#gentle teacher husk

[jazziesanura]

This just proves a point that I firmly believe.. That Husk would be one of the best nurturing, gentle people for someone with a shy, awkward, and inexperienced personality. *Cough cough* Says that very exact person.

awkward kiss for a husky. Perhaps the reader has never been in a relationship or simply does not know how to kiss. Therefore, this is her first experience.

I tweaked this one a little bit, to make it a continuation of another kiss prompt, but I hope you still like it. combined with a kiss prompt request because they worked so well together. husk's rizz is off the charts here, if I do say so myself.

check out part one (a kiss to the palm of the hand) here.

kiss prompt #39: a tentative kiss

Husk’s paw comes up to curl around your wrist, soft fur and heart-shaped pad pressed against your skin. His voice comes softly, almost… playful. “Your hand is shaking. You okay, doll?”

You nod slowly, your breath caught in your throat.

“Good.” Husk smiles, and your eyes widen as he pulls your hand away, turns his head, and presses his lips to the palm of your hand. “You had me worried there.”

Christ, you didn’t think you could get any more flustered by this damn bartender.

Husk’s claws tease gently against your wrist, his thumb circling the place where your pulse hammers under your skin. You wonder if he can tell, if he can feel its drumbeat, but even as that thought brings a bead of panic into your chest, you don’t pull away.

“You good?” he asks, a baritone barely more than a murmur. The hotel is unusually quiet now that Angel’s gone to bed and even Niffty is no longer crawling around on the hunt for whatever pest she’d declared war on this week, and the silence seems to only make you more aware of the gentle rumble that sounds in the undertones of his voice. In the intimacy of the moment, it makes your mind wander to darker rooms and soft sheets, and you know that flush in your cheeks is growing darker. Husk still has this amused tilt to his lips, softening his features in a way that his usually sarcastic smirk doesn’t. “You still look like you’re about to bolt.”

You swallow, trying to steady your breathing before you reply.

“I’m okay,” you say, smiling through an exhale. “You just… caught me off guard.”

Husk chuckles quietly, lowering your hand to the bar. Your heart jumps into your throat as once again, he doesn’t let go, instead leaving his paw resting over the back of your hand. It’s a soft touch that seems to flirt with both innocent and intimate, and he does it casually, as though it’s a natural touch, thoughtless and uncalculated.

You wonder, if you turn your hand under his, would he let you intertwine your fingers with his?

Your hand doesn’t move.

“Been a long time since I’ve done that to anyone,” he tells you, voice still wonderfully low. He’s leaning over the bar now, not by much, but it still closes so much of the distance between the two of you.

“Since you ki… kissed their hand?” you ask, trying to keep your tone casual. From the way he looks at you, the soft, affectionate laugh he breathes out, you know you’ve failed. That warmth is reflected in his eyes, and it melts the very core of you.

“That too,” he smiles, claws curling around your fingers. He leans forward; something in his expression shifts, and your nerves suddenly rise up to wrap their clawing fingers around your heart. They tug, and you jerk back instinctively. Regret flares as a heat inside you as Husk’s eyes widen and he pulls away. “Shit, I’m—”

He looks fucking horrified with himself, and you stumble over an explanation, an apology, anything to get him to stop feeling that way.

“No! No, don’t… you didn’t do anything wrong, I just—” Husk moves as though he’s going to back away from the bar, to put a more respectable distance between the two of you, and the way his wings curl in against his shoulders, the way his ears fold back, God, it makes your chest tighten. You reach out instinctively, catching hold of his paw. Husk doesn’t pull away, but there’s something painful in his expression.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—” he fumbles for the words for a moment. He lets out this huff of a laugh, short and low and self-deprecating. “Shoulda known, I jus’—”

“I wanted you to!” you blurt out, and your face burns with the admission, your voice a little too loud for the space between you. You lower it hurriedly, your gaze dropping to where your hand is clutching his wrist. “I wanted you to, I just… I panicked. I’m not…”

Husk studies you for a moment, a long moment, before he turns his wrist, pulling it gently out of your grip. But instead of withdrawing it, he curls his claws gently around your fingers, pressing the heart-shaped pad softly into your palm. He doesn’t say anything; he just watches you take a breath, find the words.

“I don’t… have a lot of experience,” you say hesitantly,  focusing on the way his hand looks so big, totally eclipsing yours. His touch is warm, and once again you’re stricken by just how soft his fur is.  “With… anything, really. I wasn’t… I think about kissing you all the time and I just know I’m going to fuck it up, and I—”

“You wanna repeat that for me, ducks?”

Husk’s voice is quiet, but it breaks through your rambling easy enough.

You glance up, taken aback by the interruption. “I—I said I was going to fuck it up. And I’m sorry for—”

Husk actually chuckles. It’s quiet, under his breath, but the sound is warm in a way that some part of you desperately hopes will become familiar despite the way it way its mocking claws into your heart, serrated and sharp. He picks a random bottle off the shelf, takes a drink.

But then he says: “No…”

He draws out the word in a lilting tone, pulling his paw out of your hand and rounds the bar to join you on the other side. Husk takes the barstool beside you; you’ve turned to face him as he’s moved, and when he sits down, his knees bump against yours. It’s a strange, new kind of intimacy, sitting like this, and those butterflies flutter  again.

“The other bit,” he continues, setting the bottle he still holds on the counter beside him. “Say that other bit again.”

“What oth—” realisation hits you, and a you can’t help a tentative smile of your own. “Oh. That.”

Husk’s lips quirk, his tail twitch back and forth by his ankle so the feathers tickle against your leg. “Can I hear it again?”

Is your blood ever going to return to the rest of your body?

“I…” you press your lips together for a moment, but they unfurl with a bashful smile. “I kinda think about kissing you sometimes.”

Husk’s own smile widens. “Sometimes?”

“Shut up,” you mumble, and when Husk rumbles a laugh you reach out to shove his shoulder. He catches your hand before you do, but instead of moving it away, he brings it up to rest on his shoulder. Your fingers curl automatically around his suspender, soft fur tickling at your fingertips. He trails his claws down your arm, and your breath hitches as they move lower, smoothing over your ribs and down to your waist. “Husk…?”

“’m givin’ you the greenlight, ducks,” he says. Your resurfacing nerves must reflect in your expression, because he smirks softly, squeezing your waist reassuringly. “So, no need to fret, alright?”

You nod, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry. You stroke your fingers shakily through the fur of his shoulder, meet his eye, then drop your gaze again as you lose your nerve. Husk snickers and rolls his eyes, reaching out to carefully cup your face in his hand.

He leans in, and this time you don’t pull away, closing your eyes as Husk’s lips meet yours in a careful, hesitant kiss.

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

[kamitv]

Saw a pottery video earlier and started thinking about Nanami and how he’d definitely take pottery classes just for fun.

You miraculously attend a class one weekend and meet him there, watching the way his thick fingers dive in and out of the clay over and over and over—secretly wishing that it was your cunt he was sinking those lengthy digits into.

The veins in his hand bulge with every firm press of his fingertips into the moist clay and lord knows your thoughts are everywhere else except for the instructions he’s giving you.

Even when you work on the same item as him and as he guides your noticeably smaller fingers against the steadily molding clay, you can’t keep the erotic thoughts out.

He’d be right there, practically in your ear, hushing out a low, “Juuust like that sweetheart, right there.” In that sexy deep baritone voice of his.

If you weren’t squeezing your legs together before, you damn sure are now.

Hours in and you swore he was doing it on purpose, slipping his smoothly surfaced fingers in between yours and forcing you to curl your digits against the clay as he teased you with his words, “Feel right here? This spot’s important,” You don’t know a damn thing about clay or pottery but you’re pretty sure there’s no reason for him to be speaking like that over some weathered rock.

“Dig in there nice ‘n deep,” Nanami hums right against the shell of your ear. You can feel his hot breath tickling your skin and your lips part to let out an all too lustful breath of air.

Even while he was correcting something you did wrong, your mind was spinning. He’d ease your hands out and whisper yet again, “Not like that, watch me.” Nanami would instruct, tipping his head to the side to find your eyes and watch you watch his hands.

It’s definitely purposeful the way he slides only his middle and ring finger against the wet clay in a downward motion. Then he’s talking again and you’re soaked. “Like this. In and out, sweetheart. Carefully and slowly. Wouldn’t want it to break, would you?” Each word is dripping with a husked tone that makes your legs glue together.

And when he leans in even closer, your breath noticeable hitches. “I’m gonna need an answer from those pretty lips,” He hushes out, voice barely above a whisper.

It’s like it was only you and him in the room—despite there being many other people with their prospective partners or teachers.

Your lips are shaky as they part, “N-No, I-“

“Look at me,” He orders.

Your spine stiffens and your eyes flick up to meet his, only for your lashes to flutter as if to mask the heat that overcomes your flustered expression.

Nanami gives you a kind smile, “There she is. Now, what was that? I couldn’t hear you, you’ll have to speak up a bit for me, pretty girl.”

Your heart clearly wants to jump out of your chest at the intimate eye contact he’s giving you and his gentle words. All as his fingers still dig in and out of the nearby clay. Clearing your throat, you shake your head, “I was s-saying no, I don’t want it to break.”

He nods at your every word and you swear his eyes linger on the outline of your lips far longer than they should be. “Mhm, exactly. Now try again for me.” Nanami requests.

You swallow the lump in your throat and move your hands over to the clay once more. Your entire body feels hot and you pretty much lose your mind when he slides closer to you.

“Careful with the tip, it’s sensitive,” He whispers directly into your ear. Truth be told, he was referring the the edges of what seems to be a small pot forming but, that didn’t matter to you at the moment.

You nod again, “Sorry.”

He hums quietly to acknowledge your little apology and then his hands cup yours again, molding your fingers to almost sensually slide in and out of the forming pot.

Nanami’s lips graze your ear this time and you sigh a little too heavily. “She’ll be set out to dry later but, listen to how wet she is. It’s almost lewd.” He purrs, making your lashes bat at the way he refers to the pot as she instead of an it.

“N-Nanami, I don’t think—“

“Kento,” He corrects, “You can call me Kento.”

You gulp, “Are you-, are we still uhm, talking about pottery?”

The man lets out a low chuckle and he shakes his head, “What else could I be talking about that’s wet and makes lewd noises when you touch it? Hm?”

Oh he’s such a fucking tease.

“N-Nothing, sorry.” Lord knows if you stutter one more time you’re going to lose your damn mind. This is just embarrassing at this point.

“Are you sure?” He presses on, forcing your fingers deeper into the pot ahead. “Because if there’s something else you’d like to talk to me about, I’m all ears.”

Your face is burning. “No. There’s nothing else,” You try to mask your nervousness through words spoken without a stutter but the slight shake in your tone wasn’t helping much.

Nanami hums deeply, the sound vibrating against his throat. “Mmmh, but there is, isn’t there?” He points out, dropping his voice even lower as he moves his lips against your ear again, “Every time I open my mouth, your thighs clench together. Something tells me this soon-to-be pot isn’t the only thing wet right now.”

“I, uhm…” You sigh, “I—“

“It’s okay, I know these sessions can be quite arousing, pretty girl.” Nanami talks to you so quietly and gently, like he’s known what he’s been doing since the start.

“I’m not-, uh,” All you can do is sigh and try to control the constant pulsing in between your legs.

You feel him smile against the shell of your ear before he utters, “Just admit it, you’re soaked.”

How could you not be? Especially when he talks to you like that. “I…”

“Say it for me.” Nanami urges, “I promise I’ll help you after this if you admit it.”

You’ve never admitted to something faster in your life, “O-Okay, fine. Yeah, I am…”

Nanami’s fingers sensually slip against yours, “Good girl.” He hums. You’re so fucked. “See? Was that so hard?” He asks rhetorically, “Now, once we finish with this, I’ll be sure that you do as well.”

All you can do is nod blankly, “Okay…” Then a moment passes as his word truly sink in and you realize what he meant. “Wait, what—“

[nouearth]

12 Months

peter parker x male reader.

summary: where you couldn't possibly imagine to find love and sanctuary anywhere else, you somehow find it in the presence of a boy named peter.

wc: 4.3k. genre: angst. warnings: loner!reader, sad!reader, implied abuse, implied bullying, high school senior year, slow-burn.

SEPTEMBER.

The big hand of the clock flicked closer to the end of the day, the small hand circling around the circumference to pass time. 

Conversations of peers were usually drowned out with the help of your earbuds. The gentle strum of acoustics would counter the excitement of the students’ well-being; friends opinionated in after-school activities, athletes talked about the upcoming game with your rival school, artists boasted over the amount of commissions they’ve received overnight.

For the first time, you heard it all, and took it all in with an inhale, then silence as you stared at Peter Parker. The earbuds were slotted into your ear canals, but today, the wired nubs were worn to merely dull your surroundings as you awaited the intercom to bid the occupants of the building farewell for the day. Your leg shook, bouncing your book bag atop of it, and you held it steady when you hugged it close to your chest, chin resting at the strap. It appeased the throttle in your chest, but every time the classmate opened his mouth for a laugh, it swelled painfully larger. A pump to the husk of a balloon, a breath to the bubble of blue raspberry bubblegum, a vapor to the particles of billowed smoke, it continued swelling and roped your anxiety along for the journey. A part of you needed to talk to him, but the other part begged for reconsideration. 

At some point, you forgot to breathe. Feeling blue in the cheeks, you finally exhaled the caught nerves. They drew out of you in shivers, spaghetti boiling in bubbling water if the warmth of your breath could change matter. While the man listened, then talked within his small group of friends, chairs and desks were gathered around to form a circle, you examined him cautiously. If Peter was to turn his head and meet the affection in your gaze, you were lucky to have the window by your side to turn back to, feigning interest in the clouds, the sky, the breeze in the trees. Until then, his smile unmasked pearly whites that rivaled the lights that illuminated the classroom. His russet hair was pushed back, wavy locks that were brushed simply so people could easily follow the pattern with one glance. 

“Gooooood Afternoon, Midtown!” The intercom blared, and a warning from your teacher hushed your classmates into a sea of scatters. “Before we send you kiddos off, we would like to remind all of you that the Midtown Tigers will be playing against Weston’s Sea Hawks tonight! Show your support by attending the game and cheering for our team. Let’s show those dirty hawks that tonight will be the night that we can bounce back from our 18th consecutive loss!” It continued with its usual announcements of bus delays and afternoon activities before finally blaring that cathartic bell.

Footsteps crowded the halls, and your classmates joined its symphony in heavy to light strides. While you watched, your pace slowed deliberately as Peter’s friends bid him farewell. You overheard them asking him if he was going to join them in the mall, but he declined, blaming his absence on his aunt. They left one by one, until the only occupants were you, your teacher, and Peter.

“Peter?” You were up on your feet, approaching him from the back of the classroom as you slung the bag over your shoulder. Your voice cracked from the parched of your throat, mousy in performance, and you were unsure if Peter heard you. Your mouth opened again to call to him again, but he turned with a friendly smile, raising his brows in interest, and they closed.

“Oh, hey!” His face lit up when he saw you, or maybe you were convincing yourself. Not even your reflection looked at you the way Peter did. You were even surprised he recognized you. Cared to remember you. He hurriedly threw his books into his backpack before swinging it over his shoulder, meeting you in the middle of the row of desks. “What’s up?”

“I…” You’ve only spoken to him twice. The first was a mere greeting, and the second was a painful answer to his worry. 

Are you okay? Yes.

The beating in your chest hiked in rhythms, compelled gravity to rob your voice, but you were conscious enough to steal it back, softly speaking. “I just want to thank you for… last year. I never got to… properly thank you. So, thank you…” You were intoxicated by the amount of times you said those appreciative words, but gratitude sobered you up, offering the latter a small, grateful smile. 

“Oh…” The smile on Peter’s face simmered into a relieved line. He then nodded towards the door for you to follow him, and you did, silently by his side. “You don’t have to thank me, (M/N). I did what anyone would do.”

Everyone let it happened, except for you.

The hallway was quick to clear as students rushed to spend the remaining hours of their Friday without any regrets. The silence was deafening except for the squeak of your shoes and the whispered gossip between faculty members, and for a place you often labeled as your personal hell, it wasn’t so bad when it was purged of those that spawned that definition in your life.

Maybe you were walking slower, or you were keeping with Peter’s pace, or the hallways had undergone construction to stretch the floors, or the awkward silence between the both of you that blurred your perception, but the travel from your classroom to the exit of the building was a journey.

“Is he still bothering you? I don’t know if he’s in your other classes, but he’s not in mine, so…” Peter spoke up, alluding to the classmate who called you disgusting names, shoved your books to the floor, stole the change of your clothes during gym. And you wished it would stop there, at the actions of the cliché bully trope, but it never did. He pushed the door open, politely letting you out first, and you stepped into the warmth with a small thank you,’ and continued walking with him. Summer cicadas harmonized in their greeting.

“No, not anymore.” You lied, dropping that hand that once held onto the padded straps of your backpack to your side. The dark color of your pants masked the bruise on your wrist when you shoved it deep into your pocket. “I have him in a few of my classes, but luckily he’s preoccupied with his friends.”

“Geez, you got his friends too? That’s… gotta be a loud classroom.” He laughed, and you joined in to delude yourself, and Peter, into thinking everything was okay.  

The sound of multiple engines running within the yellow busses reminded you how incredibly enamored you were with Peter. By now, motors would’ve been buried by earbuds, and the walk wouldn’t have been so deafening to your ear canals. But hearing Peter’s voice soothed the damage, and you wished you had a playlist of him saying your favorite words, reading your favorite novels, rescuing you with worried comfort. You wanted to continue the conversation, change the subject, but you never knew how, so it fell to silence. Again.

“I’ll see you around, Peter.” You spoke softly again, paused when you and Peter reached the end of the sidewalk. You were familiar with Peter’s route. He lived in the opposite side of your street, and the curved path to the right practically led him back to his apartment. All he had to do was follow the beige pavement. “…and thank you, again. It means a lot.” A genuine smile, one that you haven’t been able to sprout for weeks, months you could argue, and Peter’s breath hiked.

“Of course…” It took his breath away. The cloudy day was drawing in the last of its colors, but the rare hint of your teeth, the curve of your lips, made the sky above him, behind you, bloom in the softest blues, yellows, and whites. Selfishly, he wished you smiled more, because the release that was pulled from him evened the astonishment of a child seeing stars for the very first time. 

“I’ll see you around, (M/N).”

OCTOBER.

The workload in your classes had picked up, and with the part-time job at the local bookstore, you were envious of customers who had finished their backlog of novels. Mainly working adults. Still, there was never enough hours in the day to immerse yourself in the world of a brave protagonist, slaying off demons and dragons in the pursuit of love. You never got to finish the fantasy novel you were reading, but you’d imagine it ended with the hero beheading the fire-breathing behemoth, and its head would be pridefully worn on a stick like cotton candy. Cheers erupted when the character returned, then roared when their love blessed them with one thankful kiss.

The ladder was anchored to the wooden, though creaky, floors as you held your breath from inhaling dust. When the door was pushed open by curious passersby, particles of dust sailed with the draft that was invited in, and you coughed into the crook of your arm whenever one floated into your throat. Though, you couldn’t be too annoyed. It also provided a test to see if the Halloween decorations could withstand the wind as they sat on hooks that were nailed into the ceilings. Spirals of orange and black ribbons roped cartoonish gravestones, black cats, pumpkins, skulls, ghouls, all the mascots of the holiday, from above. The draft animated them in gentle swings, delicate arcs that cooled the confined space of the bookstore, but as far as you could tell, none of them had landed on the ground.

“Looks great, (M/N)! I think we’re good on the hanging decorations!” Your manager, Anna, gave the metal ladder a strong pat before tending to the fallen dust. It shook in fear, and you did too, immediately clutching to the fly to stabilize it.

“Any else? We still haven’t decorated the windows.” You climbed down cautiously, making sure she was in your line of sight because for all you could know, she could be an omen.

“The stick on the ones I got suck, so I was thinking that we’ll decorate it on Halloween? Before opening?” She said, opening the door after to sweep out the culprits of your coughing fits. 

“Sounds good.” You collapsed the extension of the ladder once you stepped off, folding it into a thicker shape, and nodded before returning the ladder to its rightful place in the storage room.

“Doing anything fun for Halloween?! Parties?!” Anna’s voice boomed despite the door muffling it. The natural luminous of her voice was something you usually cowered away from, especially when she called for you in front of customers. Luckily, the store was closed, vacant of any witnesses to the flare of your cheeks. Cardboard boxes stacked atop of one another, and for some reason, you were suddenly determined to face your procrastination head-on. “Horror movies?!”

“Uh…” The volume of your voice was still muted despite forcing yourself to make it sonorous. It came out in staggered breaths as you flattened the boxes with your weight, stepping on them at the crease and fold, until you were able to fold them into neat, flat shapes. “Not really! I usually don’t do anything for celebrations.”

“Seriously?” The sound of sweeps came closer to you. They sounded like laughs, almost as if they were mocking you. When you looked up, it was Anna’s fretted expression that reminded you that they were just sounds. No one was here to hurt you. Laugh at you. 

It was just you and Anna. And sounds.

“Mm-hmm.” You simply answered, packing the flattened boxes into a trash bag before storing it back to where the stack previously harbored. The room felt bigger now. You exited after switching off the lights, and took Anna’s broom to sweep up the fuzzy stray materials of cardboard. 

“How come?” Her shoulder supported her leaning stance as she pressed to the wall, watching you diligently work with crossed arms. She gasped out of realization. “Oh no—did something horrible happen on Halloween? Is that why you don’t celebrate?!”

“No, nothing like that!” You laughed. It was always genuine with her. Anna was at least twenty years older than you, but she still kept the youthfulness of a child. You were envious of it. 

“I just…” Big sweeps to walnut flooring kept your mind at ease. The thick hairs brushed evenly, catching lint in the hay. They clung protectively onto the strands the more you brushed, the harder as well. It reminded you of nights, lonesome in your bed. No matter how hard you tried to remove those pesky lints, they always stayed. Always found a way to intrude. “—don’t have parties to go to.”

Nor did you have friends to watch movies with, or a willing family to celebrate with if all plans fell through. It’s been you since you can remember, and you’ve gotten used to it. Though, you’d never admit that to her.

The trail of your voice and the mindless polishing of walnut immediately foiled your discreet speech, but Anna knew better than to prod. From the day you came in for the interview, she remembered the timidness of your slouch, your pattern of speech, your orbs. One could argue that they were nerves, universal tremors one every eighteen year old got when applying for their first job. Then, she trained you. It was just you and her, and the shelves of delicate books. Over the next few weeks, Anna learned that you were as frail as the old spine of donated hardbacks. 

Her knowledge of you only sank surface-deep, barely a scratch or a wound. At one point, she thought it was because of her personality: chipper as a mourning dove, loud as her neighbor’s lawnmower on Sundays, but compared to how she met you five months ago, it delighted her to see progress. Slowly but surely, you opened up to her. She knew your favorite color, your favorite meal, your favorite novel, and she was no longer insecure. There will be a time when she’d meet the root of your soul, and if it took a month, a year, or another, she’d wait.

“Everything okay at school?” She’s been meaning to ask. It was an exciting time for a new business, but incredibly stressful as well. Most never made it after six months, especially within an industry where independent bookstores have become increasingly difficult to sustain with the presence of technology. Anna was just fortunate enough to have seen such quick growth.

Anna took the broom from your hand, stashed it back in the storage room, then guided you to a table for two near the entrance of the store. It was her favorite spot because she loved seeing the wonderment of her customers when they left with the book they couldn’t find anywhere else.

“Yeah,” You quickly answered and offered her a simple smile, devoid of any purpose but to pacify her worries. It worked on your parents, and you liked to think that it worked on Anna as well. “Well, they’re doing some construction in the school gym. I heard that they’re planning to add a room for—“

“That’s great, (M/N), but…” Her arms remained crossed, below her chest, and she nodded to the bruise on your cheek. Purple bloomed high on your cheekbone. Occasionally, it throbbed whenever a draft hit your frail skin. You assumed it was its way to kiss it better, and so you would let it in seek of sating the empty feeling in your stomach. “That. I meant the bruise…”

“Oh—“ Out of instinct, your hand reached up to dab at the purpling skin. Numbed at the first layer, but you pressed deeper, and you hid a jolt with a sudden clear of your throat. “Uh… cat— got me. My mom always said to never play with strays.”

It was a lame excuse and you knew it. Anna did too. Before you could see her face scrunch into a stew of concern, you turned the bruised cheek away and looked to the heights of the sky, out the window, and wished you could fly into the night.

On Halloween, the promotion regarding a sale on donated books, though only paperbacks, if you wore a costume propelled the place to a considerable height. The small size of the store felt even smaller, even more so as Anna’s playlist Halloween music blared in the wall stereo. The sound waves and chatters of excited customers confined you, and you shrunk yourself in corners where it would be coldest. Anna took care of the crowd of patrons, while you assembled the paperbacks in a neatly order within the shelves. 

Anna didn’t expect you to comply in participating in the event of Halloween, so the elation in her face was immediately framed in your mind when she hugged you tight, bruising enough to beckon the former bruise on your cheek to reappear, in your Where’s Waldo outfit. Simple, but you were a simple man.

“Excuse me?” An inquisitive voice tore your focus from arranging the novels in alphabetical order. You were kneeling to fill the lower shelf that was too low for anyone to comfortable browse through, but maintained the position as the crowd seemed to have closed in on you. “Do you know if this book qualifies for the sale, or is it paperback only?”

You looked up through your artificial glasses, and the size of your eyes matched the roundness of your frames when it embarrassingly didn’t take you very long to uncover who was under the layer of green face paint. “Peter?”

“O-oh! (M/N), you work here?” His eyes also widened, but he was sober enough to reach his hand out for you to grab onto. “That’s fitting, I guess. You always went to the library during lunch—I-I mean, not that I watch you or anything. I just— happened to notice…” The heat from your palm jumped onto Peter’s when you held on and pulled yourself to your feet. You weren’t sure what to respond to first, but the closed distance between you and Peter was distracting. A fleeting feeling in your chest, and it still overstays it welcome when you backed a step away. 

Peter’s never been so close to you. He could smell the scent of ocean mist that he likened to previous shopping trips ago. His aunt may would drag him to the nearest retail store and he’d spend every second of the agonizing trip smelling laundry scent boosters while she stocked up on the pantry. He laughed to himself. You seemed like the type to use those.

“Thanks, uh…” You carefully took the hardback in your hand, examining it with several cycles of flips. It was in mint condition. Usually, a poorer state allowed an extra discount. “The sale is only for paperbacks, but…” Your eyes scanned the room. Fewer people now. Anna was still busy entertaining those that came to participate in the costume contest, a sudden endeavor to drive engagement.

“I can make an exception.” There was a swell in Peter’s heart when you gave him a smile, an uncertain small one, but nonetheless, a smile that warmed his insides. He wouldn’t have minded if he had paid full price anyhow, but he also wouldn’t reject the opportunity to save money. 

He followed your steps to the back, away from the engaged crowd, and stilled as you began checking him out. “Just one book?” You looked up, and his lips were already parted as if he was about to say something, but he nodded instead.

Another moment of silence as you took his card after applying the sale to his book, and your fingers drummed to the beat of the music to fill it out, awaiting the receipt to print out. Whenever you had the courage to look at him, he was immersed in the ambiance of the bookstore. Smiling to himself, to Anna, to the laughter of the crowd, and you couldn’t help but hide one yourself, to the ground. When Peter faced you again, you quickly looked away in time, and the receipt rolled out in one smooth motion.

“How are you? Is it always this busy? I’ve never heard of this place.” Peter had a habit of stacking multiple questions with his own observations, with statements, with more questions. Rambles, people would call it. He was attentive, curious, and it all made him the more endearing.

“I’ve been doing okay. Tired, mostly. Miss Wilson’s been keeping me up though.” It was your attempt at a joke, and luckily, it landed when Peter laughed in agreement, elated as if he’d been waiting for the culprit of all-nighters to be of subject.

“Right?!” Peter shook his head when you asked if he wanted a bag, and continued, tucking the book in his armpit when you returned it to him. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love her—she’s awesome. But chill out on the essays! An essay about our essays is a task sent from the devil himself.”

A chuckle escaped from your lips, and a wider smile brimmed your face in support. For the first time, you felt compelled to talk, to engage into conversation.  “Yeah, I missed a few deadlines, but she’s pretty lenient with late work, thankfully.”

“Really? I have a feeling it’s because it’s you! You’re probably her favorite student since you always get the right answers when she calls on you.” He laughed again to escape the awkwardness of his compliment. Subtle, but he hoped you took it pridefully.

Peter looked to the side to see if anyone was coming to conclude their purchase for the night, and was delighted to see the hardwood floor left unattended. “Are you doing anything after this? It’s Halloween, so I imagine people are probably out partying or something.”

“I’m not really a party person.” You nodded to assure yourself, mindlessly rearranging the supplies around the desk to avoid the gaze of his eyes. It sucked you in once, couldn’t look back even if you tried. It was only when Peter turned himself away that you were no longer staring into warm chestnuts. “I only dressed like this since I’d probably look a little out of place if I showed up in my usual uniform, haha.”

“You look cu—“ Peter hurriedly cut himself off, frantic before smiling again. “Nice. You look nice.”

“Thank you,” You returned his smile, soft in form. “What about you? Are you doing anything?”

“Well, I’m not a party person either—oh! There’s this new horror movie that came out a week ago! I’ve been dying to see it,” Peter sparked, gently bouncing on his toes as hope frayed within his words. “If you’re free, would you want to watch it with me?”

“Oh—“ For the first time, you had the option to say ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ and for some reason, Peter was always at the crime of your firsts. “W-what time? I’ll have to see if it’s okay with Anna if—“

“Let me see…” Light reflected off of Peter’s faced as he searched on his phone, but a buoyant smile that revealed his teeth shined brighter. “One showing at eight, another at ten, and one final one at midnight!”

“Is… midnight okay?” You hesitantly asked, and Peter brightened.

“Midnight is perfect.”

When you left from work, you didn’t bother to call for your parents. It would’ve gone to voicemail anyhow. Instead, Anna took the excited initiative to drive you to the theater despite your assurance that walking would’ve sufficed.

Nonsense! I’m getting my coat. Hold on! Stay right there!

The mystery of what held the rest of the night for you frightened you to the core. What if everything went downhill from here? What if Peter never showed up? What if this had been a prank all along? During the car ride, you breathed, and breathed, and breathed.

And then, breathed. 

Inhaled.

Blew in one continuous breath.

Inhaled.

Your chest ran steady again.

That night, Peter made you feel normal. As normal as someone like you could be. 

You didn’t plan on getting your fingers buttery, but Peter assured you that his  popcorn wasn’t going to finish itself. You shared your sour gummies in return. Peter jumped when a ghost flew to the screen, and you did the same from his own erratic movements. You watched the film through half-closed eyes, peeking between the cracks of your greasy fingers, prepared to be startled by the sound of a door closing, and you laughed silently to yourself because it was silly when you flinched to a cat scurrying away.

While you focused, the structure of your nose and lips, your entire side profile, were handsomely illuminated by the flickers of the screen and Peter took in the animation of your presence, a behemoth contrast of the you he’d known silently for years; the you that kept to himself, ate at lunch by himself, did group projects by himself, studied in the library by himself, walked home by himself. It was pathetic, many would heckle to their circle of friends. Peter overheard the tease and taunts, and he wanted to defend you in those moments. But he couldn’t, not until he knew you.

When you felt the air thicken, you turned to Peter and his gaze unfurled the heavy cloud between the two of you until it vanished into smoke. It sucked you in; his eyes. And you stared wide-eyed, bewildered and lost in the sea of broken stars the screen illustrated in Peter’s orbs. They twinkled with every cut of the scene, sparkling under the terror of the performer’s haunting, until they no longer didn’t when he turned away. 

Crimson blanched and wilted into his face, radiated even in the dark when you followed and turned back to the screen. You felt your cheeks rivaling in swatch.

For the first time, you weren’t scared. 

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[babydolls-writing-space]

˚₊‧ა [𝑨𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑨𝒍𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒕: 𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒌  ] ໒ ‧₊˚ 

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

A = Affection (Are they an affectionate caregiver?) 

- He is a semi affectionate caregiver, dont get me wrong he loves his holding his baby but he also loves his personal space 

B = Behave (Are they strict? What kind of warnings do they give before punishment is needed?) 

- I  wouldnt say strict but he defiantly has his rules. He gives the “quit it” looks and he will verbally tell you to stop if he needs to 

C = Clothing (How do they dress their little?) 

- He mostly dresses up his little one in comfy clothes such as hoodies and comfortable pants but he tries to dress u the way you like when he figures out your style 

D = Defense (Are they protective caregivers? Maybe overprotective even?) 

- He is protective but only when he needs to be. Such as around certin people or places 

E = Express (How do they express their love?  What's their love language?) 

- He expresses his love by acts of service and words of affrimation  

F = First (How was their first experience as the little's caregiver?) 

- It was sweet, his little one started regressing in the lobby so he turned on cartoons on and asked them questions about there show since they love it and then later the little fell asleep with their head on husk shoulder 

G = Guide (Would they be a good teacher to their little? What would they teach them?) 

- Yes he is! He would teach his little on how to stand up for themselves and that its ok to make mistakes as long as we fix or learn from them  

H = Health (How do they make sure their little is healthy?) 

- He makes good lunches, helps brush there teeth, gets them water to drink, etc  

I = Intuitive (Can the caregiver feel when their little is regressing?) 

- Yea he is pretty good at knowing when his little one is regressed. He starts noting the little signs in his head so he knows when to go into his caregiver headspace  

J = Jealous (Are they the jealous caregiver type?) 

- Nah i dont think he is really that jealous but i do think he can get clingy at times  

K= Kiss (Are they used to kiss their little? Where?) 

- Forehead kissessssss 

L = Listen (Do they enjoy listening to their little?) 

- He doses love listening to his little one, he adores it when his little ones tells them about there fave things such as cartoons or movies they love.  

M = Moment (What's one of their favorite moments being a caregiver?)

- Nap time because he loves laying down and cuddling with his baby  

N = Nurse (Could and would they nurse their little one? Or would they rather bottle feed them?) 

- He would rather bottle feed them, he likes holding them it makes him feel happy in knowing his little one is safe.  

P = Pet Name (What pet name do they call their little? What pet name their little calls them?) 

- Kiddo, bug, sweetheart, and darlin 

Q = Quirk (Talk about a funny caregiver-quirk of them) 

- When he takes a nap with his little and gets warm, he starts to purr 

R = Rough (How do they punish their little? Is it rough or gentle?) 

- He is gently for sure, however sometimes he will accidently yell. But he will talk to his little first and make them eat more veggies and early bedtime for his little  

S = Seasons (What are their favorite season to play with their little and why?) 

- He loves the winter and fall because he loves to stay in with his little one and do crafts with them  

T = Toys (Are they used to spoil their little with toys? Or they'd rather play with their little most of the time without toys?) 

- A good mixture of both, he loves playing pretend however he will also set up a reward chart for you so that when you be good for a certin amount of time you can get rewards such as new toys

U = Useful (Is there anything they learned before becoming a caregiver that is *really* useful while caring for their little?) 

- Uhh- he knows more simple games such as go fish and peak a boo ( he thinks its cute when the two of you play peak a boo) 

V = Vulnerable (Would they show vulnerability around their little?) 

- Somewhat? He mostly tries to act strong around you espically when you are regressed  

W = Weep (What is their reaction when their little starts crying?) 

- His ears go back a little with a small amount of worry. He will pick you up and try to rock you asking you whats wrong as he rubs your back 

X = Xtra (Write the headcanon of your choice) 

- ( i headcannon that angel is a flip/big brother) so one day you and angel had a play date while husk watched you to from the counter. You ended up getting sad cause you felt icky but big brother angel was there to save the day! Husk was happy and relived to find angel comforting you, he adores moments like those  

Y = Yummy (Do they know how to cook? Do they enjoy cooking for their little?) 

- Yes, he loves and he actually knows how to cook, he will try and find fun ways to get you to eat your veggies as well! 

Z = Zzz (What about naptime and bedtime?) 

- He loves bedtime especially in the winter with soft led lights (if you want them) when its cold because he can hold you close with blankets and soft lullabies while the two of you sleep.  

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

hey! I’m so sorry request have been so slow as well as my writing, I just haven’t been able to regress lately which makes it hard to write sometimes, but I’m trying to get back into it!

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

tags:

[cdam10]

Appleradio / Radiostatic AU

guys guys hear me out... a college au, but make it yandere, every chapter will be out on AO3 (sadly in spanish) cuz making comics it's kind of difficult to me rn but i can translate it to english and post it here!

I already made the student council and i think it's pretty good to my opinion uu <3

So, what do you think?

Student Council

This year will be calmer for the council, there will not be many activities and now they are taking self-defense classes at the direction of the headmaster, it will not happen again.

*Carmilla Carmine (20 years old):

She is the president of the student council three years in a row; gentle, formal and loyal to the director. Answer sheets and teacher's stuff are available for her at any time.

*Vagatha (aka, Vaggie; 20 years old):

Vice president; she is nice and doesn't get angry very easily (she is the reason the council is still standing, comically). In a current relationship with Charlie.

*Lilith (20 years old):

Tresurer; with a serious face that could break into an angry one if makes a sound (worst if you are Lucifer). Strict with every member and student and she thinks Alastor is into something.

*Husk (22 years old):

He doesn't know when or how he got into the student council but he chills with it. Everything changed for him, probably wanting revenge.

*Lucifer (19 years old):

Reporter; the good thing about it is that he can go anywhere in the college, the bad thing is that he has to ask for permission. Lilith's ex and Charlie's brother.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A Page, Turning

There’s another me on the page, another me in the mirror.

This is part 15… of 20. Your hand is frozen, afraid to see what lies on the other side.

(I have a goal to finish this saga in late 2023 or early 2024 so wish me luck on powering through the last few installments 😅)

The Tale of the Cursed Raven:

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4 I Part 5 I Part 6 I Part 7 I Part 8 I Part 9 I Part 10 I Part 11 I Part 12 I Part 13 I Part 14 

“Do you know what drives a story forward?”

He asked the question without looking up from her manuscript. His tone was flat, but edged with sternness as he cut a line of red ink through a sentence. The color fuzzily bled into the parchment paper.

“No. I don’t,” she replied. Truthfully, innocently.

Her mentor slashed through another section, indicating off the offending areas in telltale red. Each strike of the quill made her flinch, as though those strikes were cutting through her instead of through her work.

“Time?” she offered, her guess echoing in the dark room.

He set his papers down and scoffed. The full extent of his gaze settled on his pupil. Discomfort gnawed at her.

His eyes were empty ones. They did not belong to a man, but what remained of one. Just a husk being blown around in the breeze.

“It’s the characters.”

“Characters…?”

“The people we write about.” He slapped the back of his hand against the marked-up manuscript. “A rock won’t cast itself into a lake, it needs someone to throw it. An adventure does not begin if the hero refuses to answer the call. And what good is a rich world and lore without beings to bask in it?”

A light bulb went off in her head.

“Oooh. So characters… make things happen!!”

“Not just that. It is through the characters that a story is shaped. The outcome, the ending… it is the result of all the characters, their choices, and their bonds and connections with one another.”

“Everything is connected?”

“Yes.”

In his circle of candlelight, his empty eyes seemed to soften the slightest bit. He slumped forward in his seat, pressing his forehead against a palm. When he looked down, written words were a blur.

“… I realize that now,” he murmured. A soft groan rushed through his teeth.

“Teacher?” She placed a tentative hand on his arm—the arm still gripping his quill. The raven could feel the muscles under his skin stiffen at the touch.

He pulled away. This time, he did not make eye contact as he spoke. The flickering flame of a candle was his companion, his solace.

“Readers have their reasons for seeking stories. They want to relate to someone, they want to meet new faces, they want to cry and to celebrate with them, they want to be loved. They want to escape.

“Stories make us feel things, child. And just as the characters impact their stories, so, too, do those stories change the world.”

He slammed both hands down on his writing desk.

The candle wobbled, and papers flew into the air. They slowly drifted down, big bales of white against and the shadows they projected along the walls. White feathers and black feathers in a gentle rain.

“The real world. It puts hope into people’s hearts, and it can tear them down just as easily. It’s your role as storyteller to bring the feelings put on the page to life.“

“Feelings…”

I don’t even fully understand my own yet, she wanted to protest. But the words and the composition of them eluded her.

The raven’s mouth remained sealed shut.

“There’s no soul to your characters. Rewrite it,” he commanded gruffly, jerking his chin to the papers scattered at her feet, “and this time, make it something worth reading.”

The gemstone set in her magical quill has not fully cleared yet. Once a clear, deep navy, it now has tendrils of black threaded through it. Plumes of smoke floating up sweetly into the night.

Raven closes her fingers around the writing implement. A book is on her lap, open to a fresh double spread.

Doubts louder than the screeching baby robin swirl in her head.

You’ve never gotten a grip on your unique magic. What happened all those other times you tried to tame it? You failed. Even when you try to cheat and use tools to help channel the magic, you fail.

High quality parchment, enchanted inks, quills made from the feathers of rare birds… No matter what you use, it never works.

The problem isn’t the magic or the conduits, it’s you.

Your own weakness.

Each nasty thought is a little black bird, taking root and roosting where it shouldn’t. The doubts collect into a familiar feeling, a dark cloud suspended above her heart. A group of them, a swarm.

An unkindness of ravens.

She frowns, pressing the nib of her quill into the corner of her first page. It leaves an imprint, a dent. Proof of her existence.

I know I’m weak.

Her confession causes the darkness to cave in, crashing upon her in a thunderous roar. What is left is the quiet that comes after a storm has settled, and a soft, resolute realization.

I was never strong to begin with, but… I can still give others strength, can’t I? That’s my role. Not a storyteller, but someone who gives support.

She crinkles her brow, shutting her book. Raven lays her pen flat against the cover, then her hand on top of it.

Maroon leather dappled with spots of sunlight. Pockets of light in a place of shade.

Characters are connected. To the world, to their stories, to other characters. And even to me. Then…

I should have the power to change it too.

To make that magic real myself. To turn dreams into reality.

Her eyes drift shut, and a match strikes, igniting a flame inside of her. A warm buzz skitters across her skin. Magic hums in her veins, manifesting at her fingertips.

“The future is but a blank page. Allow me to guide you through this story.

“Quoth the Raven!”

Something in the air shifts in response to her plea.

She sighs and reaches—this time not within herself, but outward.

To the robin.

There is momentary nothingness.

Then the ground at her feet falls away in one clean chunk.

She’s suddenly sailing through a void, book and quill slipping out of her grasp. The whirring of a great plummet rattles her bones, chilling hands tugging at her skin.

What is this?

Raven doesn’t entirely understand what’s happening, but for once the unknown does not frighten her. Curiosity pulls her deeper down the rabbit hole. Her insides skip, almost embracing the call.

It feels so natural, so expected, for an entirely new experience.

Is this… how it was meant to be all along?

An impact is her answer. Raven’s feet connect, spirit anchoring to a new space.

Sharp pangs spike along both arms. She hisses, expelling a deep breath through her clenched teeth.

But worse yet is the pain in her chest, a boulder cast into a raging river. Her eyes sting, and her throat is torn asunder, left raw and frayed.

The world explodes into another existence, painting everything over with a coat of jet black. The sky, the plants, even Raven, rendered by the night.

A curtain descends, falling across her head in silken waves. Chords of color dangle from the darkness. All shades of blue, all pulsating with pain.

She recognizes them.

The rich blue-violet of Fear, the palest pastel of Forgotten. A cobalt so deep that it was nearly black—Despair.

These must be…

Raven naturally extends a hand to the colors—introducing a new flash of pain down her arm.

Whispers snake along her skin and slink into her ears, indiscernible and unwelcome. There’s a slight shove against her shoulder, testing her sturdiness.

Don’t push me out, she coaxes the robin’s mind space. I’m a friend. I’m just like you.

The sky shudders.

A harsh wind roars, blowing her bangs and pigtails back.

Blue soars through the darkness, weaving ribbons of a pure and cloudless color. Those streaks, Raven realizes, are drawn by a whole flock. They’re loosely defined, existing as nothing more than outline of some bird-like shapes—but the air is theirs.

Her heart fills with melancholy, sadness seeping into the cuts and gashes already there. Salt rubbed in the wounds, reopening scars.

Her pulse picks up pace, her blood rumbling like thunder. The birds passing overhead are a scene put on fast forward, their shadows racing for the sunset.

This feeling is familiar.

Raven shakily takes Despair in her stiff, aching fingers, rubbing a thumb along it. There is no glossiness or sheen to the darkness, no light that refracts.

Icy images slam into her.

A nest. Shattered eggshells. Feathers and beaks. Robins clamoring together. Wings spread out. Takeoff.

Blue, endless blue.

Uneasy steps to the edge. Clumsy footing, a slip. Infantile wings flapping in desperation. A small body falling, falling, falling…

Fallen down.

Raven nods slowly.

Once upon a time, you were bright-eyed and hopeful. You dreamed of the sky, and exploring it with your loved ones.

One misstep and disaster struck. Your wings were injured, and your dream shattered.

Separated from your family and unable to fly, you don’t know what to do. You’re scared that you’ve lost everything—including yourself. You think that this is where your story stops.

She digs her nail into Despair.

But I’ve seen beyond ever after, and I know that ‘the end’ isn’t truly the end.

The deals offered to her. The hands she had held. The promises not kept.

All those times, I thought I was done for—but life still went on. No… I moved on. I continued living. I went to a new place, I met new people, I experienced new things. What hurt me before made me stronger.

Her shoulders sag, burdened by an unseen weight. She stands tall and lifts them, picturing arms supporting her on both sides and a hand upon her back.

“You’ve truly changed—here, at our Night Raven College.”

She smiles.

My wings are broken too. Not physically, but it keeps me from flying. They’re still healing. I’m not yet ready to see the sky again. But I know that, someday, I’ll be able to fly once more. The same goes for you.

Your story is your own. It’s only over if you let it be—if you let the story write you instead of the other way around.

This page can’t turn to the next without you.

Raven’s breath echoes into the ground, oscillating outward in waves.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

She feels a heartbeat buried in the earth. Deep below the dirt, the sound dullened by the distance and the substance piled between them.

Her own pulse slows, matching it. Exhales, long trains of secrets unwinding themselves and drifting up into the sky.

Slow, steady—calm.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

Their heartbeats align, becoming one.

Breaths coalescing.

Willing the flow of the feelings, guiding them with a channel formed by her hands.

A radiant blue pools in a circle around Raven’s thumb. The shade of the sky seeps into Despair, coloring the whole chord. It bleeds down into the others—Fear and Forgotten and more.

Before long, Raven is standing under a curtain of sky blue. Cool to the touch, and comforting. She feels like she’s surrounded by plush clouds.

A passing breeze pats her cheek as she sifts the strands between her fingers.

This is… my answer.

She falls back, setting the color to the wind. No grass or ground bothers catching her.

The world vanishes, and she’s tumbling through that vast, wonderful color. Sinking into a beautiful abyss with no bottom.

Free falling, flying.

Blink.

Everything implodes, converging in her tiny body.

The moon and sun and clouds and stars all fold up and pack tightly inside of her. Aurora ribbons and storms with silver linings. Even the shadows slip in, riding upon slivers of light.

The sky is bottled up.

Shoved into her.

And she’s back.

Raven opens her eyes. Real sensations slowly piece together again.

Wobbling wetness in her eyes, trails blazing down her cheeks. Her breath expels in deep, heavy pants. Head swimming, her slight form shaking violently.

The aftereffects hit her all at once.

Nausea makes its home in her gut, dampening her attire with sweat. Pressure presses down hard on her skull, threatening to crush it like an overripe fruit. A consistent, dizzying pain creeps at the corners of her vision.

She gulps and looks down.

The gem set in her magical quill is nearing a pitch black. A single thread of color hangs in the delicate balance, refusing to be overtaken by obsidian.

But the robin doesn’t move a muscle. It regards her with an eerie calmness, eyes wide and innocent.

Waiting for what is next.

“... So, here you are."

The quiet but resolute accusation pierces the forest.

An impish young man seats itself beside them at the lake. He wears a brilliant green vest, a jacket draped over his shoulders. When he grins, there is the flash of fangs and a glint in his big, ruby eyes. They beam out from behind uneven, dark bangs streaked with magenta.

"Vanrouge." Their smile is bitter. "How kind of you to join me in the audience. A bit late for it, though."

"I thought I sensed a familiar presence—and I was right. That magic was your barrier after all." He casually crossed his legs. "Tell me, old friend, what brings you to Sage's Island?"

They laugh. "Meddling in others' affairs, are we?"

"Isn't that precisely what you're doing?" Lilia meets their harsh words blow for blow. It comes as naturally to him as swordplay.

"We never did see eye-to-eye on these things. The path to true happiness never does run as smooth as we want it to, do we?”

"I see that you have no intention of backing down." He frowned. "You have a special interest in this one, or...?"

They dip a finger into the lake water, causing its surface to ripple. The rings rise and fall so easily.

"This story--her story-- was set into motion long ago. It is far past the point of no return. Whatever you do and say now cannot sway the path she has chosen to walk along."

"Ah, but you make exceptions for your own actions?"

"How is she to develop if she cannot overcome the simplest of obstacles?"

"Simple? Even I can see that you're being needlessly cruel and unusual."

"And you are being needlessly lax and indulgent. Time has softened your barbs, O’ Crimson Demon.”

“We don’t speak of the past,” he says quickly. “Not here.”

“You treasure your time here so, even when you are short on it yourself. Worry for yourself, and not for the juveniles you seek to coddle.”

The words hurt—but behind them is a blunted kind of darkness, something deeper and more sullen. An anger and a sadness not shown to the world.

He suddenly understands.

A personal vendetta, then, he ventures. "If this is concerning the Loveless King of old--"

"It is no longer about him. It is about his successor, the one who bears his legacy."

"What is the point of making the child--any child--suffer so? Does she truly deserve to bear the sins of her forefather? Can you not allow her to live and let live?"

The only sound is the water washing everything away.

"Answer me, Estella."

She holds up a finger, silencing him.

"... Listen. Watch. The next scene of the story is unfolding. The finale is afoot.”

A pair tromps through the woods, each person a considerable distance apart. A boy in a headscarf is far ahead, calling out into the thicket through cupped hands. His gloomy partner trails after him unenthusiastically, hunched over and muttering curses.

"No luck so far..." Kalim sighs, his shoulders sagging. "Poor Raven! She must be so confused and cold and tired out here all by herself."

Idia sighs too--much more despairingly.

“‘Poor Raven’ this, ‘poor Raven’ that… Where’s MY ‘poor Idia’?!" he muttered to himself. "I was right in the middle of a game when the headmaster put out that 'urgent' summons and it cost me the match!"

I’ve just been taking Ls left and right lately... First it was Azul-shi pestering me for 'just a little favor', and I felt bad for him so I caved!! That’s the LAST time I decide to have a heart! I had to give up that precious concert ticket to someone that doesn't even appreciate the art of idols!! Then Floyd doesn't do the ONE job he had to do, and I missed out on some limited edition in-game prizes… And now being sent on a rescue mission I didn't ask to be a part of...!

Hell hasn’t known true fear until it’s met with a raging gamer...!!

"Oh, I know! I'll have Jamil run her a hot bath and prepare a banquet to welcome Raven back once we find her. That way, she'll be able to relax and get comfortable again," Kalim babbles ahead of him, all smiles again. (His sadness never lasted that long, Idia had noticed.)

Kalim glances at his partner, then gasps. "Oh gosh, Idia! You look so worn out! You've been so hard at work trying to help us find Raven, it's no wonder you're tired! Should I have Jamil prepare a hot bath and a banquet for you too?"

"N-No!!" Idia snaps. "A-Anything but that!! I think I'd rather die..."

"You feel like you're going to die?! Oh no, should I call a doctor for you?"

"D-Don't do ANYTHING for me, I'm begging you!"

Idia's plea echoes through the forest, shaking the leave above them. They rattle, producing a light, shifting sound. And then...

A chirp comes from far away.

Kalim leaps at the sound. "Did you hear that just now? It sounded like a bird...!!"

"I-Is it really that surprising to find a bird in a forest? Even a shut-in like me knows that's basic common sense..."

"Eh, really? I'm more used to seeing birds in cages. They bring in lots of them at some ceremonies and property openings I've been to. Then we cut a big ribbon and all the birds get released into the sky!"

Kalim glances in the direction of the chirp. "Hey, maybe if we go to the bird, we can ask it for help!"

"H-Huh? That's the first decent idea you've had all day. Birds have the aerial advantage in a situation like this." And the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can retreat back to my bedroom to catch up on the event, Idia adds. "M-Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to be paired with you after all. It can be useful to have a party member with a high Animal Language stat!"

"Oh, I'm not good at Animal Languages at all!"

"... Wh-What?"

"I just kind of get a gist for what they're feeling by listening really hard!

"H-How are we supposed to communicate what we need help with to any forest animal then?!"

"I can try my best!"

"What if your best isn't good enough?! I-I take back everything I said, being stuck with an extrovert's the WORST!!"

"Don't be like that, Idia!! We can definitely power through this together!!" Kalim rushes over to his upperclassman's side and--to Idia's horror--links arms with him. "Come on, let's get going before we lose the bird!"

"W-Wait, don't just go deciding that on your own...! A-And be careful, I’m not an athletic otaku! D-Don't pull on my arm, you'll dislocate itttt...!!"

Idia's protests go largely ignored or not registered. In the distance, critters scatter on little paws and hooves. Away from him, away from them.

Kalim drags him along the twisted road ahead and toward an uncertain outcome.

Only the hope of a birdsong to guide them.

Elsewhere in the woods, another pair struggles.

"Tch. I can't believe I was woken up from my nap for this,” Leona groans, batting a branch out of his way. Leave it to the headmaster to call us in to do his dirty work. “If he can’t keep an eye on the canary, that’s his problem, not mine.”

“Oh, quit it, will you?” Vil retorts with a sigh. “It’s exactly this kind of attitude that reflects poorly on both yourself and your entire dormitory.”

“You can’t possibly be happy about this.”

“I’m not--but you certainly aren’t making this any more bearable for me.” Vil grimaces as he steps over a large twig. The path before him is long and littered with environmental hazards: rocks, mud, and bugs--none of which he had dressed for. “The least you can do is go about this gracefully.”

“Oh, I do apologize, your majesty. I didn’t realize we were on our way to greet the Queen of Hearts herself,” Leona spits. “Wouldn’t want to offend her with poor manners now.”

“So you think it’s appropriate to offend me with your poor manners instead?” Vil huffs.

“Not like I have a choice. You see any other sorry saps around?”

Their sour exchanges are nothing new, but it offers Vil temporary reprieve from the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Like a pool of fabric clenched in a fist, it gathers, twisting into a concentrated lump. An inkling of dread.

“... Something is wrong,” Rook had said. He, who was always smiling, had unmistakable panic in his eyes that night. “Something is terribly amiss.”

Vil hadn’t thought anything of it until the summons had come.

They had all anticipated the same old thing. Another emergency meeting with some inane demand from the headmaster, some offloading of responsibilities onto the dorm leaders. Expected, shared reluctance and complaints to match the headmaster’s crocodile tears.

It was simply that his niece had gone missing, and he sought her safe return. There were groans and eye rolls to be had, immediate rejections of the request as he scrambled for a bribe or a blackmail that would convince them.

The man was so flippant--yet he pleaded with such an intense desperateness. Not acted, nor exaggerated.

From the night before, Rook’s foreboding warning had arisen fresh in Vil’s mind. And again, now.

Danger on the horizon. A tragedy on the brink of becoming reality. The huntsman had a penchant for sniffing them out.

“... Rook, you absolute fool of a man,” Vil grumbles. “What have you gone and gotten yourself entangled with now?”

“Bleh, why’d you have to bring him up all of a sudden?” Beside his fellow dorm leader, Leona glowers, his ears flattening. “Cut it out or you’ll will him into existence. It’s already bad enough I have to put up with one pain in the tail.”

The wind passing through set the leaves above them rustling. Papery thin and delicate, the foliage may as well have been papers being shuffled and sorted.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop,” Vil shoots back. “Do you mind?”

“Can’t help having better hearing than the average human,” he shrugs, infuriatingly smug.

“Oui, Roi du Léon! That is but one of your many charm points!!”

“Yeah, that’s... right...”

Leona’s face slowly falls. Vil’s own expression matches his. Neither of them had noticed a third person emerging after them from the thicket. Not a smell, nor a sound, to give away his presence.

He stands between the duo, the brim of his feathered hat obscuring his eyes. A blonde bob cut, the rich violet and crimson band of Pomefiore upon his arm.

Rook casually tips his hat, causing Leona to shudder and back away. “Bonjour. What a coincidence it is to meet two kings sharing a stroll. It must be destiny that our paths crossed!”

“Oh good, you’ve jinxed us,” Leona drawls, passing Vil a glare. “Go figure.”

He doesn’t deign to acknowledge the lion with a response. Instead, Vil steps toward his huntsman. “Rook, just what is going on here?”

“Hmm?” His smile is far too dazzling for the circumstances. “Are you curious about my day? I’ve only been out taking in the sights and sounds of nature myself.”

“Be serious!” Vil considers shaking him by the shoulders, but thinks better of it. “This wasn’t the ominous attitude you had yesterday.”

Leona scowls. “Your first mistake was to trust Rook with anything at all.”

“As though you’ve been of any more use?”

Their sharp quips are met with a voice like a gentle caress.

“Roi du Poison, Roi du Léon.”

Rook tenderly took each of their hands in his. He playfully swung their arms from side to side in a simple dance, his lips forming a musical chuckle. “Oh, I’ve had the honor of witnessing the most marvelous scene!! It sets my heart aquiver at the thought.”

“What...” Vil sways with him in a confused daze. “What are you on about now?!”

“Looks like he’s finally lost his senses,” Leona simpers. “Tragic, really.”

“You’re not providing any concrete answers, Rook,” Vil protests, tugging on their linked hands—as if to snap him out of his trance. “What happened when you went out last night?”

Rook smiles dreamily. “What indeed. You see, I’ve looked beyond the looking glass and glimpsed the birth of new magic not once, not twice, but three times! First Monsieur Spade, then Monsieur Crabapple�� Fufu, I’m quite the lucky man.”

“The first years that came into their unique magic,” Vil recalls. “Yes, I’m aware. Then this third incident must be…”

A bird sounds somewhere in the forest.

Leona immediately catches on. Quick as a cat, he pounces on the opportunity presented to him. “You’ve seen the canary. Well, track her down for us. Poor old Crowley’s beside himself without his golden girl.”

Irises in slivers of green peer out from the shadow of his hat. “Non, I’m afraid I can’t allow that. We mustn’t interfere at a time as fragile as this.”

“You’re making this real unnecessarily difficult. Step aside before I make you.”

The frustrated growl in Leona’s tone does little to frighten him. Rook laughs softly, looking fondly upon the woods surrounding them.

“A flower of evil is most beautiful when left on its own to bloom. If plucked, that vitality dissipates with time.”

He wishes to see it at the height of its beauty.

Pure, noble, and true.

At the end of a path is a clearing--and in that clearing is a raven.

She's crouched to the ground and deliberately made her presence as small as possible. Beside her is a basket. She stares into it, as if afraid to disrupt whatever is inside.

"Raven!!"

She turns at the call of her name, eyes swelling at the appearance of Kalim and Idia from behind the trees.

"Wh...”

“You’re okay!” Kalim tackles her in a smothering hug. “Everyone was so worried!!”

“Speak for yourself,” Idia mutters. “Assuming that everyone will just smile and agree with whatever motivational stuff you spew out... Th-This is why I can’t stand the sparkly, outgoing types irl!”

“You came looking for me?” Her words are tentative.

“Bzzzt, wrong. The headmaster cried and begged for us to find you,” Idia sneers, refusing to meet her curious eyes. “Some of us have more important things to do than random side quests.”

“Uncle did?”

It’s surreal to say.

Shame and shyness well up in her chest. She wonders what he must have been feeling when he discovered her note, wonders if she’s worthy of such worry. Raven is trapped between an apology she can’t bring herself to utter and the questions that fill her head.

“We’re so glad we found you!” Kalim finds her hands and squeezes them. “Let’s go back.”

“Back…?” She’s bewildered by the word. Blinks several times to reacclimate herself to it. “To everyone… to Night Raven College?”

“Gahahah! Of course, where else could we mean? Right, Idia?”

“D-Do you really need my input on this… There’s literally no other place we could mean.”

“... That’s right,” Raven agrees, just barely audible. “Night Raven College is my one and only home. My nest.”

She cradles the basket to her chest, hanging her head low. Her shadow is cast over the contents, odd bobs and ends collected from the forest, remnants of the place she once resided in.

Both the old and the new, together. Something borrowed and something blue.

“... I want to go home,” Raven says quietly, “if you’re willing to have me.”

“Huh, what kind of stupid question is that? The quest was to come and find you. There’d be no point in it if they didn’t want you back with them.”

“There’s people that would miss you if you just up and flew away, Raven. Friends and family,” Kalim adds. He doesn’t speak with the same scathing bite as Idia. “You should have seen how the headmaster was acting, it broke my heart!”

“Yeah, ngl it was p pathetic.”

“That... certainly sounds like Uncle.” There’s a slight laugh concealed in her statement. Amusement at the ordinariness of it.

She sucks in a breath and wills herself to stand. Her legs wobble, no steadier than a newly hatched chick taking its first steps. “I’d better not worry him any more than I already have.”

“You can lean on me for support if you need it,” Kalim offers, offering his shoulder. “Let’s get you back safely!”

“Finally.” Idia turns and starts grumpily tromping in the way he came from. 

He fumbles with his noise-cancellation headphones, wanting to wash away the outside world from his senses. As he slips them over his ears, he overhears Kalim and Raven behind him.

“What were you doing all the way out here anyway?”

“I was looking for something for the longest time. But now I think I’ve found it.” She pauses. “No... a little birdie helped me find it. A piece of the future.”

The junk in her basket? She was looking for that? Idia scoffs and tunes them out. Whatever.

Soft instrumentals play the opening notes of a song. The Fates will soon join in a harmonious choir, spinning the story of another hero. Behind him, Raven gives a rapt observation over the music.

“Ah... The sky is so blue today.”

Blue?

Idia inclines his head, a hand shielding his eyes from the shining sun. Above, a deep, permeating blue expands in all directions. He hadn’t much noticed it before--not when he was so often cooped up in his own bedroom.

It’s so bright, so hopeful.

A wind blows. Drying up tears and lifting their spirits up. Idia’s fiery hair whips in the breeze, shimmering in the sun as he braces himself against it.

Right before the lyrics begin.

“Oh yeah, the sky’s really pretty today!” Kalim notes. “I’ve always wondered what makes the sky blue? Sometimes it’s more and sometimes it’s less.”

“I wonder too.”

The Fates erupt in Idia’s ears, heralding destiny ever closer.

[steve-the-bear]

N'xtun, Goddess of Life and Death

Many depictions of N'xtun show a large figure dressed in shadows, typically surrounded by various flora that are shown growing on the left and withering to the right. Her hands are usually shown open, with her arms reaching down as if to wrap those before her in a gentle embrace.

N'xtun is considered to be a creator of mortal lives, the birthplace of souls, and their final resting place. She can create new souls, and then she leads them to the dimensions of the living. From there, they pass into a dimension under the guidance of their guardian [Exdea or De'ex]. When their soul is old, or their body has passed, N'xtun returns for them and brings them back to where they came from.

Some cultures believe N'xtun to be two or even three separate deities, separating life and death into two domains. In many cultures, she is more often associated with death than she is with life. Even if those cultures accurately attribute their creation to her, many still refer to her as Lady Death.

While N'xtun has reign over the whole domain of death and the act of dying, in more recent teachings by larger and more modern groups, she is closer associated with gentle deaths and painless passings rather than death as a whole. Some have forgotten that Death is as kind as she is brutal.

In her domain of life, while she has the ability to do much, she does not, instead allowing others the chance to do so. She has been limited in the type of creation she is allowed to do to avoid pushing into Prie'amas domain. She creates new souls and allows others a second, third, fourth chance. Instead of creating new things, she simply allows what was once dead to return, forgotten and uprooted trees resprouting, long dead plants renewing despite frozen ground, little miracles of life returning from death.

Many pray to Lady Death to ask for a painless death for themselves or a loved one, or for themselves or a loved one to be spared. N'xtun may also be prayed to or worshipped to request safe passage through to the final resting place.

N'xtun is associated with crows, the wither, and wither flowers. Alliums are also associated with her in some cultures. In the End, she is associated with dragons and purple flames.

In the End, she is revered as Queen above all dieties. There, they call her ⟒⋏☌ (Déwh), or ⟒⋏☌-☌⍀⋔ (Déwh-Hegem), meaning Everything. In many End myths and stories, she is considered the mother of all life, the one who brought life to the world, and the one who will one day return all to where they belong. She is often depicted in the End alongside the dragons of old, occasionally even as a dragon herself.

In the Nether, among the piglins, she is called ⊖☗⊖❂⊚⊕ꕤ (Onodraighs), meaning The One Who Waits. She is seen as an inevitable end, who bestows great honor on teachers and warriors alike. In the Nether, Onodraighs is more often considered to be beneath or lower than ❂⎔⍝ (Drraud), the diety of Blood. The Ostraspen are considered a tragic curse from Drraud on any piglin, an endless path as a shade in the realm of the living, forever cut off from the Great Halls of Drraguhk, and Onodraighs collection. They are left behind as a husk unable to live yet unable to die.

N'xtun does not create the nether-folk. They are not passed on from her, though she does collect them. She considers them a gift and an apology, received from Kinïstra, and she cherishes them deeply.

N'xtun has many minor deities under her domain, though the most notable would be Cruor/Drraud, or more commonly, The Blood God (in the nether the piglins revere Drraud higher, but within the existing pantheon he works with and for N'xtun, not above her). Some mythos also depict her as coming behind an Angel of Death, an omen on the battlefield, oft depicted as an ethereal being with wings as dark as the void and a harrowing screech. It was said that behind the angel, Lady Death would always follow.

[finniestoncrane]

Hearts Have Teeth

Capullo!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 500 commission: based on a song, the vibes are eddie having some self-reflection time and maybe a lil bit of an existential crisis 💚 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: angst, emotional, relationship issues?

People are a commodity. Easy to use up. To consume whole. It’s why he veered away from relationships. Nothing to do with the practicality of it. Or the fact that very few people seemed to be at all interested in spending time with him. No, it wasn’t a problem with him, it was a problem with them.

So quickly, they lost their flavour, their personality. Being around someone like him could be like drowning to a lesser person. And in comparison to him, everyone was a lesser person. In intelligence, charisma, importance. No one could stand up to him, no one could compare. And quite often, he found that those who did fall for him, regardless of how rare that was, were consumed by him.

It felt, sometimes, like he was a ravenous beast. Chewing them up and spitting them out. They were wrapped up in his personality, in his life. Crime took over them, regardless of where their morals stood. Every aspect of them, every facet of their being, reshaped and moulded to suit him and his needs and his lifestyle, whether he asked that of them or not. It was almost like instinct. Like they felt they needed to change for him in order to survive.

He often wondered if his peers, if he could call them that, experienced the same reaction from others. That they found themselves infecting another person, sucking them dry, making them a hollow husk, using every part of them until there was nothing left. Sometimes not even for gain, just out of boredom.

Eddie certainly did. Sometimes, he found that he enjoyed the process of draining another human. It reinforced his status, that they were lesser beings.

Love for him was violence, and it always had been. His parents showed him their supposed love by screaming and shouting and accusations and punishments. His school teachers, his mentors, his peers, his lecturers, his co-workers, his bosses, his counsellors, his doctors, the guards. All of them showed him what he thought of as love through explicit or implicit violence upon him and his psyche. Emotionally, mentally, physically. He was tortured. Love had teeth. And hands. And a sharp tongue.

So it was understandable to him that love felt like that in other ways. The clawing and grabbing, the punishing physical aspects. There was never anything gentle or soft, not with the people willing to let him use them. No kind words. No compromising. He took, took, took. And they let him take, take, take. The natural order. How it would always be.

But, in reality, if he really thought about it. If he allowed himself a moment to consider the deeply concerning truth, Eddie knew that he was just as easily consumed. By his obsessions. His lifestyle. By other people.

Maybe he was the one chewed up and spit out. Perhaps it was clear to see, from an outside perspective, that he was empty. Nothing. A façade. A hack gimmick.

No flavour left. A Husk.

[mahayanapilgrim]

An Invitation to The Forest

~ Patrul Rinpoche

All alone, accept this invitation to depart for the quiet of the forest,

Go there to accomplish single-pointed meditation-

These delightful mountain solitudes,

Are like a family estate for serious practitioners,

And as the Enlightened One, the best of protectors himself has said,

"To rely on solitude is indeed the pinnacle of joys!"

Forests, hermitages and isolated dwelling places-These are the outer solitude of the Enlightened One's heirs.

Avoiding selfishness and faint-hearted fears-This is the bodhisattvas' internal isolation.

Keeping, therefore, to outer forms of solitude, Tame the inner afflictions through tranquillity and insight, And aspire to the supreme conduct of the disciplined ones

Possessing such good fortune one is truly the Buddhas' heir.

With its sweetly cascading mountain streams, Rocky mountain shelters ascending to heaven, And gently falling dew drops of whitest moonlight-This mountain retreat surpasses even the realm of angels..

The dance of the slender trees does not stir the passions, And sweet birdsongs bring neither attachment nor aversion,

Enveloped in non-conceptuality's gentle, cooling shade-

Such youthful companionship is surely better than a silent void!

Undisturbed by noisy chatter, that thorn in meditation's side,

Alone in this excellent place of unattended solitude, The old monkey of the mind has nowhere left to roam, And so, settling down within, finds its satisfaction.

Under the bright oppressive sunlight of busy, bustling crowds,

Our own faults and unhelpful thoughts eclipse the constellations,

But when embraced by threefold solitude's cooling nectar beams,

Such faults can easily be overcome through the proper antidotes.

When it's undisturbed by rippling thoughts of sadness, The pool-like surface of the mind is still, unmoving, And faith and compassion's reflections readily arise, In such constancy, what need is there for a companion?

If the mirror of mind is wiped clean, time and again,

And uncluttered with objects and circumstances,

Study, reflection and meditation present a clear impression,

And what is there to prevent the dawn of Dharma's light?

Hunger, thirst, cold and the like-all forms of physical affliction,

Together with sadness, fear and all such mental suffering,

Can, through the teachings, enhance the purifying path,

And, unburdened by avoidance or indulgence, adorn the mind!

The pleasures of the five senses, longed for by the foolish,

Are not to be found in solitude as they are among the devas,

But joys of Dharma in their hundreds, lauded by the wise,

Are more abundant in a lonely forest than in all of heaven.

To the bodhisattva who sees suffering as a spur to diligence

There is nothing that could conflict with Dharma practice.

Should a hundred or a thousand demonic hordes arise as foes,

How could they affect the wise for whom adversities are allies?

Savouring the fine fruit of the teacher's nectar-like instructions,

Do not chase after the hollow, husk-like words of the scholars;

Seeking the bright luminescence of the bodhisattvas' compassion,

Do not long for the flickering lights of ordinary conversation.

Like a smith skilfully taming and ornamenting the mind,

With no need for the many tools of varied fields of knowledge,

It's enough to take up the blade of renunciation and compassion,

Thereby to transform a negative character's stubborn hide.

A single nectar shower of the teacher's compassion,

Can cause the ripening crop of qualities to grow,

As the clouds of devotion amass again and again,

And there's no need to fear an untimely frost.

Love and affection are all the greater For friends, teachers and family living far away, But it's hard to feel so when they're close by,

As intimacy incites only irritation!

Faith and compassionate love, cultivated in solitude,

For the lofty, the lowly and all those in between,

Tied to enlightened action with the rope of aspiration,

Will never come undone throughout one's future lives.

Forget bliss and clarity, they're just temporary highs!

Cultivate emptiness of which compassion is the essence,

And your own and others' welfare is assured, it is said.

Even a hundred years of exertion born of expectation for reward,

Will only postpone the supreme accomplishment, we're told.

But on the path of the six paramitãs free from the seven attachments,

Even without enlightenment in this lifetime, there'll be no regret!

First you met a supremely qualified guide, Then you felt renunciation and joy for the Dharma,

And now you're meditating in woodland solitude,

O my fortunate friend, you're fortunate indeed!

I met noble masters, but failed to follow them properly,

Whatever Dharma I train in, I don't apply it to my mind,

I took to solitude, but couldn't be diligent or undistracted,

Turning into an old dog like me means remaining malign!

My friend, you've set out on the way to every happiness,

But as you tirelessly cultivate diligence and devotion,

Be ever watchful, alert for the demon of arrogant pride,

And your life will end happily too-do you understand?

Not ruining the mind with false visions of deities or demons,

But furnishing it with the treasures of jewel-like qualities,

May you follow in the footsteps of the great Bodhisattvas.

This is my prayer: Protector, please bear witness!

Even if I should die and descend into the lower realms,

There'll be a time when l'm freed through remembering the kindness of my teacher's instructions,

Then, I pray, may I continue to uphold supreme enlightened action

For as long as beings, I too still remain to dispel the misery of the world!

These sincere words, which arose like a rainbow from my mouth,

Were offered from the mountain solitude in order to dispel the sadness of a dear, likeminded friend.

May their meaning soon become apparent!

~ Patrul Rinpoche

[shu-box-puns]

Tsu’tey being observant

NOTE: Neteyam’s death scene is described in case you’re not feeling like dealing with that today. 

In an AU where Tsu’tey doesn’t die and sticks around the Sully family like some overbearing third parent/uncle/teacher, he finds himself babysitting Jake just as much as he babysits the kids. On an average day, this is something chaotic like Jake falling out of a tree, or Tsu’tey having to scold him for teaching Lo’ak swear words. It’s funny. It fills Tsu’tey’s time. He secretly loves being unofficially part of this family. 

It’s not all fun and games however. 

Tragedy is a common sight on Pandora since the return of the humans. Tsu’tey has seen his fair share of deaths, has mourned too many fallen loved ones. He knows how to grieve and push through it, considering he was supposed to become the next Olo’eyktan and since had to keep a constant bottle on his emotions. 

Jake is not so equipped with healthily dealing with his emotions and it shows.

It’s evident in the way his fear controls his anger. Causing him to lash out at his sons when they step out of line. His fear causes him to make fast but poor decisions, like removing his family from the safety of the clan.

Where Jake can be brave, he can also be vulnerable. He fails to conceal it, but the trait makes him painfully human.

In the face of Neteyam’s death, Tsu’tey watches Jake shut down. Whilst Neytiri screams her anguish to the skies and begs the Great Mother to reconsider her decision, the man remains quiet, his eyes unseeing. Tsu’tey can’t help but watch him through blurry eyes. 

He has seen this reaction before. After the destruction of HomeTree, after Grace’s passing, during the war when the pilot (Trudy) was reported missing. Tsu’tey knows dissociating is how Jake deals with grief. He knows it transforms him into a husk of the cocky asshole that he’s used to dealing with. As if his soul has been sucked out of his avatar and only the shell remains. 

It is clear that Neytiri is too caught up in her emotions to console him, let alone offer a silent hand to hold so he may ground himself. Lo’ak is knelt with his head bent to the ground, silent tears slipping out through clenched eyelids. 

As always, Jake is once again off to the side, hiding in the background or offering comfort to someone who is overcome with emotion. He hides behind his Sky Person training. Shutting himself off emotionally and powering through. 

Not this time. 

This time, as Neytiri cries and Jake goes unnaturally still, unresponsive, Tsu’tey is there to offer his shoulder.

The man doesn’t acknowledge him as Tsu’tey shakily steadies his breathing and reaches out for his brother. Jake’s ears are down turned and do not even twitch at the quiet shuffling caused by his movements. It wouldn’t surprise Tsu’tey if he couldn’t even hear his mate’s screams since he’s clearly so deep in his head. He just stares unblinkingly at Neteyam’s still body. At the blood Neytiri is smearing across her front with how she’s desperately cradling his head. 

Tsu’tey is gentle as he reaches for the back of his friend’s head and carefully guides him into his chest. Stiffly, Jake goes with the motion, his unmoving face pressed into the crook of Tsu’tey’s neck. Shielded from the sight. That blank expression momentarily stolen from view.

He begins to move slowly. Responding to Tsu’tey’s firm hand in his hair, the weight of his friend’s chin on the crown of his head. Tsu’tey feels him press in closer. The shake of those five fingered hands as they struggle to wrap around Tsu’tey; to cling onto him for dear life. Tsu’tey stays firm, guiding those hands to clutch onto his waist and cummerbund. 

Jake takes a long shuddering breath, then goes still. He doesn’t cry. He never cries. He just stares. His tail unnaturally still, his fingers clutching tightly onto Tsu’tey as a survivor of a shipwreck would cling tightly to a piece of driftwood. And Tsu’tey holds him through it. 

His anger is beginning to overcome the choke hold that his grief has him in. Burning fury towards the people who did this to his nephew. Those same demons who continued to rain pain on those that he loved. They would pay dearly for this evil, he mentally promised. But only after Jake managed to pull himself back together.

[birdieofprey]

fabula:: Birdie Templeton

Name: Bridget “Birdie” Templeton Occupation: N/A Age: 27 (turned at 20) Sexuality: Lesbian Species: Vampire Clan: Kanemaru Hometown: Santa Barbara, California Relationship Status: Single Personality Traits Birdie was, at one point, a fairly well adjusted person. Maybe gloomy, maybe a little spoiled (maybe a lot spoiled), but whatever Bridget Templeton used to be, the walking scar tissue that’s grown back in its place in the wake of her violent introduction to the supernatural world is best described in the same terms one might use to explain the habits of an abused animal. She is slow to trust and skeptic of others, and keeps most people at an arm’s length, afraid of growing attachments that she’s ever fearful might lead her into a false sense of security or leave her open to betrayal. If one manages to cut through the calloused leather of her exterior, they’ll find a half-dead artist whose love for creation has been replaced with a hunger for destruction. She hates what she’s become, been made into, what she is. Who used to be a spoiled rich girl who’s biggest problem was finding work after college is now a violent, ruthless hunter of her own kind. Biography When Bridget Templeton was twelve years old she was still afraid of monsters in the dark. She knew it was irrational, that monsters weren’t real, and yet at night, while she laid in bed, she could swear that she could see them. In her closet - outside her window. She’d always been a scared, easily frightened little thing, and it was that flighty, anxious nature that earned her the nickname Birdie from her father - gentle as a jaybird and twice as jumpy.

It was these fears she transformed into art; drawing the eyes of her teachers and peers; she won awards and contests and ribbons. She tried sports but they never really stuck. Birdie Templeton was, for all intents and purposes, a well adjusted if slightly awkward girl, fumbling her way through high school life and slowly dreaming of a future for herself where she could live in a small cottage up in wine country, painting something more idyllic than her own night terrors. She exits high school and enters college at UC Santa Barbara, well off enough that she’ll only be in debt until she’s 60. She finds a boyfriend at UC, then realizes she hates him. She finds a girlfriend at UC too, and she realizes just how much the adventure of it wound up explaining about herself. She’s going to tell her parents at Christmas time, and hopefully introduce them to Alex when the new year rolls around. But Christmas never really comes. Christmas Eve does, and she’s ready for a sleepover at her parents’ home in her old bedroom that still has her artsy band posters and and a solitary landscape she painted in the 10th grade that she’s been obsessed with redoing again and again. But then there’s a knock on the door, a mention of car trouble, and then there’s a night of bloodletting and torture so brutal and foul and visceral that her mind spends the next seven years reliving it in white-hot flashes of agony. She watches them kill her father first, and then her mother. Neither death is painless, and neither is over quickly. She spends a few hours unable to speak, sitting next to the pallid husks of her parents, and then, while the night still has a few dark hours in it, they haul her off with them. She doesn’t know why she does it, hauling them around in a moving truck like they didn’t murder her family. Like she doesn’t want to scream. Like she’s their fucking band roadie. At night they come out, have their fun with her. They get her brain soft, make her do and say things that pry cold, vile laughs out of their fanged mouths. One of them drills inky art into her skin, some look like brands seals and some of it would even be gorgeous if it weren’t for the horror of her voicelessness in the matter. Time doesn’t stop turning but she stops paying attention to it. They move from place to place, and when they aren’t killing off random unfortunates, they’re drinking out of her neck. A few months later they stop off in a nearby town, find a house out on the outskirts. This time they get her to join in on the fun and she doesn’t know why she can’t say no. She goes along with it until they tell her to cut one open, thinking that maybe if she stops doing what they tell her to, they’ll kill her. But instead they rip open a wrist and feed her on their blood for a change before everything goes black.  Seven years on from the night she went from prey to predator. Six years and change from the night she decided she wanted to kill everything like her that she laid her eyes on. It’s been five since she killed three of the vampires that stole her life. The last one, her sire, is somewhere here. She can feel their presence in her bones as she crosses by a green highway sign introducing Port Leiry. Birdie’s here on a hunch; the last time she ran into her sire, they made off quick, but in their haste they left a mess. A matchbook for a club called Soleil leads her to Port Leiry, a monster who hunts monsters, thirsty for more than blood. ===

Wanted Plots - The Sire:A Kanemaru vampire with a sadist’s bent. Has designs on building their own clan, and aims for quantity, not quality when it comes to enforcers. Has had several run-ins with Birdie since her turning and escape.

The Ally: A Hunter with whom Birdie enjoys a relatively volatile relationship. Maybe not mutually trusting, but they share a common goal - eradicating vampires - that makes the frustration of dealing with each-other worth the aggravation.

[sister-lucifer]

Please Master ravage me, ruin me! Twist and bend my body in ways never to be undone by anyone! Make it so I can never again be enjoyed by anyone but you! That is my wish, my promise to you!

Your hands wrapped around any part of me is all I could ever hope for, your words making my mind crazed for you at every moment, oh please Master. Even now, I shake, thinking of the wonderful things you could do to me… to my body…

Shatter me. Make my mind go blank and bleed me of any sense of sanity and morality I may have left. Leave me a husk, a shell, please, my God. I am your toy, something to play with in any way.

Don’t be gentle. I don’t deserve gentle. I’ll take whatever your gracious hands give me. Be it the gentle sway of your hand on my head as I suck you off or the harsh sting of a slap on my rear end as you punish into me, oh Gods-

I’m shaking. My thighs tremble. I am so happy I could give you ideas of what to do to this lowly thing, I drool now, thinking of you plugging me full of whatever you so choose. I can barely breathe, my imagination is so hyper right now, feeling you, caressing you… But I must remind myself. I am a servant. I do not have permission to touch you. I have permission to do nothing but my chores, I must wait for your word so here I stand, tears slipping from my eyes and fingers trembling.

My mind and body and soul are in your hands. I have no worth unless you give it to me. I am wholly, utterly and completely, ultimately yours in every way. My thoughts are of you, my actions for you, my every waking breath.

Like a bird feeling the freedom of flying for the first time, a hatchling experiencing that first breath of fresh air when it flies, you are my breath, Master.

Use me as you see fit. I am yours.

… And to you, 🕷️… I expect you in my quarters at 4 am sharp. To be a servant for the Master requires training.

And as much as I love dropping to my knees…

… I do so adore dishing out the burning lashes of a whip as well. The whimper of someone so low they are even beneath me. The salty taste of another’s tears.~ Do be prepared. I am not an easy teacher to please.

Anywho, I should get back to my chores rather than bore you with my whorish needs. Would the Master like some tea?

- 🖋️

oh, so that’s the game, is it? you want to be destroyed, ravaged, broken, every word you could think of for completely and utterly demolished and mutilated behind recognition?

id make sure no one could ever claim you as theirs. id carve my name into your back one agonizing letter at a time, or perhaps you prefer a branding? anything to scar that beautiful flesh forevermore, a permanent reminder of your servitude.

i’ll keep you with me. you’d sleep in my chambers, share my food, i’ll keep you well fed and well stuffed at all hours. never again will your stomach nor your aching hole be empty.

and as for Mx. Spider, if they’re willing to undergo the training, i’d be more than happy to allow you two some one on one time.

[wanderingfaee]

Winter Wonder.

characters: Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader

content warnings: None! ALL FLUFF! ♡⊹

just something cute and short 🥰❄️

Imagine going on a Christmas ice skating date with Kyojuro. Who so happens not to know how to properly ice skate and lingers onto the surrounding walls and your arms for support. You’d laugh a bit, but will gently grasp his hands and guide him slowly and carefully amongst the frozen ice. Your eyes would interlock onto each other with subtlety and tender, chattering people passing by swiftly and bright Christmas lights lighting your way around the rink. The gentle descending flakes permeating into the both of your thicken layers of clothing.

“See, you’re doing fine Kyo” you’d weave him a subtle, silken smile, your small gloved hands softly clasping along his securely. His glistening golden irises peering directly up at you “Just take it slow and easy…one leg before the other” you would gently instruct, guiding him through the movements of your own "You are quite skilled in this Y/n!" he'd beam you with such enthusiasm and wonder, glimmering irises polished with astonishment and enthrallment "Years of practice I suppose" you'd retort with a witty smile, watching his legs properly match with your steady rhythm "Wow! you're quite a quick learner, Kyo!" you chimed, slowly loosening your clasp on his larger hands "I am indeed! and I do have a wonderful teacher!" he chortled vibrantly, eyes glancing down to the both of your swindling, swaying feet.

The sound of the thicken ice that guided you through the rink, grating with each stride of discreet motion you both would construct.

"Okay, I'm going to slowly let go of your hands so you can--!" the moment you tried to skate your way from his adjusting frame, his hands had firmly grasped onto your hands. Gently tugging you closer to him, holding you close to his lengthy figure.

Keeping you securely against his resonating, warm body. Those luminous, glistening optics gazing down at you with such fondness and allurement, his left gloved hand steadily resting upon your hip as his right piloting to your supple cheek. Softly stroking his thumb along the valley of your cooling flesh, creating a radiating warmth to seep into the tender skin.

The only things that captured your dazed attention were those peering, gentle eyes of his, that supple soften smile and the brightening lights that dangled beautifully along the strings of the light posts from aside of the skating rink.

Nothing else mattered or came to your view but his entirety and endearing moment "Kyo...?" you barely muttered out softly, shivering slightly at the sudden bleak breeze, feeling your body pull in closer to his radiating husk "I think this is a perfect moment..." he'd simply smile delicately down at you, gradually leaning in to your crisp face. With his right hand still nestling onto your plush cheek, he'd smoothly and mildly plant his lush lips against yours.

Feeling immediate warmth saturate into your velvety flesh from his profound contact. Instantly warming up your shuddering frame and beating, fluttering heart.

djfhalsdfasdfa IDK, was in the mood to write something Christmas-y and fluffy!

😖❄️🎄♥️💚

also had this idea running through my mind alllll day yesterday. I would've posted it yesterday, but was a little busy! so here ya go! some good ol' cheesy, cutesy fluffy christmasy-- FLUFF 🥰

[inhuman-obey-me]

Congratulations on 999 followers

Could you maybe do MC and Solomon for 🎭

Thank you!!

"You want to see the real me?" - Solomon/MC

The sun’s gentle rays peak through the window of this abode, warm light spilling onto the workbench full of books and vials and jars. There’s a smell of sandalwood and amber in the air from the incense you lit earlier, and it mingles now with the scent of old tomes -- pages worn by centuries past, riddled with notes and creases from use. It is a serene scene … or at least it would be if not for your rising agitation with one very particular sorcerer.

Solomon had a way with words, a tongue as silver as his wispy locks. He always found a way to persuade, to entice, to distract. Your lessons with him, where he took on his role of Master and you Apprentice, were some of the rare moments where he would be straightforward. His usually cryptic responses were absent as he guided you through a new spell or potion, but the moment the lesson was over, his ambiguous words and teasing smile would be back -- as if they never left in the first place.

He sits now mere steps from you, his gaze focused on one of the many books present, chin resting in his hand as a finger taps his lips. It was easy to get lost in how handsome he looked at times like this, the light passing through the various potions and translucent crucibles splashing the walls with vibrant colors and framing him as if he was set amid stained glass. A reminder of who and what all he was -- and somehow, yours, or so he would have you believe.

“When?”

“When what, love?” He throws a glance in your direction, his concentration now broken.

“When are you going to start being honest with me?” Your fingers tightly grip the grimoire in your hands, one he had handed to you just moments ago in an attempt to dissuade you from a certain line of questioning. “Why do you keep shutting me out?”

“I’m not -- “ He starts, but then cuts himself short. To say he wasn’t would be a lie, he must have realized. Solomon turns to you with an unreadable expression, that annoying mask of his firmly in place. “It’s just … not the right time. You still have so much to learn -- “

“You say that every damn time!” You slam the grimoire down on a nearby table, earning a slight wince from your teacher. “When will it be the ‘right time’? All I want is to get to know you, Solomon. The real you, but you keep putting up a wall whenever it seems I’m getting too close.” Your frustrations spill from your lips, unable to hold yourself back now that you’ve started. “I’ve been so open and vulnerable to you, but you still keep yourself all locked up.” There’s a sting at the corner of your eyes now, your voice beginning to waver. “Do you even want to be with me?”

“Of course I do!” His mask breaks, panic clear on his features as he quickly gets up and grabs a hold of your arms, squeezing them firmly. “I want to be with you more than anything!”

“Then why?” You stare into his blue-brown eyes, your vision slightly blurry as tears begin to stain your cheeks. “Why won’t you let me in?”

He’s silent for a moment, lips pressed together as he tries to find the right words. His grip on you loosens, gaze lowering as a heavy sigh finally leaves him. His hands travel down your arms, finding your fingers to intertwine with his own. “You want to see the real me?” There’s a husk to his voice, his eyes going to meet yours again. “What if I told you that you might not like what you see?”

“Solomon.” You lean forward, touching your forehead to his as you hold his pained and regretful gaze. “Nothing you tell me will change my opinion of you. I love you, and that means all of your buried skeletons, too.” Your lips find his, giving him a chaste kiss. “Just … trust me. Please.”

“Okay.” His voice is barely above a whisper, and you can tell he’s terrified. You squeeze his hands, and he takes a deep breath, nodding. “Okay. Where shall we begin?”

[blzzrdstryr]

Chrysalis

Yandere!Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount:2115

CW:Yandere themes

Working for Albedo isn’t that bad - the payment is good, the knowledge he provides is even better - a chance to delve into exclusive alchemical research with a widely acknowledged genius is a far more valuable award than any amount of mora or jewels could ever be. Said prodigy isn’t an awful person to work with either - he’s polite and well mannered, careful not to offend anyone even if his words can be cold and cutting sometimes. Most of the time Albedo is a pleasant company to be around, if one would turn a blind eye to his quirks.

For instance, he has a weird and frankly unnerving habit of staring at you - his teal eyes track your littlest movements as you set up an alchemical apparatus and prepare needed solutions. At first you thought he was overseeing you, checking if you had made any mistake as a fledgling alchemist, yet this hypothesis was quickly disproved when you caught him gazing off working hours. You never voiced your complaints - you wanted to keep your job and study, and maybe he is too socially blind to see how his behavior could be received by others.

Today would also be a great example of an alchemist's lack of tact - he requested you accompany him everywhere for the last few weeks, taking you from the cold heights of Dragonspine to sunny and bustling streets of Mondstadt. You two are sitting in the corner of his laboratory designed for rest and food and share a meal: two portions of his favorite fish, despite being nothing more than the employer and employee or teacher and student.

Albedo doesn’t seem to get or mind what kind of rumours he causes with this seemingly blatant favouritism before you, no he looks as calm as usual as he plunges into the dish with fork and knife.

“[First]”, he says, after the first bite: “Have the aches stopped bothering you?”, a hint of concern and something else. Two or three weeks ago you developed a strange soreness in the different parts of your body - wrists, neck, heart, legs - it would appear suddenly, burning and throbbing and making you gasp, leaving you tired and nauseous afterwards. No one could find the source of the problem, not even Albedo, yet after some time these far from pleasant sensations got subdued, easier to bear and endure.

His hand reaches for your left wrist, thumb caressing the skin, and he pulls it closer to his face, eyes examining the sore spot. You don’t protest, stunned by his sudden action.

“Hm, that’s”, he mumbles, more to himself than you: “that’s good”, he concludes, letting go of your limb.

“What’s good? Did something change?” you inquire, instantly forgetting to take offense at his grabbing.

“You could say that”, Albedo ambiguously says and returns to his fish. You ask the alchemist what he meant, but all you get are even vaguer answers and long silence in the end, as he finishes his meal and nudges you to start your own sunshine sprat.

In the end your questions remain unacknowledged, as Albedo leaves displaying you to accompany him. Surprisingly he heads for the gardens instead of the library, his step light and fast. “Master Albedo” you start, seeing that alchemist is in his creative mood again: “shouldn’t you bring an easel or sketchbook with you?”

“No, [First], I don’t intend to draw, not now. This walk is for me to get some inspiration”, Albedo quickly replies, still walking ahead: “In this time of year the environment changes so rapidly, it provides a mind with a lot of good ideas. You should come with me too, alchemy is a science of change, creation and destruction and nature is better at these three aspects than any of us”. He adds, seemingly sensing the next question you would ask.

He walks near the bushes, teal eyes focused on the blooming fragrant flowers, before he squats, pushing some of the wigs back.

“[First]”, he turns his head in your direction: “you should come and see”. You comply, curious what has caught Albedo’s attention, squatting near him and looking at one of the inner branches usually hidden by others.

It’s an ordinary dark cocoon. You almost turn your head again, before the slightest of movements catches your attention - it’s an insect trying to break out. Chrysalis cracks and deforms as a fledgling butterfly makes way past it’s confines. One second and it stretches its wings, revealing a vibrant blue coloration, the next it leaves it’s former cell entirely, elegantly soaring into the air, it’s azure wings lazily flapping, as it makes its way to the other bush.

“Fascinating”, Albedo breathes out, eyes still on the disappearing figure of the insect: “It transformed to such a great extent”.

You hear a hint of excitement in his voice - he wants to share his thoughts or knowledge then - and nod, prompting him to continue.

“Did you know that a larva needs to literally dissolve itself to reach the next stage of its life? After caterpillar finishes its cocoon, it produces enzymes that turn most of its tissue into a liquid matter and only after that does it rebuilds into an entirely new form”, he turns his gaze back to you, usually cold and thoughtful eyes now warm and dreamy: “Sometimes, I think humans are meant to metamorphose too”.

“How so?” you ask, tilting the head.

“Humans, despite all complexity and intelligence, are still fragile creatures. They’re prone to sickness and ailments and in the end old age ends those who managed to evade death before. Wouldn't it be better if one could go through metamorphosis, be reborn free from pain and hunger and constant threat of passing away? Those humans could live on forever and dedicate themselves to the higher cause without having to worry about dying and suffering".

You raise eyebrows, surprised by the sudden “outburst” - Albedo, despite his partially philosophical nature, has never shared his inner thoughts so freely, not to you at least. He, either out of embarrassment or deep contemplation, shifts his eyes somewhere behind you, and you turn back, following his eyes. He looks at the statue of Barbatos.

Tall and proud, it looks magnificent in the day’s sunlight, golden rays making it glow and shine with the fairness of the marble. Looking at this epitome of unchanging vision, you suddenly get an answer to Albedo’s thoughts and you voice it out the same second:

“Wouldn’t it negate the meaning of life then? Nature breeds diversity - the reason why we have so many flowers is because some kinds aren't adapted to particular conditions and so they change, producing entirely new types of plants. Eternal and undying beings, unconcerned with the earthly matters would have no need to reproduce and pass on its features to the next generation, depriving the world of thousand possible combinations. No new life would be created if the old one could be perfectly sustained".

"That's how you see it", Albedo replies, placing a now empty husk of the cocoon inside your palm - the testament of the nature’s miracle, the testament of one's ability to change: “I’ve witnessed many wonderful sights for today”, he adds, still looking at you, surrounded by flowers and flying butterflies, light breeze playing with your hair and sun illuminating your whole figure with a gentle golden glow.

You part with Albedo shortly after - he closes himself in the lab, before checking up on your sore spots again, quietly mumbling something to himself the whole time. You head for your house and open the alchemical textbook, studying it until late night. That place on the wrist slightly throbs at every movement.

Only when your eyelids fill up with lead and thoughts slow down from the general fatigue you allow yourself to head for the bed, falling asleep the second your head touches the pillow. You see phantasmagorical dreams - of you being a bulging and large larva, spending days simply eating green leaves, until a strange urge overcomes your entire being and you start to build something - a cocoon. Now, surrounded by pitch black darkness you feel a burning sensation - enzymes, enzymes that will dissolve your tissue. Pain quickly escalates and you want to scream and cry, but you can’t - you’re an insect you don’t have vocal glands or tear ducts to do so. Who could have known that butterflies suffer so much?

You writhe and squirm, caged by your liquifying body and hard chrysalis around you and you are in so much agony you want to die.

And then you wake up. All sweaty and distressed you grab at your wrist - it hurts so much, your entire body is on fire, it seems that you have another episode of that strange soreness. You quickly rise to your feet, snatching the painkillers from the nightstand and downing them with a gulp of water. As medicine begins it’s work you lay in the bed again, ready to fall asleep and forget the midnight pains, as you see something that makes your breath hitch and heartbeat fasten from fear.

A strange greyish white discoloration on your wrist in the same place that used to throb this evening. You touch it and it leaves a dry white imprint on your fingers, it also doesn’t have any strange smell.

You rise and quickly dress up, barely suppressed panic and anxiety dispelling the last remains of sleep. The walk towards the Favonius HQ’s is short, especially when you break into a sprint on the way. He is here, he is working into the night today. Quickly passing sleepy knights you climb on the second floor and almost run to one particular door, loudly knocking at it.

Just as you expected, there’s a sound of footsteps and soon a familiar voice asks: “Who is here?”.

“It’s me, master Albedo”, you say, feeling how the pain returns despite the painkillers taken: “you said to report if something changes, with my aches. It changed”.

The words you say and desperation accompanying them prompts alchemist to open the door, as he gestures you to come in, and shut the door as you do so:

“Strip”, he says, mind back to the analytical mode, you comply, feeling ashamed with every second Albedo continues to observe you: “Wait, there’s something on your neck”.

A cool touch to your skin, a short yelp, another burst of pain. You fall on your knees, blinded and deafened by sheer agony. Alchemist produces a distressed noise, walking up to your collapsed figure and carrying you to the nearby table.

He pushes alchemical apparatus away, turning the table into a makeshift bed, and gently lowers you down. “[First]”, his hand card through your hair, while the other nudges a mug with some brew to your lips: “There’s nothing to worry about, your metamorphosis progresses as it should be”.

“Metamorphosis.. What are you talking about?”, you ask, panic creeping into the question. Alchemist looks you straight into the eyes, an eerie smile blooming on his face as he hears it: "Isn’t it obvious? You're going to change and I will help you with that".

“Change?! Change into what?”

“Into a better version of human of course. Do you think I would let you get old or sick and die? You’re too dear to me to do that, you should live and experience a life free from human limitations”, for the first time in your life you’re terrified of him. Albedo always seemed so knowledgeable and calm to you, like a wise wizard from the childhood fairytales, yet now he looks mad and devoid of any humanity:“You shouldn’t worry about these stains, they will disappear once your transformation is complete. Those are just chalk you see, a side effect of your tissues changing over the weeks”.

“When did.. When did you start it?”, you croak out, sensing the agony returning and growing again. It hurts so much I can barely think.

“Dragonspine. You were eating with me”.

You want to insult and accuse him, yet another wave of pain renders you speechless, short huffs and whimpers escaping you as tears start to stream down your face.

“I understand it can be very stressful to you, given how change of this scale is always carrying a great risk”, his voice adopts the same philosophical tone: “The purpose of cocoon is protection of the soon-to-be butterfly from the external harm and influence that could lead to other complications and we don’t want any of that”.

He cards his hand through your hair again, a mockery of a concern dyeing his next words: “You shouldn’t worry, I will be a good chrysalis to your metamorphosis”.

You black out from pain.

[fanmoose12]

Levihan week 2021

Day one: school

Summary: If there is something worse than getting caught by your student while you're making out with your colleague, it's getting caught while making out by your student who is also your cousin. Especially, if the cousin is as bratty and annoying as Mikasa.

The kiss is perfect - slow but passionate, their lips fitting just right like two pieces of a puzzle.

Besides, despite his neck muscles protesting, Levi rather likes their position, with Hange sitting in the chair and, and him - looming over her, gripping the back of the chair tightly. Smirking into the kiss, he takes her chin in his hand, tilting her head to the side to further deepen the kiss.

The door opens just as Hange lets out the first moan.

"I think my eyes are bleeding."

Levi's stomach drops as he recognizes that voice.

If there is something worse than getting caught by your student while you're making out with your colleague, it's getting caught while making out by your student who is also your cousin. Especially, if the cousin is as bratty and annoying as Mikasa.

"Mikasa!" Hange shrieks, hastily buttoning up the shirt that Levi spent so much time stealthily unbuttoning. He curses the sudden intrusion and the waste of a perfect moment. Mikasa and her fucking timing. "I'm so sorry!"

"I'm sorry too," Mikasa says, and the tone of her voice makes Levi grit teeth in irritation. "For you, Hange-san. I'm sure you can do better."

Oh what a fucking jerk.

Levi strides up to her, pushing her out of the door. "I'll deal with it!" he shouts to Hange and shuts the door closed.

He turns to Mikasa, his eyes flashing warningly. "You saw nothing," he hisses. "And you won't say a word about it to anyone, or I'll tell Yeager about your crush on him."

Mikasa huffs. "I don't have crush on him anymore. Your crush on Hange-san however..."

"It's not a crush. It's..." he pauses, thinking how the fuck can he explain his relationship with Hange. He never had to explain it to anyone, Hange seems perfectly fine with... whatever is it that they have. Even if what they have are quick fucks after long workdays and passionate makeout sessions in between classes. They're both adults, they don't need some fucking labels if all they want is just a little bit of fun. "It's nothing," he tells Mikasa at last.

She looks unconvinced as ever. Levi wonders what exactly makes her seem so skeptical - the look in his eyes or his swollen red lips. Whatever. Even if Mikasa is unconvinced, it means nothing. Because there is nothing between him and Hange.

"You'll be late to your class if you continue staring at me, brat," he snaps, when Mikasa continues to give him the same raised eyebrow look. "Forget you saw anything."

"Sure, mister midget," Mikasa flips him off as she starts to walk away. "I'll do my best to forget."

Levi watches her go, hoping this would the end of it. But, of course, it fucking isn't.

___

It's Saturday evening, and, as always, Levi is having dinner with his family - his mom, uncle and Mikasa. Everything is blessedly pleasant at first - the food prepared by Kenny and his mom is delicious, the conversation around the table is enjoyable and overall the atmosphere is nice and relaxing.

That is until Mikasa decides to open her mouth.

"Aunt Kuchel?" she asks, looking so innocent and unassuming.

Kuchel smiles as she turns to look at her niece and Mikasa smiles back. Kuchel's smile is gentle and soft, like that of an angel. Mikasa's smile looks more like a smirk from the devil himself.

"Aunt Kuchel, do you know who Hange is? She is Levi's—"

"Colleague," he blurts out before Mikasa can say the wrong thing. "Hange is my colleague and Mikasa's science teacher."

Mikasa's smile grows, turns wicked. "Hange is much more than that to Levi."

"Oh?" Kenny decides to join the conversation. His excited face doesn't promise anything good. Between him and Mikasa, Levi can't decide which one of his relatives he hates more. "Is that Hange Levi's babe? Are they—"

God, Levi feels his face burn. Everyone is staring at him now and it makes his embarrassment that much worse.

"Hange is a friend," he forces out, aiming his glare first at Kenny, then at Mikasa. "Just a friend."

A friend Levi frequently sleeps with, but that's— that's not something his family should know about.

"Ah," Kenny mournfully shakes his head, "so Levi is still a virgin, how tragic."

"Kenny, you can't—"

"I'm not a fucking virgin, you old—"

"Levi, don't curse in front of—"

And just like that, a quiet pleasant evening turns into utter chaos.

Stealing a moment, while his mother is distracted with scolding his uncle, Levi leans over the table to get closer to Mikasa. "I will fucking kill you," he whispers into her face.

"Good luck with that," Mikasa retorts, expression gleeful. "You can't even reach my neck, midget."

What a fucking asshole. Levi can't fathom how his nuisance is related to him.

___

Things take turn to the worst when Monday rolls around and Levi comes to work.

It is lunch time and he's in the process of munching on a sandwich with chicken when the door to his classroom swings open and Hange waltzes in.

Instantly, the sandwich is forgotten. Levi puts it aside as he shifts in his seat to look at Hange, thinking - hoping - that she's here for a quickie. The lunch break has just started, and if they'll be smart about it—

Hange plops down on his desk and Levi's hope grows and grows until— until he notices the expression on her face.

It's not "hey, let's fuck in principal's office" kind of face. It's not "hey, you look incredibly sexy in this shirt" kind of face. It's not even "hey, do you want to hear about the latest experiment I did with the kids" kind of face. If he didn't know Hange as much as he did, Levi'd say that the smile on her face is awkward of all things, which— is fucking weird. He didn't know that Hange is even capable of feeling embarrassed. Just a week ago she asked if he wanted to tie her up while they fuck and she didn’t even blush during this particular conversation.

"Listen, maybe, it's not my business," when Hange has ever cared if something is her business or not? Usually she just puts her long nose into everything she deems interesting enough. Levi gulps at another sign that he really won't like this exchange. "But Mikasa approached me after today's class? Asked if I knew that Pieck is single? And then she showed me a picture of Eren's brother and told me that she can give me his number if I'm interested in him?"

Levi's fists clench as he listens to Hange. That fucker had the audacity to go behind his back and talk with Hange about this. What's even worse, Levi doesn't know what makes him angrier - Mikasa discussing things like that with Hange when he has explicitly told her not to, or the fact that he's actually worried about Hange's answer. Did she agree to take that number?

This thing between them, Levi knows it's not exclusive. And while he doesn't want to have sex with anyone else but Hange, he also knows he is free to do so. As is Hange.

And the last thought makes him more uncomfortable than he is willing to admit.

Sullenly, he returns his attention to the sandwich. "Just ignore my stupid cousin."

"Mikasa isn't stupid!" Hange protests. "I think she's very nice, she just hides it under, you know, the Ackerman gloomy facade."

"There is no such thing as Ackerman gloomy facade. She's just a brat."

"She's kind," she says, leaning just a little bit closer to him. "Just like you, short stuff."

Sitting back in his chair, Levi considers Hange. He takes note of her grin that now looks much cheekier, her chest that moves a little quicker than before, her eyes that seem to be glued to his lips.

"Four-eyes," he husks, putting his hand on her thigh. "Did you really come here just to talk about my cousin?"

"Well, since I'm already here," Hange pulls him in by his tie. "We can do both?"

"I prefer if we only do this," Levi murmurs, before closing distance between their lips.

Just like that, all his worries (and his sandwich) are forgotten.

___

But Mikasa, being the insufferable nuisance that she is, just doesn't let him be.

Levi is having a wondrous time with Hange in her laboratory. She has him splayed out on her desk, and she kisses him just right, just as he likes, while her fingers are carding through his hair, pulling at it from time to time.

Nothing can destroy this moment for him. Or— so he thinks.

As soon as Hange starts toying with the buttons of his shirt and Levi gets even more excited, his phone starts to buzz.

He means to ignore it, but the buzz keeps repeating, again and again. He groans and pushes Hange away.

“Sorry, some bastard keeps texting me,” he explains, as he unlocks the phone.

There, he finds a dozen texts from Mikasa. Most of them include a vomiting emoji, and the last one says,

you forgot to close the windows, idiot

Levi whips his head around, and, to his horror, realizes that Mikasa is right. The blinds aren’t closed, and Hange’s laboratory is on the first floor, and that means… fuck, that means that anyone could see Hange going on him.

He frantically grabs her hand and pulls her along with him. “Let’s do this in my classroom.”

At least, no one would see him from the third floor window. To make sure that no one interrupts them this time, he sends a quick message to Mikasa,

keep your shitty friends away from my classroom

and don’t you dare open that door until the class starts

Still, to be completely safe, Levi locks the door to his classroom too.

___

There is no saving from Mikasa, and several days later, she strikes again.

Levi is walking Hange to her car after the workday is over, thinking if he should offer her to go to his place and get drunk while grading assignments. Maybe, they can have a little bit a fun afterwards.

The offer is at the tip of his tongue when Levi hears it, as clear as day, - his cousin's irritating voice.

"I'll come back in a moment," he tells Hange and heads in the direction the voice was coming from.

Turning the corner, he sees Mikasa in all of her glory - short skirt, fishnet stockings, leather jacket and combat boots, all black, of course. She's with Sasha, another student of his - a nice, polite girl, Levi doesn't understand why she's hanging out with his asshole of a cousin.

But Sasha's presence is not the thing that he focuses on. Levi is much more interested in the cigarette that Mikasa holds in her hand.

"Oi, brat," he glowers, fists clenching at his sides. "You can't smoke on the school's grounds."

"We're sorry, Mister Ackerman!" Sasha exclaims, her eyes wide. "We were just leaving, I swear!" she not so subtly tugs at Mikasa's arm, begging her to start moving. Mikasa stays perfectly still, though.

"The lessons are over," she takes a drag of the cigarette and lazily lets the smoke out. It only furthers Levi’s anger. "You can't tell me what to do."

"I can still call your mom and tell her what you're doing."

"And I can tell everyone that I saw you making out with Hange-san the other day. Or I can tell how just now you were obviously thinking about groping her ass."

"Mikasa!" Sasha looks terrified, her ponytail bobbing up and down as she frantically shakes her head. "She didn't mean that!" she hurriedly assures Levi.

"I meant exactly that," Mikasa counters, in an annoyingly bored voice. Levi hates when she acts like that. He feels like he is staring in the mirror.

"Leave me and Hange alone," he says, deadly quiet. "It's not any of your business."

"I just gave her a couple of advices. What, it got you mad?" Mikasa taunts. "Maybe, you're jealous? Then why the fuck—"

"It's none of your—"

"It is if you're acting like an idiot! You clearly like her, so why are you so stuck on that friends with benefits bullshit? What are you scared of? Commitment? Or that your feelings are not actually requited?"

“Shut up and don’t put your nose into my shit. What, you think you’ve gotten over one boy in your life and now you’re an expert in relationship? Stay in your fucking lane.”

His tirade doesn’t seem to have much of effect on Mikasa, but, at least, she doesn’t try to open her mouth once more, just stares at him with judgement in her gaze. Whatever, Levi doesn’t care what she thinks.

And, maybe, she is right, maybe, he is afraid that Hange won’t want to be in a serious relationship with him, maybe, he is afraid that he will bore her out and she will leave him.

But, whether she is right or not, it’s still none of Mikasa’s business.

___

After that particularly unpleasant conversation, Mikasa doesn’t try to bring this up the subject of him and Hange again. Furthermore, she doesn’t talk to him either, just glares fiercely whenever their eyes meet in the classroom or across the hallway.

Levi tries to persuade himself that the silent treatment doesn’t affect him in anyway. After all, Mikasa is just a teenager, a difficult one at that, it’s not unusual for her to throw tantrums. He tells himself that it doesn’t bother him.

But what does bother him is her words and how they affect his relationship with Hange. The relationship that is perfect, that works for both of them, and that ultimately… makes him yearn for more.

He wants more than to simply be Hange’s fuck buddy. He’s tired of coming up with the reason just to be with her. And while the sex is great, better than Levi ever had, he doesn’t want their relationships to revolve solely around it. He wants to stay in bed with her after the deed is done, wants to fall asleep together and wake up in one bed. Wants to cook breakfast for her and watch her walk around in his clothes. He wants to tell their friends that they are together, wants to hold her hand as they walk home together and wants to spend lunches with her, listening to her talk about her work.

He wants more— more of Hange. He wants to be more for her – more than a colleague, more than a friend, more than a fuck buddy.

But he doesn’t know how to tell this to her, how to open up and show his true feelings. What if Hange doesn’t reciprocate them? What if by asking for more, he will lose the thing they already have?

Levi doesn’t want that. Even if he’ll remain nothing more than a fuck buddy, even if he’ll become just a friend, he wants to keep Hange close, no matter how their relationship will look like.

Perhaps, wanting more is stupid. Perhaps, it is simply futile.

Perhaps, perhaps… But what Levi is sure of that it is all Mikasa’s fault.

She is the one who planted these idiotic ideas in his head. She is the one who couldn’t stop bugging him about his relationship with Hange. She is the one who made him so confused and miserable.

She is the one who made him crave for Hange, even when Hange is right beside him, warm and soft in his arms.

“Short stuff?” her long finger travels up his bicep, tracing invisible shapes. “Are you still with me? Have I fucked you that good?”

“Shut up,” he mumbles without any real bite to his words. Of course, the sex was good, it always is, but the problem is sex is the only thing they do. Sure, they bicker between classes and sometimes they have dinner together or they hang out and watch dumb movies, but it always— always, leads to the same outcome. Them, falling into bed, or them doing it against the counter, or in the shower, or against the wall, or on the floor of Hange’s living room. “I’m just… thinking.”

“Thinking?” Hange rises up, her hair tickling his neck. “Penny for your thoughts then?”

It’d be so easy to say this. To take her hand, kiss her knuckles and whisper, “hey, I like you. A lot. Maybe, we should start dating?”

It’d be so easy. For anyone, who isn’t him.

“It’s nothing,” he pulls away from Hange, leaving the comfort of her bed and the warmth of her body. “I guess I’m just a little tired. It’s late already, and we have classes first thing in the morning, so I’ll be going.”

“Levi?” Hange reaches out for him, and something in her gaze, in the way she says his name makes him pause, makes him think that maybe his feelings aren’t actually one-sided. But the moment is gone, and the impression is gone along with it. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” he answers, swallowing the bitter lump in his throat. They’re friend, just friends. And that’s the main problem. “I’ll see you around, Hange.”

He pulls on his clothes and hurries to get out, before Hange can say anything else.

___

It goes on like that for another two weeks. He tries to avoid Hange, Hange inevitably finds him, tries to get him to talk, but Levi refuses and distracts her with sex. Hange stops pestering him for a day or two, while Levi can’t stop thinking about her.

And it is ridiculous, absolutely laughable, but his heart aches for her even while she’s moaning his name underneath him, while he holds her close, as both of the climax at the same time, as she whispers just how good he makes her feel.

Ultimately, Levi blames it all on Mikasa.

Strangely, she’s also the one, who helps him get his shit together.

He finds her after school, smoking near the main gates. Mikasa looks even more sullen than usual, her face as sour as ever. Curious (and a little bit worried), he approaches her, leaning against the brick wall by her side.

“What, did Yeager break up with you?”

Mikasa gifts him with a glare, and scoffs before turning her eyes back to the sky. “I told you, I don’t have a crush on him anymore.”

“Then who is it?” mentally, he goes through a list of all the assholes his cousin likes to hang out with. Whichever of them made her feel like shit will certainly receive an earful from him. “Is it that horse-faced Kirshtein?”

She puffs out a cloud of smoke. “It’s not him either.”

“Then… is it Armin?”

“It’s Sasha.”

“Sasha?” it takes him a moment to catch up with her words. He feels like the ground has been kicked from out his feet as soon as he does. “Sasha?! You mean, the Blouse girl?”

“Of course, who else?” Mikasa asks, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps, for her it actually is.

Levi has some troubles imagining Sasha – cheerful, energetic Sasha, who has a weird obsession with food, and quiet, moody Mikasa.

Then again, perhaps, both of them have this thing in common. They both fall for the people who are so different from them.

“So what’s up with you and Sasha? Did she dump you in favor of some kebab?”

“Very funny,” Mikasa glowers, elbowing him in the stomach. “We’re not actually together. Yet. I don’t know if I should confess to her. What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

Levi almost starts laughing. And here Mikasa was, lecturing him about relationships.

“I’m sure she’s as crazy for you as you are for her.”

“How do you know it? You don’t seem too knowledgeable about this kind of stuff.”

Levi rolls his eyes. Mikasa could at least try to act like she respects him. He's her elder and teacher, after all. “You don’t have to be knowledgeable to notice. You just got to have eyes.”

“And?” Mikasa stares at him, seemingly unimpressed and disinterested. But the cigarette in her hand is completely forgotten, uselessly dangling from between her fingers. Levi uses the moment to steal it from her.

Before Mikasa can complain or hit him on the head, Levi puts it to his lips and takes a long, satisfying drag. “Remember the time I caught the two of you after school hours? If Blouse doesn’t have a crush on you, then why she decided to hang out with your delinquent ass, knowing full well that it can get her into trouble? She could go to Burger King with Springer instead. But she chose you, brat.”

A moment passes in silence, as Mikasa stares at the ground, her expression thoughtful.

“That… was almost nice, midget,” she tentatively smiles. “Are you alright?”

Is he alright? Of course, he fucking isn’t.

“It’s your fault,” he sighs, putting the cigarette out and flicking its butt to the trashcan. “I can’t stop thinking about Hange and how… you know, how much she means to me.”

“Oh? So you’ve decided to stop being a shithead and confess?”

Levi crosses hands on his chest, trying to appear less pathetic than he feels right now. “I’m not sure if she wants the same thing as I do.”

“Jesus, I told her to find someone better. But,” Mikasa raises a hand, silencing him before Levi can start cursing at her. “Hange-san thinks you’re fine just the way you are. Do you know what she told me after I offered to introduce her to Eren’s brother? She said, and it’s a direct quote, - right now, I don’t need a date, I’m happy with what we have with Levi.”

Mikasa can be cruel sometimes, sometimes she seems almost heartless. But Levi knows she wouldn’t lie to him, not about this.

Even so… he is hesitant, he can’t quite believe that she means what he thinks she means.

“But if Hange is happy with what we have now…”

“For fuck’s sake,” Mikasa rolls her eyes. “If she didn’t want more, she’d go on a date with someone else, you idiot. But she’s happy with you, because she’s crazy about you, as weird as it sounds. So… go and get her. Before she decides you’re uninterested.”

He’s… he’s not uninterested. Levi is anything but uninterested.

“I’m going to go now,” he says, before he dashes back inside the school. If he’s lucky, Hange is still there.

As he's running towards school, Mikasa's quiet chuckling follows him.

___

Hange is still there, but she isn’t alone. Her assistant Moblit and Armin, one of her favorite students, are with her, working on some experiment.

They jump, as Levi rushes inside, opening the door so forcefully, the hinges almost fly out.

“Out,” he tells them in his most scary voice. Moblit and Armin share a look with each other, then – with Hange. She smiles and gives them a nod, and they hurriedly leave the laboratory.

“Levi, listen, I appreciate—”

He doesn’t give her a chance to finish that sentence. As swiftly as he arrived, Levi appears next to her, cradling her face in his palms.

“Four-eyes,” he cringes at the nickname. He’s asking her out, he should, at least, try to be a little nicer. “Hange," he corrects himself, "are you free tonight?”

More than a little confused by his behavior, Hange snickers. “Are you that horny today, Levi?”

“Tch,” he rolls his eyes. “That’s not it. Are you free tonight to…” he pauses, watching her face closely. If Hange shows even the smallest sign of discomfort or disinterest, he’ll back off. He’ll forget this conversation ever took place. “To go to the dinner with me? Without sex.”

“You don’t want to have sex?”

How can she even ask something like that? Of course, Levi wants to have sex with her. But he also wants to do other things with her, the things that normal couples do.

And, maybe, he doesn’t want to have sex either. Maybe, he wants to make love to her fron now on.

But… he is getting ahead of himself. Right now, the dinner is more important.

“We can have sex later, or not at all. What I want is to spend time with you, outside of the bed.”

“Oh…”

So Mikasa was wrong. Hange doesn’t reciprocate his feelings. She doesn’t want to have something more with him.

Crushed and crestfallen, Levi intends to take a step back. He intends to apologize, leave Hange alone and then get blackout drunk at his apartment while listening to Taylor Swift.

But as he tries to pull away, Hange doesn’t let him. She puts her hands over his palms, staring down at him with an expression so loving it takes his breath away.

“Of course, I want to go to the dinner with you, Levi. We can dress up, go to the fancy restaurant, or… we can order takeout and eat awful, greasy food on your couch, while I listen to you bitch about your students and you listen to me rambling about science. We can cuddle, while we grade assignments… I’ll be happy with any scenario. Even if it won’t end in sex.”

“You mean it?” he asks, still unconvinced. “You want… the same things as I do?”

“For quite some time, short stuff,” Hange chuckles. “I just didn’t know you wanted it too. You seemed quite satisfied with our arrangement, and you were so ashamed when your cousin caught us in the act…”

“I wasn’t ashamed,” he scoffs, refusing to even entertain the idea. “I just… didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, and… I was worried that she would set you up on some date.”

“Nah,” Hange takes one of his hands in hers, kissing the inside of his palm. The simple, but tender gesture leaves him weak in knees. “I only want you.”

“Good,” he puts his hand on her waist, pulling her just a little bit closer. When their lips are just a breath apart, he whispers, “Because I only want you, as well, four-eyes.”