fingertips and the ability to keep moving forward and accept our failures as things to learn from, we can stand up to Salem and her forces! And no longer will we be putting the entire burden of the world’s safety on one individual! My name is Ruby Rose, and I am a Huntress!

REMNANT ALLIANCE: (walla) Yes!…Great!…Alright!…Thank goodness!…Welcome back, Ruby!…Good to have you back, kid!…Way to go, Ruby!…That’s my girl!

YANG: We’re so proud of you, Ruby.

RUBY: Thanks, guys. You and your support mean the world to me. And I’m just as proud to call you guys family. All of you.

(Everyone looks at Ruby with warmed hearts.)

———————————————————————————-

Starring the voices of

Ruby Rose: LINDSAY JONES

Robyn Hill: CRISTINA VEE

Oscar Pine: AARON DISMUKE

Weiss Schnee: KARA EBERLE

Emerald Sustrai: KATIE NEWVILLE

Velvet Scarlatina: CAITI WARD

Yang Xiao Long: BARBARA DUNKELMAN

Nora Valkryrie: SAMANTHA IRELAND

Lie Ren: NEATH OUM

Taiyang Xiao Long: BURNIE BURNS

Qrow Branwen: JASON LIEBRECHT

Raven Branwen: ANNA HULLUM

Whitley Schnee: HOWARD WANG

Blake Belladonna: ARRYN ZECH

Jaune Arc: MILES LUNA

Kali Belladonna: TARA PLATT

Harriet Bree: ANAIRIS QUIÑONES

Sun Wukong: MICHAEL JONES

Elm Ederne: DAWN M. BENNETT

Professor Ozpin: SHANNON McCORMICK

Additional Voices

May Marigold: SENA BRYER

Coco Adel: ASHLEY BURNS

Glynda Goodwitch: TIANA CAMACHO

Iris Marilla: DANI CHAMBERS

Bartholomew Oobleck: CAM CLARKE

Fiona Thyme: MICHELE EVERHEART

Arslan Altan: CASSIE EWULU

Dr. Pietro Polendina: DAVE FENNOY

Scarlet David: GAVIN FREE

Willow Schnee: CAITLIN GLASS

Marrow Amin: MICK LAUER

Ilia Amitola: CHERAMI LEIGH

Joanna Greenleaf: MARISSA LENTI

Yatsuhashi Daichi: JOE MACDONALD

Nolan Porfirio: AARON MARQUIS

Winter Schnee: ELIZABETH MAXWELL

Fox Alistair: MAX MITTELMAN

Sage Ayana: JOSH ORNELAS

Bolin Hori: JON RISINGER

Nadir Shiko: ZENO ROBINSON

Peter Port: ANTHONY SARDINHA

Neptune Vasilias: KERRY SHAWCROSS

Professor Theodore: KEITH SILVERSTEIN

Maria Calavera: MELISSA STERNENBERG

Klein Sieben: J. MICHAEL TATUM

Ghira Belladonna: KENT WILLIAMS

Reese Chloris: ERIN WINN

Xanthe Rumpole: ANNE YATCO

[dhampling]

butter gn!reader, 2.5k

Astarion and his legendary beauty. Old hunting ground turned safe haven. A halo of well-aged tavern dust floats atop his perfect head in the sunlight and you couldn’t be more in love if you tried.

-

you and the vampire spend a short gloaming sun discussing marriage outside the Elfsong.

word count: 2,538

crossposted on AO3 HERE

read the tags and decide your fate!

He’s softer this evening and the room is fuzzy.

The smell of richly slow-roasted meats & seasonal field greens slapped up high on battered dishes and lathered with fresh salted butter, topped with baby mint, with window-grown rosemary; with truffle salts and crushed peppercorns. Red wine gravy. The open kitchen and the overworked barkeep with sweat glistening at his cheekbone.

Chalices lift from sticky dark tables, sleeves animated in shades of burgundy & emerald moving yellowed, peeling playing cards to chests. Hands joined in prayers of gratitude and glory. Extra chairs for those held close. Laughter; lilting as the bounce of those who whirl around the open floor to the sound of the bards, folding over in some giddy stupor and barreling back to the bar for more.

You nurse a now-warm pint of Balor Ale with eyes closed, calm in empty contemplation as the city smells and sounds wash over you. A late summertide tapestry. 

Though people mill about the bar frenetically and the sounds from inside the Elfsong are as raucous as ever; it all knots together to form a sweet, almost melancholy ambience. 

Nearby merchants bellow late-day deals on (mildly) heat-foetid produce. Peals of children laughing as they bomb through the cobbles. 

Occasionally you’ll flit your lazy eyes open to find him amongst the throngs of people inside.

And in perfect view, he lounges on the back support of an open booth seat Karlach occupies. 

Other party members dot similarly around the bar area and the wine flows free as the Chionthar among them. Legs crossed one over the other and cool hands coloured in late amber - one to support, the other to hold the stem of an ‘aged’ Rosymorn Firewine which threatens to spill a little overside as his arm moves in conversation.

From this angle he’s captured beautifully in the gloaming tenday light and from his slightly straightened poise it’s clear he knows that you’re watching for him. 

A voyeur. 

He’d question your intent, right by your ear, in a sing-song voice so sinfully rich it’d go straight to your head; before chortling in that one silly way he knows never fails to make you smile and capturing you - his darling dearest - in a kiss for the ages. 

Astarion and his legendary beauty. Old hunting ground turned safe haven. A halo of well-aged tavern dust floats atop his perfect head in the sunlight and you couldn’t be more in love if you tried. 

-

You see he looks to you after what seems to have been a joke told by one of the group, eyes heavy lidded with joy and the worn creases by his eyes a little deeper by the day. Checking in. You join your friends when you want and are gratefully received on those many occasions, but you revere your time alone. He holds back because he doesn’t want to upset you in the slightest. 

Despite reiterating that he is forever welcome to join you in said alone time - and all puns entailing your ‘ alone time ’ whispered in a soft silken purr aside - you feel it in the way he speaks to you. 

A fruitfly hums by your ear. You swat it away and look to him once more. 

Astarion’s eyes are back on the group. 

He listens to stories beyond your earshot and smiles, lolling his pretty head back and dipping to sip from his glass often, the tips of his ears twitching ever so slightly as he does. You clock the sparkling glassware as opposed to the standard tavern-offering pewter chalice and grimace. A heavy bell rings from one of the gilded towers in the near distance.

There’s a cathedral near where you’re from - you remember your visits there as a young thing. The height of the tallest spire seemingly miles above your tiny skull. Ribbed vaulting and lancets. You’d marry him there, when he’d let you, in one of the smaller chapels just off the aged cloister walkway. 

The old stone reminiscent of so many who’d loved in all sorts of mangled, patchwork ways before you two were even a thought. 

You’d find a way for the sun to forgive him once this was over, so he could stand in the light of a stained rose window and feel faith in something the way those born into religion do. 

A reception bursting at the seams with old friends at the Elfsong. You could dance yourselves to the point of a tired stupor with reason enough to do so. A celebration. 

Travel across Toril and find a way for him to be able to stomach real food, maybe. Have a cake with marzipan and trifle with rich sherry-soaked sponge for the guests. For him.

His lips show the faintest touch of a wine singe as he looks from Wyll and across to Jaheira, squinting in the sun before standing to - presumably - head to the bar. 

-

You close your eyes again and somewhere in the middle distance, bells continue to ring. A dopey grin as light heeled footsteps approach.

“I think everyone was beginning to wonder if we’d had a tiff.” 

Astarion sniffs gently and sits - almost slumped - toward you before leaning in for the kiss.

His lips open lazily to meet yours over and over again, skimming over the back of your teeth with a tannin-stained tongue and all the urgency of a tenday rest. A cold thumb brushes over the apple of your newly freckled cheek. 

A carafe of freshly corked wine on the bench before you both, glassware and a plate with warm bread. The butter you’d smelled earlier. 

“Could’ve come to me sooner, lover.” You pose with a slow blink, holding his arm still at the wrist to keep his hand to your burning face. 

Foreheads meet. The sun beats in the back and the still early evening air is interrupted by the faint buzz of insects and far-off children.

“I know. I do. You just looked so very deep in thought. Our heroic leader.” He jokes, emphasising ‘heroic leader’ in a mock grizzled tone before his head leaves yours and bringing you into his torso with his arm around you. 

His stillness feels reverent. 

He doesn’t jostle, not a single gesture. You steadily pour two glasses of Firewine from the hefty carafe and sit back into him again. 

“I was thinking about you.” You say in earnest while moving to toy mindlessly with the hand draped over your shoulder.

“Hm?” 

A flicker - his eyes are on you, a familiar burn, a fire poker. He knows that he’s often the subject of your pondering (if your word is to be believed) and has spent days of his own considering what that could mean.

On nights where his tongue sours with centuries of fermented scorn and his bedroll soaks through with thick, cold sweat; your mind is a fertile meadow and he resides as naught but a simple buxom milkmaid - giving and dense and virile atop dry grassy knolls and by stony running rivers, rutting and riding and suckling and spilling with bare teeth brushing shining cheekbones and dirt smears on thighs. Dimples on cheeks. Eyes of green and silver, blunt teeth.

“You. I was thinking about you.”

Astarion looks into the oncoming twilight. He rests his head to the side on yours, then nestles in a little. A sigh.  

From that meadow however, there’s a house with a thatch roof in the far distance; in which he sits by a roaring fireplace in comfortable clothes of his own choice and you, bundling through the door with a basket of fresh produce to stew in hand. 

Those lips alone capable of crafting a euphoria akin to a godsly blessing on him. 

One bedroom; perhaps two. 

Maybe even three. 

“How so, my sweet?” He speaks with the familiar measure of a thousand yard stare.

He doesn’t make the voyeur joke you’d seen so vividly in your mind’s eye, nor does he collapse around you with both arms at either of your sides and his chin on your head; burying kisses into your hair and cackling maniacally. 

His laundry must’ve dried on the balcony in your party’s quarters during the blazing height of Flamerule. Ruffled shirt linen, crisp and earthy.

“You want to know how I was thinking about you?”

A soft intake of breath. 

“Yes.”

You shift a little to look to the Lower City further down the hills and pathways of Baldur’s Gate, the span of the Chionthar and its banks now lit with flaming torches. 

The racket continues inside the Elfsong with songs being sung; food arriving at waiting tables and being spooned, hot, into hungry, wet mouths. Sweat slickened palms joining in prayer. Yellowed cards downed and reshuffled, hands dealt. Bards plucking at lutes and lyres on streets and in parks just far enough away.

He looks to you as you roll your tongue around the inside of your cheek. Soft round eyes seeking permission to dream alongside you. 

‘I was picturing a wedding. Our wedding. In the cathedral back near home - I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before.”

Though it hasn’t been left to sit long enough to aerate, you take a long sip of wine and a cloying film of carnelian remains on your tongue. 

His eyes sharpen.

“You didn’t just propose to me, did you?’ 

He quirks a brow.

‘Really, darling? Here?’

He gestures to your surroundings while feigning disdain and reaching for the other glass. You begin to shake your head.

‘Come on now, little love. Not even a ring?”

Astarion drinks. His voice is lower. You roll your head back in loving laughter and wriggle yourself from his grasp, buttering a chunk of bread before popping it cleanly into your mouth.

”You want a ring?’ 

A sip. A smile.

‘Go nick one. You’re the rogue here.” You quip, chewing still on the crust and wiping your fingers on a scrap of cloth. 

He brings them to his lips and licks clean any trace of salty butter, kissing each pad of calloused flesh attentively before sipping from his glass. 

“Thieving my own engagement ring? How very sad.’

Spare hand gesturing once again to the tavern in such a blasé fashion it would make you cringe if you still put any doubt into his estimation of you.

‘This whole thing.”

His brows furrow in jest, the corner of his mouth pulling at a quick smirk. 

“Steal one for me, then.” You suckle at your wine, keeping the vessel close pressed to your lips lest their wavering seriousness give your smile away. Astarion studies you.

“You’d accept a stolen ring as a sign of promise? Of intent to marry?” He queries, though not sounding as airy - nor aghast - as he likely means to.

“Depends who stole it.”

He looks back to the city in the distance. Silence between the two of you.

“What were you picturing in that pretty head of yours? The wedding.”

His hands roll over one another nonchalantly as he says the word. Wedding. The glass sloshes. He’s toying on the precipice of serious, a scene he can’t quite play at comfortably yet.

“Oh no no no, my love. You’ll recoil. It was far too homely for your tastes.” You shake your head animatedly, waving your hands in emphasis. 

He leans in towards you; a sordid grin. He’s comfortable now. The warmth in which his shirt dried vividly present.

“Oh go on, darling. Make me squirm. Tell me every fang-rottingly flaccid detail and I’ll absolutely hate it, I promise.”

You choose to forget the face of endless night this evening. 

The anticipated fast approaching absence of the tadpole means - most likely - the rescinding of Astarion’s ability to walk in the sun, to bask under the stained glass rose in the chapel; or to waltz in a quiet midday embrace atop the Elfsong veranda.

“Can I trust you to be as absolutely appalled as I imagine you’ll be?” You whisper, saccharine in mock secrecy. 

“I swear it. Hand on undead heart.” 

He lingers barely above you, solemn; a voice of liquid gold. 

You let the silence hang.

“A chapel’

He winces.

‘Cold and draughty in some early morning moment - a choir elsewhere in the building, not close enough to be loud but not far enough to have their verses be wholly indiscernible in song.” 

“Go on.”

“Maybe a little austere in tone owing to the nature of the environment, but each moment feels anticipatory. A small - no, intimate - service, fast but…’

You tap your fingers on the dry wood of the bench. Trying to recall the exact sentiment.

‘Eager. Full of devotion so sickeningly true it literally fizzes below the surface of the flesh. Both of us.” 

Now you sip, content. Astarion looks into the distance 

There are no burdens pertaining to the ‘Absolute’. Life is being lived and the day feels as if it is ending only for another one - just the same - to rise in its place tomorrow. The idea of fighting and peril waits for the morning chimes. An unspoken agreement.

“I keep forgetting I can make choices like that now, truth be told. To commit myself to something with no intent other than that which I decide.”

He’s wistful. A little contemplative. Fingers tapping away.

“There’s no rush, my dove.’ 

Eyes back on you, hand reaching for yours.

‘Besides - for the trifle I pictured at the reception; we’d need to solve your little taste problem first before I’d dream of allowing such an indulgence to go to waste.”

Astarion coughs, a glint in his eye.

“You’re questioning my taste now?”

“Oh, absolutely. Look at your choice in partner.” 

He laughs softly.

“You're an insufferable thing.’

Your fingers & knapsack are both heavy already with stolen gems, as are those of every friend you’ve met along the road. Rings of onyx, quartz; once personal keepsakes & now your plunderer’s spoils. He’s like a magpie whilst rummaging through burlap sacks and rotten barrels. Token pieces without rhyme or reason.

He knows they’re worthless to sell on, anyway.

‘Who knows, though. I might like that. Once I know who I am again.”

Wobbles his head. Examines his pristine fingernails, buffing them softly against his blouse.

“Did you just accept a proposal that you fictionalised in the first place?” You gulp the last of your glass before refilling it swiftly.

“No. But now, you’ve got me thinking.”

“Pray tell?”

He looks at you, eyes now awash with mischief. 

“Though I absolutely adore the vision of you on your knees for me - you know I do pet, hush now - I also like the idea of claiming the pose for myself. In a way that’s meaningful for me.’

He sips. You remain in place, hushed.

‘I’m not a details man, my love.’

Eyes on you.

‘Don’t do it for me. I want to. Once we know where we are.”

You beam at him. Pinpointing the moment he turns from rogue to butter, a soft smile on his face. Sincere in the last of the sunshine.

You’re not hinting, and you’d never intend to. When - or if - you’ll tie the knot is as asking the length of a piece of string. 

The road which brought you to this very bench, however; has been one fraught with similar nonsensical questions.

[vixensbrainrotts]

hiii i just discovered ur blog and I love it and was thinking if you could write for smiley/Baji and reader that plays sports(volleyball maybe) and maybe they meet when she hits them accidentally... Feel free to ignore my request💝

Lovestruck — Nahoya <Smiley> Katawa

Content: ask-based

Tropes: Volleyball player! Reader, (kind of) loser! Nahoya (he is a loser you cant tell me otherwise)

Warnings: brief mention of fainting, cursing, (slight disrespect towards the end but idk?)

Summary: Nahoya isn’t an easy match, especially not easy to take down, but against your mighty float-serve he stands no chance.

Vixen‘s two cents: Hello! I got a new keyboard so writing feels like butter right now :) smooth. Yeah anyway sorry this took forever to write but i LOVE this request, i love playing Volleyball so im so happy that i could write about it as one of my passions. Anyway, i hope you enjoy this cause i enjoyed writing this! (Also tell me why whenever i write for Smiley he‘s always getting beat the fuck up? Lol)

Bouncing the ball on the court a few times, you smiled, hearing your teammates cheer for you, calls of „Float serve!“ and „Serve it up Girl!“ echoing through the hall. Fulfilling your little pre-serve ritual you bent your knees and crouched a little, batting the ball towards the floor with one hand three times before chucking the ball upwards. Overcome in a rush of confidence thanks to your mates, you took a short run-up, jumping and stretching in the air, swinging your arm in one powerful motion to reel up for a nearly perfect serve.

The ball cut through the air, soaring over the net. The opposing Libero sizes up, readying herself for a receive but at the last moment she decided that it must be falling into the out, leaving it be as she hears her teammates suspicion. Shouts of „Out!“ and „Leave it“ made you falter a little as all eyes were on your ball, watching it meet the ground, right inside the upper right corner of the court.

The whistle blows and the Referee gestured to your half of the court. „In!“ He gestured with his hands sticking up and you and your team, along with a few onlookers erupted into cheers. „ACE!!!“ your teammates chanted shortly, celebrating the point before returning to positions. The ball gets tossed back to you, and the whistle counting eight seconds in which you have to serve blew.

Pounding the ball on the floor, you completed your ritual again, your teammates calling „Again!“ and „Get‘em!“, and you threw the ball into the air again, winding up for another powerful blow. You hit the ball, sure that this would be another point when the referee blew the whistle unexpectedly, mid-serve. Confusion hit you, afraid you had served a foul ball, or waited too long, but when you looked towards where the ball was flying, you noticed why the whistle sounded.

There was someone on the court. Seemingly in his own world he cut the corner of the court, unaware of his surroundings, most of it shrouded by his hair. The ball was barreling towards him at top speeds, and despite the collective calls of „Watch out!“ and „Ball!“, he barely had enough time to respond when your ball hit him, violently smashing against his head and ricocheting off, rolling towards somewhere in the distance as he‘s knocked off his feet.

Guilty, you stood still in shock for a second, the hall quiet as nobody makes a sound as people looked between you, him and the ball. In a haste moment you jolted alight and broke into a quick jog over to him to see if he was alive.

—

Nahoya had simply been tasked to grab a mop from the storage room in the gym to clean up some of the mess one of his pranks had caused. Nothing more nothing less. When he entered the gym hall , his mission was clear: in, mop, out. Glancing into the hall he noticed that there was a game of volleyball going on, but decided that he could just quickly cross the court to reach his destination.

He regretted that decision now, lying on the floor, clutching the side of his head where he fell. His world was spinning, and not in the way it did when he got hit during fights. This was a wider surface area, and he felt himself get queasy as he swore that his brain was rattling from the impact.

„A— ou—o- ay??“ a voice faded in and out of his ears, eyes cracking open to look at a pair of gym shoes. „Huh?“ he grunted, trying to figure out speech again. „Oh—- od—- he— as- a—con- usion!“ his ears picked up, but the cut off words dont register fully. Instead, his eyes traced up the legs that stood before him, a pair of kneepads catching his gaze shortly before it moved further up. Entranced, he let his eyes map out a pair of (rather wonderful) thighs before the angle he was lying in forced him to look at the face of his saving grace.

„Wow..“ he whispered as he studied your features, the world behind your face blurry as you leaned down towards him, kneeling as a hand came up to his neck to check his pulse. You wove your free hand towards something, somewhere, and then he felt the world slip from underneath him, his hearing muffling as a vignette closed in around the corners of his vision. From one second to another, he went slack on the floor, everything turning black.

—

Completely panicked, you wove over some of the bystanders, asking for assistance to get him over to the sidelines for some immediate attention. In a rush, his body was lifted onto one of the spare equipment room at the side, the referee calling for your team to get back onto the field and play on, trusting you to treat the fallen boy. You were team captain after all.

His pulse was stable, you decided after a minute or two of counting and feeling the thumping on the side of his neck. Slightly relieved that you didn’t just commit murder you rolled him onto his side, shifting into stable position that aimed for him not to choke on his own tongue. You kneeled beside him, holding a damp wash cloth in one hand, a waterbottle clutched in the other.. Slowly and carefully you got closer to his face and whispered “please don’t flinch” as a quiet warning before pushing his hair out of his face to drape the cloth over his forehead.

Once the task was done, you remained sitting beside him, monitoring him for any movement or potential issues. There were a few moments of pure silence between you two which you spent just kind of observing him. You didnt think that you’d seen him before, not recognizing a haircolor as bold as orange to be very familiar to you. Your eyes traced his neat curls as they laid over his head, the coils shining slightly. The slope of his nose was oddly pretty, and you found yourself envious of the little gem that sat precious on his left nostril. His lips were full and lush, the same flushed shade as his cheeks, and judging by the twitch of his eyebrow he might be waking up soon.

His shallow breathing picked up, his nose twitching as his eyelids started to flutter, a soft noise falling from his lips. You readied yourself with the bottle of water you had picked up earlier and shuffled closer to him to ensure that he doesn’t panic too hard when waking up in the foreign space of the storage room.

„Hi…“ you carefully called out to him, hoping that your voice would serve as a smooth transition between conscious and unconscious. „please don’t scare, you’re alright…“ you continued, tapping the bottle nervously as he groaned again, eyelids fluttering open but screwing shut again due to the bright lights.

„Mmmh, what?“ He mumbled, voice gravely as he spoke. „Hi there, you’re currently in the open storage room connected to the gym so dont be confused.“ you said softly and watched his eyelids slowly crack open, now receptive to the bright overhead lights.

„Why am I on the floor though?“ The boy mumbled, raising one of his arms to swipe a hand across his face, pulling the washcloth off his forehead as he regained his bodily sensations. You cringed a little before you answered, a tad embarrassed. „Youre laying on the floor because you briefly lost consciousness-“ you were about to elaborate, but his confused grunt cut you off.

„What? Who did I lose to? Lemme- lemme rematch!“ he sounded distressed, now moving to get up- something he clearly shouldn’t do- so you stopped him before he could sit up fully. Planting a palm on his chest you pushed him back down, to which there was little to no resistance. „You lost to my serve, no rematching to be made.“ you clarified, leaning over him with the water bottle in your free hand.

„What? To you?“ he opened his eyes all the way, having adjusted somewhat well to the bright lights as he got a good look at you for the first time. His eyes widened, albeit still a little drowsy „Oh… damn Mama…no wonder I lost to ya, you could lay me down any day..“ You both gasped in synchronization as you flinched back from him, hand retreating from his chest as you stared down at him. He, likewise just as bewildered as you stared back up at you, a hand slapped over his mouth as his face transitioned into a darker, redder shade.

„Oh my god. I didnt mean- it‘s- Im so sorry.“ He stuttered out as he tried to scoot away from you to give you both some space to breathe. „Yeah, its ok, I mean its my fault really, I knocked you out, its clear that you have a little bit of a hazy mind…“ You utter down at him bashfully, a small smile wavering on your lips as you think about the absurdity of the situation.

„No no no I mean thats really inappropriate and I really shouldn’t have said that at all, I promise I don’t mean to be disrespectful but you’re so… you know? And maybe I should just shut up actually cause I think the more im talking the worse im making this all..“ He trails off as he comes to sit up fully, eyes filled with guilt as his focus darts around the room.

„Hey, hey, its alright! I mean, yeah ok maybe that was not what I was expecting but uh… you know… maybe take me out beforehand?“ you giggle as you scoot closer, taking the wet washcloth from where it lay forgotten beside him. Chuckling, you fold the cloth and set it, along with the water bottle, down next to him. „You‘re kinda cute, you know?“ you smile down at him as you stand up completely, boldly winking at him before turning on your heel to leave.

„Wait you serious? Hold on-“ he called out after snapping out of his daze, and you felt your smile widen across your face, cheeks tingling in a warming sensation. „Rest. Stay there until you feel better, they need me on the court, I’m the captain after all.“ you walk out of the open storage room, briefly throwing the boy a look over your shoulders.

„Im Nahoya by the way!“ he called out to you when he noticed your attention, and in smooth response you pulled your hair over your shoulder, revealing the lettering of your name on your jersey as you took your spot on the field. Your teammates noticed, immediately, and started giggling and whispering, teasing you about Nahoya who was now setting down at the side of the court, next to a line-judge he seemed semi-familiar with.

-

„Dang…“ Baji muttered and shook his head. „Knocked out clean with a Proxi-slap…“ he pondered, a hand on his chin as his eyebrows furrowed. „Baji-San i dint think that that‘s-„ Chifuyu was going to correct him, but Baji kept talking „That chick must have one hell of a punch then...“. Nahoya nodded, almost proud as he recounted it. „Yeah! It was so forceful i thought i was being hit by a train! You know what, it‘s sorta comparable to one of Hanma‘s hooks…“ the crowd of captains and vice captains ah-d and ooh-ed at the comparison.

„And you stayed there? Watching? They allowed you?“ Souya questioned, in slight disbelief. „Yeah! Oh my goodness you wish you could have seen…“ Nahoya swooned, fanning himself with one hand at the very thought. The surrounding members of Toman grumbled and snickered, some giving encouraging whoops to the twin.

„So a Volleyball-player…“ Pah-chin coughed, „She got—?“ „Thighs! Thighs for days oh my lord you wont believe it! And her smile! The way her hair falls, when she cheers and celebrates…“ Nahoya cut him off, a dreamy smile streatching across his face as he started to recount every thought he had when watching you.

The others shared a knowing glance and Mitsuya snickered „Damn, she‘s got you bad, huh?“ Nahoya stopped and looked at him, eyes blank as he thought for a second. „Yeahn… I guess…“ he trailed off to which Draken burst out into a loud laugh.

„She done ‘nd tamed one of the wildest guys I know, damn! You said she knocked you clean out? With a serve? You know damn well that shawty could beat ya ass!“ Draken went on, leaning onto Mistuya for support who joined the laughter.

„Hey listen! You‘ll shut ya mouths once you see all she brings! Full package I tell ya!“ Nahoya scrambles to defend his dignity (or yours, he wasnt quite sure).

„Right Romeo. You‘ve got her number then?“ Mitsuya quizzed, to which Nahoya fell silent.

„Shit.“

[aller-geez]

Got a request by @1dwaekki to write a follow up fic to Oxygen~

Yes I know, I suck a lot and didn’t feel like drawing a new cover so I used the most recent pic I did of S7en, oops 😅

Breathless, Again (oxygen pt 2)

Written & Illustrated by: allergeez

6.7k words // Summary: S7en is still recovering—but if you ask him, he’s fine. He refuses to be treated like he’s fragile, refuses to be a burden, and most importantly, refuses to let his own body ruin things any more than it already has.

So the second he’s back home, he pushes himself too hard. Too fast. Ignoring the exhaustion, the weight in his chest, the way his lungs still fight him for every breath. Elex sees right through it—but S7en is nothing if not stubborn.

It’s only a matter of time before everything catches up to him.

As S7en fights against his own limits, Elex is forced to step in, not with anger—but with patience. With quiet insistence, steady hands, and the kind of care S7en doesn’t know how to accept.

Because S7en doesn’t need to prove he’s okay.
He just needs to be okay.

Content Warnings:

Illness themes (fever, sneezing, coughing, breathing difficulty, pneumonia)

Medical care (medication, inhalers)

Emotional distress (self-worth struggles, reluctant vulnerability)

Anxiety (frustration, overstimulation, physical exhaustion)

Lighthearted teasing and affectionate insults

Strong language

S7en had barely been conscious for the car ride home, floating in the fevered, exhausted haze that had consumed him for the past two days. Two whole days trapped in a sterile, suffocating hospital room, his body reduced to nothing but a collection of strained breaths and clipped medical jargon. His lungs had refused to cooperate this time—tight, stubborn, unrelenting—and despite his best efforts, he had spent most of his hospital stay tethered to a nasal cannula, sucking in pure oxygen like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

Now, finally free, the crisp evening air wrapped around him like a long-forgotten luxury. He could breathe—sort of. Enough that they had let him go, at least. That was all that mattered.

S7en exhaled slowly, eyes heavy-lidded as he turned toward their apartment door, ears sagging slightly against his will. His entire body was still unimaginably weak, the kind of exhaustion that settled into his bones, weighing down every movement. Even his tail, usually flicking with lazy amusement or irritation, hung limp behind him.

Still, he could open a fucking door.

Moving slow, careful, he reached into his pocket for his keys, fingers trembling just slightly as they closed around the cool metal—

“Oi! Stop.”

S7en barely had time to react before the sound of heavy boots on pavement announced Elex—barreling toward him from the car, arms overloaded with bags, jackets, and whatever-the-hell else he had grabbed from the hospital room. His voice was sharp, authoritative, the kind of no-questions-asked command he only used when he was pissed—or worried.

S7en froze, rolling his vivid orange eyes as his tail gave a singular, weak flick of irritation.

"You know opening the door won’t kill me, right?"

Or, at least, that’s what he tried to say.

What actually came out was an embarrassingly hoarse, pitiful squeak.

His throat was wrecked, voice completely shot, every syllable barely audible through the raw, swollen wreckage that the infection had left behind.

Elex, already shoving his own keys into the door, stopped cold.

Slowly, he turned his head, brows furrowing, mismatched eyes locking onto S7en like a sniper sighting a target.

“…Excuse me?”

S7en, annoyed but too drained to argue, simply coughed weakly into his sleeve, not bothering to answer.

Elex, silent, finished unlocking the door in one sharp motion before pushing it open.

"Inside. Now."

S7en, beyond done, dragged himself forward, stepping over the threshold into the dim familiarity of their apartment. The smell of home hit him immediately—paint, lingering traces of incense, the faint, ever-present scent of Elex’s cologne. Warmth. Comfort. The opposite of the cold, sterile walls he had been trapped in for the past two days.

For a moment, he simply stood there, letting the exhaustion pull at his body, letting himself sink into the sensation of being home.

Then—

A sudden, heavy thud as Elex dropped their bags unceremoniously onto the floor behind him.

S7en turned just in time to see the badger shrugging off his jacket, expression tense, posture stiff—all telltale signs that he was about five seconds away from losing his shit.

Here we go.

S7en’s orange eyes scanned the apartment, taking in the aftermath of the party, and something tight and miserable twisted deep in his chest, his ears pinning back against his skull.

Oh.

It looked like a massacre.

The walls were still adorned with limp streamers, hanging in sad, sagging loops, their once vibrant colors now dulled and lifeless. Half-deflated balloons clung desperately to the floor, some rolling listlessly with the draft from the open door. The hand-painted decorations he had spent hours—days—perfecting were scattered across every available surface, abandoned and forgotten.

And then there was everything else.

Plastic cups, crumpled napkins, empty beer cans—a graveyard of discarded celebration. The coffee table was littered with half-eaten food, and somewhere near the couch, a party hat sat crushed under someone’s boot print, like a cruel, careless afterthought.

S7en felt his throat tighten.

His chest ached—not just from the pneumonia, not just from the exhaustion pressing down on him like dead weight, but from something deeper. Something raw.

He had worked himself into the ground for this party.

Had spent weeks planning it.

Had given everything he had left—his time, his energy, his health—to make it perfect.

And now—
Now it was over.
Now it was ruined.

He swallowed hard, but the moisture was already beginning to build in his fever-glazed, glassy eyes, threatening to spill over before he could stop it.

God. He was so fucking tired.
And his body—his emotions—had nothing left to give.

Behind him, Elex noticed immediately.

“Hey,” the badger murmured, his usual rough-edged voice softened at the corners. “Don’t—don’t worry about this, alright?”

S7en didn’t respond, still staring at the mess, his ears slowly sinking with quiet devastation.

Elex ran a hand through his messy green hair, exhaling before rolling up his sleeves.

“I’ll clean it up. By tomorrow, it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

He said it with the same casual confidence he used when getting out of trouble—like he could will the situation into something manageable just by deciding it would be.

But when he turned back toward S7en—
His breath hitched.

Something was off.

S7en’s distant, unfocused stare wasn’t just exhaustion.
His slight squint wasn’t just from the moisture in his eyes.

Elex knew that look.

Knew it very well.

A slow smirk tugged at the badger’s lips.

“Bless you in advance,” he said.

Immediately, a light pink dusted over S7en’s already fever-flushed face, his shoulders tensing slightly.

His nose twitched again, the slow, creeping itch beginning to build—tantalizingly, maddeningly—deep within his sinuses.

God, not now.

He tried to glare at Elex, something half-hearted and unimpressed, but the mounting sneeze cut him off completely.

“Hh—! Hh'AHHTschh! Hh—! HHAHH—! HAHDT’tchhiew!! Hh—! AHHDT’tchhiiuhh! ”

The force of them jerked his frame forward, and before he could so much as breathe, the sneezes morphed into a brutal, chest-deep coughing fit.

The raw, scraping sound tore through him, his entire body curling inward as his lungs fought viciously against him.

Elex’s smirk vanished immediately.

He was there in a second, one hand bracing S7en’s back, the other gripping his arm to keep him steady.

"Jesus, fuck, S7en—breathe, kid—"

S7en barely heard him, too caught in the wreckage of his own body, his ears pressing flat against his skull.

Elex tightened his grip, grounding him.

When the fit finally, finally eased, S7en slumped forward, his breath still rattling in his chest, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to recover.

Elex exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, but his hand remained firm and steady against S7en’s back.

"...You good?"

S7en cracked open one watery, miserable orange eye, shooting him a weak, glare-adjacent look.

Elex huffed a laugh—quiet, fond, just a little exasperated.

Then, softer—genuinely meaning it this time:

“Bless you.”

S7en wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

The moment Elex muttered, "Bless you," the badger’s warm, steady hand still braced between his shoulder blades, something deep in S7en’s chest twisted in frustration.

He hated this.

Hated the way his body betrayed him every few minutes, tearing through his last scraps of dignity with these brutal, relentless fits. Hated the way Elex looked at him—worried, watching him like he might break apart at any second. Hated that every time he so much as shifted his weight, Elex was there, ready to catch him like he was seconds from collapse.

Maybe he was, but that wasn’t the fucking point.

This wasn’t him.

S7en was used to being sick, but he wasn’t this kind of sick. He wasn’t fragile, wasn’t someone who needed to be taken care of—wasn’t supposed to be this goddamn weak.

Another harsh, rattling cough clawed its way up from his lungs, cutting through the feverish static in his head. He barely had time to turn away, pressing the sleeve of his hoodie against his mouth as his body shook with the force of it.

Elex’s hand tensed, fingers gripping into the fabric of his hoodie, steadying him again.

S7en’s ears flattened in irritation.

Enough.

He jerked out of Elex’s hold, staggering forward a step, breathing hard, barely steady on his feet—but still standing.

"I'm fine," he rasped, voice a raw, scraped-up wreck of sound.

Elex snorted. Loud. Unimpressed.

"Yeah? You sound fine."

S7en ignored him.

Or tried to.

Except—his sinuses had other plans.

The burning tickle had barely given him a break, lingering just under the surface, simmering relentlessly behind his nose and eyes. And now—with his breath still short, his body still weak and trembling—it surged forward again, sharp and overwhelming.

S7en barely managed a gasp of warning before he snapped forward, the fit tearing into him with brutal force.

“Hh—hhAHH’Tschh! HhAHHKTschhh! Hhh—! HHhh! HHAHH—! HAHDT’tchiew! Hhh! AHHDT’tschue!”

Each one ripped through his already shredded lungs, leaving fire in his chest, his ribs aching like something had been bruised or cracked from the sheer force of it.

And then—the coughing hit again.

Hard.

It stole the air from his lungs, wracking through him until his knees nearly buckled under him.

His hands gripped the counter, holding on for dear fucking life as his body fought viciously against itself.

Elex was there again in a flash.

Hands on him, steady, grounding, pulling him back before he could fall.

"You’re fine, huh?" Elex muttered, half annoyed, half furious, but his grip was gentle, voice low and serious. "You think this is fucking fine?"

S7en wanted to answer.

Wanted to tell him to fuck off, to stop looking at him like that, to just back off—

But he couldn’t fucking breathe.

The coughing fit was too deep, too brutal, too much, and his vision spotted at the edges, his lungs screaming, his head swimming with fever and exhaustion.

His fingers trembled against the counter, and his legs wouldn’t stop shaking.

Elex felt it.

And that was the worst part.

The badger cursed under his breath, wrapping an arm around S7en’s waist, pulling him back before he faceplanted right there in the middle of the fucking kitchen.

"Okay, that’s it—I’m done with this bullshit," Elex snapped, hauling S7en toward the couch despite the feline’s weak, half-hearted struggling.

S7en let out a low, frustrated growl, batting at his hands even as he stumbled against him, utterly defeated by his own fucking body.

"Dude, seriously, let me—"

"No."

Elex cut him off sharply, voice hard, final, leaving no room for argument.

Then—his tone softened—just a little.

"You need to sit down, dumbass. And for once in your miserable life, you’re gonna listen to me."

S7en hated how exhausted he was.

Hated how his body wouldn’t move the way he wanted it to.

Hated that—no matter how badly he wanted to fight back—his traitorous limbs had already given up on him.

Elex barely had to guide him down onto the couch before he collapsed against the cushions, completely drained, head swimming, breath still uneven and wrong.

His ear twitched in irritation, but he didn’t move.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t fight anymore.

Because—fuck it.

He was too goddamn tired.

Elex didn’t let himself relax until S7en’s breathing evened out—well, as even as it was going to get. The kid still looked like hell, slumped against the cushions with half-lidded eyes and a slack grip around the blanket Elex had thrown over him. His tail flicked weakly, more from habit than any real energy, and his ears twitched in irritation every time his breath hitched into a congested wheeze.

It was bad. Still too bad. But at least he was sitting, not swaying like he was about to drop. That was a start.

Elex exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face before pushing himself up from the couch. He needed to get his shit together. They had a whole bag of meds sitting on the counter, and for once, S7en wasn’t going to be the stubborn idiot refusing to take them. No, that was Elex’s job now—figuring out how the hell all this medical bullshit worked.

His boots were heavy against the floor as he moved toward the kitchen, flipping on the dim overhead light. The white pharmacy bag sat there, mocking him, filled to the brim with bottles, blister packs, inhalers—hell, one of these things might’ve just been straight-up magic. He grabbed the first bottle, squinting at the label like it had personally wronged him.

"Take one tablet by mouth twice daily with food—unless otherwise instructed by a physician."

What the fuck did that mean? Was he supposed to wait for otherwise-instruction? Or was that just there to fuck with him?

Elex muttered something under his breath, shooting a glare at the offensive medication. Fucking hell, how did people do this every day?

He scowled, shaking the bottle like it might start making sense if he rattled it around enough.

The next one was just as bad.

"Take two puffs every four to six hours as needed. Do not exceed prescribed dose."

Okay. Cool. That was fine.

Except—the hospital never actually told him what the prescribed dose was.

And then—there was the liquid medication, which had no dosing instructions at all—just a cryptic warning about side effects and some useless-ass guidelines about food intake.

Elex ran a hand through his hair, exasperated, glancing back and forth between the bottles, the inhalers, and S7en, who had been silent this whole time, sitting on the couch, still trying to get his breathing under control.

The kid looked like hell.

Still pale, still feverish, still sitting with his head tilted back slightly, eyes half-lidded, like even the act of keeping them open was just too much effort.

His chest rose and fell unevenly, each inhale too shallow, too weak—not enough to fully fill his lungs, but too much effort to take in anything deeper.

Elex sighed heavily, rubbing at his temple with his free hand.

"Okay, what the fuck is all this shit supposed to do?" he muttered, glaring at the pile of medication like it personally offended him.

S7en huffed softly, the sound half-exhausted, half-amused, and didn’t even look up before he started listing them off.

"Antibiotic, once in the morning, once at night."

His voice was wrecked, but steady, like he had done this a thousand times before.

"Steroid—twice a day, no food restrictions. Just tastes like absolute shit, so, fair warning."

Elex blinked, glancing down at the bottle in his hand.

"Rescue inhaler—only if I’m actually dying. Preventative inhaler—morning and night. That’s the one that makes my heart feel like it’s about to explode, so don’t freak out when that happens."

He cleared his throat, wincing slightly like the action made it worse, before continuing.

"Cough suppressant—doesn’t work, but I have to take it anyway. Decongestant—also doesn’t work. Painkiller—every six hours. Liquid bullshit—tastes worse than the steroid."

Elex just stared at him.

For a solid five seconds, he didn’t say anything.

Then, finally—he glanced back at the pill bottles, thumbing through them until he found the right ones.

"Geezus Christ," he muttered, shaking his head. "You almost have your own pharmacy here with all the meds they gave you."

S7en let out a tired, unamused huff, before scrubbing at his nose with the back of his knuckles, his ears twitching with irritation.

Elex handed him the first set of pills, watching carefully as S7en picked them out of his palm with slightly trembling fingers.

For a moment, Elex debated saying something else, something serious, but instead—

"You know, I feel like if you took all of these at once, you’d either level up as a person or just ascend to the next plane of existence."

S7en snorted, which immediately backfired.

His breath hitched sharply, his body seizing up involuntarily as the tickle surged back with a vengeance.

"Hh—HAHDT’tchhiew!! Hh—! AHHDT’tchhiiuhh!!"

The cat barely had a second to recover before another sharp, breathless hitch overtook him, his sinuses pulsing with maddening intensity. He gasped sharply, trying to brace himself, but the force of the next fit crashed into him with zero mercy.

“Hhh—! HHhh! HHAHH—! HAHDT’tchiew! Hhh! AHHDT’tschue!! Hh! HhAHHKTschh’uhh—!”

The pills slipped from his fingers, scattering across the hardwood floor with a light, traitorous clatter.

His cheeks burned instantly.

For a second, he just sat there, frozen, ears pinning back against his messy teal hair, his tail curling tighter around himself. He wasn’t even sure what was worse—the fact that he had just sneezed the meds out of his own damn hands or the fact that it made him feel so fucking infantile.

He groaned, tipping his head back against the couch in pure miserable humiliation, before leaning forward slightly, already reaching to grab the fallen pills.

Elex swatted his hands away before he could even touch them.

S7en scowled instantly, his fever-glazed orange eyes narrowing as he snapped his gaze up to glare at the badger. “I got it—”

“Yeah, you sure do,” Elex deadpanned, already crouching down to pick up the scattered pills himself.

S7en huffed, irritated, before quickly scrubbing at the underside of his still twitching nose with his knuckles. His tail flicked sharply behind him, his ears twitching again as Elex scooped up the last pill and stood, smirking lightly as he dusted them off in his palm.

Something about the expression made S7en’s already thin patience snap.

He glared up at him. "What’s so funny?"

The moment the words left his mouth, his already destroyed voice cracked halfway through—a pathetic, raspy break that made him sound more like a dying animal than an actual person.

Elex exhaled a sharp, amused breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh, but damn close.

S7en scowled harder, sniffling sharply against his wrist to regain what little dignity he had left.

Elex pressed the pills firmly back into his palm before straightening up, shaking his head slightly. “Nothing’s funny,” he said, voice casual—before immediately following up with, “I was just trying to figure out how the hell you hid being sick from me for so long.”

S7en rolled his eyes, leaning back into the couch with a tired huff. “Elex, I hide shit from you all the time—”

���Yeah, no, see—that’s bullshit.” Elex raised a brow, crossing his arms. “Your sneezes when you get sick are not very… stealthy.”

S7en scoffed, sniffling again, before a slow, smug smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “That’s because I stifled them so well,” he admitted with a nonchalant shrug.

Elex blinked.

Then—he frowned. "You what?"

S7en lazily rolled the pills around in his palm, smirking despite himself. “Yeah, man. I stifled the hell out of them.”

Elex squinted at him, skeptical. “When?”

S7en sniffled absently, rubbing at his nose with the edge of his sleeve. “You remember when we were watching that dumbass action movie, and you wouldn’t shut the fuck up about how the stunt choreography was unrealistic?”

Elex tilted his head, thinking, before snapping his fingers. “Oh, yeah. That one scene with the glass—”

“I was literally dying next to you.”

Elex paused.

Stared.

“…Excuse me?”

S7en smirked slightly, tail flicking lazily behind him. “Had to fake getting a drink so I could leave the room. Barely made it to the kitchen before I fucking lost it.”

Elex’s eyes narrowed, his jaw working slightly as he absorbed that information.

S7en, seeing his moment, went for the kill. “Oh, and also—remember when we were at that corner store and you spent ten whole minutes debating between two energy drinks, like they weren’t both just sugar and violence in a can?”

Elex frowned. “That was an important decision, dumbass.”

“Sure.” S7en’s smirk deepened, lazy and teasing. “Meanwhile, I was behind you, holding onto the counter for dear life because my lungs weren’t cooperating, and I was pretty sure I was about to pass out right there in the snack aisle.”

Elex’s frown deepened.

S7en leaned back slightly, gaze flickering upward in mock thoughtfulness. “Oh, and—you remember when we were in the car and you were yelling at Rex on speaker about how he treats his transmission like a war crime?”

“…Yeah?”

S7en snickered, pressing the back of his wrist against his nose. “Dude. I was dying next to you. Had to time my sneezes with your road rage just to keep you from noticing.”

Elex blinked. “…What?”

“You literally screamed, ‘USE YOUR FUCKING BLINKER YOU GODDAMN TWAT,’ right as I sneezed,” S7en wheezed a short, small laugh, rubbing his nose. “It was a perfect cover. Like, cinematic-level shit.”

Elex’s jaw dropped slightly, blinking at him in pure, stunned disbelief.

S7en grinned wildly. “You really don’t pay attention, man.”

Elex crossed his arms, planting his feet, his entire posture shifting into something stubborn.

“Alright. New house rules.”

S7en blinked. “…The fuck?”

Elex pointed at him. “One—you’re gonna let me take care of you.”

S7en opened his mouth, already scowling. “Oh, absolutely not—”

“Two—” Elex steamrolled right over him, ignoring the protest entirely. “There will be no more of that stifling bullshit.”

S7en’s ears pinned back slightly, his tail flicking sharply. “Dude—”

“Don’t ‘dude’ me,” Elex said firmly, brow furrowing. “I don’t give a shit what the reason is—you’re not doing that anymore.”

S7en let out a sharp, exasperated sigh, tossing his head back against the couch. “Christ, you’re so dramatic—”

“Says the guy who passed out holding a birthday cake.”

S7en froze.

Elex’s smirk was victorious.

“…Low fucking blow.”

“You’re the one who literally hit the floor—”

“I hate you.”

“Anyway,” Elex continued, finally dropping it, as he flopped into the chair across from him, stretching his legs out with a loud sigh. “I’m starving, and you gotta take some of that hospital-grade poison they sent you home with after eating, right?”

S7en hesitated, glancing at the various pills Elex had slipped into his palm. He couldn’t really argue.

“…Yeah,” he muttered begrudgingly.

Elex nodded, clapping his hands together. “Cool. What are we ordering?”

S7en sighed again, dramatically this time. “I don’t care.”

Elex raised an eyebrow. “No, see, that’s how we end up ordering some dumb shit that you pretend to like so you don’t hurt my feelings.”

S7en rolled his orange eyes, sniffling lightly. “Not my fault you eat like an unsupervised toddler.”

Elex grinned, not remotely offended. “Damn right.”

And with that, he grabbed his phone, already pulling up a food delivery app, leaving no room for further argument.

S7en tried to get up.

Tried, being the key word, because the second he started shifting toward the bedroom, Elex shot him a look.

“Oh, no, no, no. You’re staying right here,” Elex said, pointing at the couch like it was some kind of containment zone. “Where I can see you.”

S7en groaned loudly, tail flicking sharply. “Dude. I’m not gonna fucking evaporate if you look away for five seconds.”

Elex raised a brow. “You literally collapsed in front of me two days ago. Forgive me if I’m a little concerned about your ability to stay upright.”

S7en scowled, arms crossing over his chest. “I’m fine.”

“You sound fine,” Elex deadpanned, watching as S7en immediately broke into a chest-deep coughing fit.

S7en glared at him through watery eyes, rasping, “Fugk you.”

Elex just snorted, unfazed. “C’mon, sit your ass back down.”

S7en huffed, annoyed, but conceded—partly because he was too tired to keep arguing, but mostly because the food was almost here, and he was not letting Elex order something objectively terrible out of spite.

The smell of food hit first. The second Elex opened the door, the warm, greasy aroma filled the apartment, making S7en’s stomach tighten in anticipation.

They settled in, their usual chaotic banter tapering off into something comfortable, familiar, easy.

Elex picked a movie—some ridiculous action flick with an actual stunt budget this time, S7en noted—and for the first time in days, S7en actually relaxed.

Until his nose itched.

Badly.

He froze mid-bite, the unbearable, creeping tickle flaring to life behind his sinuses, building way too fast.

Shit.

S7en barely managed to shove his plate onto the coffee table before his breath hitched sharply, his ears flattening as his body jerked forward.

“Hh—! Hhh! HAHPT’tschiew!! HAH! AHHDT’shiiiiew!”

Elex chuckled, not even glancing away from the screen. “Bless you.”

S7en groaned, scrubbing furiously at his nose, already feeling the tickle threatening another round.

Another sharp inhale—

“HAHDT’tchiew!! HAH’tsschhiew!”

Elex snickered, shaking his head. “Dude. Are you even eating anymore?”

S7en just glared at him, sniffling before finally grabbing his food again.

But the damage was done.

Between the sneezing and the growing warmth in his stomach, S7en’s exhaustion finally caught up with him. His limbs felt heavier, his blinks slower, and before he knew it, he had somehow ended up half-laying down, his head resting on Elex’s lap.

Elex didn’t comment on it.

He just kept watching the movie, one hand idly moving to S7en’s hair, running his fingers through the tangled strands.

S7en sighed, melting into the touch, his ears twitching slightly as Elex’s fingers absentmindedly scratched at the base of them.

He didn’t remember closing his eyes.

Didn’t remember the movie ending.

Just the steady warmth of Elex’s lap and the slow, rhythmic drag of his fingers through his hair.

Then—

The tickle.

It built slowly, creeping back to life somewhere deep in his sinuses, sharp and relentless.

S7en’s breath hitched.

Oh, no.

Not now.

Not here.

Not while he was literally using Elex as a pillow.

His ears flattened, his tail curling tighter around himself as his breath trembled, fighting desperately against the overwhelming urge to sneeze.

But it was winning.

Shit.

S7en clenched his jaw, pressing his wrist hard against his nose.

“Hh’NGXT! Ktchhh!—h’NNgch!”

The pressure spiked, throbbing through his sinuses, but he forced his body to stay still, stifling the rest down into silence.

…Or at least, he thought he did.

Until—

A low, familiar sigh from above.

“…Dude.”

S7en’s heart sank.

Shit.

Slowly, hesitantly, he cracked one eye open.

Elex was staring down at him, unamused, brow slightly furrowed.

“Seriously?”

S7en winced, clearing his throat weakly. “…Didn’t wanna wake you.”

Elex tilted his head, voice flat. “You think that’s what woke me up?”

S7en blinked. “…Yes?”

Elex exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Geezus Christ, dude.”

S7en sniffled, grumbling, “What.”

Elex gestured vaguely. “Your head was literally on my lap. I could feel you physically trying not to explode.”

S7en’s cheeks burned, his tail flicking sharply.

“…Not my fault your legs are too bony to absorb the impact.”

Elex scoffed, nudging his shoulder. “Not my fault you’re an idiot.”

S7en huffed, rubbing at his temple.

His head pounded, the self-inflicted pressure ringing in his ears.

Elex noticed.

S7en saw it in the way his expression softened slightly, his lips parting like he was about to say something.

But instead—

Elex just sighed again, shaking his head before gently shoving S7en back down onto the couch.

“Go back to sleep, dumbass.”

And S7en, with absolutely no energy left to fight, did exactly that.

S7en woke up with his body already fighting against him.

The headache was still there, dull but persistent, lingering behind his eyes like an uninvited guest. His throat burned, his chest ached, and every inhale still felt just a little too tight—but it was better than before. Better than the hospital.

And that meant he was fine.

That meant he could get up, do things, prove to Elex—and to himself—that he wasn’t some helpless burden.

So, the second Elex left to run errands, S7en forced himself upright, shaking off the exhaustion that clung to his limbs like lead. He ignored the way the room tilted slightly, ignored the way his chest protested, and made his way to the kitchen.

Dishes. There were dishes in the sink. He could do dishes.

Never mind that he had to lean against the counter for balance, or that his fingers trembled slightly when he reached for a plate. It was fine. He was fine.

Until he wasn’t.

S7en barely made it through rinsing two plates before his breath hitched violently, his lungs locking up like rusted gears. His hands clamped down on the counter, knuckles white, as the coughing started—deep, raw, and completely unstoppable. His body lurched with the force of it, his chest burning as oxygen became an afterthought.

The plate in his hand slipped.

It shattered against the floor.

And, of course—that was exactly when Elex walked in.

Just in time to see S7en wobbling like a newborn deer, gripping the counter like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

His eyes narrowed. Immediately.

S7en, caught red-handed, tried to play it off.

"Chill, I was just—"

"Sit your ass down."

It wasn’t even angry. Just flat, exasperated, and completely done.

S7en barely managed to straighten up before Elex was right there, steering him firmly back to the couch like a misbehaving toddler.

He grumbled the entire way down, but Elex didn’t care.

Instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen a few times, and—

BZZT BZZT.

S7en squinted at him. "…What was that?"

Elex, expression blank, held up the screen.

The alarm read: “S7EN MEDS. 3PM. NO EXCUSES.”

S7en blinked. Then blinked again.

"…You set a fucking alarm?"

"Yep."

"To—what, force-feed me medicine like I’m a goddamn child?"

"If that’s what it takes."

S7en stared.

Elex stared back, completely unfazed.

Then, without waiting for an argument, Elex grabbed the nearest prescription bottle, shook out the correct dose, and handed it to S7en along with the half-empty water bottle from earlier.

S7en groaned, dramatically flopping back against the cushions.

"You are such a pain in my ass."

"And you are a fucking menace," Elex shot back. "Now take your damn meds."

S7en grumbled something under his breath, but he took the pills anyway. Partly because he had no energy to argue. Partly because he knew Elex wouldn’t let him off the hook.

As he swallowed them down, he sighed, rubbing the back of his burning-hot neck.

"…I dunno how you’re even standing this," he muttered, not looking at Elex. "You probably wanna burn your whole outfit after sitting this close to me."

Elex snorted. "You’d think."

S7en hesitated. Then, quieter—almost sheepish:

"…Sorry."

For once, Elex didn’t have a snarky response.

He just shook his head, sighing, before reaching over to mess up S7en’s already disaster-tier hair.

"You’re a dumbass," he muttered.

S7en huffed, ears flicking.

But he didn’t argue.

He kept his gaze fixed on his lap, fingers picking at a loose thread on the blanket draped over his legs.

He meant it. The apology.

He knew how Elex was about germs. Knew he was probably the last person in the world the badger wanted to be around right now. Hell, if the roles were reversed, S7en was pretty sure Elex would’ve exiled him to the couch and disinfected the entire apartment on sight.

But instead, here he was.

Sitting barely a foot away, watching him like he actually gave a shit.

S7en’s throat felt tight, but not from the illness.

"...Sorry," he muttered again, softer this time.

For once, Elex didn’t bite back.

No sarcasm, no snark, no immediate smartass remark.

Just a sigh. Then a hand in his hair, ruffling it up in a way that was almost—affectionate.

"Again, you’re a dumbass," Elex murmured, voice gruff but not unkind.

S7en blinked, startled by the sudden shift, his ears flicking instinctively at the touch. He turned just enough to glance at Elex—noticing, maybe for the first time, just how exhausted he looked, too. The shadows under his eyes, the way his shoulders sat with a tension that had nothing to do with annoyance and everything to do with concern.

The realization sat uncomfortably in S7en’s chest.

He’d been so focused on proving he wasn’t a burden that he hadn’t stopped to think about how much of a pain in the ass he’d been anyway.

S7en huffed, leaning just slightly into Elex’s touch before he could stop himself.

"...You didn’t have to stay, y’know," he muttered, almost embarrassed. "Could’ve just thrown cough drops at me from across the room or something."

Elex scoffed. "Yeah. That’s what I should’ve done."

S7en smirked, just a little, but it was softer now—less of a smirk, more of a quiet acknowledgment.

He still felt like shit. But at least now, he didn’t feel like he had to deal with it alone.

For the rest of the night, S7en was weirdly compliant.

Took his meds without arguing. Didn’t complain when Elex adjusted his pillows. Even let himself be half-buried under the weighted blanket without making some snide comment about suffocation.

And Elex didn’t trust it for a second.

He narrowed his eyes as he sat down on the couch across from him, cracking open a can of some disgusting energy drink he probably shouldn’t be drinking at one in the morning.

“You’re being suspiciously cooperative,” he muttered, watching S7en like he was waiting for him to snap back into his usual brand of stubborn bullshit.

S7en just shrugged weakly, tugging the blanket higher like he was trying to disappear inside it.

"Yeah, well," he mumbled, voice thick with congestion and something else. "Turns out fighting you on this whole thing was kind of a massive dick move."

Elex raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

S7en exhaled shakily, his ears flattening slightly. He stared down at the blanket in his lap, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread.

“I just…” he started, then hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Elex waited. Didn’t rush him.

And then, S7en crumbled.

His shoulders sagged, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, rawer.

“…I just wanted you to have a good birthday.”

Elex blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

S7en swallowed hard, shaking his head.

"I tried so hard to make it perfect," he whispered, his fever-flushed face twisting in frustration. "And all I did was—ruin it. I passed out in the middle of the fucking party. You spent your whole damn birthday sitting in a hospital with me for two days while my lungs tried to fucking kill me, and I was a complete asshole the entire time because—because I didn’t want—"

His voice cracked. His breathing hitched.

“I didn’t want another thing making me this—weak, fragile thing that everyone has to tiptoe around."

The words came fast, unraveling all at once, like he had been holding them back for far too long.

His ears flattened further, his tail curling tight against his side. His vision blurred, burning hot and heavy, and before he could stop it—a tear slipped down his cheek.

S7en gritted his teeth hard, like he could will himself to keep it together.

But it was too late.

S7en groaned, dragging the blanket higher over his face like it could physically shield him from the absolute disaster this night had become. His chest still ached, every breath too tight, too shallow, his limbs shaking from exhaustion and fever.

And now? Now he was crying.

Like some pathetic, fragile thing that couldn’t even hold himself together.

He sniffled hard, but it didn’t do much—his nose was already a mess, congestion weighing heavy behind his eyes, his entire face burning.

"I’m sorry, El…" he rasped, voice cracking painfully.

Elex, predictably, just snorted.

"Nah. This is new. I’m not used to emotional S7en. Kinda nice, actually. You should be pathetic more often.”

S7en let out a weak, miserable wheeze of a laugh, half-buried beneath the blanket. But the moment the breath left him, his face twisted again, another surge of heat rushing behind his eyes.

He sucked in a shaky inhale, gripping the fabric of the blanket so tightly his fingers ached.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Elex blinked, the teasing smirk dropping instantly.

And then, before S7en could stop it—before he could shove it down like he always did—the words came tumbling out.

"I���m so sorry," he whispered, voice hoarse and broken.

Elex froze.

S7en sniffled again, his breath shuddering, his ears flattening against his skull as the weight of everything crashed down on him all at once.

"I—fuck, I ruined everything,” he choked, his throat closing up mid-sentence. "Your birthday, the party, all of it—I just—I wanted it to be perfect for you. And instead—"

His hands curled tighter into the blanket, his shoulders trembling.

"Instead you spent two days in a fucking hospital waiting for me to breathe properly. Instead of having fun, you were—sitting there, watching me, waiting for me to fucking—"

His voice broke completely, his vision swimming, his face already damp with fever and tears.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he rasped, hiccupping on the inhale. "I should’ve just—I should’ve told you—"

His breath hitched hard.

And then it all went to hell.

The crying set off a coughing fit—a violent, wrecking thing that tore through his lungs like fire. His chest seized, his ribs protesting the force, his body curling in on itself as he fought for air.

The second cough didn’t even fully land before the next one slammed into him, then another, then another—too fast, too deep, too much.

His vision blurred completely, a horrible static rising in his ears as the burning in his chest tightened—tightened—

Fuck.

Fuck.

He couldn’t breathe.

The panic set in immediately, his claws digging into the fabric of the blanket, his body locked in a frantic, gasping spiral. He couldn’t stop coughing, couldn’t inhale properly, couldn’t—

Elex was there in a second.

"Hey—hey, hey, breathe—S7en—slow down, you gotta slow down—"

S7en shook his head wildly, his hands gripping Elex’s hoodie on instinct, but it wasn’t working. His body wasn’t listening. Every breath came out short and frantic, his chest spasming like a malfunctioning engine.

He heard his own name, Elex’s voice breaking through the haze, but the static was getting louder, the world tilting dangerously, his lungs refusing to—

Then—something pressed against his lips.

"Inhale. Now."

S7en barely had time to process before the quick burst of medicated air hit his lungs.

He gasped. Choked. His hands shook violently, his tail flicking frantically as his body fought to cooperate.

Elex gave him another hit, then another, rubbing circles into his back, muttering something grounding and firm.

“That’s it, kid—just breathe—”

Slowly—painfully—S7en’s lungs unclenched.

The hitching eased.

His muscles unlocked.

And when he finally, finally took a full inhale—it actually fucking worked.

S7en collapsed back against the couch, his entire body trembling, his breath still uneven—but at least it was breath.

Elex let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face.

Then, in true Elex fashion, he let out a sharp scoff.

"Geezus, your fever’s really cranking up the dramatics," he muttered, shaking his head. "It’s never been this easy to tell how you’re feeling."

S7en, still wrecked, let out a weak, exhausted wheeze of a laugh.

"Go fuck yourself."

Elex grinned.

"Yeah, yeah. Love you too."

S7en was spent.

Completely and utterly drained. His body felt like a bag of lead, every muscle too heavy, too sore, too exhausted to do anything except exist.

But for the first time in days, he wasn’t fighting it.

His breath still wasn’t perfect, but it was steady. His fever still lingered, but it was manageable. His body still ached, but for once, he didn’t feel like he had to push through it alone.

So when Elex moved to get up, S7en half-heartedly grabbed at his hoodie sleeve, murmuring something unintelligible.

Elex paused, glancing down at him.

“D’you need something?”

S7en, barely awake, flicked his tail weakly.

“Don’t—” he mumbled into the fabric of the couch, already half-asleep before he could even finish the sentence.

Elex huffed, but instead of teasing him like he normally would, he just sighed, shaking his head.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, shifting just enough to get comfortable.

He grabbed a stack of pillows, carefully arranging them on his lap, then nudged S7en toward them.

The cat didn’t even argue.

Didn’t crack a joke, didn’t make a snide remark—just weakly adjusted himself, resting his head on the pillows, his breath slow and deep.

Elex pulled the blanket up over him, making sure it covered his shoulders, his arms, even his tail. Then, without thinking, he carded his fingers through S7en’s hair, slow and lazy.

The soft purring that followed was instant.

Elex snorted, a small, amused smirk pulling at his lips.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath.

But his voice wasn’t mocking.

It was fond.

And when he finally let his own eyes slip shut, his fingers still idly combing through S7en’s hair, he barely had time to register the exhaustion catching up to him before he, too, drifted off.

The room was quiet.

The air was warm.

And for the first time in days, neither of them had to fight anything.

Just sleep.

Just breathe.

Together.

The end 🖤