#he clearly knows how to manage without his alchemy I feel like that would be a fucking requirement to becoming a soldier

[coockie8]

how do you feel about the idea that roy is completely useless without his gloves??

While I understand the humour behind that concept, as a legitimate theory, it bothers me.

Unlike Ed, who joined the Military through the State Alchemy Exam, Roy is a trained soldier; he's canonically been through the military academy. Obviously he knows how to defend himself without his alchemy, or he never would have made it through basic training :/

[wri0thesley]

lion tamer - jing yuan x reader (12.4k)

it's taken for granted you'll take the job that nobody else wants, whilst the general is indisposed. you just didn't expect things to turn out like this.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. chubby reader. reader is afab but no gendered terms are used. descriptions of raw meat (animals eating), food, pining, fingering, cunnilingus, coming inside. pet names including little bird, darling, little thing. reader is implied to be shorter than jing yuan.

This was a commissioned work.

It’s a quiet whisper, at first - gossip among the lower-downs of the Luofu. You hear it on the fringes and the edges, but you dismiss it as really none of your business; you’re already working harder than most everyone else thanks to the small matter of your far shorter lifespan, and you don’t intend to set yourself back by listening to idle gossip. You have other things to concentrate on; the busywork that you’ve been assigned to as a junior (very junior) member of the Seat of Divine Foresight. 

Really, though they call you a ‘non-administrative support specialist’, you know what you really are; a general dogsbody, somebody to pick up all of the pieces that others sweep by. Still; just getting a position here means you’ve outdone most people, and you hold in your heart the idea that you could get even further up this ladder of success if you simply tried hard enough. You’ve heard tell that even some of the long-life species haven’t managed to make it as far as actually working within the Seat itself, so really . . . you can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself. 

Which is why you choose to ignore the swirling rumour about your esteemed Arbiter-General until you’re called into a meeting with Yong Hai himself. 

(The General is sick, the rumours say. The General may not last another day. The General’s laziness has caught up with him, the General may not make it, and what will we all do then--)

“So,” Yong Hai says, all business. “You’ve probably heard about it already.”

There’s a flare of disquiet in your gut; that the gossip and the rumours you’ve been so steadfastly avoiding are true. You don’t know what the Luofu would do with General Jing Yuan; you cannot imagine the ship and the world without him, when he has been such a stolid presence - and the way that the general public will react doesn’t bear thinking about--

“Stop that,” Yong Hai says, with an amused look in his eye even as he fights to keep his mouth in a firm, commanding line. “It’s not as bad as people are saying. The General has simply . . . contracted something that he isn’t bouncing back as quickly from as we’d hoped. We’ve had to send him off to the Alchemy Commission for a few days, just to see if we can work out how to help . . .” The secretary catches himself, clearly remembering he’s talking to someone who amounts to little more than custodial staff. He coughs. “Anyway. It’s left us in a bit of a conundrum, and after some discussion, we think you’re qualified to handle it.”

You tilt your head to the side as you try and think what you could possibly do to assist in this matter.

You’re no healer; you’re no nurse. You can’t help them figure out how to cure the General, you’re not equipped to sit at his bedside and mop his feverish brow (your cheeks go hot and your face burns at the very thought of it). You certainly can’t take over any of Jing Yuan’s actual duties. The idea of you as any kind of military strategist is laughable--

“How can I help, Sir?” You ask, partly because that is what’s expected of you and partly because you really have no idea what use you’ll be in the situation. 

“Ah,” he says, and then he coughs again - he looks into the corner of the room, as if he’s begging someone to help him, and you remember that he and his sister are most often found together. But here, it’s just the two of you, and he has nobody to help him to break whatever news he’s going to break to you. You hope it’s not going to involve cleaning up a sick-room; you’re really not good with that kind of thing--

“We need somebody to tend to his home affairs,” Yong Hai says, eventually. “He . . . Ah, look, I’m going to come out and say it. General Jing Yuan has a penchant for taking in stray animals and the like, and he only even agreed to let himself be looked at on the caveat we had to promise to find someone to look after them.”

You think of the statues of lions that decorate the place, and you feel a trickle of cold sweat down the back of your spine. You hope desperately that the secretary isn’t implying that you’re about to quite literally be fed to the lions--

“Stop looking like that!” He says, exasperated. “All of them are perfectly tame, and you’ll be in no danger. He has a . . . lion that he’s incredibly fond of. Several birds. And . . . ah,” he looks embarrassed again. “He’s informed us he usually leaves out a veritable feast for any other neighbourhood strays on his balcony, and he was very worried that they weren’t going to be properly nourished whilst he was away.”

Finches. You can do that. Neighbourhood strays - cats and dogs, you suppose - are all very well. But the lion . . .

That doesn’t matter. Yong Hai seems to have reached the end of his meeting with you, to his tangible relief. He’s already bustling about his desk and looking longingly towards the closed door. 

“A new schedule’s been drawn up for you and sent to you already,” he says. “All of the relevant information should be in the attachments! Have fun, won’t you? The General is so very fond of his pets, you see--”

Your phone beeps as if it is punctuating his point; the secretary beams at you, and you get the distinct impression you are being told to put your best foot forward and roll with the punches. ‘Get on with it’, as someone without any manners might say. 

“Understood,” you say, and you force yourself to smile and look on the bright side of things even if you’re sure you’re going to have nightmares about being eaten alive by a lion tonight. This is a post that the General wanted filled personally! This is almost as personal as someone can get to the General, actually; it appears you’ll be working in his actual home! It’s a . . . a step up! A stepping stone!

You force yourself to ignore that it is actually very much a case of sticking the lowest ranked person (and someone well-known for taking on as much as they can with cheerful aplomb, due to your fear of ever really saying ‘no’) onto the job that nobody else wants to do. 

“I’ll do my best,” you say, and Yong Hai beams at you even as he gestures for you to go and get to grips with your new role. 

Well. 

You have no other choice then, really, but to Get On With It. 

You are quite frankly terrified the next day, when you turn up to your newest duty. The documents sent to you had instructed you to pick up raw meat for the lion from the General’s most trusted supplier before you went up to his chambers; apparently, birdseed and cat-and-dog food was kept there, but the lion’s appetite could not so easily be sated. You have to give yourself a pep-talk before all of it; have to convince yourself that running away from this new responsibility would be both awful for your career prospects and terribly cruel.

“Ah,” says the supplier, when you turn up and tremulously hand over your phone so he can see the attachments displayed on the screen giving you this new Meat Power, “So you’re looking after the waifs and strays and Mimi, then?” 

“Mimi?” You ask, your voice tremulous, and he laughs as he hands over two incredibly full buckets of raw meat. It’s a good job you’re not squeamish. 

“That’s the lion,” he says. “The General tried to name her Snow Lion after he realised she wasn’t just going to be a pretty little white housecat, but . . . Mimi fits. You’ll see!”

The concept of Jing Yuan attempting to adopt a pretty little white house cat and being saddled instead with a huge lion, and having to continue to refer to the powerful beast as ‘Mimi’ despite his best efforts, keeps you entertained right up until you’re outside the door to the General’s chambers and you remember that a carnivorous predator awaits you on the other side of it.

“Well,” you say to yourself, hoisting the buckets up and taking a deep breath, “there’s no point delaying the inevitable. If I get eaten today . . .”

And you let the pass-key you’ve been given float against the sensor, until the ornate doors to Jing Yuan’s chambers slowly part and admit you into the Arbiter-General’s inner sanctum. 

The first thing that you’re struck by is how it seems that the General left in a rush. The entire place, whilst not dirty, has an air of untidiness. You hear the cheeping of finches from the first room; excitement that their Master may have finally returned to play with them. You can’t help but feel sorry for them - from what Yong Hai has said, it may be quite a while before Jing Yuan is well enough to return to his home. 

There are touches of the General everywhere, now that you’re looking. Delicate flowers (you’ve heard he likes small, delicate things, and you can’t help the nervous tug at your clothing as you consider just how indelicate you find yourself). Ceramics and porcelain that you fear are so fragile they may shatter even under your gaze. An unfinished game of star chess, a coffee cup left half-drunk . . . That last one could fetch a fine price in the black market. You’ve heard those traders hawking ‘tissues used by Helm Master Yukong’ or even ‘a book enjoyed by General Jing Yuan’s protege!’. 

Before your mind can lead you too far down that dangerous path, though, the lady of the hour appears. 

She’s beautiful. 

You have to stop yourself gasping aloud. Any fears you might have had seem to fall to the wayside, unimportant, compared to the majesty of the lion before you; the pure white fur, the wise face, the mane that fluffs out from her. She’s pure white; lean, but perhaps with a little pouch at the tummy. Not a single snarl or tangle mars her fur, not a single speck of dirt upon her, like the false moon looking down upon the Luofu--

She sees that you’re holding two big buckets and seems to recognise them, because it’s barely a breath before her ears twitch and she pounces like a kitten, seemingly not realising that you are smaller than her owner and she is far larger than the average kitten is. All of the wind is knocked out of you as you cry out her name and are tackled to the ground. 

You find yourself beneath the warmth of her body, a sweet scent emanating from her fur as if the esteemed General regularly bathes and shampoos her. Delighted, she sticks her snout right into one of the buckets. A low, pleased rumble emits from her throat as she works her teeth over the meat--

You reach up, hesitantly, with the one arm that isn’t pinned by the great weight of her. Your fingers hover for a moment, unsure of what to do - is she like a cat? Does she prefer chin scratches or ear scratches?

You settle for a very light pet at the side of her mane, just by her face. Her fur is just as soft as you had thought she would be - a lady who is clearly incredibly spoilt. Well-cared for. You have another flash of a vision of Jing Yuan - combing her mane, tying a shiny ribbon about her neck to match the ribbon he wears in his own hair. 

Mimi pauses in her enjoyment of the food. Your breath catches in your throat, all of your senses on a sudden high alert - what if she didn’t like being touched like that? What if she’s about to mistake your hand for a part of the buffet you’ve brought her?

A moment that seems like an hour passes.

And then she leans into your hand with a pleased rumble-squeak-growl, her eyes closing in pleasure, and despite how your heart is beating and your legs are aching from the way she’s twisted them and trapped them beneath her . . . you smile. 

For the first week, every time you let yourself into Jing Yuan’s space, you are alone aside from the animals he keeps there. Mimi launches herself at you, but you’ve learnt to sidestep and laugh and ruffle her mane, offering her choice little tidbits to curl up and gnaw on her food whilst you see to the strays that congregate on Jing Yuan’s balcony. They had taken a little longer to warm to you, but after the second day when it became clear if they wanted the same food Jing Yuan usually prepared they would have to come to you, they had thawed considerably. You leave them to their devices, and finish off with the finches. 

They hop from place to place in their cage, cheeping brightly. Sometimes they hop onto your finger or your shoulder, looking at you like you’re the most wonderful being in the universe. Once one had hopped onto your head and you’d stayed stock-still for five minutes, afraid of disturbing it. 

After all of the pets and animals are fed, you’ve gotten into the habit of sitting with them for a little while. Curling around Mimi and stroking her mane and her tail (you’ve braided it, actually, and told her how pretty she looks with little red ribbons in her fur as she blinked at you her slow, lazy blinks). Listening to birdsong. Letting the strays rub about your feet and imagining the Arbiter-General himself doing all of these mundane tasks. 

It’s strange, to think of him as so . . . so much a real person. General Jing Yuan has always seemed a man of mystery and just a touch of romance to you; a long life species who has outlived almost everyone he’s ever worked with, who has steered the Luofu into glories and battled bravely and heroically against Abundance abominations for longer than you’ve been alive. The first time you’d met him, when you’d gotten your place at the Seat of Divine Foresight (before you’d quite found out how meagre your duties really were), you’d been utterly tongue-tied. 

He’d been charming, naturally. Smiling and charismatic and low and pleasant-voiced, saying how glad he was to have you aboard and how he hoped you would enjoy your time here. There’d been, perhaps, a flash of sadness in his eye at the knowledge you were a short-life species-- but you’d quickly tried to dispel that notion, scolding yourself for your own romanticism. Jing Yuan is your colleague, your boss - better to not harbour such idealism, to make him into a storybook character instead of a man. 

Still. It’s rather hard to imagine him out of breath, puffing and wheezing, after pulling the bucket Mimi had gotten her paw stuck in off of the silly lion’s foreleg before she sent herself into a panic. 

You think that the menagerie that he keeps in his private quarters have grown fond of you in turn. The task that everyone had seemed to find so onerous quickly becomes one of your favourite parts of the day; there is something to be said about the healing properties to the soul of having a lion roll over to show you her tummy and wiggle enticingly until you give in to her and give her all of the rubs and tickles that she so clearly desires. 

So for about a week and a half, everything chugs along; you fall into routine, and the animals recognise you in turn. They sometimes still crane their necks and heads hopefully around you to see if Jing Yuan is around (Mimi especially occasionally looks dejected at his absence, though her ears perk up once again as soon as she remembers the buckets you come bearing are filled with delicious morsels for her), but when it is just you they still seem somewhat satisfied. 

Nobody gives you any warning that Jing Yuan has returned to his own rooms. 

Which is why you walk into the main room with your buckets swinging on your arms, singing a silly little song you’ve composed for Mimi about how the meat is soon to be ‘delicious and yummy’ in her ‘full-up-tummy’, you’re so surprised to hear a velvet soft chuckle floating from the big circular sofa in the centre of it that you almost drop all of those delicious-and-yummy steaks and thighs all over Jing Yuan’s ornately tiled floor. 

You stare at the sofa, your cheeks going all-over hot, as a mass of blankets moves and shifts and a slightly ruffled pale head emerges from them.

The General himself. 

It’s obvious, looking at him, that he hasn’t been feeling his best. His normally tied up hair falls over his face in unstyled sweeps, there are dark circles beneath his eyes and a sharpness to his cheekbones that you have never noticed before. Instead of the armour you have grown so used to seeing him clad in, he wears civilian clothes; a loose shirt that shows off the lines of his throat, his collarbone. 

Despite all of that, though, he is still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Your heart still skips a beat. He takes you in for a moment, his face scrunched up as if he is not quite awake; and then, a small smile spreads over his handsome face. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, in that low, musical voice. “I’d like to know where the song has to go, after her tummy has been filled.”

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, awkward, nervous, unsure of what to say. “I-- nobody told me you’d be back, I can leave, I didn’t mean to--”

He holds up a lazy hand, the smile still on his face. His eyes are half-lidded, his overall look almost indulgent.

“Please,” he says. “I’m . . . better, but not fully recovered. I’ve been given strict instructions that I'm not to lift heavy objects or do anything more than relax for at least another week. I’d be much obliged - if it’s not too much trouble on top of your own duties, of course - if you could carry on seeing to my . . . what did they call it?” Another small, secret smile. “Ah yes. My little zoo.” 

“I-if you’re sure . . .” You say, surprised to find when you say it aloud that you’re relieved. You truly have gotten attached to all of the animals, even in this short time. 

Mimi butts your leg, impatient for her food, her huge paw petulantly tapping upon the floor. Jing Yuan laughs again, and you feel your stomach clench at the warm sound as it fills the room. 

“Oh, she likes you,” he says, in delight. “I’ve never seen her be so patient with anyone but myself, you know.”

“She’s been friendly since I met her,” you reply, reaching down to scratch her behind her ears and to place the buckets somewhere she won’t make such a mess (though she’s actually a fairly fastidious eater, for someone with no thumbs; you suppose she’s so proud of her lovely white coat that she doesn’t want to risk staining it).

Jing Yuan hums in consideration, his smile not leaving his face, as he watches you pet Mimi and her affectionate head bump before she dives back into her food. As you move into the other sitting room - the one that the finches reside in - you hear more rustling, and as you gather the birdseed you’re surprised to see that Jing Yuan is following you, sloping afterwards determinedly. There’s a definite tilt to his walk - the walk of a man who’s been in bed for a week - and you can’t help but say something.

“Sh-should you be out of bed, General?” You wince at the slight admonishment in your tone, fearing he will think you’re scolding him - but Jing Yuan simply smiles. 

“I need to check on my sweet little charges,” he says. “Come now. I’ve been in bed for days. Let me wander about my own rooms without worrying your pretty head too much about it, alright?”

It takes all of your grace not to turn into a pathetic, embarrassed mess at the easy way he says ‘your pretty head’ - somehow, you manage to keep your composure, keep some measure of poise, even as inside you feel yourself turn to mush. 

He sits down upon a chaise by the birdcages as you reach in to fill the small bowls and scatter the feed, his eyes not leaving you for a second. He smiles when he sees a finch or two hop upon your hand to peck at the seeds and bits left in the crevices of your palm. 

“A true animal whisperer,” he says, watching one of the more inquisitive finches hop up to your wrist and your forearm to tug teasingly at your elbow-length sleeves. “They’re not too fond of strangers, either.”

“I have been feeding them for a week, Sir,” you say to him, with a smile at the finch as you urge it off of your arm and back to the rest of its friends. “They’ve gotten used to me.”

He shakes his head, his hair falling about his shoulders, and you’re struck with the thought that he and Mimi even look similar. You’ve heard the old adage about how pet owners and their pets grow to look the same, of course, but you’d never realised quite how true it was until that moment and the sight of Jing Yuan doing a motion you’ve grown used to Mimi doing. 

He follows, too, as you take food and water onto the balcony. As cats wind around first your ankles, and then his - as dogs wag their tails and lick at your hands. 

“If I were a jealous man . . .” He says, laughing. “They must see something truly special in you.”

“Me?” You ask, aiming for a tinkly laugh but landing on ‘incredulous’. “No, they’re just sweet creatures. All of them are.”

He’s unerringly patient with the animals; his big hands tender as they scratch ears and tickle chins. Seeing the great General being so delicate makes your heart turn over in your chest; his big, scarred hands in direct opposition to the delicate bones and the soft fluff of all of the creatures that mass here. 

“Don’t be so modest,” Jing Yuan says quietly in reply. “I’ve known some of these animals for years. If they didn’t think you were something special . . .” 

Your cheeks are hot again. Somehow, in the course of this conversation, Jing Yuan has gotten closer and closer to you. Out here on the balcony, under the warm false sun of the Luofu, there’s nowhere for Jing Yuan to sit and watch - so he’s stood close to you. Close enough that you can see the warm gold amber of his gaze, the fan of his lashes, the mole high up beneath his eye. You swallow, and the sound is almost indecently loud even with the background mewls and barks and purrs. 

“I’m glad that they found someone so able to do this for me,” he says, his voice still quiet. That single word, those single two syllables, somehow manage to be imbued with more meaning than you’d ever imagined they could be. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”

“Just until you’re feeling a bit better,” you reply, cheeks still hot, throat still sore, heart still beating far too fast in your chest. You wonder what Jing Yuan is thinking as he looks down at you - if he has noticed your anxiety, the way that he seems to set you all aflutter. You hope he thinks it is merely because he is your superior, and not because it’s so very hard not to dwell on his looks and his warm voice and the surprisingly different persona that he shows when he’s doing this--

Jing Yuan is still smiling at you, from back on the sofa covered in his blankets with Mimi spread out protectively over his feet, as you foolishly wave goodbye and leave his chambers. 

You get to witness Jing Yuan’s recovery firsthand. The first few days, he is still unsure of his own limbs; he still slowly lopes around the rooms. Once or twice, you come in to feed the animals and he stays wrapped within his blankets, Mimi only leaving his side to demand some cuddles and some meat from you. 

Despite his illness, though, he always has time to talk to you. He always asks you how you are feeling, what you have been doing; he teases you for how the animals seem to recognise you just as well as him now. When one of the finches pecks at your cheek, he chuckles and says;

“Ah, wouldn’t we all like to give our little bird a kiss like that?”

You don’t know how to respond to that, ducking your head, muttering something unintelligible that wins another of his laughs. His words err on the edge of being flirtatious. Once or twice he compliments your outfit, your hair - how lovely you look today. You never know how to react to such things; you force yourself not to dwell on them, reminding yourself of Jing Yuan’s own looks and his position and trying to tell yourself not to get attached and that the General is merely trying to be polite. 

One afternoon, he asks you to sit with him and have tea. 

It would be rude of you to say no; not when he has placed two teacups before him, anticipating your acceptance, a plate of sweet treats in an amount that would be gluttonous even for him arranged with the tea service. So you try and gracefully position yourself across from him. You try and remember your manners as you take the cup by the handle, as you choose the least ornamented and sugary of the delicacies on offer--

(It’s hard not to remember being told not to indulge at all. You feel conscious of eating in front of him--)

“Have this one,” Jing Yuan says, as if he can read your mind, and he pushes towards you an intricately decorated little cake resplendent with sugar roses and ruffles. “It’s one of my favourites.”

Your mouth waters. You give him an embarrassed smile as he encourages you further, reaching over to pick it up himself and place it upon your plate instead of merely pushing it.

“Really?” You ask, trying to pick it up neatly. “It’s a bit more delicate than I thought you’d like. I suppose I imagined you liking things a little rougher--”

Your face goes hot as you realise what you just said, but Jing Yuan ignores the innuendo and simply smiles at you. 

“Ah,” he says. “I like things that are . . . delicate. Smaller than me. So lovely to observe and enjoy, don’t you think?” His gaze doesn’t leave your face. You have never considered yourself delicate - the curves that you display have put an end to that - but under his eyes, you can’t help but think of the breadth of his shoulders and his height and think how a man like him could make even you feel small and breakable. “What do you think?”

The little cake is sweet on the tongue, flavoured with a hint of something you can’t quite name. Your eyes widen in surprise. 

“It’s wonderful,” you tell him, swallowing the bite and enjoying how the taste lingers. “Truly.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” he says - and then, he reaches over the table. “You have something--” 

You go stock-still, embarrassed and shocked at the intimacy of the gesture, as he uses his thumb to wipe a smudge of icing from the corner of your mouth. He keeps your gaze the whole time. It is something a lover does - it is not something you’d ever expected General Jing Yuan to do for you--

“There,” he says, returning to his cake as if nothing has happened. “It would be a terrible shame if I couldn’t see all of your lovely face, after all.” 

He is always saying things like this; off-the-cuff remarks that, if he were not the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, you would interpret as being flirty. He mentions them when you have tea together, when he ropes you into playing a game of star chess (“Don’t think I will go easy on you because you are nice to look at,” he says, as he places the counters into their starting positions), when he watches you and Mimi and you and the finches and tells you that he cannot decide which is cuter. 

You see him get gradually stronger and stronger. No more limping. He is almost always dressed, now. His hair no longer falls in shaggy waves about his face. His dark circles dissipate, his voice getting somehow even deeper and more velvety. 

The unspoken reality that soon, Jing Yuan will be well and you will no longer have to take on this extra duty hangs over your head.

You find that the idea makes you feel sick. You are not only enjoying caring for the animals, now, but you’ve also started to look forward to seeing the General. 

Well.

That’s not quite it.

You have to be honest with yourself, don’t you? 

You’ve developed a crush on him. 

You can’t imagine not seeing him. Not being greeted with Mimi’s butts and her batting paws; not hearing the pleased chirps of his finches whenever they see you. Not enjoying tea with him any more, simply existing in this lazy golden time when you do not have to think about work or his position above you or anything other than the four walls that surround you and the multiple hearts beating within it. 

Jing Yuan brings it up first.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, coughing one day after the two of you have played a game of star chess that you were thoroughly destroyed during. “Well. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m getting better.”

“I’m glad to see it, Sir,” you say, forcing a smile to your face even as your heart falls into the region of your feet. “We were all very worried about you. Everyone is always asking me how you are and when you’ll be returning to work--”

His face clouds, a flinch so quick you almost miss it.

“Yes,” he says, a mournful tone to his voice. “I’ll soon be returning to work.”

You tell yourself sternly not to cry. This was never supposed to be permanent. 

“Then I suppose you won’t need me any longer,” you say, forcing a smile on your face. You are going to be gracious if it kills you.

“Ah,” Jing Yuan replies. “That’s what I’d like to talk to you about. I . . . we are all very fond of you, you see.” He motions to Mimi, who has come to curl beside you, her head laid against your knee. “I fear Mimi will riot if you were to stop bringing her all of those steaks, you understand. And who knows what she’d do, deprived of your song about her tummy?”

You squeak in embarrassment. Mimi lifts her head and gives you a slow, displeased look, much to Jing Yuan’s amusement. 

“Well. I’m very aware that it’s not part of your duties, and I’d be willing of course to pay you more for all of the trouble, but--” 

You see Jing Yuan falter for one of the first times; as if he is afraid that you are about to reject him outright. He coughs, trying to hide his anxiety, but it is an emotion you’re intimately familiar with and as such you recognise it for what it is. 

“We’re all so very fond of you,” he repeats. “Won’t you keep coming?”

You barely leave a breath before you’re happily agreeing. 

It’s not quite the same. 

You knew it wouldn’t be; you knew that you wouldn’t see Jing Yuan anywhere near as often, as he resumed all of the many duties that the Arbiter-General has to take on. Despite how unenthused he had seemed to be returning to his work, you knew that Jing Yuan took his responsibilities terribly seriously). 

Still.

You had thought you might see him more. Might still be able to drink a cup of tea with him, even if it could not be the same kind of slow, languid time the two of you had taken over it before. You’d thought that there’d still be time for a conversation or two. 

The reality is that you almost never see the General now. 

At work, your paths had crossed only rarely; now, hyper-aware of his presence, you realise that you see him almost never. Not at work, and not at his own home. 

You’re still excited to see the animals - for the finches to happily chirp at you as if they’re telling you about their day. One of them rides about on your shoulder, now, even when you go out to feed the strays. You’re still excited to tell Mimi what a good girl she is and rub her tummy and play with her (she’s inordinately fond of ribbons and the chasing thereof, like an overgrown housecat). 

But without Jing Yuan there . . .

There’s something missing. 

You still do your duties as well as you can - Jing Yuan has negotiated a hefty raise for you, all things considered - but you can’t help sometimes leaving his home feeling a little empty at the lack of seeing the General. You can’t help being disconsolate as you think about him - as you remember his flirty little asides, the way he’d looked at you across the room, the smile that played across his mouth whenever he did. You know he couldn’t really be interested in you, that he was probably like that with most people - but a secret little flame cannot help but burn in your heart even so. 

Days pass, quiet, lonely. You work, and feed the animals, and go home to your own empty quarters. You work, feed, go home, work, feed, go home--

Until one evening, when you’re just about to leave Jing Yuan’s chambers, when the door opens and the General appears. He looks a little red in the face; his breath comes in short little pants. You’ve never seen him so obviously flustered; usually, Jing Yuan fits perfectly up to his reputation as the Drowsy General. 

“Are you alright?” You ask him, rushing over. You’re touching him before you’ve thought through consequences; finger hovering over his pulse point, reaching up to feel his forehead to make sure he’s not running a temperature. Through the panting, he looks at you and smiles. 

“I’m afraid,” he says, still breathing heavily, his voice rasping. “I made up a little lie to be able to get back here on an errand that doesn’t really exist.”

“General,” you scold him. It’s not like him to shirk responsibilities. He laughs. 

“Yes, yes, I know, little thing-- but I had to see you. I wanted to see you again.”

You think he’s misspoken.

“I have to get back,” he says, and he reaches down - his hands upon your cheek again. You don’t know how to reply, what to say, what is going on. All you know is that you are there, and Jing Yuan is there, and something is happening. Fizzing on the air is a promise that something is going to change. “But . . . I couldn’t-- I needed to finally--”

Jing Yuan kisses you. 

It’s a kiss as messy and rushed as he is right now. A kiss that says that he has to hurry back, despite how much he doesn’t want to. You, unused to being kissed and even more unused to being kissed by handsome military leaders who feel a hundred times out of your league, do not kiss him back. He’s messy and wet, and his teeth clash against your lips as you stand there, feeling foolish and wrong-footed.

He realises you’re not kissing him back, and he stops - he draws back, his eyebrows furrowed. He opens his mouth to speak. 

He’s going to say it was a mistake, you realise. He’s going to say he thought you were someone else, that he was carried away in the heat of the moment. You and Jing Yuan? No. It couldn’t be. It’s absurd, it’s silly, nobody could ever believe it - and yet.

And yet.

Your heart couldn’t take his rejection.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out - and you push past him and out of the door and back towards the comforting ordinary normality of your own empty rooms. 

Despite your embarrassment, fear and all of those other emotions keeping you up all night, when you wake up the next morning you know that things will be worse the more you put them off. So you get dressed for work and you thank Lan that, when you walk into the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan is nowhere to be seen. 

You hope he is hard at work, far away from you. You cannot quite face him yet. You haven’t properly said goodbye to your foolish dreams. 

You can’t shirk your other duties either, so at the ordinary time you stand up from your desk (you’ve somehow been saddled with the job of reviewing paperwork for grammar inconsistencies. You feel certain there ought to be software of some sort that does this job for you, but it had been laid here on your desk when you’d gotten to it and you were not in the habit of arguing about your duties), and you head to the designated supplier of raw meats for Mimi’s consumption.

“Oh,” says the supplier, the evening after Jing Yuan had finagled a way to see you. “He told me to let you know to go straight up today.” 

You frown, not quite sure why; you hope Mimi is alright. It feels strange to be going towards Jing Yuan’s home without your arms weighed down with buckets of meat, but you push forward even so. You hope last night - the awkward kiss, the way he had looked at you - does not sour things between the two of you. You hope that he isn’t about to tell you to never come back. Your heart makes a new home, somewhere in the vicinity of your throat, as you hesitantly knock upon his door.

A beat passes. Your mind helpfully provides you with all of the ways in which Jing Yuan could be about to fire you - or worse, let you down gently and admit that he had a moment of weakness. In that moment, you suddenly seem so much more aware than before of yourself - of the unfashionable curves, of the amount of space you take up, of how a man like Jing Yuan could surely not have really wanted to kiss someone like you - and then, he has opened the door and he is smiling at you and he doesn’t look angry.

Instead, upon seeing you there, a smile passes across his face; tugs at the corners of his lips, crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he says to you - and he reaches across the threshold and his hand brushes your cheek, as soft and tender with you as he is with his finches. “I’m sorry if I frightened you last night.”

“I’m sorry I ran,” tumbles out of your mouth. “I just . . . I didn’t think you-- and somebody like me-- and I was afraid--”

He lays a finger over your lips, still smiling. 

“It’s alright,” he says, in that low, smooth voice. “I’m sorry if I caused you undue trouble, little bird.” The pet name falls from his lips as easily as any other trifle, though it makes you feel hot and aware of yourself and flattered all at once. “Please come in.”

He takes your hand to gently urge you across the threshold, his touch still feather light. You think, as he does it, of all of the other things those hands have done; all of the battles they have waged, all of the strength that must be contained within them despite how gentle his touch is now. 

“I’ve asked someone else to take care of the animals,” he says to you, not letting go of your hand as he leads you through the front room. You realise with a start exactly where he is taking you as he approaches a door you have never had reason to open before. He looks at you, eyes keen and golden. “I wanted us to be alone. I would hope, little bird, if you do not want this . . .” 

“I do,” tumbles from your mouth. It is nothing but the honest truth. You let the crush that you’ve been trying to deny, the fear of Jing Yuan not liking you or finding you attractive, the anxieties of not being good enough, all wash over you, in favour of the beating of your heart and the feel of his hand on your face and the sight of his hand upon the doorknob of his bedroom. 

He turns fully so he stands before you. Hands come up, cradling your face; thumbs brushing the plump apples of your cheek, fingertips upon the soft flesh. He is smiling still, even as he dips his head lower, so low you can see the multitudes of swirling shades of gold in his eyes. 

“Promise me,” he murmurs, low and soft. “Tell me you want me the way I want you. No expectations, little one. Your career, your position, your everything - nothing will change if you do not want me as badly as I desire you. Honesty.” You realise a tear has escaped from the corner of your eye. You have never felt so . . . seen. So very much wanted. So sure of anything in your life. He wipes that tear with his thumb, tilting your face closer to him so that if you just angled your head differently you could kiss him. “Promise me.” 

“I promise,” you whisper, and Jing Yuan’s lips meet yours. 

This kiss is entirely unlike the one from yesterday; this kiss is slow, luxurious. Jing Yuan starts off gentle with you, his hand still cupping your jaw - his lips moving against yours in slow, indolent waves. He nips at your bottom lip with his teeth and wins a gasp from you, a hitch of your breath, as your own hands come up to rest lightly upon his chest. You feel his mouth curve into a smile against your own. 

“You’re adorable,” he rumbles, pulling back just enough that you can still feel his breath on your face. “Truly - you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you.”

“I--” You helplessly stare up at him. You can barely believe this is happening, as he pushes open the door to his most private of domains. “Really?”

He laughs again, gently taking your arm and urging you into the room. You are helpless to do anything but follow him - to let him slowly, slowly, slowly pull you beside him and onto his bed. 

“You really have no idea how . . . desirable you are?” He asks, voice low and husky, humming with want. His hand skims over your cheek, the nape of your neck, following the line of your jaw and your throat to linger over your collarbone. His eyes follow the path his fingers take, not moving from your form for an instant. “You really didn’t notice me staring at you, little bird?” He leans in, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. His lips brush over the pulse point in your neck, making you squeak in surprise again even as it sends a bolt of heat to the space between your legs. “Imagining what you would feel like under my hands? Imagining what you would look like, divested of that maddeningly conservative uniform they make you wear?” Another kiss, this one with a hint of teeth. You realise with a hot flush of embarrassment mixed with want you have cried out at the sensation of the almost-bite. “Imagining how you would react to every touch I gave you?” 

“Sir,” you pant, dazed and amazed and hot and needy. “I-- I thought about you, too--”

“Oh,” he murmurs, as his big fingers slide over your body, feeling the ample shape of you through that same conservative uniform. His big palms brush the soft chub of your upper arms, the meat of your chest, the shape of your waist and over the curve of your hips, basely appreciating your body even beneath the fabric. “I’m sure they were no match for the utterly filthy things I imagined doing to you.” 

His thumb digs into the indent of your waist, tugging you closer to him so that you’re pressed tighter against his body. He smiles down at you, every inch the conquering general, and your heart beats in time with the pounding between your legs. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Wanting and hungry and lustful, like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever seen. It’s not a look you’re overly familiar with receiving - but oh, does it feel amazing to be on the receiving end of it from Jing Yuan. 

“Such a fragile thing,” he murmurs down to you, and you almost laugh, for you do not feel fragile - but Jing Yuan continues speaking, and you get lost in the dulcet tone of his voice. “So very mortal. So very ephemeral . . .” He sighs, dips his head and kisses you again, a flurry of pecks upon your lips as his thumb draws circles where it rests. “Will you let me make the most of having you, little bird? Let me show you how beautiful you are?” He smiles. “I have always had a weakness for delicate things.” 

He means it. 

Any time you have ever felt too big; ungainly, or ill-shaped - all of it falls to the wayside under the warm haze of being looked at and admired and wanted by Jing Yuan. You find yourself smiling up at him, aware you probably look as though there is not a thought in your head, but the General doesn’t seem to mind as he looks at you with hunger colouring his gaze. 

“May I undress you?” He asks, voice low and cajoling. His fingers tease beneath the neckline of your uniform, and it feels as though they leave a trail of fire everywhere they linger. You do not trust yourself to speak; you nod at him, your breath coming out in short little pants. He makes a soft noise of approval, before his fingers are working at buttons and fabric. Cool air hits your bare skin; your uniform is gently cajoled off of your body, tossed aside to be worried about later as Jing Yuan’s hungry eyes drink in every new inch of your exposed skin. 

He does not stop praising you as he does it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, as your top half is bared, as his eyes roam over your chest and his hands come up and squeeze the generous curve of them, palms rough against delicate skin. You shiver as his thumbs find your nipples, as they rub over them again and again until the buds stiffen beneath his touch and a soft whine escapes the back of your throat. “You’re beautiful.”

His tone is nothing if not worshipful. By slow, luxurious degrees, Jing Yuan helps divest you of your garments. As your underwear and bottoms are rolled down, as fabric bunches at thighs and knees, he does not stop murmuring sweet nothings about how soft you are, how beautiful, how lucky he is to be able to see you like this. 

About how he has been thinking about having you like this since the moment he saw you. 

“You looked so beautiful then too,” he murmurs, as your underwear is pulled from your ankles. He briefly gazes at it, the gusset saturated with your slick, and he smiles. “Ah . . . that little song, the nervous, shy reaction to realising I was there - the sight of you all soft-eyed and adoring with Mimi . . . I’ve never wanted to have my wicked way with somebody quite so much.” 

You’re bare beneath him, Jing Yuan slowly urging you to lay down upon the coverlets of his large bed. You suppose that it’s so large so that if Mimi desires to sleep with him, she can, but it alongside Jing Yuan’s own size simply helps you feel small and delicate and breakable in a way you never have before. 

“I wanted to know,” Jing Yuan murmurs, leaning down and brushing his lips over yours, teasing and feather-light. “If you would be quite so adorable, squirming and nervous and vulnerable, if I were to have you like this.”

Your cheeks are hot. Jing Yuan has not lost a single garment of his own, but you are entirely unguarded to whatever he wants to do to you now - bare of every scrap of fabric. His gaze lingering on your body almost makes you want to draw in; to curl around the exposed flesh of your stomach, to cover the pudge. 

Jing Yuan notices something in the way you hold yourself. He smiles down at you and cups your cheek.

“Don’t hide,” he breathes. “I want to see all of you, little thing. I want you to know how beautiful I find you.”

“I--”

He takes your hand in his, shifting so he is on his knees between your legs. Gently, he guides your unsure hand to the space over his own crotch. Even through the layers of fabric, you can sense the heat of him; the stiffness pushing against his trousers.

“If I did not want you,” he says, “why would you make me so needy, hmm? Feel what you do to me.” He presses your hand a little harder against it, a soft hiss of breath escaping him, encouraging you to not simply take his word for it. Your face hot as ever, you do so; give a gentle squeeze that makes him groan. “Ah-- be careful, sweet thing. I want to take my time over you.”

He lets go of your hand, gently urging you to place it back beside you. Your fingers find purchase in his sheets. You still cannot quite believe where you are; that it’s the great Arbiter-General leaning over you, looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen. 

“I-it’s not fair,” you say to him, your voice dry. “I’ve lost all of my clothes, and you’re still fully dressed--”

He chuckles. This time, when he bends down, there’s a slow, deliberate quality about him. He kisses your neck again; trails wet butterfly kisses over your collarbones, lower and lower to the swell of your chest. His hands come to cup the generous weight of them, even as his mouth floats closer and closer to your nipples, tightening and stiffening in anticipation. 

“I told you,” he says, murmuring in between flicks of his tongue against the buds. “I want to take my time over you.” He looks at you, eyes half-lidded. “Ah, you short-life species . . . You never learn patience. I have all of the time in the world to give you ecstasy over and over--”

People call Jing Yuan the Dozing General. As he applies his tongue to your nipples, though - as he suckles and nips and bites, as he kisses and squeezes until you feel dizzy with the attention he’s lavishing upon you, you realise that they are misinformed. Jing Yuan is not lazy or dozing - Jing Yuan merely likes to take his time over things. 

And oh, is he enjoying taking his time over you. 

You whine under his touch. You whimper and squirm, your cheeks flooding hot, your entire body prickling with tension and pleasure as his attentions upon your nipples send shockwaves of pleasure down to your sex. You feel wetness fair seeping out of you; slick rolling down your thighs, making a mess of Jing Yuan’s bed sheets. 

“Please,” you manage to get out, dry-voiced and wanting, after what seems like an eternity. “Please, Sir--”

“Jing Yuan,” He corrects you, a smile on his face as he continues to trail wet kisses over your bare skin. “What kind of man would I be if I allowed you to call me ‘Sir’ buried knuckle-deep in you, sweet thing? We are on even ground here.”

It’s hard not to think of him as the General. You are currently barely able to string a thought together, and he hasn’t even touched the place between your thighs yet. Still - you need him to touch you somewhere else. You need his attentions to give your chest a break (your nipples are sore, stiffened points - your skin slick with the wetness of his licks and kisses) and move to somewhere else. You force out, through your desire to genuflect to his status, his given name.

“Jing Yuan--”

“Hmm?” He asks, raising his head. His lips are swollen and pink, his eyes amused. “Do you need something, little bird?”

“Please . . .” A soft exhale, trying to work through the mass of sensations and needs that your body seems to have become. Jing Yuan does not stop touching even as you try and get out your words; still gently squeezing and toying with the weight of your chests. He’s smiling, enjoying watching you desperately work through the haze of your desire. 

“Your words,” he says, a maddening smile pulling at his lips. “Tell me what you want, and I promise I’ll do all in my power to give you it.”

“Please,” you say again, your brain fuzzy. His hands move from your chest now; big palms travelling over the curve of your stomach, your hips, resting there in a way that makes you almost lose all of your senses. “I want you to touch me . . . there--”

“Where, little thing?” He’s still smiling. “Here?” A gentle squeeze to your hips. “Here?” His palm roves over your stomach, the soft pouch just above your mound. You whimper again. “Ah. Come now--”

“Between my legs,” you whisper, voice tight and breaking with desire. “Jing Yuan, please--”

“Ah,” he laughs, dips down and kisses you once on the mouth. “You need only to ask. Spread your thighs for me, lovely thing.”

You do, utterly helplessly. Jing Yuan sighs reverently, moving further down so that he can bend his head to look at you. Your face burns under his scrutiny, fearful that he will find something lacking in your body even as his eyes greedily drink you in like you are the finest wine. He breathes deeply, and you hope that your scent is not off-putting - and then, his fingers are sliding slowly and surely up the soft plush of your legs and closer and closer to the space between your thighs and your heart is beating too fast and your breath is coming in short pants.

“Calm down,” he murmurs, and you keen as his hands reach your sex; as he uses his thumbs to spread the plump lips of your labia apart and the cool air hits your slick, heated core. “Ah, darling . . .”

There is so much in those two syllables. Hunger and desire and adoration, all mixed together as one. In another world, with another person, it might have made you feel self-conscious; but Jing Yuan looks down at you as if you are the most beautiful treasure he has ever had the good fortune to witness. 

He leans down, down - and you squeak as you realise what he’s about to do, surprised, but it does not deter him at all as he lets his tongue take a slow, luxurious lick down your sex. The base of his tongue presses against your clit, the pressure on the swollen hitherto ignored nub almost enough to make you come right there and then - but then he pulls back again, chuckling.

“Mm,” he says. “If I allow myself to sample too much of something so sweet, I’m afraid I’ll lose my composure.” He moves his hand instead; lets his fingers explore the length of you, fingertips brushing against your clenching entrance and dancing about your swollen clit. There is little pressure exerted on your sex; merely Jing Yuan’s slow, considering explorations. You clench your own fingers into the bedsheets in order to stop yourself writhing. 

“Lovely,” Jing Yuan says to himself. “Ah, you feel like velvet. Such a pretty thing; so perfectly made . . .” He sighs, even as the tip of his longest finger nudges against your entrance. Your hips move of their own accord, trying to suck him in and get him to put his finger inside of you, but he clicks his tongue with an amused chide; “Impatient,” he says. “Ah. You’re lucky you’re so irresistible--”

He slides his finger inside of you, slowly but certainly. You sigh, your lashes fluttering closed - his touch stokes all of those fires inside of you, of course, burning to fever pitch . . . but the sensation of finally having something inside of you has also made you realise how empty you felt before. It feels good, to have something to fill that pulsing space. Jing Yuan watches with rapt attention as he slides his finger half out, and then half inside of you again. 

You have had some experience, but you have never felt the way Jing Yuan makes you feel. 

“You take it so well,” he murmurs. “Look how pretty you look with something inside of you. Ah. I could spend hours doing this to you . . .”

You make a soft whine of discontent at the idea and he laughs, clicking his tongue even as he’s letting his second finger dance at your entrance ready to join the first. 

“No, even I do not have the patience for that right now,” he agrees. “Not when you feel so wonderful, little bird. Not when I cannot wait to see you come apart.”

The second finger; a slight scissoring motion as it enters you, getting you used to the size and stretch of two of his digits instead of one. The heel of his palm presses against your clit with every wet pump, sending frissons of pleasure to the tips of your toes; but he still does not rush himself. He still lets himself enjoy the feel of you clinging tightly to his fingers, the sight of them disappearing inside of your slick, drooling hole. 

“Does that feel good?” He asks you, deciding you haven’t spoken recently enough. “Tell me if you want me to go faster, sweet thing--”

“Please,” you say, ragged, breathing heavy. You can feel a tight hot ball of tension between your legs, rolling in your gut, threatening to overwhelm you. “Please, Jing Yuan, faster--”

“Very well,” he smiles, and he crooks his fingers inside of you to find your g-spot - causing your back to arch involuntarily, a whine of pure enjoyment to loose itself from your throat. At the same time, his thumb moves to play with your clit - to toy with the bud, to roll and to circle and to press against the swollen bundle of nerves. What already felt like electric shocks of pleasure move on; instead, they are lightning bolts, ricocheting up your spine and stopping just short of striking earth. 

“You’re close,” Jing Yuan says, and you are staring at his mouth. How a strand of your own gossamer-thin arousal is still glimmering at the corner. How his eyes are so focused on you that his gaze feels almost scorching. “That’s right. Let go for me, sweet thing--”

His soft entreaty pushes you over the edge, and the lightning strikes home as your peak hits you with all of the force of a storm.

His fingers work you over the crest of your orgasm, the two inside of you constantly rubbing against that spongy spot that makes you see stars, the big pad of his thumb roughly sliding over your twitching clit in circles and lines. As the waves come to a head and then slowly begin to dissipate, he slows his attentions too - until the slow strokes of his fingers fade out into nothing. He does not seem to care that you’ve soaked his fingers and his palm and the fabric he wears and his bed too - merely keeps looking at you, smiling, like you’re giving him the most precious gift imaginable. 

“Good,” he praises you. “But . . . I’m afraid that just that taste from earlier wasn’t quite enough, little bird. May I use my mouth on you?”

Who would ever believe this? Who would ever imagine little old you, on the Arbiter-General’s bed, as he looks at you and waits for your permission to fuck you with his tongue? You feel rather tongue-tied yourself - but you recall what Jing Yuan said earlier, about using your words.

“Please do,” you say, aloud, and Jing Yuan gives you that same smile that makes you feel like the only being in the whole universe.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding entirely like he means it - like it’s truly an honour for him to be able to serve you on his hands and knees. And then he has moved his body further down the bed, elegant and graceful and leonine, and his mouth is heading towards the slick-soaked place between your legs and his tongue is glinting wet in the bedroom and then he is on you, licking at you, hungrily devouring your sex like it is his last meal before an execution. 

You’re still oversensitive from his earlier attentions, and the sensation of the wet muscle of his tongue working over you almost pushed you into another early orgasm. Your fingers move from where they’re still clenched into the bedsheets to cling to his hair instead, pulling on the silvery pale strands as your back arches and you blindly cant your hips forward towards his mouth.

He groans aloud at having his hair pulled, and the groan sends vibrations all through your body that make you feel weak at the knees, your toes curling. His tongue continues its assault; back and forth, back and forth. Wetness drools from your sex and onto his face; you can feel the heat in his cheeks, the fan of his lashes against your bare skin. 

He twirls his tongue about your entrance, teasingly dips into it, as the channel of your sex constricts and pulses in an attempt to pull him even further in. He groans as your hands knit further into his hair, fucking you for a moment with his tongue before he seems to try and work his face further into your sex. 

It’s like he wants to engulf you; soft noises of pleasure keep falling from his mouth, interspersed with rumbling groans. He’s almost gyrating against the bed, you realise, your cheeks hot - grinding his crotch into the mattress as if he’s desperate to have some attention of his own. 

That sight makes your mouth go dry; all of the moisture in your body instead congregating between your legs to make a new home in Jing Yuan’s mouth and smeared across his cheeks. 

His tongue flicks across your clit and the noise that escapes you is almost animal; Jing Yuan says something, perhaps, or at least makes some kind of muffled noise from his position happily buried in your sex before he shifts his tongue just so and his mouth fastens around your clit fully. 

Sucking and licking, suckling upon the pearl like his life depends upon it; tongue occasionally just brushing under the hood, where you’re most engorged, and you can do nothing but cling onto his hair and pull at it as the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt rips through your body.

You cannot put into words the way that you feel as Jing Yuan devours you. Your entire body feels, suddenly, as if it weighs nothing; as if sparkling lights suffuse your fingers and toes and you float into the stratosphere, white lights dancing behind your eyes in time with your whine (a whine so loud you’re sure everybody on the Luofu must have heard of it).

You come down, eventually, to the sound of Jing Yuan panting. The wet noise as his mouth separates from you, the pleased grin on his face as he uses his thumb to wipe his mouth of some of your slick. It’s a pointless endeavour, really; his face is so saturated with it you’re not sure if he’ll ever be dry again. 

“Darling,” Jing Yuan repeats, looking you in the eye, smiling like the cat who has gotten the cream. “You have no idea how much I enjoyed doing that.”

The words almost make you go over shy - but you push that to the side. There is no point, you decide, being nervous of a man who has now known you so intimately.

“In which case,” you say, breathlessly - your voice is still a little scratchy from the moaning and whimpering you’ve been doing - “Will you let me make you feel just as good?”

He looks at you for a moment, before he throws his head back and laughs.

“Why,” he says. “Of course I will.”

“Come,” Jing Yuan is murmuring, and he is finally removing his own clothes. Armour drops to the side of him, shirts unbuttoned and fastenings unhooked. His body is muscular and dotted with scars, befitting his status as a military hero; a light dusting of pale hair upon his proud chest, down into a trail to the vee of his hips. You swallow, your throat dry, trying to blink back the waves of pleasure that are still lapping gently at your shores in order to concentrate on what’s going on. His face is still wet with your slick, his hair damp with sweat and falling in messy strands over his flushed face. He looks well-fucked even without you touching him back, as if merely getting you to feel good was enough for him. 

His cock. It’s stiff against the hard planes of his abdomen, a thick, pretty specimen bubbling with precome at the flushed tip. He sighs, running his hand over it once, and your mouth practically waters at the way it twitches. It looks stiff and hard enough that you wonder if it hurts, to want so badly - but Jing Yuan looks at you and smiles, as he rearranges himself on the bed. Pillows are moved, and before you know it he has sat against them, propping himself up like an emperor upon his throne. His cock stands proud and wanting, and he gently pats his thigh as if he is calling an obedient animal to him.

“I don’t wish to hurt you, little bird,” he says - and again, you think of how it feels to be smaller than him. How he does not care about the flesh that spills from straps or curves over fabric. How he looks at you like the most beautiful thing in the world and calls you ‘delicate’ and ‘little’ and ‘precious’ and means them. “Come. Take a seat. As slowly as you need.” 

Despite how he has seen you so intimately, you cannot help but feel a little flare of fear as you approach him. He smiles, entirely at peace and at comfort with you going at your own pace, and you could kiss him for it.

“Touch,” he murmurs. “Don’t be afraid.”

With trembling fingers, you reach out; let your hand encircle his cock, get used to the width and the feel of him and imagine it inside of you. He pulses beneath your palm, a soft hum of pleasure falling from the back of his throat as you give it a cursory pump. He curses softly as your thumb rubs across the slit of his cockhead, the bubble of precome wetting the pad.

“Touch,” he says, with a smile. “But don’t get me too excited, little bird. I don’t want to come anywhere but inside of you.”

Your cheeks go hot at his easy profession; your tongue darts out to trace your lower lip. You’re used to the feel of him now; the heat that seems to stir beneath the surface of his cock, the veins that marble the side of his shaft, the ruddy pink of the head. Taking a deep breath, you spread your legs and let yourself readjust, straddling him. His own hands come up to cling to your thighs, sinking into the soft flesh there.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, as if in devotion, as if praying to an Aeon. “You’re beautiful.” 

His cockhead brushes your clit as you fit it snugly between the lips of your sex; you shift your hips, until it catches against your entrance and your eyes flutter closed. 

Your eyes are still closed as you begin to lower yourself down, so you feel every inch of him as he makes his home within your body. Your eyes being closed, of course, you miss the softness and the warmth that fills Jing Yuan’s gaze as he looks at you. The brief moment of sadness that passes behind his eyes as he remembers that you are a short-life species; that he cannot have all of the time in the world with you, to teach you pleasures the likes of which you do not yet know. The sadness he cannot spend his lifetime learning you by heart--

But you hear the soft murmur of your name, as he bottoms out inside of you and you take a moment to simply rest there with him buried as deep inside of you as he can go. You feel the way one of his hands slides up your spine to grip the back of your head and to pull you into a kiss as deep and adoring as anything else he’s done so far. 

Teeth and tongue and lips, whimpering and gasping into one another’s mouths until you do not know where he ends and where you begin, Jing Yuan somehow manages to murmur;

“Move whenever you want, sweet thing. Set the pace.” 

It does not, in the end, feel like either of those things happen. Instead, it feels as though the universe sets the pace for you; as if you simply know when to begin to move your hips, how to bend and angle yourself just so in order for Jing Yuan to hit all of the most sensitive spots inside of you.

One hand remains on your hip, helping you with the pace - the other remains on the back of your head, to allow him to kiss, as if he doesn’t want to let his mouth separate from yours for any longer than necessary. It’s a romance that you didn’t expect of the General, but it’s hardly one you’re going to complain about when his mouth feels so good and the constant nibbling of your lip and curl of his tongue against yours is distracting you from the mounting pleasure already starting to coalesce inside of you. 

There is nothing in the world for a while except Jing Yuan’s body underneath yours. His hands, his mouth, the feel of his shoulders beneath your own palms where you cling to him for leverage. You sweat and breathe and kiss and fuck as one, until the call inside of you becomes too much to ignore.

“I’m--” You pull back from the kiss to whisper, voice hoarse. “I’m going to--”

“Shh,” Jing Yuan says, kissing again. His own voice climbs in pitch, and you hear a shiver and a shudder in his syllables that makes you aware that he, too, is not far from his own release. His teeth nip at your lower lip as he half-begs into your mouth. “Please. Come again for me, sweet thing, little bird, pretty-- let me feel you--”

Your third orgasm crashes over you, your sex spasming around his cock, tight and hot and pulsing - and Jing Yuan groans into your mouth as you push him over the edge too, and you feel his cock spasm in turn. Ropes of hot release shoot inside of you; you had thought, earlier, that having his cock buried all the way inside of you was the extent of how full you could feel. 

You were wrong.

You bite at his lips, whining and half-sobbing, as the please encompasses you like a cloak of warmth. Jing Yuan groans in return, his hips making needy fast circles to chase the dregs of his own release. It feels right, for the two of you to peak together like this. For the two of you to chase every last drop of pleasure, entwined together and sweating and kissing and as close to one being as it’s possible to be.

Eventually, your breathing slows. Eventually, the kiss turns tender instead of frenzied. Eventually, you pull back from Jing Yuan with a foolish smile on your face and your cheeks hot and tears of pleasure (that you hadn’t even realised you had cried) rolling down your face like sparkling diamonds.

You stare at each other, the enormity of what has happened washing over you. Jing Yuan’s face is calm and serene, but his eyes are bright still, his cheeks still high in colour. 

You fear for a moment that he is about to dismiss you; that what the two of you just shared will mean nothing now that it is over. You fear that you’re about to go back to what you were before; a colleague and an employer, a General and a subordinate. But then, Jing Yuan lets out a deep rumbling sigh, pleased, as he collapses back upon the pillows. He opens his arms for you to dismount, his cock sliding slippery and wet outside of you, his come trickling down your thighs.

“Come here,” he murmurs, sounding tired but terribly pleased; the cat who has gotten the cream. He’s like a lion once more. You are helpless to resist his indication that he wants to cuddle, and so you let him pull you into his arms, let him manoeuvre you to lay against his chest until you can hear his heart beating. His fingers stroke your head, like you’re a sweet-tempered animal yourself. “Mmm. Rest with me, little bird.”

You let yourself. Your body is aching and sore from the orgasms and the sex, and you let your eyes drift closed, lulled by the comforting rhythm of his breathing. 

A sleepy kiss is dropped onto the crown of your head.

“Enjoy it whilst you can,” Jing Yuan hums. “Before we start having to make room for Mimi every night.”

[peskygirl13]

TWST Pokemon AU Part 4: Scarabia

It wasn’t until I started working on this that I realized that I used all three Unova starters 😅

The previous post (and my favorite post so far) can be found here

My masterlist with my other works can be found here

Also, it has come to my attention that some people have been unable to see my blog. I logged out of tumblr and searched up my account and it said I didn’t have any posts, which obviously isn’t true. 

If you can’t see my account or know someone who can’t see it, please let me know. Tumblr may just be glitching, but I just want to be on the safe side.

Kalim:

“Oshawott!!~ I have some more food for you!”

You loved Kalim, you really did, but his tendency to spoil your already somewhat spoiled Pokémon drove you nuts.

Your Oshawott was rather quirky, often wandering off and doing things by itself.

Back in your world, you had grown so used to Oshawott exiting its Pokéball by itself and wandering off that you didn’t really bat an eye at it.

It was hard to break that habit after arriving to Twisted Wonderland, which caused some problems.

After a few incidents with Oshawott walking unsupervised around the school, specifically a dorm full of wild beastmen, Crowley ordered you to never let Oshawott out of your sight.

It was hard enough trying to keep track of Grim, whom your beloved Pokémon didn’t get along with, but trying to keep track of Oshawott and Grim was near impossible. Especially since your quirky, carefree Pokémon just couldn’t seem to grasp the dangers of this new world and continued to wander off when you weren’t looking.

If you kept your eyes on Grim, Oshawott disappeared. If you kept your eyes on Oshawott, Grim disappeared. It was a ‘lose-lose’ situation.

During Crewel’s alchemy class, you were more focused on Grim (considering he was your lab partner) and Oshawott wandered off without you knowing.

The Pokémon made it to the mirror chamber and snuck through Scarabia’s mirror.

After classes, Kalim returned to the dorm by himself since Jamil had basketball practice. 

He was surprised to see an otter looking creature floating in Scarabia’s front fountain.

While you and Kalim hadn’t officially met yet, he recognized Oshawott from the entrance ceremony since you had ordered it to put out Grim’s flames.

Of course he got excited at the appearance of the otter Pokémon and quickly ran over to great the Pokémon.

Kalim’s shadow shaded Oshawott from Scarabia’s sun, making the Pokémon open its eyes to see who was interrupting its relaxation time, only to be met with Kalim’s sparkling ruby red eyes as he doted and cooed over Oshawott.

Now your Oshawott was cute, and the little bastard knew it. And, unfortunately for our resident sunshine boy, Oshawott could spot a sucker a mile away.

Jamil returned to the dorm later that he would have liked.

Basketball practice had been cut short when a frantic (Y/n) ran into the gym, asking Ace if he could help them and Deuce find Oshawott.

Floyd decided to join them since he was also fond of Oshawott and, somehow, Jamil got roped into helping them search too.

It was dinner time when Jamil returned to the dorm. They still hadn’t found Oshawott, but Jamil was more worried about the dorm.

He was already imagining the worst scenarios possible after leaving Kalim unsupervised for so long.

The only thing he hadn’t pictured was walking in on Kalim feeding Oshawott grapes, the little otter covered head to toe in jewelry.

One quick call later and a frustrated and annoyed (Y/n) arrived to Scarabia.

Picking up Oshawott, who futility tried to escape, you began shaking off all the jewelry it was decorated with. Afterwards, you irritably marched back to Ramshakle.

You kept a closer eye on Oshawott after that. But any time it managed to slip away, you would always find it in Scarabia with Kalim.

Jamil:

“At least you aren’t a bug type.”

You needed someone to watch your Snivy.

You had a meeting with Crowley to discuss how things were going with getting you home and work he needed you to do around the campus.

Your Snivy never seemed to be that found of Crowley (which was pretty understandable), so you tried to keep the two separated as much as possible.

You didn’t know how long the meeting was going to last and the Adeuce combo was busy and if you left it alone at Ramshakle with Grim, you were certain you’d come back to a bonfire with the dorm used as kindling. 

So Kalim, being a sweetheart, said that you could leave Snivy at Scarabia.

You agreed gratefully agreed and handed your precious grass snake Pokémon to the Scaracbia Dorm leader

Unknown to you, Kalim did this without telling Jamil. The poor vice dorm leader was surprised and annoyed when Kalim returned to the Dorm with a green snake walking beside him.

A stern but short scolding later, Kalim tried to play with Snivy with little success. 

You had warned the boy that your Snivy wasn’t really a ‘People-Pokémon’ and preferred to be alone, but, of course, the boy didn’t listen.

He constantly tried to hug the Pokémon, only for it to pick him up with vine whip and set him a few feet away. 

While annoyed by the boy, it didn’t want to hurt him.

Jamil spent most of his day watching Kalim chase after a snake monster that so clearly wanted to be left alone.

After a while, Jamil decided to step in and see if he could save the poor Pokémon before it snapped and actually attacked Kalim with it’s Vine Whip.

“Kalim, shouldn’t you feed it?”

“Huh? Oh! You’re right! Let’s see, (Y/n) said that its main diet included vegetables--”

“Let me take care of it. I need to start dinner anyway.”

“That’s a great idea! Here!”

Kalim picked up a disgruntled and slightly irritable Snivy and plopped it in Jamil’s arms.

“Snivy, Jamil is going to take care of you for now, ‘kay?”

“Snivy.” Your Pokémon was pretty indifferent.

After Kalim left, Jamil set Snivy down and headed to the kitchen with the grass snake Pokémon at his feet. The grass Pokémon seemed a bit relived that Kalim was gone, something that Jamil could feel deep in his soul.

A few hours later, you returned to Scarabia to pick up Snivy and were pleasantly surprised to find Jamil and your Pokemon cooking together.

“Wow, Jamil. I’m impressed at how fast Snivy warmed up to you.”

“Hmm?”

You explained to him that Snivy had a trainer before you that it decided to leave and that since then, Snivy had been pretty wary of people.

“Truth be told, I was worried about leaving Snivy here because I believed that Kalim may have been a bit too much for Snivy, but it looks like I was worried for nothing. I’m glad that Snivy is comfortable around Jamil,” You smiled, “You’re truly incredible.”

Jamil felt his cheeks flush a bit as you began rolling up your sleeves. 

“Now, can I help?”

Before Jamil respond, Snivy used Vine Whip to lift you up and set you by the door before wagging its vines in front of your face like a lecturing finger.

“Snivy! Snivy-vy Sni Vy.”

Jamil couldn’t understand a word it said, but it sounding similar to how he lectures to Kalim. You seemed to understand perfectly, however.

“Ok! Alright!��� You snapped, annoyed, beginning to exit the kitchen while grumbling under your breath. 

“One curry mishap and anytime your in the kitchen you become a hazard to society!”

And yet another similarity Jamil could find between him and the Pokémon.

[thevikingwoman]

This story about my wayfarer Illia is set in the years after graduation, prior to the fall of the spire. I wanted to explore her past relationship, and fill in some details about her, including how she got her scar.

Fandom: Wayfarer IF | Words: 2890 | Read on AO3

Illia Strand x OC | post prologue, after graduation | angst Rating: Teen. Romance, feelings, angst, injury mention, blood mention, non-graphic violence, love,

Now Is A Bad Time // Touch

Illia barely dodges the ball of fire hurled right at her. Usually, a magical fireball would not be a problem, but these fuckers, they’ve figured it out. The fire might be magically ignited, and the projectile hurled across the road with magic, but her opponents have been lighting some sort of combustible material on fire, and the result is not magic at all. The excruciating pain in her shoulder is the proof.

She dodges another, and how much worse can it get?

However clever they think they are, Alessar steel is Alessar steel, and the fire needs to catch the kindling to hurt her. Illia rushes, Wavebreaker in her hand. She leaps, thrusts and slices. The fire mage crumbles before her. A useless ball of paper and wood hits her face, the magical thrust breaking as it hits her face. Illia yanks Wavebreaker free of the body and pivots, it’s watered edge red with blood.

“Please, please…” the other mage cowers before her. She snarls. Her head is ringing, her shoulder burns and smoke chokes the air.

“It was their idea, I’d never have done it, I’m sorry –” the man keeps babbling.

He was just as culpable as his partner in their crimes, and enough innocents has suffered.

Illia exhales. She promised to bring them both in, and leave them at the hands of whatever justice will be handed out. She’ll probably be sent off without payment if she manages to kill them both. It’s time wrap up.

Later, every time the cart hits a bump in the road, her shoulder screams in agony. It had been a shit job, but now it was done. The body of the dead mage is at the bottom of the cart, his whimpering friend trussed up next to them. They’d hadn’t expected their time as highway robbers to end and quickly and brutally, she supposes. Nothing like a wayfarer to remind mages they aren’t invincible.

Finally, Illia halts the cart in front of the guard house, and jumps off the seat. She flinches when pain flares in her shoulder, but grits her teeth. Just hold it together a little longer. She leaves the mage with his dead companion, and walks to the young guard by the door.

“Where’s Captain Zoran?”

The door flings open, and the captain steps out, shrugging on his coat.

“I got your mages. One of them’s dead.”

“Greetings to you too, Strand.” Zoran frowns. “There were to be apprehended, not executed without a trial, Wayfarer.”

“You can do that with the other. If they wanted a chance to speak their case, maybe they should have surrendered.”

The captain ignores her, and orders his people around, dragging the dead body off the cart and the live mage inside the guard station.

“My payment?” Illia grits.

“I’ll have to lower it since of them is dead, subtract the use of the cart, the delay of apprehension.” He’s ticking off items on his fingers.

“Today, Captain Zoran.”

The man grunts and turns, walking inside. Illia follows.

“I’m going to lower the payment more if you break our wards.”

Inside, he counts out a small pile of money, swipes them into a bag and tosses them to her. The pain in her shoulder is a rising agony now, but she manages to catch the bag and stuff it in her pouch. Zoran clearly wants her gone, but her medicine kit is probably not going to be enough. Some of her shirt looks like it’s melted into her flesh. Maybe they used some nefarious sort of alchemy too. No matter how unfriendly Zoran is, she has to swallow her pride.

“Do you know of a healer who can help me with this?” Illia says, and gestures to her shoulder.

“Not one who can help the likes of you, Strand,” he sneers. “There’s your payment. Now get out.”

She had might have hoped for a little more friendliness, given that the two mages have been terrorizing anyone leaving on the South road for weeks, but she really shouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe she can ask around at the market by the docks. She should have done so before hunting mages, but it wasn’t meant to turn into such a shitshow.

She’s halfway down the street when someone calls after her: “Try Rani up at Gull Street, I’ve heard she knows lots of stuff.”

“Thanks,” she calls back.

Lots of stuff. That’s not a shining endorsement, but she will take it.

She staggers down the street, where the fuck is Gull? There’s Birch, Alder, is she even heading in the right direction? The pain is searing and there’s Albatross, closer. She turns up Gull, and wonders how she’s supposed to find a healer, but halfway down the street there’s a green door, vines climbing up the walls and pots on wooden shelfs with plants she recognizes; the small blue ones Torvar had in her garden.

Illia knocks on the door, her other arm, the one where her shoulder isn’t burning. Thankfully, it opens soon after, to a woman with deep brown skin, golden eyes, and dark blue hair in ringlets crowning her head.

“Can I help you?”

“I – “

Illia collapses forward into her arms.

---

When Illia wakes, she’s in a soft bed, the smell of herbs and lavender in her nose. She’s on her front, head buried in the pillows. She tenses. Where’s her sword?

“Don’t move.” The voice is low and calm. “You’ll pull the bandages if you move on your own.”

Illia slowly turns her head, and source of the voice is sitting at a table, a woman working something in the light of conjured spheres hovering about her. Behind her a window shows the night sky.

How long was she out?

“Did I pass out?”

“In my arms,” she says, her golden eyes sparkling. “You’re lucky, Wayfarer. It’s not always I have the supplies I need at hand.” She’s beautiful, and Illia flushes. She remembers now, staggering down the street, knocking on the door.

“Thank you.”

“I’m Rani Kaxes,” she says.

“Illia Strand. I’d get up to greet you, but you just told me to stay put.”

“I do appreciate when someone is being a good patient.” Kaxes puts her tools down, and walks to the bed. “Here, let me help you. It shouldn’t be an issue sitting up, I only want the bandage to stay where it is supposed to be.”

Illia nods as best she can, and Kaxes reaches for her, and keeping one hand on the bandage, she grips Illia’s arm with the other, pulling her to a sitting position. Illia grimaces against the pain. It’s duller now, but still there.

“I’m afraid it will leave a scar. There is only so much I can do without my magic.”

“That’s expected.” Scarring is a fact of life for any magianis. Moreso for Wayfarers. It is not a peaceful profession.

Properly seated, Illia offers her hand. After a slight hesitation Kaxes takes it. Her hand is soft against Illia’s calloused one.

“Thank you, Kaxes. I’m sorry I bothered you. I can pay.”

“I expected as much, given the coin rattling in your pack. I do tend to help people who faint on my doorstep, though.”

She tilts her head against the small pile of Illia’s belongings stacked against the wall. She draws breath of relief when she sees Wavebreaker, safe in its scabbard.

“I will get going, then.”

A wave of pain and nausea hits her when she stands and she closes her eyes briefly against it, gritting her teeth. She tells herself she’s dealt with worse before.

“Sit back down, Strand.” Illia does, relief flooding her simply not having to keep herself upright. “All you’re going to do is make it harder for me in the long run. I’m not sure how you got burned like that, but it’s not a simple thing. You’ll need to take it slow.”

“I can do that,” Illia grins.

She stays, and Kaxes shares her dinner, bread and cheese and honey. Illia tells how she managed to get injured, and Kaxes seems happy with the rogue mages gone rather than offput by what Illia can do. Later, at the healer’s insistence, she sleeps in the bed, the fighting and the pain making her limbs tired.

The next morning, Rani fixes a new bandage on the wound, her calm hands brushing across Illia’s skin. She’s careful and precise, and very close. Illia looks away.

With a promise of no sudden movements and to come back the next day, Illia leaves, seeking out the inn she was staying at. She makes sure to pay for the next week, so doesn’t want to find another place while she rests.  The innkeep frowns but accepts her crowns readily enough.

---

Illia returns to Rani Kaxes the next day, the pain in her shoulder much diminished. She’s at her door, talking with a short human man carrying a babe at his hip, another child holding his hand.

“It’s nothing, Tearn. Just a small bump. I’m happy to help.”

“My husband will be by with some bread later, Rani. It’s the least we can do.”

Kaxes smiles, and ruffles the child’s hair as Tearn leaves, softness in her eyes.

“Strand,” she says, calling out as she notices Illia, and the softness doesn’t leave her eyes. “Come inside.”

Inside, Illia sits at the table while Rani works at the bandage. She gives a pleased little hum.

“Much better today. I still want the cleansing salve on for another day. Can you stay a little?”

“I’ve got nothing else to do.” Illia sits and remembers the bag in her hand. “Do you like cherries?” Illia asks when she’s done. “I passed by the market, and they looked very ripe. I got a bag.”

Rani nods and smiles and puts them in a small bowl. “Thank you, Strand.”

“Call me Illia,” she says on impulse. “Please.”

“Of course, Illia. And everyone here calls me Rani anyway. We’re not much for formalities here.”

She gets a sense of this as she visits Rani a few more times. There’s a community here, the people who live nearby, those who know and uses her services. They stop by with gossip or fresh jam or other goods. Children come by to show her pretty rocks and get a salve for a scratch that needs no healing other than love. Sometimes coins pass hands, but it’s informal and just enough for Rani to live comfortably in her small house.

She’s powerful though, one day an Aeda woman bursts through the door, a screaming child in her arms, their right leg bent in an impossible angle. Rani had first set it, as Illia would have done on a fellow wayfarer, and then used her magic to heal it. The child had been running and jumping before the night fell.

Rani acts different than Illia would have thought any magic user with her skill would. She’s generous with her magic and her healing, and very knowledgeable too. Illia thinks she could have joined the guild maybe, or set up a clinic for the rich and powerful.

Instead she’s here, in her small house with pots of healing plants, with a small kitchen and a rickety table, sharing a sweet wine with Soris, an elderly fisherman with a bad knee that can’t be fixed with magic, but soothed with a warm compress. Illia has cleansed and deboned the fish they brought with them. She knows how to cook fish, and rifles through the cabinets, looking for the spices Mother’s favorite cook used. There’s a quiet feeling, almost like she belongs with these people, like she’s back at the Spire with other Wayfarers. Like she’s home.

Later, after Soris left, after they’ve eaten the roasted fish and drunk a little more of the wine, Rani feels like home when Illia kisses her.

---

Illia no longer needs the excuse of her fully healed shoulder to visit by now. Her and Rani spend mornings in bed and evenings with walks by the piers. They share dinners and kisses by the hearth.

Wayfarers don’t settle down. You travel, you go where you’re needed. But there’s always a bit of work, and it’s not so bad to be gone a week to clear out a nest of Snarls. The small creatures are not dangerous to Illia, but their puffs of toxic magic are troublesome for most people.

Rani welcomes her back in her house and her bed, smiles and kisses and laughter and soft hands.

It becomes a routine, of sorts. Illia has long since stopped pretending she needs a room at the inn, instead coming back from every outing to Rani’s house. Sometimes she has to be gone for a while, but Rani is always understanding, encouraging.

Illia is relishing the small and grounding feeling of love and belonging that grows in her breast.

---

It’s been a few months like this, and this time, Illia has been gone for more than two weeks. She can’t wait to be back again. It wasn’t that the trip was difficult, but there’s longer and longer between the people who wants to hire her. It’s worth it though, coming back. She smiles as she turns up Gull Street, and knocks on her favorite door.

Rani opens it slowly, and Illia’s smile fades when Rani stays in the doorway, her face carefully neutral.

“I’m sorry, Illia.” The low light behind her reflects her blue hair in deep shadows across her dark skin. “Now isn’t a good time.”

“I just — I thought — “

Illia reaches for Rani, but she steps back, flinching away from her. With Rani no longer blocking the door, it’s clear someone else is in the room behind her, a glimpse of pink skin against the blankets.

“Please don’t, Illia.” Rani looks away, her shoulders hunched. “When you touch me, it feels like you’re draining a little of my life away. I can’t do that. I’m sorry. I can’t live like that.”

Illia’s hand drops to her side, powerless. She looks away, away from the room, away from the person who doesn’t seem to steal Rani’s magic from her. Away from Rani and she has nowhere to look except at her feet.

“I didn’t want to tell you like this, Lia,” Rani continues gently, “I’d tried to let you know that it was better if you left, if you went somewhere else. Went wherever your next task takes you.”

Illia nods, and look back up at Rani. She wishes the other woman would hate her, or look disgusted, or bored. All she sees is compassion and it makes everything worse.

“I’m sorry, I misunderstood, I —" she burns with embarrassment, her cheeks hot. She hasn’t felt this close to anyone, not in years. She can’t help what she is, though, and she forgot it’s not really something people want. “I’ll leave then. I’m not going to waste more of your time.”  

“It was good, Illia. I just – I just can’t.”

“I see.”

She doesn’t, she’s too numb for that. Too surprised.

“Goodbye, Illia. Be safe.”

“You too, Rani. Farewell.”

Illia is seven steps away before Rani’s door slams close behind her. The green door, the small house with herbs and vines and shared laughs and shared bodies. Illia hurries away, not caring where her feet take her. Wavebreaker is a steady presence at her hip. Fuck it. It’s not like she can settle down anyway. Her eyes are only watering from the wind.

Her feet take her down the streets, through the market and to the docks. On their own accord, they seek the sea, even after all these years. She scans the harbor for the ships, the flag she knows. The port is very small, more for fishing vessels than trading ships, so there is nothing she recognizes. Surely; it’s relief in her chest. She does not need to be reminded of one rejection by another.

For now she walks to the end of a half empty pier – the fishers are still out today – and drops her pack with a thud and herself with it, her feet dangling over the water.

She opens the paper bag with fried sugar pastries she picked up on the way. She might as well eat both of them, while they’re still hot.

She thinks about the shared laughs, and the feel of Rani’s skin under her fingertips. Of the cues she must have missed, every time she found some work further and further away, of the reassurances of take your time, and you should go help. Not reassurances all, but hints she missed. She thinks of the slight hesitation whenever Rani reached for her. The moments she ignored, they both ignored, to enjoy each other. She thinks of the scented oil at the bottom of her pack, a small bottle she picked up at Rethos on her way back, scented with lavender and sage, lightweight and perfect for hair, but not hair like her own. She wants to fling it into the ocean, but that would be a waste. She should sell it, really.

The stars come out, winking across the sky. There are no Southern Lights here.

She’s heard trouble is brewing in Vestra. There will be work to be found. People who needs her help.

She’ll look for ship in the morning. --- edit: picrew of Rani :)

[murdereraisuha]

Trey Clover is suspicious as hell

At the beginning, Trey seems like a boring, grounded, big brother type of character whose purpose is to balance out the eccentricity of the rest of the cast. Once you get a little further, you realize he does have his own quirks and moments of selfishness. But then you stay there. You still accept him as one of the most normal characters in the cast, and you register the oddities as flukes... and not as hints into something more.

Hello, I’m still here and I’m still into TWST. As a returning present, here’s a 1k words long overanalysis and theory post about Trey.

Let’s start with his “just a normal guy” motto. He’s said it enough for it to be a meme, but how much does he actually talk about normalcy and staying out of the spotlight? Let’s look at some voice line translations from the wiki.

“My best subject? I guess I’d have to say Alchemy… but I’m pretty average with everything.”   “I’m not that good at getting fired up about things.”   “Well, ‘easy does it,’ right? Getting too carried away isn’t a good thing.”   “Coach Vargas kept yelling ‘Show me what you’ve really got!’ at me today. I wasn’t exactly trying not to put in effort, though.”    “I’m overjoyed that you’re all celebrating for me, but I think I’m better suited for being on the party planning side.”    “You remembered my birthday? Thank you. Let’s enjoy the party without going too over-the-top.”

This is not an exhaustive list of the relevant voice lines, but it’s enough to demonstrate my point here: Trey’s focus on normalcy is not just some little weird trait or a meme. He repeatedly insists that he’s most suited to a supporting role, that he is just average, and that it’s best to remain that way, to the point that I’m astonished he’s not compared to pre chapter 4 Jamil more often. 

Furthermore, like Jamil, it’s highly likely that Trey’s insistence on being normal is a lie. For example, Trey’s gym uniform personal story starts with him noting to himself that it is essential that he neither fail nor get only passing marks in flying class. However, his plans are ruined after he saves Kalim from his malfunctioning magic carpet, when Vargas praises his incredible performance and gives him full marks. Contrary to Trey’s claim in his voice lines that he’s average at everything, in flying at least he is definitely above average. He’s just hiding it for some reason.

So, why does he hide it? The 1st theory I have for this is that it’s because of Riddle. For Riddle, his mother’s quest for perfection isolated him and caused him tons of suffering. After seeing how excellence could actually be much worse than failure or mediocrity, perhaps Trey made a resolution to avoid excellence so he wouldn’t suffer the same fate as Riddle. However, I feel like this conclusion is insufficient. Unlike Riddle’s mother, Trey's parents seem pretty supportive. Trey, being a smart and logical guy, should know that if he revealed himself as a genius, the reaction would not be that bad.

For Trey, this persistent deception would require a reason greater than feelings or risk management. The problem is that there is little possible reason to be found. Compared to almost every other character, Trey’s life is idyllic. His parents are caring, he has a loving relationship with his siblings, he has good childhood friends in the form of Che’nya and Riddle, and he’s set for a peaceful career as a baker once he graduates. It’s a perfect life... perhaps too perfect?

Let’s shift gears a bit and discuss his unique magic: “Doodle Suit,” an ability that lets him temporarily overwrite aspects of things. Fitting his philosophy of averageness, he introduces it in 1-14 by just changing the flavor of the marron tarts, and even refers to it as “a toy” in comparison to Riddle’s UM to downplay it further. However, during the chapter 1 overblot fight, Trey shows that Doodle Suit is able to overwrite Riddle’s UM, completely disabling it. The scope of Doodle Suit is clearly far beyond messing around with food.

This brings me to the basis of my other, more extreme theory for Trey: his backstory is not the complete truth, and he has used his unique magic to help cover that up. Based on his displays of clever manipulation (ex. oyster sauce and the food processor in his stargazer personal story), Trey is an adept liar who is able to spin credible sounding justifications on the go. As detailed as his tales of his family are, it is possible that some or all of what he is saying is a lie. The problem with this hypothesis, however, are his childhood friends who have not said anything to contradict the idea of Trey’s normal past. Here is where he brings into play his unique magic, an ability perfectly tailored for altering the truth. 

There’s something suspicious left out in his room when Che’nya comes over to play? Apply some invisibility to it, courtesy of Doodle Suit! Whoops, someone saw something before he could hide it? Well, if Doodle Suit can work on other people’s magic, why not give their memories a blast too! Y’know, what if, in direct contrast to his supposed backstory, Trey actually has a super messed up backstory that’s painful for him to think about? I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to think he can use Doodle Suit on himself... on his own memories.

See, the thing that bugs me about Trey’s flavor of suspiciousness is how low-key it is. We know about Cater’s depressed moments, we know the truth about Lilia and Silver’s father-son relationship, and we even know about that weird “I’m glad I choose you” line from Jade to Floyd hinting at something going on with them... but we have basically nothing on Trey besides the stuff in Deuce’s dorm uniform groovy. I wouldn’t be surprised if Trey is the exception simply because of how embroiled he is in deception, but what if it’s because even he doesn’t know the truth? After all, one of the best ways to keep a secret from getting out is to limit the amount of people who know about it, and 0 is the lowest possible amount.

I don’t think there’s much evidence that supports this specific theory being the truth and not just a possibility, but I feel like there has to be at least some truth in this. After all, how does a guy with a normal family with loving parents and siblings grow up to have such a disregard for sentimentality and a penchant for lying? How can someone who’s partially based on a character known as the Mad Hatter be a well-adjusted, completely average guy? 

Time to end this post with some assorted little things.

Please look at images 6 to 8 of this fanart log, it’s what sparked this idea of Doodle Suit being used on memories. Honestly, you should look at the artist’s other twst log too, it’s all absolutely superb Trey content.

Eyes usually represent truth and the soul. According to the wiki, Trey’s eye color and his least favorite food are both mustard. 

The French name for the card suit Club does actually mean clover, but I went for a really long time not noticing that Trey Clover doesn’t fit into the pattern with Deuce Spade and Cater Diamond. How tf is this man so good at flying under the radar?

Trey is the only character as of now to have multiple R event cards. His dedication to being a plain supporting character transcends the boundaries of the game.

[firewoodfigs]

for the only one bed prompts......... "and only one pillow so a used b's chest or stomach" 🥺

EMMA, MY LOVE. FOR YOU I WOULD GIVE THE WORLD AND MORE <3 I hope you enjoy, friend!!! <3

also on ao3 - i like it when you sleep (for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it)

                                      ++++++

She falls asleep on the car ride back.

It’s unusual, such behaviour. Ordinarily, she’d be keeping watch or the one driving, but throwing herself at wolves and flirting with married men (and tolerating her commanding officer’s unwarranted jealousy) is indescribably wearying. It’s even worse than military training, having to put up all these fake niceties and pretenses. She wonders how Roy does this every day. Maybe that’s why he’s so tired all the time, Riza thinks. Now she knows why.

She startles awake briefly when the car jerks. Riza mutters, unintelligibly, something about safety and watching the road. She dimly registers the sound of a murmured apology from the driver’s seat.

Riza nods, and drifts back uneasily to sleep.

(In her sleep, Riza dreams of a dimly-lit courtroom and of Lady Justice, so white and pure and glorious even in the shadows. It is a recurring dream of hers, but it still leaves her palms clammy and her heart racing, like she’s just pulled the trigger on someone for the very first time.)

—

“We’re here,” Roy announces.

Riza groans as she rouses from her nap. There’s an ache that’s starting to crawl into her head, and she wonders if she’s just had too much to drink earlier (she thinks she’s done a pretty good job of turning down the offers of free, expensive wine though). She rubs at her temples wearily, blinking hard in an attempt to dispel some of the lingering fatigue.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?”

“Yes,” she answers, without hesitation. Riza straightens in her seat, smoothing out the creases in her outfit. It’s a fitting, champagne-coloured number that is as meddlesome as it is pretty. (Riza hasn’t worn something like this in a while, simply because there hadn’t been any occasion to. She thinks she’ll probably have a hard time getting out of it later.) She opens the door and stretches her legs out. “Let’s go, sir.”

“Alright.”

The motel is just like any other motel, Riza thinks. It’s old and musty and right in the middle of nowhere, managed by a receptionist who’s clearly half-asleep at their workstation. They check in under the guise of a civilian, childless couple, as usual. Elizabeth and Andrew Ditlev, yes, a room for two. We won’t be needing anything else, thank you. There’s the sound of keys jangling and paper notes rustling, and then she’s dragging her feet up the creaking stairs towards their room on the second floor, Roy’s hand hovering uncertainly over her back.

Riza nudges it away and reassures him that she’s just fine. (He continues fretting, anyway.)

—

It’s only after she’s taken a shower that Riza notes the irregularity in their room.

“Sorry,” Roy says. There’s a sheepish edge to his voice, but the way he’s grinning tells her that he’s not altogether unhappy about their current predicament. “I tried asking for another pillow, but reception said they’ve none left.”

Riza frowns. She moves to sit on the edge of the queen-sized bed, drying her hair with a thin towel. It’s not uncommon for them to share a bed; going on these undercover operations as a loving, married couple meant that it was only logical for them to do so. It’s not like she has anything against it, either, but she’s always maintained a distance from him, even while on the same bed. They usually sleep with their backs turned (although Roy has a peculiar habit of snaking his arm around her waist just before daybreak).

“Sorry,” Roy repeats, stifling a yawn. He’s already taken the liberty of going shirtless, while she was bathing. “You can take the pillow, if you’d like. I can go without.”

Riza shakes her head and gestures towards the shower.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

He yawns again, dragging himself to the shower.

“Really, Lieutenant. It’s no hassle at all.”

Water starts running again, from the shower. Riza shifts towards the nightstand and picks up the phone. There’s a little note beside — press ‘0’ for reception and/or room service.

She does exactly that.

“What?”

“Hello,” Riza greets in response. “I’m calling from Room 204. We were wondering if you happened to have a spare pillow —”

“I already told you we have no more pillows,” the receptionist interrupts, groggily. Riza picks up on the poorly-concealed hint of annoyance and, somewhat annoyed herself, apologises insincerely for the apparent inconvenience caused. “Goodnight.”

The phone line goes dead.

Riza huffs. She puts the phone down and mutters something to herself about cheap motels and their stinginess. Resignedly, she fluffs the lone pillow and moves to lie down once her hair’s dry. (She thinks she’ll continue to keep her hair in a manageable bob like this, just for convenience’s sake — even if Roy prefers it otherwise.)

“Lieutenant,” he calls, sounding scandalised. Riza cracks an eyelid open and stares at him, as if to say, what? (She still has no idea how men do this so quickly, even after all these years in the military. It barely takes more than a minute for them to finish their ablutions, even though their bodies are nearly twice the size of hers. Thrice, if she’s including people like Major Armstrong in the count.) “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. Or trying to.”

Roy makes a sound of disapproval as he dries himself (Riza turns away respectfully at this) and puts on his pajamas. She feels his weight on the mattress once he’s done, and when she refuses to budge from a spot he starts poking her from behind, like a needy child badgering their parents for an impossible gift (she doesn’t even remember behaving like this as a young girl).

Riza groans and rolls her shoulders. “What?”

“I told you to take the pillow, Lieutenant.”

“I told you it was fine.”

He clucks his tongue. Roy rolls her around to face him, and she bites her lips to stifle another groan.

“Stubborn as always, aren’t you?”

“Pot, kettle,” Riza murmurs wearily. She can barely keep her eyes open at this point, much less keep up with his nonsensical, baseless arguments. “Go to sleep, sir.”

Roy tries, vainly, to slip the pillow under her head a few minutes later, but Riza elbows him in the ribs and pulls the blanket over them, effectively ceasing the argument. He huffs petulantly and closes his eyes.

—

“Trouble sleeping?”

“No,” Riza mumbles, but it’s a lie. She knows that he knows it’s one. (It’s no secret that both of them have had trouble sleeping since the war.)

“You’re lying,” he says, though not accusingly.

Riza ignores him and clutches a handful of the motel’s standard-issue white blanket. She covers her eyes with them and tries to sleep, again, but she fails spectacularly at this otherwise simple task. There’s just something about motels and their pastel walls and background music that tends to set her on edge. Maybe it’s because it’s so unlike what she’s used to. (She’s fallen asleep to the sound of gunshots and explosions, more times than she has to Debussy.) Or maybe it’s the fact that she’s no longer sleeping on a single-sized bed, by herself.

“Are you sure you don’t want the pillow?”

“No.”

“Stubborn as ever,” he mutters. She thinks he’s given up on fighting a losing battle, when she feels his arms pulling her close.

“With all due respect —”

“Nothing inappropriate, Lieutenant. I promise you.” She struggles to free herself from his grip, but clearly, all the work he’s been putting at the gym lately has paid off. Riza glares at him, murderously. He simply grins. “Since they ran out of pillows, we’ll simply have to make one.”

“What, with alchemy?”

“Actually, that doesn’t sound entirely implausible.” Riza is about to push herself off his chest, when he tightens his grip around her. “But it’s late, and I’m tired, and besides, we’re supposed to be an ordinary couple, nothing else.”

The word rolls off his tongue infuriatingly. Riza gets the peculiar feeling that he’s enjoying this far more than he should be. She frowns, glancing at him from beneath her lashes.

“I do tend to move around a lot in my sleep, sir.”

“I know.” He shrugs against her, positioning her head so that it’s resting comfortably on his chest. Then Roy wraps his arms around her again, almost gleefully, uncaringly, as if there’s nothing inappropriate about their shared embrace. Riza huffs. “But it’s fine. Anything to help my favourite subordinate sleep.”

“How very kind of you, sir,” Riza mutters drily. She attempts, somewhat furtively, to tickle him - she knows all his weak spots by now - but Roy dodges it with surprising agility, like he would a bullet.

“Of course. Please make sure to give me a good performance review when the time comes,” he says, smirking in a way she can only describe as insufferable.

“Only if you stop drooling all over your desk.”

“For the record, I do not,” he says, with an injured sniff.

Riza rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t protest further. She won’t admit it aloud, but it’s nice, being held like this. Roy is unusually sweet in a way that he isn’t anywhere else. He hasn’t been this way since they were kids.

“Yes, you do,” Riza retorts softly, ignoring the lump in her throat.

(This scene is achingly familiar, like a vignetted memory, like an excerpt of a film she already knows the ending to. The ending is always the same in her dreams.)

Laughter rumbles from his chest. It is a lovely sound to hear, after a long day of work, but it rubs against her cheek ingratiatingly, and Riza makes a mental note to write a letter to the hotel when they’re back in the city — a not-too-gentle reminder to stock up on pillows and other necessities.

“We can save this argument for another time, Lieutenant. It’s two in the morning.”

Riza relents, because it is two in the morning. She thinks sleep should claim her now, rather than later; she’s been trying to cut down on her caffeine intake lately. But Roy starts stroking her hair, and then her back, like he’s trying to lull a child to sleep, and Riza has to swallow the satisfied hum lurking in her throat (she refuses to give him any satisfaction of knowing that she is, in fact, enjoying this, far more than she has any right to).

Riza clears her throat. She pushes his arm away.

“I’m not a cat, you know.”

Laughter, again. The caressing stops. She feels him pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and then he’s hugging her again, one arm resting languidly on her side like she’s some sort of a replacement bolster.

“I know. Goodnight, Riza,” he says, softly.

She doesn’t have the heart to remind him that they’re still on a mission.

“Goodnight,” Riza whispers. There’s a part of her that aches, yearns for this moment to be something more than a(nother) fleeting, stippled memory, but her bliss is abruptly broken by the commotion coming from upstairs — something about an adulterous affair and impecuniosity.

Riza shifts uneasily and tries to drown it all out by focusing on his heartbeat instead. It’s audible beneath her cheek — not quite like a lullaby, but close enough — just a gentle hum of life, enough to quell her frazzled nerves and lull her back into peace.

When she falls asleep at last, Riza dreams of something different, something that stems from her deepest desires.

(In her dreams, she’s in a white dress, and Roy is radiantly alive in a sunlit attic.)

[stargazer-balladeer]

[i] - i’ll make you fall in love with me

Word Count: 2.6k

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“You’re staring again, [Y/N]~” Surprised at the sudden intrusion in your fantasies, you turn your head to the side to look at your friend, Hu tao. Smiling gleefully at you with a sinister mischief dancing in her eyes. “From how often you stare at him, it’s still a wonder that he hasn’t caught on your feelings for him~” She teased while snickering. Her comment made you huff in response and glare at her half-heartedly. “Shut up.” You groaned as you returned to the subject of your affection.

He always seems so busy. The kind that rarely has time for themselves. His blue crystallized eyes scanned the words of the book at his hands, so immersed in the contents of the book. His hair falling in front of his face, which he puts them back in their place. Chuckling to yourself when he had to straighten his hair for the 7th time in the past few minutes, his annoyance growing more and more. Makes you wonder what he looks like with his hair tied back. He’s so perfect. How could someone as handsome as him exist in your world? And to add to your delight, he was your classmate. 

Hu tao sighed when she realized she lost you again, staring dreamily at the dreamboat of the school. Albedo was his name. Who was also known as the “Kreideprinz”. Good at Alchemy (Chemistry) and science. Aloof, quiet, and albeit of a loner. Has a little sister named Klee. And a female friend, who was a year younger than them, Sucrose. He was practically the definition of perfection. Almost too perfect to be exact...

“You know you can talk to him right~? He’s just a foot away from you~” Hu tao said with her usual teasing tone, taking her seat next to you, placing her hat gently on her desk. Shifting your attention away from the blonde, you leaned on your chair and sigh, a slight pout on your face. “If I talk to him, I might end up embarrassing myself. I can already hardly think properly when I’m around him..” You said, mumbling the last part. Just the thought of talking to him made your heart speed up. But the bigger problem is what would you talk to him about? Albedo is known for his boredom and uninterested personality whenever a subject is being brought up that doesn’t catch his interest. 

Hu tao hums, eyes looking at the ceiling before looking at you, as she gave you a close-eyed smile. “Well, that’s your problem now, not mine~!” “Wow. You’re such a great help, Hu tao.” Rolling your eyes playfully with sarcastic leaking in your voice while Hu tao gleefully laughs. “I only specialize in the dead apartment, not the love apartment silly~” 

“Why did you leave me, Hu tao..?” You whined under your breath as you continued to sweep the fallen leaves on the ground. Your beloved friend and seatmate decided to ditch you at the last minute saying that she has to host a funeral for her parent’s work. Sighing at your own foolishness in believing her obvious lie, you continued sweeping the leaves. The wind outside was howling loudly, making the leaves you’ve gathered dance around the air. Groaning while you watch helplessly while your hard work gets destroyed by the playful winds. But your irritation soon faded when you take in the scenery before you. The autumn-colored leaves fly through the sky, contrasting with the sky.

You continued to stare at the sky, mesmerized at the scenery, not noticing a figure going towards you. Their boots making the leaves crunch beneath them as they made their way towards your figure. Stopping behind you, taking in your figure. You continued to stare at the sky, unaware of the third party until… 

“[Y/N].” The familiarity of the voice made it obvious who it is, especially if you’ve heard it countless times before. You tightly hold the broom with your hand, trying to squeeze out the sudden nervousness you had. Voice silky and quiet yet holds power in them. Taking a deep breath, you turn your head around to meet his striking blue eyes that shine under the glowing sky. Feeling warmth spreading to your cheeks, you looked away while coughing. If you were being honest to yourself, you were slightly intimidated by his sudden appearance. 

“D-Do you need anything, Albedo?” You asked, your voice coming off as more of a mumble. Slightly embarrassed at the volume of your voice, you scolded yourself mentally. You just made a fool out of yourself. Luckily Albedo heard you, probably used to soft voice because of his shy so-called ‘apprentice’. “You see, Miss Lisa decided to make me clean outside since most people skipped out of their cleaning duties again. I was about to skip as well but Miss Lisa pulled the ‘if you don’t do what you’re told, you’re getting punished’ and we all know how she punishes people.” He paused while sighing, placing his hand on his forehead. “So, with no other choice, unless I want to suffer the wrath of a librarian, I made my way to the supply closet but found no broom there. Then I saw you with a broom. So, may I ask to borrow the broom? All I have to do is sweep a bit so that I can tell Miss Lisa that I cleaned.” He finishes his explanation. You can tell he was frustrated that the Head Librarian, Miss Lisa, made him clean instead of doing some weird experiments. 

“Ah. I see.” You mumbled while nodding your head slowly. Deciding quickly that you could use a break from sweeping so you gave him your broom. You noticed that his fingers sightly graze against yours, slightly feeling the warmth in them. Feeling this, you quickly pulled back your hand. You swear your heart started to speed up even more. What you didn’t know is that Albedo was quietly observing you. “Thank you.” He said. Wordlessly, you nodded your head in response. Albedo starts walking towards you and picking up where you left off. You awkwardly stand at the side, deciding to lean on a tree’s trunk, watching him intently. The howling wind is now quiet and gentle, enough force to make yours and Albedo’s hair fly. You watch as his blonde hair flies with the wind, making him look more ethereal. His posture refined and his actions gentle. He really seems like a prince from a fairytale.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” His voice snapped you out of your mind’s imaginations. His comment made you dread for the worst as you realized that he was staring back at you with a blank expression on his face. You stared back with eyes wide and flushed cheeks, embarrassed at being caught red-handed. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to stare.” You stammered, feeling your cheeks become hot, your heart beating erratically in your chest. Why did you have to embarrass yourself in front of him of all people? 

Tilting his head slightly, his eyes speaking volumes of his nonexistent interest in the current topic. “I can feel your stare, you know. I’m not stupid or naive.” His sharp tone made you flinch. “You’ve been staring at me so much lately. It’s starting to become annoying honestly.” Feeling your eyes sting from the rather harshness of his words, your eyes shifted to the ground as you tightly gripped your sweater. “If you have no business with me, please don’t disturb me with any of your stares from now on. Unless…” 

Walking closer to you, he placed his finger under your chin, making you look up at him. Gazing deeply at the eyes of the ocean-color, his eyes held nothing but a storm of mixed feelings. Why? “You have something to tell me?” He finished, staring deeply in your [E/C] eyes. Feeling your lips dry, you lick them as nervousness surge through your veins. Was now such a good time? 

Hearing no response from you after a couple of minutes, he sighed as he lets go of your chin. Turning around to pick up the fallen broom and giving it to you, not meeting your eyes. “I believe I’ve done my part now. You can continue the work. I’ve got to go to the laboratory now. See you tomorrow.” He said in a monotone voice, with a tint of disappointment if you listen to it carefully. As he started to walk away from you, his hair flying behind him, his hands in his pockets. This was your chance. No need to waste it. Say it now. 

“I like you Albedo.” You said with utmost confidence that you can manage to get after taking a deep breath, staring at his figure with certainty in your eyes. Gripping the broom’s handle tightly as you started to explain yourself, not at all noticing how Albedo stopped walking. “I really like how smart you are! You’ve helped me multiple times already and I’ve always wanted to repay you but I don’t know how. I like how thoughtful you are with those closest to you. Even though you’re aloof and always uninterested, I still like that part about you! You’re always honest about your feelings and—!”

“Stop.” Eyes widening at his sudden interruption, you immediately went silent. Did you say something wrong? Maybe you’ve offended him accidentally without knowing. “A-Ah.. I said something wrong, didn’t I? I’m so sor—“ “No. It’s not that.” He said, interrupting you once more. You continued to stare at him, unsure what to do. Not noticing how he took a deep breath before turning his head around to look at you with such coldness and hatred in his eyes, making you flinch. You’ve never seen him this angry or cold before. Did you really make him mad?

“I don’t like you. There. Now stop annoying me.” He said sharply, venom clearly dripping from his voice, as he turned his head around and continued to walk, leaving you dumbfounded and heartbroken. You stood there frozen, staring at where he was previously. Zhongli, who was passing by casually, noticed you standing still. Approaching you with his hands behind him, he coughed slightly, trying to gain your attention. But seeing no response from his student, he grew worried. “Are you okay, miss [Y/N]?” He asked in a soft voice. When he didn’t receive a response again, he decided to peek at your face and was surprised at the tear-filled face you have. Sniffling quietly as tears continuously flow from your eyes. He immediately went in front of you as he stares at you with sadness and pity in his eyes. “Why are you crying? Was someone bullying you? Do I have to suspend someone-?” “N-No..” you sniffled, wiping the tears with the back of your hand. “I-I’m fine. Something just caught in my eyes.” 

Zhongli knew you were crying but didn’t press it. “I see. I suppose I can accept that kind of reasoning for now. Come, let’s go to my office. I’ll brew you some tea to calm you down and then, if you want to, you can talk to me whatever troubles your mind.”

“Hey.. what happened to you~? You look as lifeless as a corpse~!” Even though she tried to act cheerful, you can hear the tint of worry behind her voice. The worry in her eyes as she stares at your rather lifeless body. You smiled at her, trying to cease her worry, but it resulted in her getting more worried for you. “I’m fine, Hu tao. I just… had a hard time sleeping yesterday. That’s all.” You said while taking a seat next to her. She narrowed her eyes at you before nodding her head. “K~ if you say so…” 

As you made yourself comfortable at your desk, you didn’t notice a pair of eyes staring at you…

“... you know you can always skip gym if you don’t feel like it. No need to push yourself so hard. Or else you might end up being one of my clients hehe~” Hu tao giggled, how she managed to cover up her concern with a death joke, you can never understand. You sighed before shaking your head. “I’m fine. I can manage myself perfectly.” Hu tao sighs, her smile dropping to a disapproving frown. “If you push yourself too hard, I’ll personally drag you to the infirmary to rest.” “Yes ma’am.”

After the teacher gave out the assigned tasks for the period, everyone dispersed to do the tasks. You decided to run first with Hu tao, but it seems like you’re slowing her down as evidence of her stopping a few times for you to catch up to her. “You can go ahead. I’ll be fine on my own.” She stared at you before sighing. “Fine. See you at the end~!” After she sped up and went ahead of you, you continued to run at your pace. But your head started to throb painfully making you stop running, holding your forehead as you wait for the pain to stop. It doesn’t help that the sun decided to give out its harsh hot rays today. Deciding to sit down to make the throbbing stop, you sat under the shade of a tree as you try to stop the pain. 

“Here.” Looking up immediately when a familiar voice reaches your ears, your eyes meet a pair of blue eyes, the same pair that held coldness and hatred within them yesterday. Your eyes trail to the outstretch bottle of water in his hand. “Take it.” He said, nudging it closer to you, urging you to take it. Hesitantly, you took it and drank it. What made you even more surprised is that he sat down next to you, letting his legs stretch on the ground with his hand on the ground as well. Feeling albeit uncomfortable at how close he is next to you, you scooted away from him a bit. Noticing your actions in the corner of his eyes, he sighed. 

“Look. I’m sorry for the harsh words I said yesterday. I didn’t mean any of them. I guess I was just frustrated that nothing was going right yesterday, I’m sorry for taking it out on you.” Albedo apologized, his eyes gazing at the scenery before you. You stayed silent, still feeling hurt at his actions. He sighed once more. “I guess I gotta go. I don’t want to make you more uncomfortable or hurt than you are now.” He mumbled, standing up while dusting himself off. You stared at him at the corner of your eyes. Sensing your stare, he gave you a small smile in return. “See you later I suppose.”

Watching him go the same way he did yesterday made your stomach churn uncomfortably, the pain and sadness you felt yesterday was unforgettable. But you knew he was being sincere now. You saw how sorry he was in his eyes, and the fact he made time to apologize to you properly made your heart pound once more. I guess this is what they call love huh?

“Albedo!” Jumping at the sudden call of his name, he turned around to look at you. You were standing and smiling brightly, so bright like the sun, making his eyes widened a bit. “I like you! I know you don’t like me yet but, I promise that I’ll make you fall for me!” You exclaimed, adrenaline surging in your veins as you made your proclaim. He stared at you, dumbfounded before looking away, letting out a laugh, his hand covering his mouth. When his head turns to you once more, a glimmer of excitement and hope shines in his eyes, and a smirk settled in his usually stoic face.

“I’ll keep that in mind then.”

[twst-bs]

TWST Dorm Leaders and an Anxious MC

This is the first piece of written specifically for this blog!

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Riddle: Had they broken a rule?

Even if Riddle had improved by leaps and bounds in the anger management department, he still held his rules in high regard. And the way his brows furrowed when he looked at them from across the table, was he angry about something? He couldn’t exactly punish them - they had no magic to lock away, and they were a dorm leader in their own right, so he didn’t have any right to discipline them, but what if they had done something on a personal level? Offended him in some way? They had barely mastered social cues in their own world, what if they messed up in Twisted Wonderland? What if -

...Riddle had said something, and was clearly waiting for a reply. In their internal panic, they had missed whatever it was.

“I-I’m sorry, Riddle, I was kind of zoning out. What did you say?” Were there rules against zoning out? Probably, that seemed like something that would annoy him.

“I asked if you were alright.”

“...Huh?”

Riddle set down his tea cup - it was a pretty, delicate little thing, gilded gold along the edges and handle, with roses painted beneath the rim. His mother would be mortified if she knew he was drinking strawberry milk tea with an ungodly amount of sugar out of it, Riddle had once said with a small, almost sheepish smile. That same mouth was now downturned as he regarded them with concern in his wide gray eyes.

“You seemed to be under a lot of stress lately,” he spoke slowly, like they were a frightened animal. Maybe they were. “Is everything alright? Are you sleeping well?”

They weren’t, but that was more of a side effect of their stress than the cause of it. They idly tapped their fingers against their own tea cup, a matching one to Riddle’s. They had been drinking lavender tea in an effort to calm their nerves, but it clearly hadn’t worked.

“I’m fine, promise,” they grinned, hoping it looked convincing.

By the way Riddle’s face scrunched up, it did not.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I know I’m not the best at handling emotions, but if I can help in any way…” Riddle trailed off, looking embarrassed.

They felt their stomach twist in horror. These little tea parties were the highlight of their week, a little moment of reprieve for the both of them to just relax and enjoy each other’s company. And they had gone and ruined it because they couldn’t figure out how to human properly.

“I’m sorry!” they burst out. “I’ve been so anxious lately, and I haven’t been able to sleep, and I’m worried about my grades slipping because I don’t know the first thing about magic and -”

They didn’t even notice they were starting to spiral until Riddle had reached across the table and grasped onto their hand. Their chest was heaving with barely-contained sobs, and they weren’t sure if the trembling they felt in their hands was theirs or Riddle’s.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured. “Deep breaths, now.”

He was parroting what Trey would tell him to help him calm down, they knew, but it was good advice. They knew that he had talked Riddle down from many an anxiety attack before, but the fact that Riddle, someone who suffered from severe mental health problems, was the one calming them down made something sour begin climbing up their throat.

“I-I’m making everything worse…” they mumbled, squeezing Riddle’s hand tighter. “I should be able to handle this without freaking out, but…”

Riddle reached out and brushed away a tear they didn’t know had fallen away with the back of his knuckle. “I know better than anyone how it feels to be under pressure.” he sighed. “Please, don’t think you have to deal with all of this stress on your own.”

Leona: “Will you sit still for five minutes?”

They hadn’t thought they had been making that much noise. Certainly not enough to wake Leona up from his nap, that was damn near impossible. So either the floorboards in Ramshackle dorm were worse than they thought, or Leona hadn’t actually been sleeping.

“Sorry,” they mumbled, staring down at the worksheet in front of them. They had been trying to finish this homework for hours, and the incantations were starting to blur together. What language were these even written in? Were they in the demonic section or nature section?

Leona sat up from where he had unceremoniously plopped himself on their bed. “You’re fidgeting like a rabbit, herbivore.”

“So you weren’t sleeping after all.”

“Hard to sleep when I can practically smell your anxiety.”

“Then go sleep somewhere else.”

Leona clicked his tongue, sounding annoyed, but they both knew he secretly enjoyed it when they got snappy with him. Not a whole lot of people had the guts to give him sass, and he liked having someone to verbally spar with. “And miss watching you squirm?”

“I’m not squirming.” they bit back.

“So that chair squeaking was just the ghosts, then?”

“Maybe.”

They could practically hear Leona roll his eyes, but they still didn’t take their eyes off of their textbook.

“Staring a hole into the page isn’t going to solve the equation.”

“How do you know?”

“Shut up and get over here.”

That made them look up. Leona had stood up, motioning them over with a tilt of his head. “You’re taking a break.”

“But -”

“You’re. Taking. A. Break.” he punctuated his words by grabbing the back of their desk chair and pulling. Just enough to jolt them, they could tell by the way the chair stopped that he was purposely holding it steady. Even so, they couldn’t help the small noise of surprise they made.

“Leona, I have to finish this!”

“You’ve been staring at the same page since I got here, you aren’t finishing anything.”

Subconsciously, they knew that taking a break would probably be good for them. But the part of their brain that was panicking about failing was telling them that if they took a break they were essentially giving up. And giving up wasn’t an option.

“Herbivore.”

The soft growl in Leona’s voice snapped them out of their thoughts. Leona had gone back over to the bed, flopped onto his back with his arms splayed out. To anyone else, it looked like he was just lazing about, but they had been with him long enough to realize that this particular position was an invitation.

It was then that they realized just how sore their neck and back were from being hunched over their desk. And how badly their eyes were burning from staring at the miniscule writing in their textbook. And how their legs and arms were one wrong move away from cramping because of how tense they had been.

...Okay, yeah, maybe a cuddle break was in order.

Leona grunted when they plopped on top of him, face buried in the crook on his neck. “Shit, herbivore, that hurt.”

“Suck it up.” they muttered, internally melting a little when he brought his arms up to wrap around them.

“Tch,” again, he sounded annoyed, but they knew better. “Learn to take better care of yourself.”

Azul: There was so much stuff to do.

Even if Crowley made sure they didn’t have to worry about money, a lot of the responsibilities of dorm upkeep still fell on them. They had to buy groceries, clean the whole dorm, make sure the place didn’t fall apart, follow Grimm around and make sure he hadn’t scorched any curtains...and that was all after they had done the assigned homework.

All things considered, they did a pretty good job, but sometimes they laid awake at night thinking of all of the things that needed to be done. Which left them in a less-than-ideal state for class the next day.

Gr-gr-grmmble…

They winced, hoping no one heard that. They had slept soundly through their alarm this morning, to the point where Grimm had to slap them awake, and therefore didn’t have time to snag breakfast. And it was really hard to focus on Trein’s droning lecture when they were both hungry and sleep-deprived.

Ace looked at them out of the corner of his eye with a raised eyebrow, but thankfully didn’t say anything. It might have been because the last time they got busted talking in class the spiel from Trein had been worse than if Riddle had just collared them, but still.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Trein dismissed the class. They still had Alchemy before they could go grab lunch, and even though mixing potentially explosive potions in their current state seemed like a terrible idea, Grimm skipped class enough. They didn’t need to add to his track record. So, feeling distinctly zombie-like, they made their way through the halls towards the alchemy lab.

Maybe they could dash by Sam’s shop really quick and grab a protein bar just to hold them over? No, Trein had yammered on until the last possible second, and they only had a few minutes before their next class started. There was no time. Maybe -

“Oof!”

“Whoa!”

Well, that’s what they got for not watching where they were going. Their books clattered to the ground as they ran headfirst into someone.

“Ah, damn, I’m sorry,” they bent down to pick up their books. Now they really were going to be late.

“Are you alright?” they looked up to see Azul stooping down to help them. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, I’m fine!” they grinned sheepishly. “Just wasn’t paying attention, is all.”

Azul frowned, picking up their Alchemy textbook before straightening. “You look exhausted. Another rough night?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Pale blue eyes widened and Azul flushed red. “I-I didn’t mean it like that!” he stammered, “I just - I merely - “ he cleared his throat, quickly recomposing his gentlemanly demeanor. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”

“Relax, Azul,” they laughed, standing up from their crouched position. “I was just teasing you.”

“Must you do that in public?”

“Are you saying you like it when I tease you in private?”

“That is not what I said.”

They laughed again, reaching for their books, but Azul held them out of reach. “Hey, come on,” they pouted. “I’m going to be late.”

“Seriously, are you alright? You look kind of pale.”

They sighed. “I didn’t sleep very well last night, and then overslept this morning, so I haven’t eaten anything. Happy now?”

“Not really, no.” Azul frowned. “Come on, I’ll treat you to lunch at the lounge.”

“But I have class.”

Azul kept walking, and they had no choice but to follow considering he still had most of their books. “I’m sure Crewel will understand if you miss one class. You have an otherwise perfect track record.”

“How do you know that?” they asked. “We don’t have any classes together.”

“I have my ways.” Azul smiled cryptically at them.

“Which one of them was it?”

“Jade.”

“Knew it.”

Kalim: “...and then, there was this one time, the baby elephants broke out of their cages…”

They wanted to pay attention, they really did. Kalim was a great story-teller, even if he was a bit all over the place. And stories from a magical noble family, no matter how mundane to Kalim, were always fascinating. They could sit here and listen for hours.

Well, usually, anyway.

Nothing in particular was wrong, really. They had just woken up feeling off. It could have been anything. They could have had a weird dream, they could have forgotten something minor, the planets could be slightly unaligned, it didn’t matter. It was just an off day, and they were feeling it.

“...hello? You still in there?”

They nearly hit the ceiling when Kalim snapped his fingers in front of their face. Where they had been sitting there being anxious about trying to figure out what was making them anxious, Kalim had crawled across the floor where the two of them had been having lunch in his room. He had wanted to have a picnic on the flying carpet, but Jamil had put his foot down. Literally, he had stood on the carpet so Kalim couldn’t ride it.

“Sorry!” they yelped, almost knocking their tea over as they were forcibly brought back into the present.

“You looked kinda worried there,” Kalim frowned, quite an unusual look for him. “Everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” they looked down at their lap and bit their lip to stifle a gasp. While they had been worrying, they had subconsciously been picking at the skin around their fingernails. There were a couple tiny drops of blood beading up around their nail beds. Maybe Kalim wouldn’t notice?

“Hey, you’re bleeding!”

Damn.

Kalim’s expressive, ruby-red eyes went wide and he lunged forward to grab their hands. “When did that happen? How did that happen? Do you need to go to the infirmary?”

“Kalim, I’m fine, there's barely any blood.” they sighed, gently prying their hands away from him. “I do that a lot.”

“You just randomly start bleeding?!”

“No, Kalim,” they laughed softly, shaking their head. “I pick at my nails when I get anxious.”

Kalim pouted, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “You’re anxious? Why are you anxious? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, it isn’t you, I promise!” they idly swiped at their nails. The places they had picked open had already closed. “It’s just...it’s a thing. I just have anxiety in general, is all.”

Frowning, Kalim sat back down in his original spot. “Isn’t there a way to fix that?”

“There’s a few ways, but none of them are quick.” they shrugged. “I was doing better, but suddenly coming here brought back a lot of my old habits.”

“Hm…” Kalim stared at them intently before the apparent storm passed and he brightened up again. “Well, we’ll just have to get you new habits to replace the old ones!”

“I...don’t think that’s quite how that works…”

“Here!” Kalim reached down and took a bangle off of his wrist. It was gold, with an elephant charm hanging off of it. With a big, eye-closing grin, he handed it to them. “When I was little, I used to get scolded for squirming a lot, so my mom told me to play with a small toy instead of running around. I know it’s a bit different, but maybe, instead of picking at your fingers, you can play with the charm instead? Would that help?”

For a moment, they were quiet, just staring at the shiny gold bracelet in their hand. Then, a small smile split across their face. “Yeah, I think it’ll help.”

Vil: “You haven’t been sleeping.”

“Hello to you too, Vil.” they sighed, flopping unceremoniously onto the stone bench beside him. Usually they at least tried to hold themselves to a higher standard when they were with the Vil Schoenheit, but they just didn’t have the energy. “How could you tell I haven’t been sleeping?”

“Unless the undead look is a new fashion trend, but bags under your eyes are very telling.” he reached over to tuck their hair behind their ear, both in an affectionate gesture and to get it out of the way so he could assess them better. “You’re also breaking out. Are you stressed?”

“Isn’t everybody stressed?”

“Don’t get existential, just answer the question.”

They huffed, letting their head rest on the hand that was still at their ear. “Yes, okay, I’m stressed, happy?”

Students were watching the two of them on their way through the gardens, but Vil paid them no mind. He had plenty of practice at ignoring the masses. “We’ve discussed this, haven’t we? Mental health is just as important as physical health.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” they closed their eyes, unable to look at him.

“I didn’t mean that to be scolding,” this time, Vil sighed. “Just a reminder that you need to take care of yourself. Maybe a spa day is in order.”

That did sound nice. “Can we do hair masks?”

“Of course, my dear.”

Idia: “Big Brother, you have a guest!”

Idia fought the urge to groan when Ortho popped his head into the room. Why did people always have to bother him on raid night?

Just as he was about to tell Ortho to send whoever it was away, a second head appeared.

“Hey, Idia.” the Ramshackle prefect sounded drained, enough to make him type a quick “AFK” into the chat and turn to them.

“Everything...alright?”

They stepped fully into the room, returning Ortho’s cheerful wave before closing the door and collapsing face-first onto Idia’s bed. “There’s too many people out there.”

“Mood.”

“And they all want me to do stuff for them.”

“Also mood.”

“So can I hide in here for a little? Please?” they turned their head to look at him with pleading eyes. “I’ll be quiet, I know it’s raid night.”

Idia turned to glance at the screen. The team he had gotten saddled with this time around was garbo - three tanks and no healer, honestly - so he was fairly confident they weren’t finishing the dungeon. Shaking his head, he clicked a few buttons and the screen returned to his desktop.

“Bunch of losers anyway,” he mumbled, getting up from his chair. “Wanna play something else?”

“Can we play Skull Girls?”

A few moments later, they were sitting side-by-side on the bed with the opening for the game playing on one of Idia’s monitors

This was what they needed. No people besides the two of them, no lazy Headmasters asking them to take care of problems way beyond their physical and emotional capacity, no chaotic cats threatening to light everything on fire. Just a nice little break.

Slowly, careful, so as not to startle him, they leaned over until their head was resting on his shoulder. He tensed, but his hair didn’t turn red, so they counted that as progress.

“Thanks, Idia.”

“N-N-No problem.”

Malleus: Okay, so this probably hadn’t been one of their better ideas.

Sleep just wasn’t happening tonight. All of the things they had to worry about kept running through their head, and every time they thought they were about to drop off, something else popped up. Eventually, they had given up and decided to take a walk.

Unfortunately, they had completely forgotten how cold it could get at night. Even with the jacket they had pulled on over their pajamas, they were shivering.

“You’re up late.”

The deep voice startled them, but they managed to compose themselves before turning around. “So are you, Tsunotarou.”

Malleus Draconia smiled softly at the nickname, looking absolutely ethereal with the small green lights flitting around him. “It’s dangerous to be out alone at night, Child of Man.”

“The gargoyles will protect me.” they said cheekily. Malleus chuckled.

“And what of me?” he asked. “Do I not get the honor of protecting you?”

“You can fight the gargoyles for the honor.”

Again, Malleus laughed, before noticing the subtle tremors that wracked the human’s body. “You’re cold.”

“This wasn’t my best-laid plan.” they sighed, tugging their jacket closer to their body. “I always forget how cold it is at night.”

Malleus hummed before opening his arms. “Come here, then. I’ll keep you warm.”

They hesitated for a moment before stepping into his embrace, sighing as his body heat seeped into their being. “Wow, you really are warm.”

“Dragons run hotter than humans,” he explained, tugging their head beneath his chin. “It’s why I have no trouble roaming around at night.”

“Lucky.”

“Well,” he murmured. “I’ll simply have to accompany you on your nighttime adventures to keep you warm.”

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

Water to wine (Remus Lupin x reader)

Warning: None Word count: ~2.2k Summary: You’re the new Alchemy teacher at Hogwarts and you and Remus have the hots for each other, but you refuse to do something about it, so your students decide to take matters into their own hands... Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Requested by my lovely Honey-wife

It was unusual, almost, to have a teacher at Hogwarts leave for a not horrific-curse-related reason, but during Harry’s third year at Hogwarts just that happened. Of course, in that case, it didn’t really involve him, but he heard Oliver talk about how his alchemy teacher was leaving the school to move to his new wife's hometown in france and how they’d soon have a new teacher. No one at school seemed to know who this new teacher would be, even Remus couldn’t tell Harry anything, no matter how much he asked, and soon half the school was filled with rumours. These rumours all stopped as soon as you arrived. The great hall was bustling with noise like every dinner and people were happily eating and chatting about their days, when the doors flew open, something that would usually mean trouble, and the sounds around the tables quickly died down. You came inside, head held high with a smile on your lips and managed to ignore all the stares directed at you as you stopped opposite of where dumbledore was sitting and started talking to him in a hushed voice. Slowly the sound came back - whispered voices filling the room - even though half the students (mainly boys) still had their jaws on the floor. And could you blame them? You were drop dead gorgeous. The way you held yourself, the way you Y/H/C Y/H/L Hair fell and seemed to shine in the candle light of the hall, the kind, caring smile on your face and the way your blue robe - that was embroidered with star constellations and the four elemental symbols at the hem - seemed to flow with every step you took. Not only the students seemed to be in awe, but luckily for him, no one seemed to notice the star struck look in Remus Lupin’s eyes when he looked at you. After a few minutes of conversation between you and the headmaster - with McGonegall sometimes joining in, you stepped aside as Dumbledore was standing up to address the students. With a single gesture the entire room was silent again, waiting for what he had to say to them. “Dear Students, as many of you might have heard our former alchemy teacher professor Nicolins has sadly left us, but as those who attend the alchemy courses already were informed of, we have a new teacher. It’s a pleasure to introduce you to Professor Y/L/N,” he paused for a moment to let the students - who had resumed their excited chattering as soon as your identity was revealed - calm down again, “Continue with Dinner.” With that his little speech was over and the room went back to normal, just with a new hot-topic: you. Speaking of you, there were still quite a few eyes on you as you walked behind the long table and took a seat where Professor Nicolins had sat before - right beside Remus.

That first day everything had seemed so new and exciting, all the people you’ve met and all the things that you had to learn to manage your way around the castle, but you soon found that you had someone to turn to. Remus had introduced himself to you and not long after the two of you had been entranced in conversation,, you learned that he was the relatively new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, but knew his way around the castle thanks to his time spent as a student himself. You felt like there was an instant connection of sorts. But as exciting the first days were, things soon started to fall into a sort of routine and you got used to your new situation. The only thing you couldn’t seem to get used to were the butterflies that filled your stomach every time you talked to Remuis - which was quite often actually. You felt like you were back to your own school days with your crush on the professor, but something kept you from acting on your feelings. You told yourself that it wasn’t worth taking the risk of making things weird between the two of you - what if he didn’t like you back? You’d have to face him every day knowing all about the embarrassment. So you’d rather just stay friends and colleagues. Nothing to lose there. The only problem was, even though Remus didn’t seem to notice your feelings, everyone else did. Not only that, they also saw the way Remus looked at you, almost mirroring your expression if not exceeding it, with love and admiration. And they realized that both of you were basically completely clueless towards the others feelings and didn’t seem to plan to confess anytime soon. It drove them nurs, the two of you could be so cute together if you’D just get over your fears. After two months of watching the two of you pining after the other they had - quite frankly - enough and decided to do something. And so, with the help of students from all four houses, the plan began.

“And that concludes our lesson on why Jesus possibly was the first Alchemist to discover how to use magic to turn a liquid into another without changing the consistency too much. If I’m honest, turning water into wine without using a wand is quite a cool party trick and pretty helpful when you’re stick in a boring lecture, but that’s a story for another day,” you finished class and clapped in your hands when a student - a ravenclaw boy who had taken it upon himself to be the course class clown - raised his hand. “Yes, Mr. Gwind?” you called on him as you leaned against your desk. “Could you demonstrate please? For sole educational purposes of course?” he said while clearly not being interested in the educational purpose of it, but you couldn’t help but chuckle. There was no harm in showing it to your students since it was a complex process that - while looking easy - could only be done by experienced Alchemists. “Sure, why not,” you shrugged and picked up an empty glass cylinder on your desk, “Mr. Weasley, Mr. Wood, would you please come to the front?” Percy and Oliver stood up and walked over to you where you promptly handed Percy the Glass and positioned the two of the opposite of each other like they wanted to duel. “Mr. Wood, I’ll need you to use Aquamanti and aim the water stream into the glass. I expect your aim to be perfect, Percy’s robes depend on that after all.” Oliver nodded and raised his wand, perfectly shooting the stream. Quickly you used both hands to make a circle around the stream and the class waed when they saw how a red liquid filled the glass instead of the clear water. As soon as the cylinder was filled Oliver stopped the water stream and you took the wine out of Percy’s hand before sending the two students back to their desks. “Of course, there are easier ways to do that,” you said and proved your words by swirling the liquid in the glass a bit, the wine turning back to water slowly, “but sometimes it’s funnier to do it fancy. Now, class is dismissed.” You sat down at your desk and started sorting through your documents, before cleaning up your utensils and putting them back to where they belonged. You had been at it for about ten minutes when you heard someone running towards you. When you turned around you were surprised to find yourself confronted by a panting, panicking Remus in front of you. “Remus? What happened? Is everything okay?” you asked and put the cloth you had held back onto your desk before walking to him. He just looked around slightly confused. “I-I… What? Some Students just came to me to tell me that Harry and Draco were duelling each other here,” he panted and kept on looking around like they’d jump out of a closet any minute now. “That- That makes no sense, they aren’t even allowed up here and I’d stop them if they ever tried to even attack each other.” Remus seemed to realize how dumb what the students had told him actually was, but after all with Harry and Draco you never really knew, did you? “Well, uhm, yeah, I guess that was just a prank then,” Remus said and scratched the back of his neck, “I’ll better go back before the next glass starts.” Suddenly, without knowing why, you felt a blush forming on your cheeks and you couldn’t help but feel nervous and a little bit giddy. “Yeah… Right- classes,” you said trying to ignore the way his lips seemed to draw your eyes to them. Remus nodded and for a few seconds the two of you were just standing there in silence with the romantic tension hanging around you, but somehow Remus was able to free himself and walked back to the door only to stop in front of it. “Is there something else?” you asked, almost hoping that he’d just turn around and sweep you off your feet to kiss you. “Uhm, Y/N?-” Had the way he said his name always sounded that amazing? “Your door is closed?” Okay, wait what? “Just open it, use Alohomora if you must,” you just shrugged and turned back to your cloth and utensils. “Yeah there’s kind of a problem, there’s no lock I could use Alohomora on, your door is gone.” You immediately shot around only to see that Remus was right, where not even a minute ago there was a door there was now a wall. “That is...interesting,” you said, completely overwhelmed by the situation, but trying to shake off your confusion, “Can you turn it back? I forgot my wand back in my quarters, I didn’t need it for this lesson.” “Oh, yeah, sure,” Remus nodded and reached into his robe pockets, only for a confused look to make its way onto his face as he started to (slightly panicked) pat down his robes. “What is it?” you asked worriedly and took a step towards him. “These little fu-” he started but caught himself and threw his head back, “The twins, they were talking to me earlier after class and came weirdly close to me, I wrote it off to them just being weird, but I guess they had their hands in this.” “What do you mean?” “My wand, it’s gone.” With that neither of you knew what to say anymore and you just sat down at one of the desks in defeat. A few minutes it was just silent and - not wanting to be weird by staring at him, even though you kinda really wanted to - you looked out of the window. “Well, what do we do now? Just wait until one of the other professors notices we’re gone and get’s us?” you asked and started playing with the arms of your robes. “I guess,” Remus nodded and turned to you, “What should we do in the meantime?” An idea made its way to your head and you looked at the still filled water cylinder on your desk. “Would you like some wine? I can make some, it’s my personal party trick and we won’t get to teach anyone today anymore either,” you smiled and hoped he would agree so that you could just drink your nervousness away, but you were disappointed when Remus shook his head. “I’d rather stay sober when I’m with you,” he said but immediately seemed to regret it, not that you’d notice because you had already averted your eyes in shame and hurt. So that was how he felt about you. “I understand,” you tried to sound neutral, but you were afraid that he heard it. “That’s not what I meant- well it was, but I think you misunderstood,” Remus hurried to fix things, but you had already stood up and walked back to your desk to prepare your next lesson. “No, I understand, we’re professionals, we’re collegause and we should act like it.” Remus bit his lip in an inner battle, but soon sighed in defeat. “I don’t see you as just a colleague,” he said in a soft, but still slightly gruff voice and you couldn’t help but turn around to look at him again, trying not to get your hopes up. “Then what do you see me as?” you asked slightly breathless. Remus stood up and walked over to you, coming incredibly close to you, and raised his hand to stroke over your cheek. “I think you know what I see you as?” “I have my theories, but I think you should clarify,” you couldn’t help but tease as your eyes kept on flying between his lips and his eyes. “If you insist,” he mumbled before his lips were laying on yours and he was kissing you with so much emotion and passion that it was taking your breath away completely. You could’ve kept standing there forever in Remus’ arms if it weren’t for the creaking of a door - to be more specific the door that had just reappeared. Both you and Remus, still in each other's arms, turned to the open door, and you could’ve sworn you saw a few pairs of shoes disappear into nothingness or what you’d later found out was Harry’s invisible cloak. “Are we going to punish them for basically trapping us in here?” you asked as you leaned against Remus' chest. “Actually I think we should actually award them, I’d never managed to do this if it weren’t for them working together.” “I guess you’re right, we can let it slip this time,” you agreed, incredibly excited what this new aspect of your life would bring to you.

[akampana]

Oh, oh, how about a Gil vampire lord and arty famous vampire hunter in a eternal rivalry for no.1, kinda Hellsing and dracula rivalry but with a twist

“I couldn’t live with myself, if I didn’t tell you.” Gilgamesh x Arturia Vampire x Hunter. Enjoy!

_______

Three bullets.

Two knives.

One vampire.

Arturia Pendragon clicked the cylinders back into place and brought her weapons up to her chin, the warmth of her breath misting the polished barrel. She was the only thing in this accursed mansion that had any sense of heat, as everything inside was either unlit, inanimate, or dead.

The small hunter cursed the winter. There wasn’t a poorer season for killing vampires than one that was as dark and cold as the night creatures’ hearts. However, she could wait no longer. For generations, her family had pursued the blood-sucking fiends, hoping to one day cease the plague that had haunted their lands. At last, it could come to an end. There would be no need for her little brother to learn to handle a gun as well.

All she had to do was put Gilgamesh to rest.

A sudden movement from the right had her fingers on the triggers, but it was an effort wasted. There was nothing but the creak of wood and a curtain dancing in the cold breeze. However, she was not too quick to drop her guard. The vampire she hunted tonight was older than time and just as wise. Tricks like this were not beyond him. It made his hunts more interesting, she bet.

"There you are, my love."

...

Too slow!

The Pendragon ducked to the floor just in time to hear his palm smash through the stone brick behind her. Aiming her revolvers, she sprang up like a gymnast, twisting midair to face the hellspawn.

Silver shot out of her gun, but she already knew it would miss. Vampires were quite the agile creatures, having shed their human limits in exchange for their souls. Even if Gilgamesh looked mortal like herself, the way he sidestepped fire at such a short distance clearly suggested otherwise.

The soles of her boots screeched against the floor as she secured her landing by chucking the revolver at her opponent. Empty guns were useless in fights that required all her attention, but thankfully, this one had extra utility against creatures of the night.

When a high pitched squeak more suited to a frightened pig passed her old rival's lips, she knew she'd made a successful play.

"A silver-barrelled gun? Ha! And here I believed you had exhausted all your options," the older one smirked, the skin of his hands hissing from the contact. "That must have cost your family the entire treasury, my dearest Arturia. Who did this once belong to, hm? Was it your father's? Grandfather's? Great-grandfather's?"

Arturia grimaced as she snatched one of her knives from her heel.

"Killing your kind brings quite the fortune,” she answered, as per their usual simultaneous verbal bouts. “I can buy a hundred more with the price on your head, Gilgamesh."

She spun the blade round her fingers to provoke him, stopping in a backhand grip.

"More of your distractions, girl?" he sneered, just a hint of irritation breaking through his haughty mask. "It will take more than parlor tricks to fell the likes of me!"

Arturia lunged like a fencer, weaving through his usual jabs till she nicked his skin, lamenting how terribly shallow the cut was. As her breaths began to labor, her eyes flickered to the hallway, debating whether or not she could make a break for it. There was no outmatching a vampire in a direct dance to death, but she’d already made that play. Gilgamesh was not going to let her go a second time-

A sharp hiss was the woman’s only warning before his hands seized her throat.

No!

Desperately, she fired the gun at his knee, but all it did was have him bruise her skull on the floor instead of the wall, flinging her around like she weighed nothing.

The woman kicked and thrashed, but for all her effort, all she managed was a slash to his face before he rid her of her knife. Black spots began to cloud her vision, but Arturia took aim even as her lungs began to burn.

She had one bullet. One final attempt to make sure no Pendragon would ever have to take up the craft again. She had to spare poor Arthur. Only six and already being taught how to wield a knife. Igraine was already planning to take him out to hunt foxes. Arthur loved foxes. God. She had to make this one shot. Just this last one. For his sake. Please.

It didn’t take Gilgamesh any effort to bat her gun away.

Arturia’s emerald eyes locked with those of her assailant’s. Her whole life, she’d trained for this day, only to still come up short. It didn’t matter, the thousands that had fallen to her technique. She was still no match for him, not even after all this time.

Her nails clawed into the skin of his knuckles as Gilgamesh dipped down toward her shoulder, no doubt preparing to sink his teeth into her jugular.

Was this how she was going to meet her end? So close to finally ridding the continent of every vampire there was? So close to liberating her brother, her entire clan, from cruel deaths at the hands of the immortals? Why, after all she’d sacrificed, after giving up her life to become a hunter, did she have to fail at her mission’s most crucial moment?

Tears fell from her eyes as she shut them tight, refusing her last glimpse of life to be the eerily perfect face of the undead.

His teeth scraped against her skin. A final torture before he drained the life out of her.

Arturia braced herself for the bite, her head screaming apologies to every person she was letting down. Igraine, her late father, her cousins, Arthur.

But it never came.

“You have done well, my queen,” whispered the old creature, his cold lips brushing against her neck. Arturia gasped for air, hacking and coughing beneath him, a million questions running through her mind. He quieted them all with his thumb on her bottom lip, freezing Arturia where she lay.

“I have endured several of your lifetimes. Each, more passionless than the last. I thought myself fortunate at first, able to experience every pleasure the world had to offer, but a thousand years can make even the sweetest fruit seem vile.”

A flicker of irritation crossed his sharp, eternal features, but it was quickly replaced by something Arturia had never seen before. The emotion swelled within his vibrant ruby irises, which glowed even through a night as dark as this one.

“Eventually, I saw this ‘gift’ for what it truly was: a curse, bestowed upon me by that loathsome snake an eternity ago,” he voiced cryptically, knowing this beautiful little girl would likely never grasp just how long he’d walked this earth.

The Pendragon stared up at him with those fiery irises he’d been fond of since the first time he beheld them.

It was exactly twenty years since the day she first came here. Fifteen years old, a mere child, yet one that possessed the gall to challenge him to a duel. He spared her that day, and she went on to challenge every single creature in the continent that had been turned, coming back every now and then for another shot at his head.

Arturia wasn’t anything like those that shared her last name. Her clan was stiff. Traditional. She took their knowledge, but did not stop there, taking various forms of study to hone her craft. She'd been to Ireland to study their methods. To France to understand alchemy. Three years ago, she nearly killed him with near-invisible wire she acquired from the east. Before that, it was a sword of fire. Today, apparently, she’d gotten dexterous enough dual wielding either guns or knives, when she hadn’t that skill prior.

Ever since they met, his days were full of excitement, anticipation for the day she’d return. Suddenly, he was always on his toes, rising at the first sign of night to prepare for her next arrival. His hunts were no longer mechanical, for he knew now that he and she were bound to cross paths. Where would she see him next? On a hike into the mountains? In summer, when the days were long? Maybe even at the local ball? There were so many possibilities!

About a decade into their arrangement, Gilgamesh realized he was feeling something he hadn’t felt in eons.

He felt alive.

But like most living things, he knew Arturia had a limit. And before she reached it, before his fun could be taken away once more, he knew he had to do this. What better time than now, when he had the opportunity to caress her cheek for the first time?

“However, despite how I’ve loathed my own longevity, I never want our duels to end,” he admitted, memorizing her face, counting her freckles, brushing his thumb against lips he didn’t dare kiss for fear of imparting his curse.

“You, wicked woman, have made this soulless being crave a soul, if only to meet you once more beyond the grave.”

Minutes passed in silence as Arturia registered his confession. The night did not conceal her expressions from him. Not the fear, the anger, the confusion. He witnessed the exact moment of her realization, felt her heartbeat quicken, saw the heat rise to her cheeks. At last, she understood why she lay under him and had not yet fallen victim to his fangs.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked calmly, her voice strained, but clear. “Why now?”

“I have desired to do so for half a decade, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you...and I cannot die without you knowing that you are treasured beyond belief.”

Slowly, he reached for her ankle, where he knew she’d hidden her last knife. It burned his flesh as he grasped the hilt, rejecting the impurity of his being, but he persisted anyway, rejoicing in the sensation. This would be one of the final times he’d experience it.

“Wh...what are you doing?” she asked as he pulled her up to face him, placing the dagger in her grip and clasping his hands around hers. Even presented with the opportunity, it was no longer killing intent that resided within her eyes, only conflict.

“Without an end to one’s existence, love, the delights of what you call ‘life’ have no meaning,” he explained, moving her arms so that the blade’s tip rested just above his heart. “Therefore, Arturia Pendragon, I ask that your worthy hands grant me mine.”

He’d expected his death to be immediate, to happen as soon as he loosened his hold. Gilgamesh knew better than anybody what Arturia had at stake and who she was protecting. Hell, he was excited just contemplating what kind of life she’d lead, now that she’d been liberated of her family’s burden.

But now, when her goal was right in front of her, she hesitated.

For what seemed like a better eternity, Gilgamesh watched her stare into his exhausted red eyes, like she was engraving their intimidating splendor into her memory.

“Thank you.”

His death couldn’t have been sweeter.

[admiringlove]

VII: reckless; his mistake.

— atsumu isn’t one to take rash decisions but he couldn’t help himself. now, your heart is shattered.

+pairing: miya atsumu x reader.

+genre: crossover(hq x hp); fluff; angst; frenemies to lovers.

+word count: 1.8k.

+warnings: angst. 

+usual customers(taglist): @babyworld @renee1414 @anotherhydrangea @seita @tobiosnoelle @weebslxt @tsukkiwaifu16 @loveusandoor @kozumebri @sarawrz @crackheadsara @kyuudere @cultsax @supernovaa-a @akaashikeijisan @b3llo-there @sugasloverr @kagebunshiin @tetsurolls @velvetfireworks @kritiiiii @1wai@seijohlogy​ @sweetrosemilktea @bellesowl @ems1des​ @akaashi-todorki @tanaka-ryu​ @irishhbamb​ @sweetsamus​ @cherriechurros @mxshimoo @bluebirdandcomrades @zukuroo @denki-core @sarahvvictoria​ @littlevoxine

+author’s notes: taglist officially closed <3

+navigation: previous, masterlist, next.

You woke up in the morning, with Madam Pomfrey just by your bedside as she mixed a few herbs together in a mortar and pestle. You coughed, your throat dry as a tumbleweed, as your eyes widened.

Atsumu.

You tried getting up, the pain in your shoulder skyrocketing as you coughed even more. Madam Pomfrey was scolding you, but your ears were ringing—you could only hear a white noise as you coughed and the school nurse forcefully poured a nasty tasting medicine into your mouth, making you swallow it as she held your jaw softly. 

"There. You're good now, darling. Just lay down for a while, alright?" she said, rubbing circles on your back. Your mind raced as all you could do was nod at the woman, who moved onto the bed next to yours. 

That's Rin! 

You look at your figure in a frantic state—bandages wrapped from your left wrist to your shoulder, random purple bruises littered across your leg and arms with gashes in your other leg and torso. You grimaced at your sight, but then looked up and around in denouement. 

The curtains covered the bed to your right; you were trying your best to figure out who all was in the Infirmary with you. Till now, you could see Suna, Sakusa, Osamu, and Aran—

That's Atsumu, you gasped in revelation. Your eyes darting to the tiny space between the curtain and the wall just to get a glimpse of the boy. Just then a coarse voice stopped you, "Don't bother, [L/N]. You won't want to see that right now."

"Rin?" you whipped your head around and instantly regretting it because of the sudden rush of pain. Seeing the brown-haired boy get up as he winced made you feel almost guilty—it's because of you they were so hurt, wasn't it?

"This happens every month, don't worry," he coughed out as Madam Pomfrey scolded him about talking such 'posh'. He laughed it off, saying that if you and Atsumu weren't there, then his wounds would be worse. You opened your mouth to speak, but that was when you heard a grunt coming in from the other side of the curtain.

"Okay, hush now, both of you," Madam Pomfrey says, ruffling Suna's hair lightly as she grabbed a syringe and a bottle from the table and walked towards the other side of the curtain—simply so you two wouldn't have to see how bad Atsumu's wounds really were. 

And a couple of seconds later, when Miya Atsumu's screams filled the Infirmary, was when you realized—you shouldn't have followed him into the Shrieking Shack. 

"You're okay, now. That's all that matters," cheered Alisa as she walked into the Great Hall for dinner a few days later. You walked alongside them, hiding your bandages inside your robe. You hated how Atsumu was still in the Infirmary as the rest of you roamed about freely. It irked you to an extent where your nights felt almost sleepless. 

You would be thinking about him—contemplating whether you should have gone after him. Whether it would be any different if you had just let him go; if you had just waited for the next day to talk to him again. You never knew when you were falling asleep, just staring into the darkness till the depths of the night. 

You visited him in the Infirmary every day till he got discharged. You couldn't help but feel responsible for his wounds because honestly, who wouldn't? And when a week later, he was discharged, he didn't seem to even look you in the eye anymore. 

It drove you crazy—not feeling his burning stare at the back of your head every time you walked to Potions, him not even bothering to yell at you in Quidditch practice, him not teasing you about the Treacle Tarts during dinner, and you just missing his vague southern dialect barking at you for no reason whatsoever. You craved his slightly flirty comments that made your ears heat up in Transfiguration and Alchemy, how he'd say the dirtiest of things without failing to keep a straight face. You even wanted him to annoy you again or hit you with his Bludger so you could go to Hogsmeade with him. 

"You look like the saddest Bowtruckle ever," Suna nudged you as you sat alone in the Courtyard, chuckling as he sat down next to you and began talking, "You're worried about him, aren't you?"

"How do you always know what to say, but you're the cockiest little shit ever?" you ask, closing your book and facing the chartreuse-eyed idiot, scoffing. He looks at you, raising an eyebrow as he says, "Wasn't it you that avoided him in the first place? Dare I say, you kinda deserve this."

"Oh, how I wish the unforgivable curses weren't illegal right now," you gritted your teeth, standing up from your place at the fountain and kicking a stray rock at Suna, "Because I could literally torture you right now."

"You should just kill me instead," he shakes his head. 

"Merlin's beard, you're one depressed little shit."

"You should talk to him," the annoying wolf catches up to you yet again, walking over to your left so he could stop you from turning to the staircases. You huffed, stomping one foot and placing a hand on your hip as you said, "Rin, for Salazar's sake, not this again."

"What? Classes are over, and he's literally rotting in the dorm. If I get him out after Quidditch today, will you talk to him? At least make the damn effort," Suna hisses, flicking your forehead as his expression clearly sprays more venom than his words. You sighed, shaking your head, "I need to think about it."

"Why the fuck-"

"He said he loved me on the full moon," you paused, "By the Black Lake?" you say hesitantly, making it come out more like a question than an answer. Your eyed averted to the floor, anywhere but Suna, who had his mouth wide open and his eyes actually intrigued in what you had to say now. He cleared his throat begrudgingly, coughing once or twice before saying, "What did you say?"

"We.. erm, got interrupted," you look back up to a shocked Suna, who was edging you to continue, "By erm... the Shack thing."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Rin lets out a breathy sentence, his whole demeanor turning into disappointment, "Why are there so many fucking... ugh!"

"Your pain is understandable, pussy bangs," you giggled, grabbing his robes slightly and leading him to the library to complete your homework. 

“Hey, don’t fucking call me that!”

You had continued to meet up with Kiyoko to go to Quidditch Practice that evening. You managed to catch the Snitch in a few minutes, earning a small, dissent "good job" from Atsumu. It made you smile just a smidge, glad for the smallest interaction in the past week that he had been discharged. A scintilla of regret slipping in your mind as you felt the urge to tease him as if everything was okay. 

Practice ended soon enough, you walking back to the changing rooms with Kiyoko and Osamu, talking about something or the other as you walked into the girls' changing room, parting with the grey-haired werewolf as Kiyoko began, "Osamu says he hasn't been sleeping."

"Stop," you sighed, taking off your shoes and socks as you sat on the bench next to the locker, "—you're not helping and you're making me confused. I talked to Suna, and I'm going to try to talk to Atsumu soon. I need to give him time."

"I literally didn't say anything," Kiyoko laughs, pulling on a grey jumper and jeans as she tilts her head, "You're doing good, bub."

"Thank you..?"

You reminisced about the times in third year how Atsumu used to say, "a cold shower is the answer to all problems", chuckling when you remembered the next part of that sentence as you plopped onto your bed, turning over and reaching to the bag of treats to slip them to Bo. You watched the grey owl slowly gulp down the treat, smiling contently as you hugged a pillow close to your chest. 

"God, Bo. It's late at night and I skipped dinner today of all days," you groaned, getting up to sit at your desk, your head on the table. The owl tilted its head, hooting a few times in response as if saying that you should go to the kitchens to get that snack after all.

"You're always right, Bo. Here have another treat," you cooed, feeding the bird one more crumb then walking out of the Common Room in your invisibility cloak. The House Elves were always kind to you, giving you a snack even in the middle of twilight, and keeping quiet when Filch questions them about how a few Treacle Tarts or dumplings are missing. 

You curse yourself when you almost bump into the wretched cat, namely Mrs. Norris, when you walked into the Kitchens. A House Elf gasped, running to the door and closing it immediately after you pulled off the cloak. 

"[Y/N] must not sneak out at night like this, it will get her into trouble!" Missy, a House Elf behind the counter shrieks. You stifle a giggle, petting the Elf's head lovingly and slipping her a scarf—your heart melting at how the female Elf blushed at the gift, immediately adorning it as she quickly reached into a jar and slipped you a few Pudding cups and Treacle Tarts(which you took into your jacket pocket) before wishing Missy a good night and walking back out. You were on your way back to the dorms when you heard a very... questionable noise, per se. 

"What in the name of Godric," you cursed, simply shaking it off as you walked down the stairs to the dungeons, but then hearing a voice that you knew way too well. 

Atsumu?

You gasped, running back up the stairs as you looked around frantically. The cloak covering you barely as you panted, finally finding the source of the said "noise".

To say you instantly regretted that decision, was probably the biggest understatement of the year. As you see Atsumu, pressing a girl against the wall of the empty hallway(which the professors normally don't check at this hour as they've already gone to sleep), as he left marks on her neck. The girl placed her hand on his head, tangling his piss strands with her nimble fingers as she bit down on her tongue. 

You couldn't believe it. 

It took him one week. One week, to get over you, who he had been pining over for years. He hadn't even thought twice to ask if the so-called "unrequited" feelings were reciprocated. 

You were heartbroken. 

So, what do you do? You let a few tears slip—wiping them away almost instantly as you walked back to the Common Room in rue. But what you didn't know, was that someone in their dorm was cursing out their brother as they looked at a very peculiar map in their hands. 

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[undercoverwizardfanfiction]

Mud is Thicker Than Blood:

Sick Day

Summary: I said i’d put all the little shorts I have about the Mud Dogs and Donnie in one story, so here it is!

Gift for: @void-inked-pen birthday a while back. They are a amazing friend and a source of inspiration for me

Characters: Donatello, Loathsome Leonard, Mickey, Dastardly Danny, Myra, April O’Neil

Pairings: You’re in luck! all the pairings for this fic are just past this door [gestures to wall that has a badly painted door under it and the laundry basket above it that’s suppose to be some sort of trap]

“What is this supposed to be?”

Even though Len had been using as polite of a tone as possible, Danny still gives him a heated glare. He uses his spatula to scrape the blackened flat pastry off his frying pan and onto Len’s plate with the consistency of a dried brick. ”They’re called crespelle’s. My Dads used to make them for me and my siblings all the time.”

“Are they supposed to be…” Mickey pokes it with his flipper, “rocks?”

Danny lets out another angry huff. “I couldn’t remember the ingredients, alright??” he says, flipping another burnt disc onto a plate. Len uses his chopstick to poke at the burnt food. For someone who had known the sting of hunger many times and learned to not be picky, he finds himself wondering if he can sneak out back and compare the taste of the burnt disk to dirt.

The sounds of footsteps tells him the last member of their little family was coming down to join them. “Morning,” Danny calls. ”I got a nice big breakfast for my only grateful family member with taste!” Danny says as he starts stacking another plate.

Donnie is pulling on his hooded cardigan as he reaches the bottom step, eyeing the breakfast with a concerned eye. “Doooo I want to know?” he asks before looking to Len with a look that clearly says ‘remember how I never forget ‘best parents day’? you owe me’. It takes more than a little willpower to keep from laughing but manages to duck his head to hide his grin before turning to Danny.

“How about we spare my kid this time? He’ll never hit his height goals if he eats this.”

Danny unties his apron and stomps over and pours himself a cup of coffee all while grumbling about ‘uncultured swine.’ This time Len can't stop the snort that escapes him this time but when Donnie takes his spot at the table his smile falters as Donnie pours himself a cup of hot coffee. Leaning over the mug with a sigh, his normally dark jade complexion feels a shade lighter than usual and more than Len’s comfortable with. “You feeling ok?” he asks, moving his chair to Don’s side of the table. He puts an arm around Don's shoulders and without waiting for an answer he presses the back of his hand to Don’s cheek. The teen squirms at the contact but was unable to pull out of his grip.

“Dad, Dad, I'm fine I just didn’t sleep well. I had a bad dream again.”

“Why didn’t you come get me? You could have slept in my bed.”

“You got home late last night, I didn’t want to wake you,” Don says, still trying to twist his head away from Len’s hand.

“I’m the Dad here, Donnie. I’m supposed to worry about you, not the other way around.” But when he’s unable to find anything close to a fever he pulls away. He looks to Danny hoping he’d see something Len missed but the rat shrugs at him.

“Is it still ok to go tutor April today? Please? I’ve been cooped up here all winter.”

Len wants to say no, but sighs at the pleading look Donnie gives him. It had been a longer winter then usual, he didn’t blame his son for needing some space. He was no longer a five year old but he still had a hard time telling him no for no good reason. “Yeah, but if you start feeling sick you come home ok? Or ask Myra to help you home.”

“Yeah, yeah I know.” As Donnie downs his last bit of coffee he stands back up. Len had turned to poke at his breakfast again when he feels Don's arms wrap around his collar bone and rest his cheek on Len’s head. “I love you Dad. Thanks for being obnoxious and worried.”

“Aw. Love you too, silly gecko.” Len pats his arm in reciprocated affection. Donnie grabs his shoulder back and hurries out the front door. “Have fun!” Len calls after him. Only then did he look back to Danny. “He looked pale right?”

“Yeah but honestly it could have been the breakfast,” Mickey says, picking up a disc, “I even felt sick when I saw it.”

“First of all screw you,” Danny points at Mickey with his spatula, “Second of all, if he’s not feeling well he’ll come home. And third of all, next time you all can make your own crespelles.” Danny drops his last disk onto a plate when the shattering of ceramic fills the air. The three thieves blink at each other for a sec before Danny raises up the food slowly to show the plate underneath had been cracked in half from the sheer force of the crepe. With a defeated sigh, Danny drops his spatula. “Ok whose all for throwing these at trees and seeing if they shatter??”

Len and Mickey both raise their hands with a grin.

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

“Donnie?”

Despite the softness of April’s voice Don jumps so hard his elbow hits the stack of April’s school books. It’s only by his reflexes that they don’t join the rest of April’s dirty clothes on the floor. It takes him a few moments to regather his scattered thoughts before looking to April. ”Did you say something?”

“Yeah, your name, like five times.” His oldest friend peers at him from over her glasses. “Are you sure you’re feeling ok?”

Donnie would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t painfully aware of the migraine that would return if he did. Unfortunately, it had been haunting him ever since he woke up that morning. “For the last time yes. Uncle Danny made breakfast and it's just hurting my stomach. Now, the compound would be 23.6% more effective if you set the witch fire to exactly 129 degrees cinder.” He scribbles on the paper for a few moments before sliding it over to her. April casts him a suspicious look before looking over the paper again.

“If you ever convince your Dad to let you go to school, my Alchemy teacher would cry tears of joy. Again.” She pauses “They cry a lot.”

Don tries to smile but his aching head only allows him a half grin. As April starts adding his notes to hers he reaches for his yunomi of tea, not thirsty so much as needing the warmth for a subtle cold that clings to his skin.

There’s the sound of a door opening downstairs followed by the sound of a woman shrieking and dozens of items hitting the ground. ”A-April dear!!! I could use some help!” calls the unmistakable voice of the Mayor of witch town.

April was already out of her seat. “Coming Mom!” she calls hurrying for the door. “Don’t do my homework Dee!” she calls behind him.

“I would never!” Donnie says [even though he had already been reaching for her note book]. A few years ago he had the brilliant business idea, in lieu of being able to go to school himself, to do students' homework for them for a small [not so small] fee.

Of course before he could even launch his venture his Dad had found out and outright forbade it.

This time he’s unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The effect is instantaneous as the lights in the room become painfully saturated. He tries to cover his eyes but his world is already spinning.

It’s the last thing he feels before he blacks out

(#)#(#)

“I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed,” Len says in a tone that can only come from nine years of parenting experience. It does its job on Mickey who’s shoulders bunch up to the sides of his head, and even though Danny is trying to pull off ‘I don’t know how you think you can guilt trip me’ by leaning back in his seat. But it's hard to look innocent when the two of them are covered in mud.

“IT WAS DANNY’S FAULT!!” Mickey shrieks pointing at the rat. “After we knocked over a tree with one of his crepy things he told me that he knew alchemy that would make mud into chocolate and-and-“

Danny’s ‘calm bad boy’ dis option went out the window (which was also broken because of a wayward flying crepelle). “Who the hell raised you to be a snitch?!” the rat hisses.

“You did!! I learned it from watching you!”

The rat opens his mouth to argue before thinking. “Ok fine but I always taught you to get paid first.”

Len slaps a hand down his face. Normally he and Danny have reversed roles but he should have recognized that wild look in the rats eyes when Mickey was using one of the leftover crepelles as a tool sharpener. But Len, forgetting they were not in fact grown men but children pretending to be adults, had left them to their own devices.

There is a knocking on the door that makes Len sigh again. ”I have a fourteen year old and he has more common sense than you two.” He says in a way that is probably supposed to make them feel ashamed, but Mickey snorts loudly with his flippers over his mouth.

He opens the door to a flash of light that forces him to cover his eyes for a moment before his eyes adjust to the familiar form of the mayor of Witch Town. “Myrah?” He rubs at his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to come get Doniel, he has a fever and passed out while tutoring April.”

Len felt as though a cold chill had passed through his body, it was the only reason he hesitated. “Y-yeah just give me a sec.” He ducks back into the house, where Danny is already waiting.

”Len what’s-“

“Donnie passed out, I need you to come with me,” already the air of lighthearted teasing and jabs went out the window. Len is back down the stairs with a quilt from Donnie’s bed as Danny is grabbing his coat and tossing Len his. He almost feels bad for Mickey who can only watch on as the two exit. Myra waves her wand, the bright light from earlier returns, creating a portal in front of them. Len barely waits for the portal to form before stepping through. A moment later he is standing in the familiar oversized living room. He had been to the witch family house many times and each time was always surprised how disproportionate all the furniture was, (which made sense considering how tall Amaranth was).

The child in question was lying on the bright pink sofa under a thick blanket. There was a washcloth hovering over his head, every few seconds wiping at his brow. April looks at them when they enter with panic in her eyes. “I don’t know what happened Lenny, I went to help mom with groceries and-and when I came back-“

“Its ok April, it's not your fault.” Len takes her place by Donnie. His son's brow is furrowed underneath a layer of perspiration. Even though he already knows the answer, he presses the back of his hand on Don’s brow. His already racing heart is now beating so fast it almost hurts in his chest. He replaces the blanket Myra had given him with the one he had brought, wrapping him up in it before scooping him up into his arms.

“I’m sorry Len, if Amaranth had been here she could help but...” her fingers tap together anxiously as she watches the child in his arms. Len was always touched by how much Myra and Amaranth cared for Donnie. He never felt the need to have a partner (though he and Donnie both made enough ‘mom’ jokes about Danny to last a lifetime) it warmed his heart to know someone outside his family loved Donnie almost as much as he did.

“I know, thank you.” He moves past the mayor to where the portal was and in another flash he's back in front of his house where Danny is waiting. The rat reaches out and takes him around the shoulders and herds him inside. “He’s burning up Danny, I-I don’t know what happened, I felt his forehead his morning and he was fine, you saw me do it.”

“I know, I know.” Even though Danny claimed that he didn’t remember any of his medical training he’s already looking over Donnie. Trained eyes looking for anything that could tell him what was wrong. After a few moments Danny says to Len, “Get him into bed I’ll be there in a sec-“

“Ah-shouldn’t we put in him some ice?”

“No, the last time we tried that he almost went into shock before I stepped in. He’s a turtle, he can’t handle it.”

“I-I know.” Len unconsciously cradles Donnie closer to his chest protectively. He could still remember the terror of the time when Donnie got the Fall Flu and had a fever that burned his hand. They had gotten so desolate they had put him in a tub of ice to combat it. They had thought it was working until Don had fallen into a deathlike stillness. It was only then Danny had realized Donnie was going into shock and pulled him out so quickly they had knocked over their makeshift tub.

Now Len couldn’t tell if the shivers he was feeling were from Donnie’s sleeping form or from his own fear. Not until Danny put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to look into his eyes. “Can you get him to bed please? I’m going to mix together some medicine that Amaranth taught me and I’ll be right there, ok?”

Len nods “Ok, ok.” He lowers his cheek onto Don’s scalp as he carries him upstairs. It's only when the parent and child are out of sight does Danny let out a shaky sigh, running a hand over his scalp under his hat and forcing himself to calm down. He had never realized how much he depended on Len keeping a calm head. He hadn’t realized just how much he depended on that til they brought Donnie in. During missions Len had an eerie calm about him that he thrived off of. But it was moments when anything threatened the health or happiness of his child that threw Len in the deep end and forced Danny to step in.

“Mickey,” he says without looking behind him, knowing the poor eel was fluttering around not knowing what to do. “Will you please go upstairs and keep Len calm? Help him how you can til I get there.”

“Y-yeah ok.” The eel hurried to do as he was told. In that moment Danny allowed himself one more sigh before reaching under the cabinet and pulling up an old beaten box, filled with herbs and remedies he had swiped from houses over the years. He pulls out a notebook he had filled with some of Amaranth's recipients and pulls out a mortar bowl and pestle. Picking through a few jars of tiny shards and grinding them together before taking out an empty incense holder and pouring it inside. He made sure to secure the lid and take up the glass bottle under his arm before hurrying up the stairs.

A part of him had been scared that Len’s own fears would drive him to ignore his warning about the ice, but he entered Don's room just as Len was pulling a blanket over him. “Good job.” Danny moves past him to kneel by the bed, turning and handing the incense to Mickey. “Can you light this please? It’ll help clear the bacteria out of his lungs.” As he was twisting open the glass bottle he heard Mickey spark behind him before the smell of lavender filled the air (he ignored Mickey gagging behind him). He tips the tip of the bottle to test how much liquid was inside. Luckily, they still had enough for Donnie (he’d have to steal more later). He dabs his thumb with the light pink liquid before running it across Don’s burning forehead. ”There.”

“Is he ok?”

Danny had to commend Len on not asking him a million questions. He reaches back and pats his old friend on the knee. “The Willow Extract should help take his fever down, but if It doesn’t help in a few hours we’ll go to witch town.” He doesn’t get a response, but when he turns to look at him, he sees Len staring at his son. His dark eyes full of concern and fear that only a father could have. Danny stands up and steps back. “Len why don’t you sit with him for a bit, and I’ll make you some tea.” He makes eye contact with Mickey and jerks his head towards the door. After taking a moment to pat Len on the shoulder he follows him out the door.

Len finally lets his face drop into his hands with a shaky breath before the sound of a weak cough reaches him. When he looks up again he was filled with relief to be looking into Donnie’s feverish dark pink eyes. “Hey,” says a weak voice.

“Hey baby boy,” Len sits up on the edge of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone tried to kill me with one of Uncle Danny’s devil pancakes.” He barely has enough wind to finish his sentence before he has to gasp for air. “Will you sit with me please?”

Len can't help but smile, holding the side of Don’s face with his hand for a moment before climbing over him and laying on his other side. Don turns his head and tucks his head underneath Lens chin. “I’m s’rry,” Don mumbles, “I-I didn’t know I was sick.”

“I know you didn’t, you’re not a good liar remember?” Len lowers his cheek onto his scalp. “You get that from your Uncle Mickey.”

“And you?”

“Nah, I’m a great liar,” he smirks down at Donnie, “I’m not going to teach you how to lie though until you turn eighteen,” he pauses, “Hundred.”

Donnie lets out a laugh that sounds more like a raspy balloon, but Len can tell he’s trying not to fall asleep again. He rubs Don’s arm over his blanket. “Get some sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” The teen gives a nod of acknowledgement before rolling towards him. A few moments later he's fast asleep again, breathing easier than he had been a few minutes ago.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Human After All: I'd like to know more about A) Lust realizing that Hohenheim had an actual life in Resembool and B) everyone's reactions to Ed and Al sneaking off to do the human transmutation and the aftermath.

Oh boy here we fuckin go!!!!!

Lust realizing that Hohenheim had a life in Resembool:

Oh boy. Okay so this has some setup.

When Lust first meets Ed and Al, she assumes the situation is a lot different. Basically They're close enough to be mistaken for twins, so she thought it was more "one night stand and disappeared from town but their mom remembered the name and told the kids". Because... Why would he stay?

But then Lust babysits Ed and Al on a trip back to Resembool to visit Winry and her grandma. And like.

Lust gets curious about some things. And she happens to see a photo album out that she can't help but look through.

Of course Granny finds her snooping but just lets her look through it and explains that it's from Winry's parents' wedding. And Lust eventually flips to a page where Hohenheim is in the photo.

Lust pauses on it because it's so strange. First in general, of how Hohenheim looks just like Father but also nothing like him at the same time. Physically identical, but the way they carry themselves is.. Entirely different.

Especially as this picture is kinda goofy. Granny tells her how everyone was hinting to Hohenheim that he should marry Trisha since they were already "basically married". And the newly married Sarah Rockbell had given up pn subtly, and chucked her boquet right at Hohenheim's face with a "sorry I was aiming for Trisha!"(which no one belives because she has incredible aim).

Lust asks more on that. And Granny mentions how Hohenheim and Trisha had been together for a bit amd were already living in the same home. And that pretty much immediatly after that whole "lack of subtly" the pair decided "despite not going through legal paperwork we are married now fuck you' and also bonus pregnancy announcement. Which has Lust relize Ed and Al aren't twins.

But it's weird to her. Because like. Hohenheim had a life here? He was with this woman for a few years and essentially got married (clearly the "don't go through the paperwork" is because he doesn't legally exist). But like. He had a wife and kids. One of the kids seems to have been actually planned. Why would he do that? And why did he leave? No one has answers on that, but Granny says that if he did leave, it was for good reasons. Not whatever the town gossips make up for fun.

Granny is a little sus about Lust's interests in all this because like. I kiiinda mentioned this before on my artblog but he way I draw Lust she actually looks a lot like "if Ed was a girl" and considering how much Ed looks like Hohenheim... They basically look somewhat related. Granny points that out and kinda pulls some Gaslight Girlboss Gatekeep of "nope no relation whatsoever my father just worked with him long ago but it's totally not relevant to anything!"

Anyway!

Later, Lust is wandering around Ed and Al's home because that fucker hasn't burned yet. And she just... Sees more of it.

True. It's been just the boys for years but there's still things like his clothes in the bedroom closet or something casually put on a shelf too high for Trisha to have reached.

The two rooms that really hit are the bedroom and the study.

Tbe bedroom is mostly untouched. But she sees a shelf of little statues. It's strange to her, but she realizes all the statutes are made from Alchemy. About half of them have very obvious marks, a sign of a talented but inexperienced maker. Seeing two distinct styles, she cam guess Ed and Al made those.

The rest are perfect. Intricate and flawless. If they weren't on the shelf with the others, she would've thought they were made by some master clay artist.

Alchemically made trinkets as gifts for someone they love.

The study is another beast altogether. A whole library on Alchemical texts. Some even older than Lust. All marked up with someone's notes in the margins. The same person's notes, as the handwriting doesn't differ. Clearly all these are important. So why leave them?

The real hard hitter is a journal Hohenheim left. Of course Lust reads it. The fact that the journal is written in Xerxian is just another punch to the gut, but thankfully Lust can read it.

It has a lot of things but the main info she reads is an entry from when Ed was just born and Hohenheim is discussing worries over how his whole "Philosophers Stone in Human Form" deal might be effecting Ed in terms of like. Genetics and stuff.

But the main thing Lust focuses on is that Hohenheim mentions discussing those fears with Trisha. That he told her what he was and his whole history and everything.

It's... Confusing to Lust. Why did Hohenheim just settle down here in this small ass rural town with a normal woman? What was it about her that compelled him to stay in one place so long? To settle down after years and have a kid? Having a second kid? And telling her about... Everything?

She finds no answer because, from all accounts, it seems like Trisha was just a normal, small-town girl. She didn't even have an interest in Alchemy! Just gardening. Why her? Why not someone at least... Great and powerful to match what he was? Even if no one could truly compare to what he was.

Everyone's reactions to Ed and Al sneaking off to do Human Transmutation:

Oh boy. This is a big plot point.

So the boys had quite a plan to trick the adults. Lust has gone on trips out of town for weekends(reporting back to Father), and she's also babysat the boys on a trip to Resembool before. So the boys wait until one of her trips and tell Roy and Riza that she's taking them on a different trip to Resembool. None of the adults know this until Lust comes back without them and has no idea where they were.

They put it together real fast and all three book it to the train station. Several hours of worried pacing of what could've happened.

Roy and Riza are entirely in the dark of what might happen. Lust though... She knows how the Gate works. And what could have happened.

She knows that There's a Price to pay. And while she was planning on encouraging the boys to go through the Gate anyway, she was supposed to be involved with it so she could trade a part of her Philosopher's Stone for their safety. Obviously just so they don't loose a Sacrifice to blood loss or later infection! Not because she cares or anything! But yeah without her, who knows what the Price may be?

They check the boys house first. They see plenty of blood, which is a terrifying sight. But they also see a trail leading out. And that if the boys are still alive, they probably went to the Rockbell place.

Which yeah. Granny's already waiting for them. She wants to yell at them for failing, but it would be hypocritical sinve she didn't notice the first time around.

She tells them the boys are alive but fucked up. Ed lost a couple limbs and Al is... Hard to explain.

Lust is the first to notice the suit of armor in the living room. The way it's arranged like a child, curled up and hiding, barely peeking out from behind the "arms". Light in it's "eyes", like someone's in there watching her.

She remembers the experiments done on the death row inmates. Puttin Souls in suits of armor. She's horrified, but not surprised, when it moves.

That is a whole conversation. Lust has to pretend she doesn't know how that works(while also questioning how the boys managed it). Al tells them what he remembers, which is just everythiny going wrong and then being in the armor and Ed missing some limbs.

We have a long emotional scene when Roy goes to talk to Ed.

Ed is very much not okay at this point and he's trying to be angry but it's just not really there. And he just asks why Roy is still there. He failed to keep them from fucking up why does he still care? Just go back home and leave them so he doesn't have to deal with them anymore.

Well that's just heartbreaking. Roy just talks to him about a lot of things. And the main thing was that this wasn't just "I'm gonna try and stop you but whoops failed that bye bitch" situation. He's not just going to drop the kids because he failed once. He's not even going ti drop them after months of pushing him away and being stubborn about the whole situation. They're a family now damn it.

And Ed kinda feels like that might be worse, because he threw that away ti go fuck up. But Roy tells him it's not "thrown away". They're still going to be here for him. And figure things out.

Later at night, Roy, Riza and Lust all kinda sneaknout individually. Which does lead to some comedy until Granny catches them and calls them idiots. But all of them were thinking of going to the boy's house and looking over their notes.

Roy and Lust are the only ones who can make heads or tails of the notes. Riza can follow some but gets lost and Granny never was an Alchemy person. Roy's looking more for "what went wrong" while Lust is focused more on "what went right". And Lust does find that though they came very close to making a Homunculus, they did do everything pretty right. She accidentally comments on that, which leads to a horrifying theoretical of "what if the boys managed to make a fake Trisha that looked and acted like her but wasn't her?". This also leads to the more disturbing question of "what was it they did manage to make"?

This is a thing that came up in Canon, but here they get answers of the thing that they made wasn't their mom, and you can't bring back the dead. Ed and Al take that news about as well as they did in Canon as well.

The "possible homunculus" thing comes up too with the others wondering if Al really is Al and not just... Something vaguely like him that Ed accidentally created. (Lust knows but can't tell how she knows rip!). Riza to the rescue on this one by asking Al about something Ed shouldn't know about. So that existential crisis is averted!

Of course there's discussion of what to do to help Ed and Al. Which... Does lead to getting back toward Canon of "have Ed become a State Alchemist". It's debated a lot because ya know. Sure it's the best option to help them have the freedom and access to stuff tk find shit but. Ya know. Roy already feels like he failed to protect these kids once already this is not helping.

Anyway! One more fun scene!

Please imagine once Ed gets the automail arm and just does the clap-slap Alchemy. And Roy and Riza are like "yo what the FUCK???"

[omo-time]

Albedo centric kaebedo omo 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ as promised

Also I took some liberties, less warming options and the walk is longer. Also warming potions exist. And also albedo has a living space attached to his lab<3

Albedo fastens his odd coat buckle with a sigh. “You’re sure you want to escort me?” He asks the taller navy haired man in front of him, who was bundling the last of their supplies into a pack that he would carry up.

“Of course! It’s not that I don’t believe you can fend for yourself, but the mutation stones that’ve been popping up make even hilichurls a frightening foe.” Kaeya responds with a little humour in his voice.

He wasn’t wrong though, mutation stones were a total pain. They enhanced the strength of any enemy around them, making them almost impossible to defeat alone. Thus, Kaeya would not allow Albedo to make the journey up Dragonspine alone. Albedo took no offence in this, he would rather spend time with his dear Cavalry Captain anyway.

As they begun their ascent up the mountain, Albedo took a drink thermos from his pocket and drank some of the warm water that it was holding. Usually cold water was the obvious choice, but it was better for warming up the insides. He puts it back in his pocket and sighs, watching his warm breath condensate briefly in front of him.

Not long after, they approached the large frostbearing tree and immediately spotted the frostarm lawachurl that sat almost beside it. Unlike before, there was a strange and evil red aura that danced around it.

‘This is likely the effect of the mutation stones at work…’ Albedo thought, stopping in his tracks to figure out how to progress.

Kaeya followed suit, except he waved Albedo over in one direction. It dawned on the blond that Kaeya was suggesting they go around, which was a pretty good idea considering they would both likely die if they were spotted by the mutated enemy. Slowly, making sure to stay quiet, they made their way around the area and back to the path that lead further upwards. The pair had only just begun their walk and already ran into problems… this was going to be an interesting trip.

After a bit of time, Albedo found the cold wind was drying his mouth a fair bit. That was one thing that never changed, the stupid dry and cold mouth feel. To remedy that, the alchemist took another big sip of his warm water. As he felt the warmth travel through his system, he found that there was already a budding discomfort in his bladder. He really didn’t drink that much, but considering that he had drank way before preparing he couldn’t be totally surprised.

Continuing up, Albedo kept pace with Kaeya as best as he could. It was more difficult considering his need that had begun to weigh on him, and the fact that there was quite a bit of snow even on the path. However, there was something that did catch his eye. Kaeya’s movements were just a little bit off. Perhaps he was in the same situation, or maybe he was just cold? He didn’t want to pry though, he knew too well that was an embarrassing topic in general.

Once they had continued further along the path, Albedo was already beginning to fair badly. His bladder was actually fairly small, so he knew that if things kept up at this pace he would be full pretty soon. The upside, however, is that it wasn’t weak. It was still an unfavourable situation no matter how you look at it and he couldn’t help but wonder how Kaeya was fairing, the man not showing any other signs of need. Maybe he was just cold after all.

Eventually they had begun to approach a ruin brazier. Albedo watched as Kaeya’s eyes lit up.

“Ah, a decent source of warmth! Let’s go huddle beside it for a moment.” The taller one suggested, and the alchemist followed along. He wasn’t sure how he was going to fair standing still for more than a few seconds, but he would do his best to be as still as possible.

Upon Kaeya giving the mechanism a tap, the stone top spun up a little and an orange glow begun to pulse. He put his arms around Albedo for some extra warmth just like he planned to. However, when the shorter of them wrapped his arms back around Kaeya, pressing their bodies close, he began to tremble obviously. Standing in one spot never helps when desperate.

Kaeya glances down at him and raises an eyebrow. “My, are you really that cold? Maybe we should have brought extra layers…” he thinks out loud.

“Yes, ah..very cold…” the blond almost moans, feeling a pang of need hit him. As a result, one of his legs began to shake back and forth. Kaeya just attributed it all to a cold response, and Albedo was internally grateful. It would be extremely embarrassing if he were to catch on.

After a minute of warming up in front of the brazier, the two continued on side by side. Albedo couldn’t hold back his panting anymore, his lower half was starting to ache with need. ‘I’m here with Kaeya, and there’s no way I could just go in front of him. Unless… I could sneak off with an excuse, then maybe this could work.’

Albedo cleared his throat nervously. “Ah, Kaeya… there’s a plant a little down this way I- ghh.. wanted to pick up for an experiment, can you wait here?” he asked the other, failing to mask the desperation that had begun to seep into his voice.

The navy haired man stood in thought for a moment before shaking his head.

“That’s too dangerous, remember the mutation stones? I can’t let you go alone.” He replies strongly. Albedo swore he almost felt his soul leave his body.

“And drink this, it’ll keep you warmer from the cold stone area that’s ahead.” He continued, handing the blond a bottle with a warm orange liquid. A warming potion.

Drinking another liquid was the last thing he needed right now, but he knew that the cold could shut down his insides completely if he didn’t take it. So, hesitantly, he downed the bottle’s contents. Kaeya drank a bottle of his own as well.

Kaeya accompanied him off the path to where Albedo had spotted this plant, which was really a yellow leaved mint plant. It was nothing special, but what did Kaeya know about alchemy? Maybe it was important. Albedo crouched down slowly as to not jostle his aching bladder, pretending to pick at the leaves with interest. Nearby, Kaeya leaned against a tree with an ankle crossed over the other, looking a little uncomfortable. This was possibly the worst case scenario, no relief and a longer trip. Albedo stands up and pockets the random leaves as he thinks about this.

His thoughts are interrupted when Kaeya pushes him back a little, saying “a hilichurl group has spotted us, we need to get back to the path!” with urgency, clearly implying they were affected by the mutation.

However, the slight push was enough to send a jet of warmth across Albedo’s shorts, in turn causing him to gasp a little and grab himself out of panic to stop the sudden flow.

He thanked the archons that he wore such dark shorts. If he didn’t, he was sure Kaeya would have found out about his predicament. After he was sure his control was steady, he jogged back to the path with Kaeya behind him. As they began their walking pace again, Albedo couldn’t help but wince at the feeling of the now cold damp spot on his shorts. Even worse was it would surely begin to freeze soon with the temperature it was dropping to ahead.

The warming potion was both a blessing and a curse. He was glad he was able to go through the blizzard area without freezing to death, but it also greatly worsened the condition of his bladder. He was now utterly full and practically bursting, begging and pleading with his body internally to just keep holding on, as they were almost there.

His thoughts were interrupted once again by Kaeya’s voice.

“A-Albedo, I need you to stand right here and stay on guard for a moment. Please.” He said with urgency coating his words, taking off not far away almost immediately after.

“Wait, why-“ Albedo started, but was silenced by the sound of liquid hitting the snow and a surprisingly lewd moan of relief, as Kaeya had begun relieving himself behind a wide tree close by.

The sound was agonizing. The alchemist’s lower half practically screamed at him in reaction, and all he could do was rock his legs almost violently and cross and uncross his legs as he tried to block out the sounds of relief that couldn’t quite be his yet. While usually he would try his best to stifle any of his own noises, he couldn’t help but let a few soft desperate moans and groans. They were so close to the lab, he could hold it.

Yet, as the sound of Kaeya’s stream tapered off and the man emerged back to the path, a prominent hissing replaced the splashing sound. Albedo had gone completely still, and was helplessly and uncontrollably wetting himself. The black fabric of his shorts glistened and the alchemist let out a distressed gasp, followed by a moan of relief of his own.

The extreme warmth was such a good contrast against the cold climate, he almost wished he could stay like this forever. The relief was so good, and the heated air around him was so pleasant he forgot it was visible.

After the hissing died down and the beyond pleasant feeling of relief had subsided, realization hit him like a bus. He had just peed himself in front of the cavalry captain, the object of his affections. Upon this thought his cheeks and ears displayed a deep blush, becoming incredibly hot. He tried to take a few steps toward the lab before Kaeya could say anything, but he ended up stumbling as his legs were weakened greatly.

He was caught by the navy haired man, his arms providing him with enough support to stand properly.

“‘M sorry- I…” he managed to mumble an apology into Kaeya’s shoulder, finding that talking after such an embarrassing scene was a lot harder than usual.

“It was an accident, nothing to fret over. Hell, if I didn’t rush off I probably would have had one too.” Kaeya reassured him in a soothing tone of voice.

“Let’s wipe you down a bit before this all freezes to you. I’ll give you a proper washing when we arrive.” He continued.

Keeping an arm out for his boyfriend to use for support, he pulled out a decent sized cloth from the bag he had on his back. He knelt down and wiped off any excess liquid on the alchemist’s lower half with ease. Albedo almost wanted to cry in a mixture of shame but also relief, he was being treated so gently despite what had just happened.

Wrapping the now damp cloth in a larger one, Kaeya put everything back in his backpack and led Albedo to the lab. When they arrived, the blond immediately headed for his living space that was connected to the lab. He began to undress, peeling his long boots and socks off his body with an uncomfortable squelch. He cringed. Then he took off his shorts and boxers, cleaning himself off a bit before putting on a new pair.

Kaeya meanwhile had taken the larger cloth and dipped it in a stored container of warm water, wringing it out a bit before heading into the living space. Albedo sat on his bed, averting his gaze from the cavalry captain as much as possible. Kaeya knelt down once more and wiped off the exposed pale skin, earning a relaxed sigh from the other.

“I’m… I’m sorry you saw me do that…” Albedo apologized softly, looking down at his now cleaner legs. After Kaeya had tossed the cloth into the water to soak, he returned and sat beside the alchemist.

“Like I said before, it was just an accident. They happen to everyone, and it’s nothing to be mortified over. Especially with me.” He says in his soothing voice, laying down on the bed and pulling the other down with him.

“Let’s just relax for a bit before we do anything. I’ll stay here for a few days with you, I don’t have much to do back in the city anyway.” Kaeya suggested. In return, Albedo smiled a little and turned toward the man, cuddling into him.

“I can allow that.” He replies with a little of his own humour in his voice. Maybe things didn’t turn out so bad…

[kerra-and-company]

17, 19 and/or 23 for the drabbles!

It's been a bit, but I had time to finish this today @i-mybrunettelady! :D I've got some final things to finish for this quarter and I have finals next week, but also got a fic done, so...here you go! I did 17, by the way: "This is going to hurt."

Warnings: semi-graphic discussion of injury, HoT spoilers

Awareness crept back in slowly, along with a persistent ringing noise that Cio could really do without.

She groaned, struggling to sit up, trying to remember where she was. Her eyelids were heavy, but she forced them open.

She blinked—once, twice, three times.

Ah, right.

The jungle. The fleet. The screams. The crash.

She had somehow ended up directly in the center of an impact crater, utterly alone. The hole was about twelve feet in diameter and three feet deep, and the dirt was blackened and scorching hot beneath Cio.

She dragged herself up, forcing herself to stand, and she approached the crater walls. They crumbled as she tried to find a proper foothold, slipping again and again. Her entire body ached, but, eventually, she clambered out.

The ground outside the crater was covered in scorch marks and shattered metal, shards poking up towards the smoky sky. The remainder of what had been Cio’s airship was precariously balanced in the branches above.

Several limp figures hung off the sides. More were scattered on the ground.

Cio clenched her jaw and stood.

I can’t be the only survivor. I can’t be.

She began to search.

****

Under a pile of wreckage, Ari jolted awake, banging her head on a metal beam. For a split second she was only conscious of the pain in her head, but then her leg began to throb. She looked down.

“Oh, by Smodur’s blasted behind, really?” she snarled at the iron stabbing through her thigh and pinning her to the ground. “REALLY? I survive being pulled out of the sky by a damn dragon and now my own airship’s trying to kill me?”

Carefully, she propped herself up, trying to get a better look at the injury. Luckily, the offending object was relatively thin. Unluckily, it also was very jagged and poking directly through the middle of her leg, and she’d probably injure herself more trying to pull it out.

If she even could pull it out, that is. She only had about a foot of empty space above her head, which wasn’t enough. She could try to blast the wreckage away, but she wasn’t sure how much of the airship was still there. It might be impossible to move, and even if it wasn’t, moving it could injure her further. She needed leverage and control and…help. She needed help.

If I shout, it might draw unwanted attention. But if no one finds me, I’ll definitely die.

Burn me. I’m giving it three minutes.

If no one finds me by then, I’ll scream and deal with the consequences. And if no one answers…well. Time for operation blast-the-metal.

****

Dead. Dead. Torn to pieces. Definitely dead.

Cio stumbled past body after body. Some of them she recognized, some of them she didn’t.

They’re not…did the entire fleet go down?

She glanced up at the sky, but all she could see was smoke and branches. She gritted her teeth, her chin falling to her chest. The brush at the tree line abruptly rustled, making her nails dig into her palms. Something was coming.

Okay, Ci. Think. She took a deep breath, reaching for her—

By the Alchemy. No pistol. No flamethrower. If I survive this, I’m inventing better belt clips.

And then it walked out of the trees.

It was almost a sylvari, and yet not. Taller even than Nisha, visage twisted but eyes glowing, the creature stared at her, its odd plant-daggers drawn. They reminded Cio just slightly of Marshal Trahearne’s sword. She snatched up a still-glowing piece of what used to be the fuselage, feeling it tear at her gloves.

“Archon?” the creature rumbled.

The voice was deep and almost unrecognizable. But it—he—had called her by her title.

No. Her mind flashed back to the young Priory engineer who’d accompanied them on the ship, her second for this assault. Relatively, very enthusiastic, too eager to please. Twin daggers in copper sheaths at his waist. “N-Niko?”

“Archon,” Niko said, sounding like he was choking. His voice rose in pitch, sounding almost doubled. “Help me.”

“Nik, what happened to you?”

“I listened,” he said, unsteady. The daggers twitched. Cio felt blood trickle down her arm as she gripped her makeshift weapon harder. “It told me to—”

He screamed, then, absolutely earsplittingly loud and clearly involuntary. He stood utterly frozen as he did it. Only his face—covered with thick bark, now—moved at all.

“What told you? What did you do?”

“The jungle dragon,” Niko’s dual voices hissed. He took a step forward. “All must—”

He froze again, shaking his head. “I—It told me to throw explosives at the other airships. And I did.” Pain. Utter, blinding pain in his voice. How old had he been when he joined the Pact? a detached portion of Cio wondered.

Niko moved forward again, and something crunched beneath his feet. “Can—help me, Archon, please. It won’t stop talking.”

Cio couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. She wasn’t entirely certain she was breathing.

“HELP me,” he growled.

A drop of blood hit the ground.

And the wreckage to Cio’s right exploded in a flare of brilliant, earth-shattering blue.

****

Ari wasn’t entirely sure how she was standing. The pain had traveled somewhere far, far back in her mind, and she recognized that this was bad, but she could not be persuaded to give half a flying fuck.

The voices had dragged her back from the edge of consciousness, and she clung to it now as she called on her magic. The broken bar poked out of her leg, making her feel lopsided and off-balance.

I can’t believe I’m going to die for this pain-in-the-ass asura.

She threw an Aegis shield at the creature like a discus, and he stumbled backwards as it smacked him in the chest, snarling. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the asura reaching out as if in a daze, a fragment of metal clattering to the ground.

“Quit it!” Ari growled, leaping in front of her. She barely managed to avoid falling, her leg threatening to give way beneath her, sparks dancing in her vision. She blinked them away. “He’s too dangerous. And you’re unarmed.”

“Submit to Mordremoth!” screamed the former sylvari, leaping forward.

Ari reached for her magic to form a barrier, like she’d done so many times before, and she—couldn’t. The magic wasn’t there; it wouldn’t come. It wasn’t enough. She was too exhausted, too injured, too much at the end of her rope. She opened her mouth to let out a final cry of defiance.

She felt a rush of air pass her side. A small body threw itself towards the attacker, clutching something tight. A flaming fuselage shard embedded itself in Niko’s chest.

His voice died, his daggers falling. He looked down and smiled, the unnatural glow fading from his eyes. “Thank you.”

He collapsed to the ground.

So did his killer.

“Hey!” Ari growled, stumbling as she tried very hard not to do the same. “Sparks, I know this is a shit time, but I need you alive to pull this out of my leg.”

The asura didn’t move, sitting there on her knees in front of the blaze.

“SPARKS!” Ari shouted, coughing roughly.

“By the alchemy, furball, can you not wait for a few seconds?” the asura said shakily, half sarcastic and half serious. But she stood and moved to Ari’s side, her face wet with tears. “You need to sit down.”

The two of them limped to the edge of the woods, and Ari leaned against a tree, fighting the part of her brain that said to let go.

“This is going to hurt, you know,” Sparks said, meeting her eyes.

“What else is new?” Ari replied. Once that would have come out flippant, but here and now it just came out flat.

“All right, then. Brace yourself. One, two—”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

A few parrots flew from nearby branches, chirping.

Ari’s eyes threatened to slide shut.

“Hey, furball. Hey!” Sparks shouted. Distantly, Ari heard a sound like the release of steam, feeling the pressure of small hands on her injury. “Stay awake! You are not allowed to die on me!”

“Not…dying,” Ari muttered. “You…the wound…”

“Closed, not healed,” the asura said. “Can you take care of any of that?”

Once again, Ari reached for her magic, throwing small specks of magic in the right direction. She felt the tissue begin to knit together and let out a sigh of relief. It was just enough.

Well. Not dead yet. I’ll take that for today.

“Didn’t…think you were an elementalist, Sparks…”

“I’m not,” the asura said shortly. “I’m just good with fire.”

Ari huffed out a laugh. “Hey…Sparky’s good with fire. Who’da thought it…”

Her eyelids drooped.

“What did I say about falling asleep?” Sparks said, her voice sounding loud and distant all at once.

“Not dying,” Ari forced out. “Stable now. Just…need rest.”

“You better be telling me the truth, furball.”

“I am,” Ari whispered, letting the darkness take her away. “Promise.”

[pigeontheoneandonly]

The Birthday

The Birthday

So here is a bittersweet little thing I wrote because Dragon Age won’t leave me alone this week.

NB: It is the year after the Kirkwall rebellion.  Anders and Briar Hawke are hiding out in Amaranthine, and Dae Tabris has, of course, put Anders to work, as if nothing at all amiss has occurred. Not having played either of those games in many years, I’m sure I’ve borked Anders’ voice.  Also, do not ask me about the early timeline; I think we all just do our best trying to reconcile Awakenings and DA2.

“We’re stopping here a moment.”  Daeroavain Tabris, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Hero of the Fifth Blight, and Arl of Amaranthine, pushed into the small shop just off the main square.  

Warden Anders trailed after him, lowering his hood as the door shut and cut off the steaming cold. Weak winter light filtered through the windows where the snow accumulation softened its edges.  “A toy shop?”

“It’s Wintermarch,” he said, as if that explained it.  He picked up a wooden soldier and scrutinized it, before setting it down and reaching for a bag of marbles.  

Anders glanced around the wares, awkward, and wishing they’d just get on with their errand, which was meeting with the city watch about some odd cattle killings they thought could be darkspawn.  “You have a nephew, or something?”

“Or something.” Distracted.  “You were a kid when they took you to the tower, right?”

“What?”  He blinked.  “Yes.  I was twelve.”

“Fuck.  I thought you were younger.  When did you know you were a mage?”

“That’s blunt.”

The look Dae gave him was pure exasperation.  “Two months underground, no baths and eating shit I don’t want to think about too hard, looking for that damn dwarf, and this is what you balk at?”

The Warden-Commander was one of the very few people in Thedas who could make Anders feel even slightly sheepish.  He stuffed his hands in his pockets.  “Eight.”

“Eight. That’s perfect.”  He held up a box emblazoned with an illustration of topsy-turvy glassware.  “Would you have liked an alchemy kit?”

Anders simply stared.  Dae looked at the box.  “No?”

“What are you on about?” he asked, patience running dry.

“I’m trying to buy a birthday gift for an eight-year-old mage.”  He tilted his head.  “Well, overwhelmingly likely a mage, in any case.”

“What, some kid trapped in the Circle?” It wasn’t that he thought child mages were undeserving. It was that he couldn’t imagine Dae knowing one well enough to undertake this errand.  The Circles were a mess these days, anyway.  Breaking down right and left.  It was what he’d wanted, but at the same time, somehow not.  Hawke had been right about that—nothing ever fell out the way you planned.  It just kept going.

Dae scoffed at that idea.  “You clearly haven’t met his mother, if you think she’d let him end up there.  She grew up luring templars to their deaths for kicks.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never introduced me to to this charming lady.”

“I would, if I had the faintest idea where she is.  You’d like her but she’d surely hate you.  You shouldn’t feel badly, though.  She hates everyone.”  He turned towards a shelf stacked with games, each piece carefully stained or painted. “A chess set is boring, right?”

“If she hates you, why are you buying her kid a gift?”

He smiled, to himself more than anything.  “Because she was one of my dearest friends.”

His brow furrowed. Verbal fencing wasn’t much like him, either.  “Come to think of it, how are you going to deliver this gift, if you don’t know where she is?”

“I’m not.”  

“That makes no sense.”

He shifted his weight, picking up a chess piece, contemplating it without really seeing it. “I’ve never met him.  His birthday would be sometime this month, so I just… get him something every year.”

“I don’t—”  Then he really saw Dae, staring down at the rook.  Oh.  Oh.

He put the piece back.  “Don’t think I don’t know how stupid it is.  There’s… simply not anything else I can do.”

Standing in the middle of the shop, comparing various toys and hunched in on himself with a feigned nonchalance so unlike him, Dae didn’t look so much like any of the things he actually was.  Just a shorter than average elf in worn armor and mud on his boots, staring down a hopeless task.

Dae backed him against the templars when they first met.  Barely knew him, no questions asked, just handed him a permanent way out. Like it was nothing.  He mentioned the dumb story about Mr. Wiggums, exceptionally careful to not make a big deal of how he was his only real friend and how hard it was to lose him, and the next thing he knew Dae somehow found a kitten and told him to take care of it, as if it were a big favor.  Come to that, he never saw him angrier than when he got back from being frog-marched to Weisshaupt after years of avoiding it, only to find the stand-in they sent had made Anders give him up.

When he and Briar fled Kirkwall, not a friend left in the world and and any number of people wanting them dead, Dae welcomed him back like he’d never left, greeted Hawke like an old friend, and stated flat out that the templars hadn’t managed to take the Keep yet but they were welcome to try.

“Here,” he said, pulling down something from an adjacent display.  “It’s a whirligig.  Stomp on the pedal, here, and some kind of clockwork makes it fly.  I think he’d like that.”