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aventurineswife · 2 months ago

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characters and how they deal with their partner who comes from an abusive family that they are unable to cut off no matter how bad it gets or how much it affects them because they're too scared to take that step. How will they encourage them? (Kaveritas, Shadow, Aventurine, and Lumine.)

Rewrite Your Story

Tags: Lumine x Reader, Kaveh x Reader x Ratio, Aventurine x Reader, Shadow (OC) x Reader, Emotional support, Family struggles, Toxic family dynamics, Abuse, Personal growth, Self-worth, Healing journey, Encouragement, Established relationship, Fear of change, Overcoming fear, Found family, Self-empowerment.

Warnings: This fic touches on sensitive themes of abuse, manipulation, toxic family relationships, emotional turmoil, and personal growth in the face of challenging circumstances. It may be triggering for individuals dealing with similar experiences.

[Header credits]

Lumine sat by the campfire, the crackling flames casting soft shadows on your delicate features. Her eyes, as bright as the evening sun, reflected a deep empathy as she gazed at you. You both sat in silence for a long while, the only sound being the occasional rustle of the leaves in the night wind. You had just shared your fears with her about your family, your abusive ties, and the overwhelming feeling of being unable to break free. It was something that hurt Lumine to the core.

"I... just can't do it," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I can't cut them off, no matter how much I suffer. I'm scared. They're all I know."

Lumine's gaze softened, the quiet determination in her heart taking root. Her own journey across countless worlds had been shaped by separation, loss, and the painful yearning for reunion with her twin, Aether. She understood what it was like to feel isolated, trapped by the weight of ties that felt impossible to sever.

She took a slow breath, the firelight dancing in her eyes as she spoke. "I understand your pain. I've been torn apart from the one person I loved most. And in some ways, I still carry that hurt with me." Her voice was soft but firm, her words cutting through the silence. "But you have to remember that you are the one who deserves to feel safe, to feel loved. No matter what your family has made you believe, you are worthy of peace. They might have created this pattern in your life, but you... you have the power to rewrite it."

She reached out, placing a hand gently over yours. "Fear will always be a chain. But you don't have to let it control you forever. If you can't take that step alone, I will be here. We'll take it together, even if it's a small one. You don’t need to face this fear alone."

Her voice was unwavering, full of compassion and quiet strength. The weight of her words was as gentle as it was profound, as she knew the burden you carried all too well. Lumine leaned in closer, her presence offering comfort, as though she were a quiet beacon in the dark. "The family you choose, the people who love you—we are your family now. You don't need to carry their chains anymore."

Her eyes softened further as she offered a small, but reassuring smile. "Whenever you're ready, I’ll be here. No pressure. No judgment. Just... no more fear."

You gave a small nod, feeling an unspoken bond between you—a bond that held both healing and hope, a future where fear no longer dictated your every move.

Kaveh paced back and forth in your shared quarters, his eyes reflecting his inner turmoil. It had been a difficult day. You had opened up to him about your family, about the toxic, abusive environment that you felt trapped in. You had tried, over and over, to escape your family’s control, but every time you attempted to stand up for yourself, the fear and guilt weighed heavily on you, making you retreat back into the suffocating familiarity of your past.

Kaveh’s heart ached for you, his empathetic nature wanting to shield you from pain, to make it all go away. But he knew it wasn’t that simple. How could he ease your burden? He couldn't stand the thought of you suffering silently.

"I don't know how to break free, Kaveh," you whispered, voice breaking with emotion. "I'm scared of what will happen if I do. What if they... they make it worse? What if they never forgive me?"

Kaveh stopped pacing and turned to face you, his features softening with understanding. He could feel the weight of your pain, the delicate balance you walked between fear and longing for something better. Kaveh approached you slowly, his hands reaching out to gently take yours.

"Listen," he began, his voice steady yet filled with the warmth of his compassion, "I know you feel stuck. I know you're scared. But what they're doing to you—what they've done to you—is not your fault. You don't have to live in fear. You have every right to choose a life that's free from their toxicity. You're stronger than you think."

He cupped your face with his hand, looking deep into your eyes. His tone was earnest, his usual idealism shining through. "You don't need to cut them off immediately if you're not ready. But you do need to take that first step. Start small. Start by setting boundaries—your boundaries. Let them know you won't tolerate being mistreated. And if they don’t respect that, then it’s time to distance yourself."

Kaveh’s words were sincere, grounded in his unwavering belief that beauty, kindness, and justice should prevail—even if it was a fight. He knew that your family might try to manipulate or guilt you, but he also knew that no one deserved to live under such a shadow.

"You're not alone in this," he continued. "I’m here. And I’ll always be here for you, even when it feels like the world is against you. Take it one step at a time, and when you're ready to stand tall, I’ll be the one cheering you on. You’re worth it."

In the quiet of the room, the sincerity of Kaveh’s words hung in the air, and you felt a warmth that softened the fear gnawing at your heart. You knew the road ahead would be difficult, but Kaveh’s unwavering support made it feel just a little less daunting.

And beside you stood Ratio, his eyes not as warm as Kaveh's, but filled with unwavering conviction.

"You are capable of far more than you think," Ratio added, his voice as confident as ever. "Fear is the greatest enemy of intellect and creativity. If you wish to rise above it, you must. Do not let them dictate your future."

Kaveh looked at Ratio, and then back at you. "We’re in this together, you know. You have our support, no matter what you choose."

With Kaveh’s hand still gently holding yours, and Ratio’s piercing gaze meeting yours with unwavering confidence, you felt the weight of your fear lighten, replaced by a renewed sense of hope.

You might not have all the answers yet, but with the strength of your love and the support of Kaveh and Ratio, you knew you could find the courage to make that first step. The family that had caused so much harm would no longer be the deciding force in your life. It would be your own choices, your own future.

Shadow sat quietly in the bakery, the soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through the window. She wiped her hands on a towel, her movements methodical, but her mind was elsewhere. You, still emotionally bruised from your recent conversation, had barely spoken a word all day. Shadow had sensed the unspoken tension and the way your eyes flickered nervously every time your family was brought up. She knew the scars weren’t just physical—they were far deeper, buried within the heart.

She leaned against the counter, watching you as you stared into space. The quiet in the room was thick, oppressive even, but Shadow didn’t feel the need to fill it. She understood that sometimes silence was more powerful than words.

“Hey, you okay?” Shadow’s voice was soft, warm but with that ever-present underlying strength.

You didn’t answer immediately, and Shadow didn’t push. She was patient, waiting for you to find your voice. The silence stretched until your voice broke it, just above a whisper.

“I can’t leave them. Not yet. I know they’ve hurt me over and over, but... they’re my family. What if they really need me? What if I’m the one to fix things?”

Shadow's brow furrowed, her heart tightening as she approached you slowly. Her eyes softened, her own painful history flashing in her mind. She had been where you were, stuck in a cycle of hurt, struggling to break free from the past that chained her to people who didn’t deserve her loyalty.

“They don’t get to decide your worth,” Shadow said, her tone calm but firm, a contrast to the war raging inside her. “You’ve done more than enough. You’ve survived. But sometimes survival means cutting ties with the things that keep you from truly living.”

You looked at her, your eyes filled with the same fear that Shadow had seen so many times in her own reflection.

“I know you’re scared. But you’re not alone in this.” Shadow stepped closer, her hand reaching out, not as an offer of pity, but of understanding. “You’ve fought through so much, and I know it feels like cutting them off is impossible. But you have the strength to choose what’s best for you. Your peace matters. Your healing matters. You deserve to walk away from pain.”

The words hung between you for a long moment. Shadow didn’t try to convince you outright, but simply shared the truth she had learned through her own scars: the strength to let go was within you. She’d be by your side, no matter the decision, but she wanted you to know you could find the courage to choose yourself.

“I’m here,” she added quietly, her voice a steady anchor. “I won’t push you, but when you’re ready, I’ll help you rebuild. I’ll help you heal.”

Shadow’s compassion was unwavering, but it was her belief in your strength, born from her own painful journey, that spoke louder than any words.

Aventurine leaned against the tall balcony railing, the neon lights of the city flickering in the distance. The wind carried the scent of the ocean, but the discomfort between him and you was the most obvious presence in the room. The silence stretched between you, suffocating and fragile.

“I don’t know what to do,” you finally spoke, your voice quivering, betraying the internal war you’d been fighting for so long. “I can’t just leave them. They’re my family. They... need me. Even if it hurts me, I don’t think I can walk away.”

Aventurine didn’t answer immediately, his hand gripping the railing as his mind raced. He understood what it was like to be bound to a past filled with cruelty, to have a family that was a constant source of pain yet held an inescapable claim over you. But his methods of survival were built on manipulation, calculated risk, and the raw, volatile need to control. But this was different. This was more than just strategy—it was about your heart, your well-being.

With a fluid motion, Aventurine turned to face you, his gaze unreadable for a long moment. His eyes locked onto yours, sharp yet gentle in a way that only those who had mastered the art of disguise could convey. He moved towards you, close enough for you to feel his presence but not enough to encroach on your personal space.

“I know what it’s like,” he said softly, his voice surprisingly vulnerable. “To feel like you owe them, like you’re the only one who can fix it. But the truth is, they’ve hurt you. Over and over again. And no matter how much you try to save them, they’ll always drag you back into that cycle.”

His tone was steady, but beneath it lay a deep, unspoken sadness—perhaps from the guilt that plagued him, from the very thing that drove his manipulative, high-stakes persona.

“You don’t have to be their savior. Not if it costs you everything you are,” Aventurine continued. “I know how hard it is to walk away. To cut the ties. But you need to understand something. The price of that loyalty... it’s too high. It costs you your happiness, your peace, and sometimes, it even costs your soul.”

Your eyes were wide with doubt, and for a brief moment, he saw the fear in your gaze. It was fear he understood all too well—the fear of losing what little connection you still had to a broken family.

Aventurine placed a hand gently on your shoulder, the touch light but firm, a symbol of reassurance. “I’m not asking you to walk away today. Not yet. But I want you to know this: I will be here for you, no matter what. If you need time to process, I will be here. If you need someone to talk to, I’m not going anywhere.”

His lips curved into a rare, genuine smile, one that was free of manipulation. It was a smile that spoke of trust, of vulnerability—of a rare sincerity.

“You don’t have to carry their burden alone. You can take steps, no matter how small, to free yourself from it. You have a life to live, a life that’s yours and yours alone. And if you need help to find the strength, I’ll be right here.”

Aventurine’s words were a promise. He knew the weight of guilt and the poison of family ties that bound you, but he also knew the cost of survival. And he wasn’t about to let you drown in that cycle of pain. With time, you’d find your way, just as he had.

But for now, the most important thing he could offer was his unwavering support—no manipulation, no gamble. Just presence.

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grounded-gryphon · 5 months ago

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Danny Woke Up

Danny woke up. He stretched and yawned and plopped downstairs, waving to Jazz's boyfriend as he went.

He walked into his English class to Mr. Lancer's cruel delight, "Wake UP Mr. Fenton, you have a test today!"

He sat at his desk and struggled to focus, but he couldn't seem to read the test. Nothing made sense. When did he get to school anyway? And why was he still in his pjs?

Oh fuck, this was a dream. A pretty benign dream, but still, he didn't need to subject himself to Mr. Lancer of all things.

He needed to wake up anyway. It was a lucid dream so he should be able to end it, right? He just needed to wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

---

Danny woke up.

He was strapped down on a table while monsters in orange and blue stood over him growling and planning how to eat him.

Fighting to get free, Danny tried to remember what had gone wrong. How had he ended up here? He'd gone to sleep in his own bed, then he'd been dreaming of a surprise English test and… dreaming. This was another dream, he hadn't woken up at all. Fuck!

Come on Fenton, it was time to wake up, before this dream went really bad. Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP.

---

Danny woke up.

Thank fuck. Just a dream. He was awake now.

He sat up and looked around. It was his bedroom in Gotham, the apartment in Crime Alley. There was his dresser, and the stain on the wall and…

"Danny!" His mom called from downstairs.

"Coming!" He called, throwing the blankets off and getting out of bed. Thank fuck those dreams were over. Downstairs in the dining room his parents and Jazz were waiting for him. As soon as they saw him they started singing, and his husband came in from the kitchen, white tuft f hair glowing in the light of the candles on the ghost-shaped cake he carried.

Since when had his parents come to Gotham? Sure the reveal had gone alright, but… ah fuck it. His family was here, it was his birthday, he could just enjoy it, right?

Right?

---

Danny woke up and nearly cried.

It wasn't real. Of course it wasn't real. For one thing, he wasn't fucking married, that was a laugh. But more importantly, his parents… well they'd taken learning he was Phantom well enough, in the end. But they'd gotten cold, distant. They never hurt him, and they listened and started changing their research and stuff, but…

With a sigh, he climbed out of bed and grabbed a box of pop tarts out of the kitche…

Ah fuck. This was the kitchen from his childhood home in Amity Park. Where was Gotham? Was this another dream? Was Nocturne fucking with him or something.

Well he wasn't having any of it. He was just going to sit here until he woke up and--

---

Danny woke up.

He took careful stock of where he was. In his bedroom, check. In Gotham, Crime Alley, check. And in the twin bed he'd enjoyed there, springs and all, thank-you-very-much. No surprise husbands here.

He was alone again. Safe, with the GIW dismantled and his parents… doing better. But alone.

It was okay, he was used to be being alone.

The room seemed to swell until he was a tiny speck inside a gigantic space. And empty space. And alone space, with no one else, and no one cared, and why had he come to Gotham in the first place, had he really thought….

---

Danny woke up.

These dreams were the fucking WORST. He hated these mornings where he woke up, and woke up, and woke UP but was never awake.

He wasn't getting out of bed this time. He just wasn't. If this was real he'd get hungry eventually, or need to pee, but until then he was going to sta--

---

Danny woke up.

Ancients take it!

---

Danny woke up.

---

Danny woke up

---

Danny woke up.

---

Danny woke--

---

"Danyal!" someone was shaking him. "Danyal, wake up!"

Danny bolted upright. Fast enough he knocked Damien in the head.

"Ow!" "Ouch!"

Danny welcomed the pain. He never felt pain in dreams. He felt the texture of the fancy furry blanket under his fingers, either. He wouldn't feel that in a dream either.

Time seemed slow. He blinked and nothing changed. He was still sitting on his bed. In Wayne Manor. With his brother.

"Danyal. Are you well?"

"I'm… fuck if I know. I'm awake right? I'm really awake?"

"Yes, Danyal, you are awake. You seemed to be having a nightmare."

Danny snorted and carefully climbed out of bed. His feet sank into the bedside rug Alfred had let him pick out. Light was coming in through the windows at the same angle it came in every morning.

"I kept waking up, but it was always another dream," Danny shuddered.

He was awake, he knew it. But still part of him waited to wake up again. After all, he'd thought he was awake before… He looked around his room and he saw all the details, all the small things that faded out in dreams were real and distinct. He dragged his fingers over the carvings on the fancy 'wardrobe' his room had instead of a simple dresser. It was real. He was sure of it. Even if a lingering sense of unreality followed him.

Damien sniffed. "That sounds… uncomfortable."

"You can say that again!"

Danny took a deep breath and felt the way his chest went up and down. He really was awake. Thank fuck. Ancients, that had been a hellish sleep.

"You want to know the worst part?" Danny smiled, anticipating his twins reaction.

"You know I always want to know what happens to you, Danyal. Tell me this 'worst part'?"

"In one of the dreams, I was married to Jason."

Damien's look of utter disgust was too perfect and Danny bent over laughing. He didn't stop until Damien took up a pillow from the bed and his him with it.

Oh, it was on!

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

AN: I have dream sequences like this on a regular fucking basis, and I had to share the pain with someone. So Danny got a shitty morning.

#dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #angst with a happy ending #demon twins au #fucking weird dream #jess mahler's writing

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sayitaliano · 4 months ago

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New Sanremo UPDATE!

Carlo Conti just said on the news that there will be 2 "PREMIO ALLA CARRIERA" (2 career prizes) that will be given during Sanremo's week and they'll be for Iva Zanicchi and Antonello Venditti

Plus, he announced the duets/collabs for the Cover night:

- Annalisa con Giorgia - “Skyfall” (Adele) - Bresh con Cristiano De André - “Crêuza de mä” (Fabrizio De André) - Brunori Sas con Dimartino e Riccardo Sinigallia - “L'anno che verrà” (Lucio Dalla) - Clara con Il Volo - "The sound of silence" (Simon and Garfunkel) - Coma_Cose con Johnson Righeira - “L'estate sta finendo” (Righeira) - Emis Killa con Lazza e Laura Marzadori, primo violino teatro alla Scala - “100 messaggi” (Lazza) - Fedez con Marco Masini - “Bella stronza” (Marco Masini) - Francesco Gabbani con Tricarico - "Io sono Francesco" (Tricarico) - Gaia con Toquinho - “La voglia, la pazzia” (Ornella Vanoni) - Giorgia con Annalisa - “Skyfall” (Adele) - Irama con Arisa - "Say something, i'm giving up on you" (Christina Aguilera) - Joan Thiele con Frah Quintale - “Che cosa c'è” (Gino Paoli) - Lucio Corsi con Topo Gigio - “Nel blu dipinto di blu” (Domenico Modugno) - Marcella Bella con i Twin Violins - “L'emozione non ha voce” (Adriano Celentano) - Massimo Ranieri con i Neri per caso - “Quando” (Pino Daniele) - Modà con Francesco Renga - “Angelo” (Francesco Renga) - Olly con Goran Bregovic e la Wedding & Funeral Band - “Il pescatore” (Fabrizio De André) - Rocco Hunt con Clementino - “Yes, I Know My Way” (Pino Daniele) - Rose Villain con Chiello - “Fiori rosa, fiori di pesco” (Lucio Battisti) - Sarah Toscano con Ofenbach - “Overdrive” - Serena Brancale con Alessandra Amoroso - “If I Ain’t Got You” (Alicia Keys) - Shablo feat. Guè, Joshua e Tormento con Neffa - Mix di “Amor de mi vida” (Sottotono) e “Aspettando il sole” (Neffa) - Simone Cristicchi con Amara - “La cura” (Franco Battiato) - The Kolors con Sal Da Vinci - “Rossetto e caffè” (Sal Da Vinci) - Willie Peyote con Tiromancino (Federico Zampaglione) e Ditonellapiaga - “Un tempo piccolo” (Franco Califano)

A new rule of this year says that artists competing in Sanremo can duet together. The ones who chose this option are:

- Tony Effe con Noemi - “Tutto il resto è noia” (Franco Califano) - Achille Lauro con Elodie - "A mano a mano"(Riccardo Cocciante) e “Folle città” (Loredana Bertè) - Francesca Michielin con Rkomi - “La nuova stella di Broadway” (Cesare Cremonini)

For more and to listen to Carlo's interview, look here

Sanremo will start on February 11th, 2025

#sanremo #sanremo25 #sanremo 2025 #it #italian #langblr #italiano #italian language #italian langblr #languages #music #lingua italiana #musica italiana #italian tv #italian tv show #italian music

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mynamesaplant · 1 year ago

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Morning Light at the End of the Line

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Summary: Elesa is woken up way too early for an excursion into the train yard, but Emmet and Ingo drag her along anyway. Their adventure leads to a revelation for the twins.

I want to say thank you to @critterbitter for all their amazing takes on SUBMAS (you keep doing you, champ) and to @ingo-ingoing-ingone for beta reading my work (thanks for all the encouragement, Blue). You're both amazing and I cannot thank you enough.

Slight disclaimer: I have a character using neopronouns, my first one ever, and while I'm familiar with them, I've never used them in a fanfic before. If I used them incorrectly, let me know in the reblogs or comments.

Don't like to read on Tumblr? Read it here on AO3!

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The day that Emmet and Ingo learned that Elesa had never been to the railyard, they were almost insulted. Frankly, this knowledge was unacceptable to the twins. Between their uncle and all the adults working in the yard, everyone had begged them to remain on the platform to spot trains. However, they were at the yard almost daily, a small notebook shared between them that cataloged every train they had seen down to the make, model, and specs of the trains they would watch with dreamy-eyed wonder.

Although neither twin would be willing to admit it aloud, they had their favorites. Ingo was a lover of the classics; he found all the moving mechanisms and billowing white smoke from steam engines to be the pinnacle of train design. Heisler locomotives were his personal favorite – they just had so much more personality in his humble opinion, their movement so musical between the clanging bell and the tack-tack-tack of the wheels and coupling rods, and the iconic star on the nose. Although they appeared much more infrequently than Emmet’s personal favorite, the Gensis models, Ingo never failed to emit a longing sigh when those steam locomotives sat in the yard. So close, and yet so far.

The Gensis locomotives were designed with passengers in mind, smooth and aerodynamic to get the occupants to their destinations with ease and comfort (well, more aerodynamic than earlier styles of locomotives, but not nearly as efficient as the bullet trains of Kanto and Johto). Their sleek metallic shells accented with different colors were frequently dotting the yard as they arrived from all over Unova for repair. Emmet thought it was a slick-looking engine and, although he respected his brother’s (wrong) opinions, nothing could hold a candle to the power and beauty of the Genesis models.

Elesa was completely oblivious to the wonderful world of trains and that was a fact that had to be rectified quickly. That was why they had her up so early, dragging a bleary-eyed Elesa by the wrists through the sleepy streets of a pre-dawn Anville Town. They were going to introduce her to their second love: trains.

“How are you even awaaaaaake?”

Elesa whined, Blitzle nudging his shoulder into her hip to keep her balance while the trio walked to parts unknown. This must have been what a zombie felt like; all of Elesa’s post-apocalypse books always described them as driven around by forces beyond anyone’s reckoning. That was essentially the twins to her. Her question was directed to Ingo, who looked about as bright-eyed and bushy tailed as an Emolga.

Ingo was not a morning person in any sense of the word. The whole region could be in mortal peril and Ingo could (and would) sleep right through it if it was early enough. There were only two things that could get him out of bed this early: Pokémon and trains.

“Who’s to say that I even went to bed?”

“Yep yep. Can confirm. He did not go to sleep.”

There was a fine line between early-early morning and late-late night; it was almost indistinguishable, but very important. Ingo knew he was going to feel awful that evening and would still end up staying awake until three or four in the morning because he was like a Noctowl and he just couldn’t help himself. He knew it drove Drayden a little crazy; that and his newly developing caffeine habits that his uncle had to curb by changing all the coffee in the house to decaf, so Ingo didn’t find himself cripplingly addicted to coffee at the tender age of eleven.

“Where are we going?”

Elesa failed to suppress a yawn, dragging one eye open to get a sense of direction only to find it too dark to really make such a determination.

“Our destination is a secret. You even saved us the trouble of blindfolding you to ensure confidentiality.”

Their friend’s groan was drawn out and miserable, but she allowed them to tow her to the train yard with the full confidence that they would not allow anything to happen to her. Elesa couldn’t find herself in safer hands.

Once the threshold between town and yard had been crossed, two things happened: first, was the heat radiating off the trains like they were so many massive Fire-types, and the second, was the immediate uptick in volume that seemed to hit the trio like a wall of bricks. Perhaps because they lived in Anville Town, they had grown accustomed to the ambient noise, that it only stood out to them once they got within distance.

People and Pokémon bustled to and fro, the screech of steel as the trains began to move along the maze of tracks, conductors yelling confirmations to one another, shrill whistles and booming horns that signaled that the day was starting.

One engineer and conductor duo instantly spotted them, and the conductor was quick to bustle over and try to shoo them away. The engineer was soon to join him.

“Boys, please, I’m begging you to go to the concourse and watch the trains from there.”

“Salutations Mr. Rinehart,” Ingo chirped, no malicious or devious intent in his tone. “Unfortunately, we must decline your request. We shall exhibit the utmost caution while traversing the yard if that is your concern.”

Mr. Rhinehart, a tall, lanky man in his mid-forties, looked visibly pained as he attempted to impede their progress. He, like all the other rail yard workers, really liked Emmet and Ingo. Their enthusiasm for trains was so refreshing after a long day. Mr. Rhinehart and his husband, his engineer who was grinning at the two boys with an amused glitter in his eyes, could personally attest to that, because they had been on the receiving end of the twins fanatical cheering and adoration after a long day on the job. It was truly a wonderful experience to be so admired by young people.

“Micha,” his spouse hissed to him, Mr. Rhinehart having to crane his neck to look down at the love of his life, and immediately regretted his choice because his husband was looking up at him with those gorgeous Lillipup eyes that he could never deny. “Let them explore. They’re good kids, they’re going to be careful – right?”

The emphatic nods did not soothe Mr. Rhinehart.

“Mr. Emerson is right! Yup! I am Emmet, we promise to be verrrry careful.”

Micha Rhinehart wanted to believe them, but he could also imagine Drayden Gray’s meaty arms placing him in a triangle chokehold if a single thing happened to his nephews and he found out that he had allowed them to wander the yard unattended. Not that Eli would allow that to happen to him, but he couldn’t banish the image from his eyes.

Eli gestured for his husband to turn and lean down so he could whisper in his ear,

“They’re old enough. I trust them to be careful. You trust me, right?”

“But Drayden-”

“Drayden doesn’t put enough faith in them.” Micha’s spouse scoffs, rolling his eyes with exacerbation. “Remember when Dakota started taking the trains to Castelia for school? Remember how worried we were for them in that big city? We had to trust them, and they came out a more independent person for it.” The harsher tone softened at the mention of their child.

“Dakota is significantly older than them.”

Micha folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his dark eyes down at Eli. That earned a contemplative scratch of the purple-hued scruff that shaded Eli’s broad cheeks, he glanced over his shoulder at the trio.

“I have a compromise.” Eli did not even confer with his husband before turning on his heel. “You’ve all met our Dakota, right?” This earned more nods. “Dakota has class today, so they’ll be here soon to catch the train to Castelia. I’m going to ask them if they’ll escort you around the more er… Child-unfriendly part of the yard. By that time, it’ll be light out, so me and Mr. Rhinehart are going to trust you to move around the yard.”

The sparkle in the two boys’ eyes was so endearing, the girl tried to look just as enthusiastic, but Eli could tell she was tired. Micha was quick to interject his own two cents before the kids retreated.

“I want you all to promise that you’ll stick close together, and that you’ll be respectful of all the rail workers and that you’ll stay out of their way as they work.”

Emmet and Ingo looked horrified at the mere suggestion that they interrupt the important work going on in the yard. They looked at each other, then to Elesa (who just offered a yawn and a promise to Mr. Rhinehart), before returning their gray eyes to the conductor and engineer.

“We would not dream of it, Mr. Rhinehart. We promise to be on our very best behavior!”

“Yup! Verrrrrry best behavior!”

His twin reiterated with the bobbling nod that looked more like those novelty big-headed figurines you would get from the sports arenas in Nimbasa. Micha had to stifle a little laugh at the sight.

“Good.” He seemed satisfied with their responses. “Now, please, for the love of Kyurem, please go up to the concourse and wait there.”

The two boys offered a salute, something that felt very reminiscent of both their training in Gear Station, and they were about to drag their friend off, before Mr. Emerson called them back. The engineer not so surreptitiously stuffed a few crumpled dollars into their hands. He told them to get some breakfast before sending them off and smiling as they scampered away.

“You’re such a softie.”

Micha said behind him, shaking his head at Eli as he turned around to offer his husband a sheepish smile.

“I can be. Would you be a dear and call our offspring to tell them to get here a little earlier?”

“Oh no,” Micha said, reflexively averting his gaze from Eli before he got the Lillipup look full on, “This was your idea. You can call Dakota.”

“So cruel to me.”

The engineer whined but accepted his fate with a reedy cackle.

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

Dakota was half asleep taking the call from their dad, but they said they would be there early to take the kids around the yard. They tried not to grumble about it; Emmet and Ingo had been rather helpful to them recently when Dakota had caught quite the unruly Purrloin that had been following after them in Castelia The Pokémon kept singling them out to steal their possessions and Dakota had become fed up with it. Although they were not so adept with Pokémon, the twins had been invaluable resources to them as they trained Lin.

Why Lin?

Emmet had referred to the Purrloin as a “little delinquent” under his breath when she had pilfered a not so insignificant number of shiny coins from his bag that constituted the last of his allowance. The utterance had made Dakota snort with laughter, draped over the counter, and wheezing out an apology for the small menace they called their very own Pokémon.

The kids were in the concourse waiting for Dakota at a table in front of a 24-hour café that was mandatory for a place like this, if not for the occasional passengers, then for all the yard workers. Coffee was a ubiquitous need here in the yard, but Dakota could not say the same for eleven-year-old Ingo who was nursing a pale cup of joe that smelled more of hazelnut than coffee beans. Their poor friend Elesa looked just as tired as Dakota felt, a half-eaten bagel with lox and a small cup of green tea in front of her as she slowly tipped toward the table. Emmet was sneering at her sandwich across the table, probably because of the raw fish Dakota figured, and munched on his own torn-to-shreds bagel, dipping and swirling the chunk in a small container of butter before popping it into his mouth.

“Ah! Salutations, Dakota!”

Ingo leapt from his seat upon spotting them, lurching toward Dakota to interrogate them about their Pokémon, their schooling, their train commute, their job at the Poké Mart, and about the routes Dakota intended to take them on for their adventure through the yard. They tried to round out their shoulders as they were currently residing closer to Dakota’s ears than their natural resting position and they took a deep, clarifying breath. They had to remember that Ingo was just an excited child and not a judgy extended-family member.

Dakota offered him a smile, hands tucked into the pockets of their jacket while chatting. Lin was good, but still stealing – although that was in her nature. School was fine, CCA (Castelia College of the Arts) was a cramped campus, but the programs were amazing. The commute was okay, Dakota was always a little stressed about missing the connection in Gear Station running from the Brown to Pink line. The idea of crossing a desert to make it on time to pottery class if they missed their train did not sound too appealing to them. Work was the same. The route was already preplanned for them; their dads had given them a strict map and Dakota did not plan on deviating from the path.

They decided that it was worth waking up so early when they saw the twins’ eyes brimming with fascination and wonder. They were mere inches from the engines, studying every contour and detail with such intensity that Dakota had to gently pull them away and lead them to the turntable where a worker that they knew was waiting.

Parker and zer agile partner, Mienshao, were in the operating booth, pulling levers to usher each engine into the roundhouse after a long day of operation, just like a Wooloo herder. A pink-streaked engine was idling as the table was occupied by a similar engine that was streaked red. Dakota’s arm extended and the kids obediently stopped, waiting patiently alongside their tour guide so they could speak to Parker. Ze had definitely taken notice of the little group, peering at them curiously, zer Mienshao copying his trainer.

With the red line train slotted into its usual spot, Dakota watched zem pick up a radio, zer eyes flitting to the engine to let the engineer that ze needed a moment. A moment later, Parker was strolling out with Mienshao by zer side and zer hands tucked into the pockets of zer overalls.

“Dakota! Don’t usually see you out and about this early. Looking for your folks?” Whatever interest that Parker had for the gaggle of children in their wake, ze waited until Dakota explained rather than diving into an interrogation. Scratching the patchy facial hair that adorned zer face, ze listened to first Dakota’s then the kids’ stories. “Cool. We love trains, too… Say, we have to put a few more trains into the house, wanna watch from the booth with us?”

The eyes of the two boys, Emmet and Ingo as ze had come to find out, somehow grew larger and neither seemed able to verbalize, just offering emphatic nods that made Parker chuckle.

“Thanks, Parker.”

Dakota said in an undertone, offering a half-smile to zem as Emmet and Ingo bolted inside, mentally photographing every centimeter of the booth as if they were going to be tested on it later. Parker winked in reply, offering zer own smile as ze ushered the gaggle of young people inside. The two boys watched over the console, shifting their eyes between Parker and the smudgy outline of the engineer in the cab.

They seemed to know every call that Parker made over their radio and each motion performed by the engineer. Elesa seemed more interested in Parker’s eccentric jewelry and hair beads; she complimented zem quietly when the engine started rolling into the house. With a flick of zer head just to show off the colorful beads, Parker thanked Elesa, flashing her a warm smile before turning zer attention to Emmet and Ingo, who stood by anxiously, near bursting with questions.

Parker had only ever heard about the twins through the grapevine; ze found the brothers enthusiastic and answered all their questions with the kind of patience developed over the lifetime of someone who had dealt with many children who were chock full of questions. They reminded zem of zer kids, all six of whom were displayed in a photo worn by sun and dust that was taped to the bottom corner of the glass windowpane along with pictures of all the other operator’s families.

Ingo’s second question was actually about the row of photos, Parker swiveling in zer chair to point at each of zer kids in turn.

“Tasha, Stavon, Dominique – we call her NeNe for short – Dion, Jalin, and Kamer – Oh, wait, Kiara. We’re still getting used to Kiara’s name change.”

“Oh! She settled on ‘Kiara’, then. I knew she was trying out a bunch of different ones.”

Dakota slid their phone from their pocket, tapping on the contacts as Parker confirmed that indeed Kiara seemed quite happy with her name. They changed the contact and sent their friend a few Drifloon and streamer emojis in celebration. She must have made her decision last night, after agonizing about it for three weeks.

“We don’t think it was an easy decision, she wanted it to be right for her.” Parker replied sagely. Ze knew from experience that being certain was important for someone as they wrestled with identity. “Would you guys be okay with us taking a picture? We don’t get many visitors, especially none as enthusiastic as you two, and we want to commemorate it.”

“Oh, yes! It would be quite the honor!”

Ingo beamed, his hands flapping in front of him in his excitement just before he felt Emmet tap his shoulder. His twin was nervously tugging on his pant leg and fiddling with the hinge on Tynamo’s ball – Dakota had asked them to stow their Pokémon away in the busy yard, which all three kids complied with. Ingo leaned close to Emmet, his voice soft and restraining the hope of the request that he was too nervous to ask Parker himself.

“Um, Parker,” ze had asked the kids to forgo any particular title and to just call zem ‘Parker’. “May we… May Emmet-” Ingo felt an elbow connect with his ribs and he shot a disapproving look to his twin, who looked at him pointedly. He could tell Ingo wanted to sit up there too, but he also knew his brother didn’t want to press his luck by asking if they both could. “Ahem – may we sit in your chair?”

For Parker’s part, ze arose from the operator’s chair and crouched down before them, zer expression gentle as ze looked first to Ingo and then more directly at Emmet. Ze did not take offense when neither made direct eye contact, they reminded Parker of zer NeNe, and ze knew to take it slowly and carefully with them.

“You may, but may we hear it from both of you? We know it can be hard to talk to new people, but we promise to patient, so there’s no need to be nervous, okay?”

Emmet shifted on his feet, toeing the stained laminate they stood on, and plucking his pant leg uneasily. He offered Parker a stiff nod. Swallowing hard and raising his eyes to a point just over zer head, the commitment of actually locking gaze was a little too overwhelming to consider at the moment.

“Ca-Can we…” He trailed off before taking a deep breath and saying far too fast, “Canwesitupthere?” Another breath. “Can we sit?”

He indicated where with a jerk of his head and he breathed a sigh of relief when Parker nodded. The boys clambered up onto the chair, their eyes reflecting all the glowing lights on the panel before them. Emmet’s fingers delicately caressed a worn handle of a switch, exhibiting excessive care to make sure the machine remained undamaged by his novice hands. Beside him, Ingo looked just as reverent, tracing the bumps and ridges that were each flashing diode like it was intricate braille that only he could understand by mere touch.

“Thank you,” Emmet murmured, the burn of tears stinging his eyes as all his emotions began to consume him.

He was so happy, but so overwhelmed. He swiped at his eyes with his sleeve, sniffling to prevent the trickle of snot from getting on the panel.

Dakota was glad they snapped a picture of the duo at the panel before Emmet started crying.

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

When Emmet had calmed down, his brother taking him to the side and murmuring in his ear with Emmet taking in gasping breaths, Parker offered them the opportunity to board a train that would be heading out within the hour.

“Finn should be starting her checklist, but we’re sure she wouldn’t mind showing you the inside.”

“F-Finn?” Dakota squeaked, their calm and collected demeanor vaporizing at the mention of the name, but only Elesa seemed to notice. “I, uh, didn’t realize that she was promoted.”

Parker nodded, shooting a squirming Dakota a knowing smile.

“Ms. O’Finnegan got promoted a few weeks ago.”

“That’s… C-Cool!”

Dakota, unable to take Parker’s look, quickly ushered the three kids out and towards the parked trains in the house. Finn was not hard to find, her shock of curly, red hair stood out in the dingy interior of the roundhouse, and she had a smile as bright as the sun that was directed at a flustered Dakota.

“Kota!” She bound toward them and scooped them up into a tight Bewear hug, this earned a squeak from them. “It’s been an age!”

“I-I’ve been busy with school.”

The kids temporarily forgotten about, Dakota tried to avoid her eyes, a mossy, amused hazel color that Dakota frequently found themself sketching in the margins of notebooks. Finn’s expressions were just so big and exaggerated that she made the perfect subject to use as reference – or at least, Dakota tried to tell themself that.

With a brief catch-up out of the way, Dakota introduced Emmet, Ingo, and Elesa to Finn, who beamed at them and was quick to assist them into the cab of the train. She asked them not to touch anything as she was still going over her checklist. If Emmet and Ingo were excited before, they looked moments away from exploding as they watched Finn’s every move with laser focus. Their intensity was almost visible in the very air around them – that’s how focused they were.

“This is spectacular,” Ingo was forcing his voice to be lower in the small interior of the cab. Although the dashboard wasn’t nearly as complex as that of a steam engine, Ingo had to admire the sleek, minimalist look of the glossy screens and polished buttons. Ms. O’Finnegan took very good care of her cab. “Elesa, observe!”

Although she tried to do as Ingo asked, she found she just couldn’t keep up with the in-depth explanation that he launched into. She registered the words ‘throttle’ and ‘brakes,’ but admittedly not much else.

Emmet nodding along and extending his hands in a fashion that reminded Elesa of those infomercials that she saw on the nights she found she couldn’t sleep. The ones where the jewelry always looked so sparkly and the women had even, unremarkable voices.

“What’s your route?”

Elesa asked, mildly impressed with the engine, but not nearly much as her friends.

“I’m taking her out toward Driftveil. Nice and easy for a newbie like me.”

Finn self-consciously scratched the back of her head and sheepishly laughed, sparing the young girl from the two boys who were looking at her dashboard bug-eyed. Dakota watched on with a fond smile, tucking a lock of their purple hair behind their ear while the engineer patiently listened to the lecture on her own equipment.

“She’s pretty.”

Elesa said, almost completely unprompted. Dakota’s face flushed a deep red and quickly turned away, but they couldn’t help but agree with her. They’ve had a crush on Finn for ages, and they were pretty sure the feelings were mutual, but they were too nervous to ask outright.

“Mmm,” was Dakota’s noncommittal hum as they felt a buzzing in their pocket.

Shit. Was it already that time?

“Well, this has been fun, but I’ve got a train to catch. Let’s go everyone. Say goodbye to Finn.”

“Thank you very much for letting us into the cab. This experience has been a dream of ours. Not only that, but it’s been a rather enlightening one!”

“Yep! Thank you verrrrrry much!”

“My pleasure. Oh, uh, Kota?

Dakota was already on the ground and helping Elesa down, trying not to look at their phone for the time.

“Yeah? Ow!”

For their part, they were too distracted to notice what Elesa clearly had – hence the sharp elbow to the side. Finn looked quite nervous as she stammered out her request. Lunch in Striaton. Clove’s restaurant and gym was delicious, or so she had heard, and she wanted Dakota to go with her to see if the rumors were true.

How could they say no?

They were glad they didn’t because Dakota wouldn’t have wanted to miss that expression for anything. The wrinkle of her freckle spattered nose, the glitter in her eyes like a brilliant diamond on a bed of moss, the small curve that shaped her lips in a clear indication of equal parts happiness and relief…

“I’ll see you on Saturday!”

Although they heard Elesa snickering, Emmet and Ingo were completely oblivious to their older companion’s stupefied expression, tottering back in the direction of the station with the three kids in tow. They appreciated Dakota’s patience and time this morning, they would not forget it when Lin was attempting to claw their eyes out when her trainer asked for help bathing her from whatever eventual trouble she would find herself in.

Last time she ended up in the roaming cart of the Casteliacone vendor, who was not too happy with the Purrloin trying to make off with his coin purse. The dried ice cream had ended up drying in clumps on her fur and Dakota had already been scored with their fair share of claw marks.

On the platform, they offered a wave before ducking into the train, the conductors on either end swiftly performed their final safety check before disappearing into the interior. The doors closed with a hiss, a bell rang out sharply, and the serpentine train jerked forward on its journey to the south.

Emmet and Ingo waved as it disappeared into the distance, both grinning in their own respective ways just as Elesa released a loud yawn that she had been attempting to hold back all morning. She loved to hang out with the twins, they were the only people in the whole region who seemed to understand her, but they woke her up at six in the morning. They woke her up even earlier than she had to be up for school. Her full intention was to shut her blinds, clamber back into bed, and sleep until noon since there was no school today.

“I’m headed home, guys.”

Although disappointed, Emmet and Ingo seemed to understand, and even offered to escort her home, but Elesa declined. She loved her friends dearly, but she didn’t think she could absorb any more train facts. They went their separate ways, Emmet and Ingo absolutely unable to contain the excitement of being in different parts of the yard.

The twins had taken many train rides to and from Opelucid, but they had only ever been in the cab when the engine was silent and cold; to feel the rumble – no, the purr – of the engine was a dream come true. Watching the diesel come to life system by system, with the panel lighting up like a Christmas tree to indicate everything was ready and safe for travel… There was nothing like it.

“The turntable-”

“Yes, a little old-fashioned, as is the house, but I find that charming.”

“Yep! Charming!” Emmet said, smiling so much that his cheeks began to hurt while his hands flapped. “Ms. O’Finnegan’s cab was great. Verrrrry clean and well-maintained.”

“I would expect nothing less from an employee of UTrak.”

The standards for the major rail company in Unova were high, but that was because they wanted to offer top-notch services to their customers.

That was their dream – well, it was one of their dreams. Emmet and Ingo wanted to work as engineers with UTrak, but they also wanted to battle professionally. The professions didn’t exactly mesh, which the twins spent hours agonizing over whenever someone asked them what they wanted to be when they grew up.

The question usually ended up being so distressing because they were so torn that Emmet and Ingo became teary eyed with a frustration that they did not know how to verbalize, or at least how to verbalize it without adults minimizing their feelings.

Elesa understood. She had grandiose ideas for the future just like them, but Elesa still ended up being defensive about her hopes and dreams because adults didn’t seem to think they were practical.

It was then those questions arose that they fell back on to a familiar career that they had loved as long as they loved Pokémon battling. They would work for UTrak one day. That was a promise they made to themselves after mother asked them and, once they told her of their ambitions, she laughed. She was quick to stifle it and gently, or as gently as Kaita could manage, told them that she didn’t think her sons were cut out for it.

Well, Drayden had taken personal offense to this statement. Whether it was testament to his faith in his nephews’ abilities as Gray’s or because took it as slight from his sister and he wanted to prove her wrong, Emmet and Ingo were allowed to watch and read all sorts of supplemental information on Pokémon and battling.

It was thanks to Drayden and his pushing that they had their Pokémon so early. Sure, Emmet and Ingo really did want partners, but there were usually restrictions on that sort of thing. Drayden filled out all the necessary paperwork to permit early partners. Drayden always told them that if they put 100% of themselves into anything, he knew they could accomplish anything – just like him.

No matter how outlandish their ambitions – their uncle supported them.

“Ingo?”

“Yes, Emmet?”

“I am Emmet. I think to reach our dual goals, we must rethink our path.”

“You think?” Ingo asked with a tilt of his head, his frown deepening in thought. His brother nodded. Both knew Emmet was not suggesting abandonment of their goals, only a restructuring of how to reach them more efficiently. “I concur. I think its time we invest into research of the requirements to become engineers.”

“More school.”

Emmet said with a groan. Neither were particularly good in the classroom. They liked to learn, but both twins had a tendency to procrastinate on tasks that did not strike them as particularly interesting.

“Yes,” Ingo agreed. “However, I think we will find that schooling more enjoyable than what we are learning at the current moment.”

The older twin couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in disdain, just at the thought of the teacher who got frustrated with him for using words that were “too advanced” for his age bracket. The other students were snickering when Ingo sank lower in his seat. Meanwhile, Emmet was called out for not being particularly vocal, while also told he was being too blunt when he expressed his opinions. He still flinched when someone brought up the art class incident where he made a girl, one of the popular ones, cry by telling her painting was “ugly” and that he preferred Elesa’s.

He didn’t just say that as her friend either, it was genuinely better, and he felt like he needed to point that out to everyone.

In higher education, they wouldn’t have to worry about all these issues. They could focus on their studies and excel because they weren’t being forced to do subjects that bored them to tears. They wouldn’t have to worry about upsetting anyone.

“Verrrrry enjoyable.”

Emmet agreed.

“Next time we encounter Dakota, we should ask them about their college.”

“Yep! Good idea!”

With that, Emmet and Ingo released Tynamo and Litwick respectively, Emmet lightly scratching the spot between the Electric type’s eyes and Ingo stooping down to scoop up the Fire type.

Took you long enough to take me back out.

Litwick harrumphed, suppressing a wiggle of delight she felt deep in her wax when Ingo drew her closer and gingerly modeled the wax out of her eye.

“Apologies, Litwick. Emmet and I were discussing the future.”

Sounds boring. What are we doing today?

She interrupted before he could get into the rhythm of conversation.

“Training.”

Emmet said, his focus was on the wriggling Pokémon butting into his hands, but his mind was elsewhere. In a future that had yet to be but seemed incredibly bright.

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irisintheafterglow · 5 months ago

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assassin!sakusa au: the dagger games part 02 of 03. (part 1)

they did not, in fact, have a change of heart overnight.

as was tradition, the games began when both hands on the clock struck 12 midnight, and would last for eight hours or until one team was victorious. you stood beside daichi for the opening ceremony, all the crews gathered in a circle in the clocktower square lit by only the dim gas lamps. there were numerous familiar faces: your allies, the cats and the owls; the castles and barrel-shouldered ushijima; aone and the 'wall keepers' that dwelled in the perimeters of the city; boastful terushima who'd brought confetti poppers to the occasion. at midnight exactly, each crew threw down a smoke bomb and disappeared into the mist, whether to run and find high ground or nab easy points while everyone was disoriented.

"take the first-years and hide out at the top of the paper mill. we'll come get you once we've gathered a good amount of points," daichi instructed you the night prior, before kuroo arrived to give you information (or lack thereof) about sakusa's vial.

you assent wordlessly, carefully filling a thin cotton bag with a cup of thick black paint. the paint inside the bags would serve as a point per color. if your bag was sliced, the enemy's dagger would be stained that color. the number of colors on your blade at the end of the games would determine point values, and bonus points were awarded for the team who was the most elusive.

"what are kuroo and bokuto's plans?"

"no idea. we can't officially work with them, remember?"

"right. formal alliances are prohibited, but they'll never know we crossed each others' paths if we don't fight."

"exactly. just focus on getting the new guys out of the way, and then we'll take turns babysitting them." it was an unspoken tradition that the newbies of each crew were the first to be eliminated because they were the easiest points; they didn't have extensive knowledge of the city, and they were more likely to make mistakes in the excited atmosphere of the competition.

with kageyama, hinata, and yamaguchi following you out of the smoke, your instructions were to stash them somewhere safe before going out to hunt the veterans. the four of you silently climb the outside ladders of the abandoned paper mill and creep through an open window, locking it behind you with a loud CLICK!

"why are we up here, again?" hinata's whisper is barely hidden by the sound of the floorboards creaking beneath your boots.

"we need high ground," you reply patiently, ushering them into a moonlit corner with a window overlooking the streets below.

"but we don't have sniping weapons," the shortest newbie muses. "what's the point of being up so high?"

"from here, we're not looking to attack; we're looking to gather information. look there." you nod out the window toward the sidewalk just across the street, where you barely make out the shadows of two figures swiping at each other. "the dagger games are named for the assassin's primary weapon before firearms. they are the most primal way of killing, and we honor those before us by establishing hierarchy based on knife-fights alone." you watch the glint of the daggers in the lamplight, and briefly catch the paint color in the bags at their waists.

red and teal. a cat and a castle.

"do the foxes ever play the games?" yamaguchi's eyes stay on the fighters below, who keep swinging in a stalemate.

"they usually win," you inform him and his eyes widen. "kita and his right-hand twins have been the highest point earners for the past three games."

"aren't the games held bi-annually? a fall and a spring games?" kageyama asks and you nod in confirmation. "so they've won twice for each year?"

"yeah," you chuckle. "their whole crew are monsters." there's movement in the alleyway next to the two fighters, a figure slipping in the darkness to position behind the castle. during the brief pause for both to catch their breath, the intruder lunges with two quick stabs to the castle's paint bags. two shades of teal coat their dagger, double points for getting both bags. then, the figure disappears back into the alleyway.

"woah!"

"that was terrifyingly quick."

"at least that's one castle out of the games," kageyama smiles evilly. "oikawa and his stupid kingdom will fall."

"yeah, and you're not allowed to be part of it." a melodic, familiar voice echoes through the dusty space and the three boys jump, hinata yelping in surprise. you smile to yourself, knowing full and well that he'd been there for the past three minutes.

"any luck with early points?"

"a few of the party pack," sugawara replies as he steps into the moonlight. he holds up his dagger triumphantly, stained yellow and flecked with pieces of confetti. "they definitely weren't hard to find, by any means."

"did you take out all of them?"

"i tried, only got a few of the newbies." you pat his shoulder sympathetically and he shrugs.

"why would suga need to take out all of them?"

"points are based on the number of team colors, not necessarily number of members," you recall from memories of your first dagger games where you thought it was pointless to take out an entire team. "if you already got one member, it's best to finish off the others so no other team can get their dagger stained that color."

"but that's for your next games," sugawara reminds them. "for now, say bye and tell them 'happy hunting.'"

the boys nod in understanding, bid you 'happy hunting,' and you exchange roles with sugawara before leaping into the night to find your own marks.

part 03.

#sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #hq x you #hq x reader #hq x y/n #haikyuu assassin!au #assassin!sakusa

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nomorepainau · 2 months ago

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The siblings are here

- Thanks to their arms they can swing to go to other places

-Something that surprise Val Will be that two twins wanted adopt her like their little sister

- like the toy Say, Hugo like to give hugs more to his sisters but other toys have hugs of him too

-Kate love spend time with Poppy, being her one of many toys staing in the tea party

#digital art #my art #my post #my oc #poppy playtime #ppt #kissy missy #huggy wuggy #poppy playtime oc #huggysona #kissy missy fanart #huggy wuggy fanart #no more pain au #poppy playtime au

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nautiscarader · 2 months ago

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Cuddly Falls chapter 4

(ao3)

In which we feel the first sign of the oncoming danger

"For a given definition of reality", Dipper answered, "So far we've had two…", he added under his breath.

"Well, anyway", Kim interrupted, "Amy Hall is not just a collector… She calls herself DNAmy… She is a geneticist, who turns those plushies into her minions!"

"That's awesome!"

"That's horrible!"

The twins shared confused looks, upon hearing each other's pronouncement.

"But think about the possibilities!"

"But think about the animals!"

"Hm, now you've said it…"

"Yeah, actually…"

"That's horrible!"

"That's awesome!"

Kim blinked, mesmerised by the change in their exchange.

"Look, since those Cuddle Buddies were only spotted here, we need to see if there are more! To, er, secure them, from DNAmy"

"I got it from a thrift store", Tambry shrugged.

"Or maybe the person, who's made them, is still around, somewhere? Amy could have tracked them down…", Ron suggested.

"So we are looking for someone, who lived here in the 80s, is extremely greedy, unafraid of making shady deals and why are you snickering?", Kim asked, shifting her eyes between the Pines twins, who have been trying to hold back laughter.

"OH, GRUNKLE STA~AAN!", they shouted in a sing-song voice.

A moment later, they heard footsteps coming from the kitchen, and eyes of everyone present laid upon an old man in his somewhat incomplete clothes, scratching his hairy belly.

"Alright, what's the ruckus?", he grumbled, but his tone and expression shifted, when he spotted Kim and Ron. "Oh, crap, do we have customers?", he asked, and before receiving an answer, he threw something onto the ground.

Once the effect of the smoke bomb dissipated - to the surprise of only Kim, Ron and Rufus - Stan Pines was now sporting an immaculate black suit, a cane, red fez and wearing the shiniest smile, only exaggerated by his golden tooth.

"Hello, hello and welcome to the Mystery Shack, the finest collection of oddities on this intersection of longitude and latitude!"

He jumped between Kim and Ron, closing his arms around their necks in an uncomfortable manner.

"We have couples' packages, two for the price of two! And pets cost extra, unless…", he took long look at Rufus, "…You would like to donate this…. This… Still living organism to my fantastic collection of 100% real animals!"

"What?'", Ron shouted, shielding Rufus, as he wrestled himself from his grip.

"Stuff yourself!" Rufus sneered.

"Mister… Stan, was it?", Kim asked, also having freed from his grip.

"The one and only!", he proclaimed, and then shied away. "Well…", he muttered.

"We have some questions regarding you and the business you might have operated involving certain… animals "

Kim pointed to the mounted heads of fake creatures.

His smile faded in a split of a second, together with the color draining from his face, including, somehow, the shine of his golden tooth.

"Questions? Business? Questions about business?!", he panicked, "YOU'LL NEVER GET ME ALI-wait, where are my smoke bombs?!", he started frantically searching his pockets, until a certain hand laid on his shoulder and calmed him down.

"It's okay, Stanley. They are not looking for you. They're after me."

"And you are…?", Kim asked, watching, as another man stepped from the shadows. He was of similar posture, wore rounder glasses and had red turtle-neck sweater.

"It's him.", Stan spoke ominously.

"Him who?", Ron asked.

"The author of the journals.", Stan continued.

"What journals?", Ron whispered.

"My brother.", he finished, as Ford stepped into the light.

"Oh, that… explains nothing. But you've got to admit, he has a flair of showmanship, doesn't he?", Ron nudged Kim.

But he didn't get the answer, as sound of sobbing reached them from behind.

"G-Grunkle F-Ford?!", Mabel asked, tears streaming from her eyes, "How-how could you have done that to those poor, poor animals?!"

Ford shied away, unable to meet her eyes, his face once again became covered in shadows.

"It's not my proudest moment… But I needed money for my research, and that company offered it!"

"Research? Into what?", Kim inquired.

"NEVER MIND ALL THAT!", the group once again erupted.

"Okay, I'm sensing a pattern here…", Ron muttered.

"But that story has a happy end, if one can call that", Ford assured her, propping his hands against the table. "Oh, hello, little fella.", he spoke to Rufus, who's been eyeing his hand with curiosity.

"Fingers… Too many!", Rufus proclaimed.

"Heh, are you sure?", he asked, lifting the naked mole rat up and wriggling his six fingers, watching as Rufus playfully crawled between them.

"Don't you think that buddying up with Rufus will make up for what you've done! At least he's naked, you'd have spared him…", Mabel spoke, still angry.

"Ah, the good news. After I've experimented with… The fur, I wanted to see what makes it so strong. And after analysing their composition and the creatures' diet, I've developed a new type of polymer, a perfect natural substitute!", he explained, glad to see Mabel's face brightening.

"Anyway, I've sent them the sample, but I guess we've never shook hands on it, since, er, I had to go away for a while. Never been good at making deals anyway…"

At this point, Stan grabbed Ford violently by his sweater.

"You fool! We could've been collecting toy royalties for a quarter of a century!"

"The point is", Kim interrupted, separating the two, "We now know what has happened and why so few of the platypandas have been produced, and why they were sold only here."

"And I can check if the fur is real or not!"

Only now the gathered have noticed a small briefcase Ford brought with him, no bigger than one for a laptop or handheld gaming console. But when he laid it on the table and opened the lid, it also sprung to life: inside was a small monitor, an equally slim printer that looked like part of a cash register, but it was the rest of the equipment that made the youngsters let out a collective gasp of awe. Several glass tubes of various shapes rose up automatically with their accompanying metal stands, becoming…

"A portable chemistry kit!", Ford exclaimed, "Not as advanced as my lab, but…"

"Cool, but that doesn't bring us any closer to DNAmy", Ron countered, "And besides, we don't even know if she's still here! Maybe she just wanted a souvenir? She could be gone by now…"

Suddenly, Stan's face lit up.

"Souvenirs! Hang on, let me get some more…". And he disappeared to an adjacent room.

"We should start looking for Amy, even if there is a slim chance of her still being here", Kim spoke, "Tambry, where is that shop you-"

But before she could finish, the walls of the Shack, and the ground beneath them shook with tremors.

#gravity falls #wendip #kimron #kim possible #nautiscaraderfics

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lenas-oc-chronicles · 4 months ago

Text

Bring the Weight Down

Chapter 2: Awake

Chapter 1

When the sun shone through their windows and assaulted their eyes with its intense rays, nearly all in the Weasley household were awoken. Ginny grumbled and covered her head, curling up into herself. Once she remembered that she wasn't alone, however, she quickly stood to head downstairs. Fred and George each flipped over to avoid the light, determined to remain in bed longer. Harry's eyes opened and he looked around, nostrils flared like a madman. Arthur found Molly's hand in the covers and brought it to his lips, giving it a feather light kiss. That lightened her mood significantly, and she stood for the restroom.

Ron was the last to wake up. He yawned widely, like a lion, and stretched his arms over his head. He'd found sleep an elusive beast; his mind wandering to, by his consideration, their unwelcome house guest.

“You still here, Harry? Didn't get snatched up by Death Eaters, then?”

Harry, after putting on his glasses so that Ron didn't look like a smudged water color painting, shot Ron an unreadable look. He had conflicting feelings about the night before. He wanted to reply sardonically, but his mind was blank. All he could think of was the blood, and the indescribable feeling of seeing the girl who'd joined in on bullying himself and his friends looking to be on the verge of death. He was worried about her, yet angry that she were there at all. “No, no snatching. Unless we're both dreaming right now.”

After wasting as much time as they could, they all trudged lazily downstairs. Molly, her hair in a tangled mess, looked to the twins. “Boys, go ahead and get breakfast going.”

Fred and George, looking the most neat of all, acquiesced and went together into the kitchen. The clanking sound of pots and pans ensued, following by the two jabbering at each other about who would do what.

Meanwhile, Arthur prepared himself to meet with Dumbledore. He changed quickly into a pair of faded gray slacks and an old blue pullover. He had a warm wool jacket around himself, and brown shoes that didn't quite match anything else he had on. His spectacles were neatly on his nose, and he went into the fireplace. “Back by breakfast,” he said cheerfully before he disappeared in a swirl of green smoke.

“Ron, I want you to write to Bill to let him know not to come until Monday.” said Molly.

Ron murmured to himself and marched over to a cabinet, withdrawing a quill, ink bottle, and parchment, then drug himself to the table at the center of the room, plopping down on the floor with his legs spread out far and his shoulders slumped over.

“I'm done,” Ron called after a suspiciously brief time of scribbling. Molly picked up his letter and examined it.

'Bill,

Mum says to come Monday. There's a bloody Death Eater in the house.

Cheers,

Ron'

Molly frowned and looked down at her son. “Ron.”

“What?” he asked grumpily.

“Write it again.”

In a state of dramatics, Ron grabbed a new piece of parchment with fervor and set it down roughly. When he reached for the ink, he did so with too much effort, knocking the bottle over. It lolled back and forth on the table, spilling its contents into a pool that slowly made its way to the edge. It dripped onto Ron's pants, sure to stain both them and his skin.

“Ron, clean it up!” cried Molly.

Ron rolled his head back, staring miserably at the ceiling as he pushed himself off of the ground. He went to the pantry the room over to find a towel. He drug his feet with slouched shoulders, his slippers scratching against the floor. He did the table first, swirling the towel around lazily until it was mostly clean, then knelt down to the floor. He twirled the rag, putting as little effort into the action as possible. It dyed the wood, but he thought it looked good enough. When he was satisfied with his work, Ron went back into the other room, using his backside to open the door, and tossed the rag in the waste basket. After that, he squished himself between the twins to wash the stains from his hands.

“I'm going to change.” said Ron, not to anyone in particular.

He marched pathetically up the stairs and into the room he and Harry shared. He rifled through his drawers to try and find a clean pair of pants, but found nothing. All of his had been wadded up into a corner the day before, and taken down to the laundry bin. He let his head hit the top of the dresser with a thud. “Come on.”

He looked for an alternative, and decided he only had one option; Harry's pajamas. He'd wear them until his were clean. The pair he found were dark plaid and about four inches too short. He felt like Neville, with his matching pants and shirt that were both just a touch too small. Ron hardly even bothered to put all of Harry's things back into his bag. He'd drug everything out to find the garment and laid it all messily onto his friend's bed. He used force shoving everything back in. 'I hate today.' he thought to himself, dropping the bag onto the floor.

As he made his way back to the living room, Ron paused at Ginny's room to take a peak inside. He could see her on Ginny's bed – the witch was still sleeping. He stared at the unmoving lump for a moment. He didn't know what he was waiting for – what he was watching. Maybe for a sign of life? Perhaps he wanted her to attack. He wanted it to be a ruse – an excuse to hex her for the nasty things she'd said and done. No, he knew that wasn't true. He didn't want to harm her. Not right now, anyway. He couldn't bare to think on it any longer, and quickly closed the door. He looked around for something to place in front of it. An alarm system, if you will. He found it in a brown vase covered in flowers of different colors that was held on the wall by a shelf, and placed it as close to the door as he could get it.

When he came back down, Ginny snickered at him. “Nice pajamas.”

Ron glared at her, then went to retrieve a new ink bottle. He plopped down beside Harry and started working on his new letter. The quill scratched the parchment roughly, as if he were in a hurry to send an S.O.S. overseas.

“I'm done!” he called to his mother.

She came and lifted it up from the table, looking down at Ron and shaking her head.

'Bill,

Mum asked me to tell you to wait until Monday to come over. We got a surprise last night. You'll see when you get here.

Cheers,

Ron'

“Better?”

“It'll do.”

Ron sealed up the letter and gave it to Pig, not trusting the older Errol. Bill wasn't set to arrive until late afternoon, so it would most likely reach him in time. Ron stretched his arms over his head and could feel the draft on his lower calves. He tried pulling the borrowed pants down as much as possible, but it didn't help much. They were so low it was almost offensive, and still the skin over his ankles was exposed.

“Are those my pajamas?” asked Harry.

Ron didn't answer, and Harry couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

Satisfied that what was taken care of could be, Molly headed upstairs to check on the girl. She kicked the vase when she opened the door, staring down at it in confusion. “What on earth?” She returned it to its spot on the shelf and headed inside.

Molly didn't want to disturb her too much. She knew that her body would likely need a lot of rest. She was alive, and breathing steadily. Her brow was furrowed in her sleep, and she clutched onto the covers as if they'd float away if she didn't. Molly placed a gentle hand on her head, lightly running it back and forth to soothe her as she'd done so many times with her own children. “There, there. It's only dreams.” Molly watched as her face settled and her grip loosened before she left, closing the door feather-light.

After some time, a call came from the kitchen. “Breakfast is done.”

The children all scurried to grab a plate. The smell inside was... overwhelming, to say the least. Spices, herbs, cooking oil, something burnt, and the sickly sweet scent of something rotten all blended together and assaulted their nostrils.

When Molly got in, they all moved aside to let her get the first serving. Toast, eggs, bacon, and beans were at their disposal and they were all in need of the nourishment. In the sink, there were pans and plates piled high. The things that had been made and discarded, it seemed.

“Should we wait for dad to get back?” asked Ginny.

“No, dear. I don't know when that'll be.”

After their plates were prepared, they sat themselves down at the table and dove in. The only sound that filled the room was the scraping of utensils and the gulping of juice.

When they were done, the dishes washed themselves in the sink while the others covered the remaining foods to keep them fresh until Arthur's return.

While they waited, Molly sat down to knit and listen to the radio, Ginny, Fred, and George went outside so that Ginny could practice some Quidditch moves, and the boys went into their room to have a discussion about the girl sleeping close by.

“Dahlia Archdaen....” began Ron. “I can't believe Ginny slept in the same room as her.”

“I know. She's the one that offered it, too.” said Harry.

“I mean, has she forgotten everything Dahlia's done? Might as well let Malfoy in there.”

Harry was reminded of something he'd been meaning to talk to Ron about. Actually, he meant to speak with a lot of people over the subject. “Speaking of Malfoy....”

“You're sure you heard Snape talking to Malfoy?” asked Ron after Harry had recounted the conversation he'd overheard after Slughorn's party.

“If you ask me that again, Ron, I'll-”

“I'm only checking!”

“Yes, Snape was offering to help Malfoy.” said Harry, dully. “He said he'd promised Malfoy's mother, made an Unbreakable Oath or something.”

“D'you mean an Unbreakable Vow?” asked Ron, stunned. “Nah, it couldn't be.”

“Yes, I'm sure. Why, what's it do?”

“It's just... you can't break an Unbreakable Vow.” said Ron.

“Funnily enough, I'd worked that part out on my own. What happens if you do break it?”

“You die.” Ron said flatly. He then went into a story about how Fred and George had tried to get him to make one when he was very small, and when Arthur had caught them, he'd been “as angry as Mum,” according to Ron.

“Do you think she knows? Dahlia, I mean - what Malfoy's up to?” asked Ron.

“Maybe. I think I need to ask her, anyway.” said Harry.

“Yeah that'll go over smoothly.”

“It's worth trying. She does owe us a lot. I'm going to talk to your dad first and see what he thinks.” Of course, Harry knew that it was likely Arthur would defend Snape, saying that he was offering help as a ruse to get information. But he still had to try.

“Either way, I've got your back, Harry. I'll ask her with you.”

“I don't think that'd be a good idea, Ron.”

“Why not?” asked Ron, offended.

Harry sighed and picked that moment to bathe himself and get dressed, leaving Ron to yell at him as he left the room, “Oh so now you're not gonna answer me, are you?”

Around eleven thirty, Arthur emerged from the fireplace tailed by Dumbeldore, and to Molly's surprise, Snape as well. He carried with him a handsome black leather case that clanked lightly when he walked.

From upstairs, Harry and Ron could hear the arrival of their headmaster and quickly jogged down. Everyone that remained inside throughout the morning had gotten themselves ready for the day; bathing, dressing, brushing their teeth and hair. But when the twins and Ginny came inside, they were dirty and breathing heavily. They'd been outside all morning.

“Good morning, Molly, Harry, Ginny, Ron, Fred, George. Good to see you all.” said Dumbledore, taking a moment to look at each of them, smiling happily.

“Good morning, Professor.” They said in unison, completely on accident.

Harry caught sight of Snape and furrowed his brow. He'd have to wait for him to leave before he could say anything to Arthur; and if he and Dumbledore left at the same time, he'd have no chance of speaking to the Headmaster until he returned to school.

“Professor Snape has brought with him a few potions that should help to coax the young lady awake. Molly, would you take him to see her?”

“Yes, of course.” she sat down her knitting and gestured for Severus to follow her. He kept his eyes forward and marched with straight posture up the stairs.

“While we wait, I hope you don't mind if I have a seat.”

“Of course not. Go ahead.” said Arthur.

“Dad, there's some breakfast in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Fred.”

“Would you like a cup of tea, Professor?” asked Ginny.

“Why, yes. That'd be delightful. And some sugar, if you please.”

“Do you know what happened to her, Severus?” asked Molly.

“No.”

Snape had sat himself down on the bed and with Molly's help, turned Dahlia onto her back. He worked more gently than Molly expected to ease the potions down her bruised throat. One to restore her blood loss, one for pain, and one to assist the healing.

“Is that it, then?”

“For now.”

“She had... well, she had some wounds on her back and I'm worried she might have some internal issues.”

Severus bent down to dig through his wares, plucking an orange looking vial from the case. He guided that one down, then replaced it back with the others.

“If she isn't internally wounded, she's going to have cotton mouth for the rest of the day.” said Snape blandly. “Anything else will have to wait until she's awake.” Severus was not going to perform a full examination on a sleeping girl. If anything were broken, it would be evident soon enough. He stood, and the two went back downstairs.

“She'll be awake within the hour.” said Snape as they entered the living room.

“What'll we do until then?” asked Arthur.

“You'll have to wait.”

And wait they did. The entire party sat awkwardly quiet together. If it weren't for the radio, they'd be able to hear the grass grow.

After a while, Molly went into the kitchen to make lunch. She even prepared enough for Snape, Dumbeldore, and Dahlia for when she woke. The eating silence was almost worse than the sitting silence, and all except for Snape crowded into the dining room.

“How is your business going, Fred?” asked Dumbledore. “I hope with our recent outbreak of boils, your sales don't suffer, George.” He looked through his glasses at the two, his eyes twinkling knowingly.

The twins grinned. “Yeah, it's going alright.” said Fred.

“And that's too bad about the boils. It's a good thing our dear Ron hasn't suffered form them.”

“Yeah, we don't know anything about them.”

“Nothing at all.

“We sell party gags mostly. Punching telescopes,”

“Spell checking quills,”

“Love potions,”

“Pygmy puffs,”

“Puking pastilles,” added Dumbledore.

“Puking pastilles,” They each went silent, and their cheeks flushed.

“Actually, I've quite enjoyed them. The taste is superb, although the after effect is less than desirable.”

After they were done, Molly set aside two plates of food; one for Dahlia and one for Snape, too, if he happened to change his mind. The mess was cleaned, and they went back to waiting; Molly to her knitting, Fred, George, and Ginny upstairs to clean up, and Harry and Ron to the floor, where they played a game of chess.

Upstairs, Dahlia slowly drifted back into the world. She kept her eyes shut, but she was awake. Somewhere soft, warm, and nice smelling; orchids or lilac - very light but pleasant nonetheless. She knew it wasn't where she'd left the night before. She could see the sun shining through her lids and wondered how long she'd been asleep. Was it through an entire day? Or had she really woken up the next morning? That would only be possible if they'd used strong potions. But that meant she was inside a magical household. If that were true, she'd be incredibly thankful. She was worried she might've ended up with Muggles, and they would discard her wand thinking that it was just a stick.

She opened her eyes slowly, allowing herself time to adjust to the light; and time between being so comfortable to the questions that were soon to come. She stretched her limbs a little at a time so as not to cause herself distress, and sat up slowly while moving the covers aside. Every part of her ached, though it wasn't nearly as bad as she might've thought.

Dahlia looked around the room. Posters hung on the walls, one of the Hollyhead Harpies. She smiled to herself. This was definitely a magical household. But whose was it? By the look of it, the room belonged to a young girl. Possibly around her age. A dark wood dresser with a mirror over it was settled nearly directly across from her, a matching side table beside a bed that sat to her left with a lovely white candelabra resting atop it, knickknacks and jewelry were scattered here and there, and on the dresser was a fluffy pink ball rolling around of its own accord. It was a cute room, much different from her own. She could see the door to a closet to her right. Leaning against it was a broomstick. It was tidy, organized, easy to move around in. Much different from her own room at home; a large and opulent space, filled with sterile elegance. Everything had a place; nothing mismatched. Even her clothing was placed evenly spaced in her closet. This room looked lived in. Though it was clean, it was full of personality.

She turned to the side and set her feet on the floor, resting her hands on the bed and hunching her shoulders forward. They'd changed her clothing. Gone was her navy gown – replaced by a cotton night dress. It was loose enough to be comfortable, but it didn't seem like it were the right size.

Dahlia stood and wobbled uneasily. She waved her arms out to catch herself, took a deep breath, then started to walk. She found that she had a limp to her left leg which didn't come as a surprise. She went to the dresser and the mirror that sat above it. She looked herself over with a grimace. At least she'd been cleaned off a bit. There was still makeup smudged beneath her eyes but she decided to leave it. It wouldn't matter to the darkened skin on the right side, and the left would grow red if she applied pressure and scrubbed the stains off. Her hair was a ratty mess, and she did her best to rake her fingers through to smooth it down.

The fluff ball rolled in front of her, squealing happily. She looked down and studied it, beady eyes meeting her own. A pygmy puff. She couldn't help but smile. It really was cute. And then it rolled too far and fell onto the floor with a squeak.

She took that moment to make her way out. She stopped at the door and held the knob, shutting her eyes. With one last squeal from the pink fluff at her feet, she opened it, slowly, and stuck her head out to get a look. She didn't see anyone coming down the hall, and could plainly hear a radio from the floor below. She tiptoed around the door and shut it even slower than she'd opened it.

She ignored the pictures on the wall. She wanted to see the person, or people, who'd saved her in person first. She walked slowly down the stairs, holding onto the railing firmly for support. Going down the steps hurt much more than walking. Although she'd been bandaged, the skin on her back was burning uncomfortably, and all around the wounded flesh was sore and throbbing. Not to mention the ache at her side that she'd felt from the moment she sat up. But she didn't slow, or turn. She stayed exactly how she was.

Closer she drew, and heard a voice talking. A man, by the sound of it; old and speaking gently. It sounded incredibly familiar and she stopped to listen in. He was telling a story, but it was hard for her to catch. She walked further and heard another voice, a boy, less familiar than the one before but still her mind attempted recognition.

'Is that... Dumbledore? Couldn't be.'

She was a little worried over who she'd face at the bottom. Would it be someone she knew? Someone she went to school with and their family? Her stomach flopped, making her nauseous.

Down to the bottom she went, then turned to see those that had helped her.

“Hey, she's up.” said Fred.

“Hello missus,” said George.

“Ah, hello Miss Archdaen.” It was Dumbledore. And the Weasley family, Harry, Potter and Professor Snape. She tried to hide it, but seeing him immediately caused her to panic.

Harry and Ron looked up and instantly had daggers for her while on the other side of the room Arthur and Molly looked both worried and frightened while the twins and Ginny met her gaze. She kept her face passive and tried to focus solely on the Headmaster.

'Oh, good. A house full of people who hate me, and a man who will likely give my location away. No reason to fret.'

Tagging: @ocappreciationtag

Author's Note: Fuck J.K. Rowling

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #oc fanfic #oc fanfction #harry potter oc #hp oc #harry potter oc fanfic #harry potter oc fanfiction #oc: dahlia archdaen #fandom: harry potter #ocappreciation #ocapp #ocappreciationtag

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sotogalmo · 10 months ago

Note

hi soto ! i hope your fine with me calling you that, but if not, sorry ! !

i just wanted to ask, which alnst ocs do you think flor would get along with in general ?

Oh Im fine with any names !! So I don't mind what you call me!! (I have lots and lots of names,,, soto, Itzusumi, Amy, Audrey, Kellie, Garrett, Satan, Kit/Kitsunami, etc)

Ooughh. Toughie toughie.

Maybe your OC? They seem very-very similar (to me that is tho). Like Siamese twin cats (tho she already has a twin)! Tho Flor would be more of a talker out of the both of them??? imo that is, but who knows- she makes a lot of sounds due to boredom <- random fact. She rlly likes hanging out with Auri: stress relief time!

Solei ( @shakingparadigm ) . Flor is so so fascinated by their knowledge of "animals". What's that called?? Why do they have that,, weird thing?? What's their powers??? What can they eat?? 'Bugs'?? What's that? . Flor is just. So amazed by their knowledge,,, would honestly ask what animal Solei thinks she is. No need to answer! Just a curious gal. Is so amazed by how some of the animals are fuzzy looking. Gets the itch to touch the page (she does it either way). maybe she asks some very weird questions of how the animals taste, but she was raised by an alien that likes food and likes making food. So can ya really blame her with her fascination for food??? Food<3

Khoi ( @junebluues ) . Flor is,, Flor would like to hang out with him! Maybe like. Help with some lyrics?? She writes poems from time to time, and that helps her with making some good songs (real example(s) are of my og song I did not too long ago!)

Lang ( @pwippy ) . Loves her hair. If Lang doesn't mind Flor would love to brush her hair! The black and white is so pretty and cool looking. Lang likes breaking things??? Flor joins in on the chaos!!! Only when her emotions get the best of her, she goes to join Lang and her common breaking things habit. It's really nice to let off some steam (no she's not crying)

Toon ( @nottoonedin ) . Loves her hair x2. Gets the biggest BIGGEST urge to brush it ,,,,, it looks like those "lion's" "manes" that Solei would talk to her about !!!! So prettyb. . ... What if she just shrinks enough to lay in Toon's hair... Small ittybbitty kitty in lion mane....

Stasya ( @billwasnot ) . Flor finds it very comforting that they take a big sibling role (Flor is 17!) ,,, reminds them of her own siblings. So she's very attached to Stas (even gives them a nickname!). Flor likes being round Sta, quiet time! Kinda like how she is with Auri tbh. Just on a more,,,, nicerr??? Scale???? I dunno how to explain it well,,,

Rose ( @rosedeleca ) . Loves their hair x3. Good Lord she's pretty as hell. Flor would just be such a common silent admirer of Rose. If she remembers the name and what it(a flower) looks like (her guardian is also very interested in plants. Not a big fan of animals), she would say “nomen nihil est nisi decorum! (The name is nothing but beautiful!)” (her guardian teaches her in Latin & Latin based languages). Hides behind Rose for fun!

Man. Sorry if some of these are really short (I dunno bout other ocs or if people wanna be tagged here,,, so this is all I have for now -!!) or honestly really predictable-

#ask #apriciticreveries #alien stage #alnst #alien stage oc #alnst oc #alnst oc: flor #to the ones ive tagged.... i rlly hope you dont mind that i tagged y'all... !!!#flor is such a silly clown.....#oughhh

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autism-criminal · 2 years ago

Text

i never made an intro post 😨

so uh yeah here we go wheeeeeee

pfp by @devscorner and replycons by @cyyberboy , isn’t it all so awesome ?

Update !! This is mostly a fic blog now , where I post my Tangst . I’m always open to talking , I just won’t reblog things very often !

Please don’t send me donation asks .

My names are Tang , Jango , Nuke , and Cellach , in order of preference ! My pronouns are it/he and im a boy .3 I’m aroace , ambiamorous , and I think I’m biromantic or just gay ! Also I’m literally Tang because my discord friends said so , so yeah . I’m Tang for real ( I kin him )

I am professionally diagnosed with AuADHD , anxiety , and depression . I’m also robotkin !

If you’d like me to tag or tw something , please tell me , whether that be through dms or an ask !

I like drawing ! ask me to draw your OC and I will do so in the span of 2 hours-2 days .

Seven means a lot . Idk how much , but imagine seven is the biggest number in the world

my top interests in no particular order

FNaF ( somewhat losing interest but I still love it )

Jurassic Park ( reading the books again so expect some posts about it )

Psych

The Hunger Games !!!! chat is this peak writing ??

The Gray Man ( you a 42 regular ? )

Ocean’s 11 ( 2001 ) !!!

Lego Monkie Kid

Seabiscuit !! I love the movie and I finished reading the book about him

Man of La Mancha ( 1972 ) this is peak cinema

Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Sta

MapFriend is peak and the only horror game based on survivor’s guilt that I’ve seen . I love it

I love being tagged in things . Pls don’t hesitate to tag me in things

I LOVE NICKNAMES AIODCUOAKDOX

I speak some Spanish , and in a few years I’m even planning on studying abroad .D

oc lore so far

Silva, Shroom Guy, Notata and Apparatus Phobos 2 3 ( I probably have more lore for him but I can’t find it )

Tang angst !! Feel free to send requests for Tangst cause I have no ideas

headcanons / my rant about him the angst fic part two villain au !! part two ! part three part fourrrr the prequel part two part two and a half part three part four part five

VILLAIN AU THIS IS MY MASTERPIECE

Tangstober ! Day 1 - Again Day 3 - Self-Destruction Day 6 - Medication Day 15 - False Hope

I’m cool , but you know who’s even cooler ?

@jadegrimm @edenthebat @felixxscott ( rip ) @faeriedays @fagtron2000 @finleyforevermore @treasure-goblin @doomed-to-be-obsessed @swagmaxxer @animanytotsllyinsany @t0esniffer69 @kirvee @j-snapdragon @idonoiyo @starfish-spencer @shawnaise @iceeericeee @beepboopchibbo @slime-the-awesomeguy @exploringwonders-mads <333

my pookie and kin twin @jaspers-real-wife <3333333 /p

also, MY DAD !!! @wheredidmybooksgo !!!!! The best dad ever !!!!

and my grandmama !! @the-squishy-scrimblo !!!

check them out .D

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

my tags are as follows :

#PHOBOS LORE - lore or just art for the siller

#best dad ever - for when I’m talking with the best dad ever

#best grandmama ever - for when I’m talking with the best grandmama ever

#best sibling ever - for when I’m walking with the best sibling ever

#lassieposting - for when I post about Carlton Lassiter or find a post that I think is related to Carlton Lassiter

#Tangst - posts about Tangst , maybe writing or just rambles

#villain au - posts about my Tang villain AU , not the one where he’s captured and forced to be a villain , but the one where he chooses to be

#loser tang au - you are never gonna guess ( posts , often fic or drawings , about my Loser Tang AU )

#cellach’s art - my very recent art tag , probably just a few things in this tag so far

#edits !! - another more recent tag , for edits I make

#unwell about the fetts - this bounty hunter and his clone son are taking over my brain

#fett fics - coming soon to a blog near you …

that’s it B]

#tw swearing #tw caps #intro post wow

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fandom-monium · 2 years ago

Text

Sweet Poison - Part 2

Summary: In which Zagreus gives you your first nectar. Along with a gift. “If it’s not to your liking, I can exchange—”

WC: 1k

TW: Zagreus (Hades Video game) x Succubus!Reader, GN!Reader, a succubus AND an artist bc sex is just work and food, au where in game Zag commissions the paintings using gems, what if boons actually affected Zagreus, slow build, strangers to friends to lovers trope, sex work, fluff, fluff and humor, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild angst, pheromones, technically it’s succubi magic aura, Zagreus is at least 6 ft convince me otherwise, eventual smut

AN: I imagine even in the Underworld and Olympus there's disparities between gods, demons, nymphs, etc

—

If there’s one constant about the Underworld, it’s that time works differently than on the surface, so you’ve learned when you first came into existence. It could be days, weeks—or whatever’s the Underworld equivalent to such a concept—before you see the peculiar man again. Which is why you already resign yourself to the fact you’ll never see your food again.

Maybe you should be more disappointed, you think, alone save for the green flames crackling at your hearth, melodic as it echoes across your humble chamber. After all, you did lose a meal, a rarity mind you. But if what he said is true, that Tartarus led him to you, not one of your bosses, then perhaps he doesn’t deserve to be consumed like the others.

Shame. He would’ve been delicious, you sigh, remembering lean muscle and genuine eyes with embarrassing clarity.

You shake yourself. Next time, if there is to be, you’ll get him.

You step back to glance over your piece. The same work in progress you had up when you met the man now stands before you, set on your easel just about finished. In your hand, you fiddle with a small brush, still soaked in gray paint as you ponder whether more final touches are needed. Tartarus stares back at you, layers of stone chambers and tombs descending down and deep into the canvas in black, white, and green in first person: the view from your balcony. You take the canvas in your hands, drinking in every detail as you hold it to the firelight.

With finality, you nod.

And toss it into the fireplace.

“What are you doing?“

Well—try to.

You jump, a flash passing you in a gust of wind as the air crackles around you like thunder. The hairs on your arms and back of your neck stand on end.

Shadows sharply contour his face as he stands before the fireplace, your painting softly clutched in his hands. Red and green eyes gaze at you, incredulous, as if the Goddess of Insanity herself has touched you.

You return his stare, just as baffled, “What am I doing? What are you doing?”

“Saving a masterpiece, apparently,” Brow knitted, he turns the canvas over a few times, checking for any scorch marks, any bits that might have touched the flames. None. It’s unharmed.

You snort, “Please. How long have you been here?”

“I just arrived. Right on time too,” He sighs, setting it back on the easel with something akin to pride before turning back to you. He smirks. You want to smack it right off him.

“What?”

He points to his hair. You bring a hand up to your own, feeling strands sticking up like gravity no longer exists.

And your horns.

You gasp, turning away, but that only further displays your wings and tail as you smooth your hair down, fingers barely grazing your horns before they all disappear in the blink of an eye.

Once you right yourself, you face him again and shoot him a withering glare, vertical slit pupils thinned into twin needles. He only grins back.

"Are you not… bothered?” You grimace, crossing your arms over your chest.

He tilts his head at the question. “What? That you’re a demon? Of course not.”

Demon, not succubus. Still unaware as ever.

You’re not sure why, but you breathe easier.

In the harsh light of the fire, there’s a glow to his form, one that hadn’t been there the first time you met. The atmosphere seems charged around him, almost electric as he stands poise—regal—his posture near perfect, and you faintly wonder if he was a prince in his past life. You can definitely see it; him in a castle, dressed in the best refinery humans could offer. With subjects that’d swoon if he graced them with the same boyish grin he’s giving you now.

You blink, quiet realization rolling over you like a thick fog.

Zeus’s blessing. He’s got boons from the King of the Olympians.

Your eyes narrow. Who the hell is this guy?

… Meh, not your business.

“While I have you here, there’s something I’ve been meaning to give you,” Breaking your train of thought, he offers his hand.

In his calloused palm, a bottle of nectar gleams in the firelight.

Without thinking, you take it in your hands, blinking dumbly as he scratches the back of his neck, abashed. “I know it’s not much of a gift, but I realized how insensitive it was to have barged into your home as I did. Consider it my formal apology and repayment for allowing me to use your fountain.”

When you only stare into your hands, he adds, voice audibly dejected, “If it’s not to your liking, I can exchange—”

“No!” He raises an eyebrow and you flush, cradling the bottle to your chest. “It-it’s not that. I…” Your thumb brushes against the smooth fabric of the ribbon, and you wonder if he’s actually an Elysian warrior who somehow wound up in Tartarus, because no denizen of the lowest rung of the Underworld would just give nectar. It may be contraband, but it’s also a luxury, only meant for the Elysium-bound, for gods, for… people unlike you. Wretches, demons; you’re the last to even think of consuming this liquid gold.

And despite all that, he just hands it to you like a tradeoff between friends.

Your heart expands. Friends.

Or maybe he really is just that unaware and naive.

Still, your voice comes soft as you grin, wide enough that your canines gleam, “Thank you for the gift. Truly.” He grins back, and your eyes dart around the chamber. “But I don’t have anything of value to give in return.”

He shakes his head, the laurels on his crown flickering with the movement. “No, no, gifts aren’t a mutual exchange.”

“I insist.”

He meets your gaze, and in the seconds it takes for him to realize you have no intention of letting him leave empty handed, his shoulders slump in defeat.

You smile, knowing you’ve won as he glances around before his eyes stop. “Then how about your painting?”

You tense, turning to the canvas you tried to burn not even ten minutes ago. “That thing?”

“That thing is a masterpiece,” He shoots you a pointed look before he studies your work. “I don’t understand why you’d try to rid the world of such beauty.”

“It’s not… accurate enough, perfect. It’s still missing something,” You gesture lamely around you, to the works-in-progress to near finished pieces. “Most of my works are.”

“Well, if you still intend to burn such a fine piece, I’ll take it off your hands. Hang it up in my gallery, perhaps.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking.

But you consider him anyway, then sigh, “Fine. Give it here.” When you reach for the painting, he takes a slight step between you and the easel. Protective. You scoff, “Oh, calm down. I promise not to throw it to the fire.”

“Swear on the gods?”

You roll your eyes, “May Lord Hades himself strike me down.”

That seems to satisfy him because he backs off, though he hovers over your shoulder, as if you’ll go back on your word and chuck it into the flames. He’s at least a head taller than you, enough for him to comfortably rest his chin on your shoulder if he felt like it. Despite the sliver of space between you, he’s a furnace, and you ignore the warmth emanating from him, fighting back a shiver and letting him watch as your fine-tip brush curves and loops with your signature lilt. A moment later, you step back with a content nod.

He moves beside you, sounding out the letters slowly. “’(Yo-ur Na-me)’?”

“My name.” When he looks at you, red and green eyes big with wonder, like you’d just unlocked a hidden treasure trove, you raise a brow, “What? I figured if we’re going to see each other more, the least I could do is give you my name. Besides, I’d much rather have my work burnt to ashes than give someone the chance to take credit for it.”

For a split second, he stares at you blankly, but it’s long enough that your stomach drops. Maybe you read him wrong. Maybe he wasn’t looking for a new friend, and he really was simply apologizing for intruding before. Your lips part, an apology on the tip of your tongue—

“Zagreus.”

You blink at him. He’d spoken too fast, not even your sharp hearing caught it. “Huh?”

“My-my name. It’s Zagreus. But my friends call me Zag,” He says, though he glances away, hesitant. When he looks back at you, he studies your expression, almost… afraid. Or perhaps concerned?

You can’t fathom why as you offer him a genuine smile, not a flicker of recognition on your face. “Nice to meet you, Zagreus.”

—

AN: The painting you give Zagreus is the Tartarus painting from the game, if that wasn't obvious 💁🏽

#zagreus x reader #zagreus (hades wideo game) x reader #zagreus & reader #zagreus (hades video game) & reader #hades supergiant #hades video game

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silkendandelion · 1 year ago

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The Real Thing (Final Version)

A Fears to Fathom: Ironbark Lookout Fanfiction

ao3 link

Jack Nelson x Connor Hawkins Words: 2.2k Genre: Fluff, humor, horror elements Summary: A short one-shot to look at Jack and Connor's lives after the events of My Own, Distant Home, and is a short prologue/teaser to the in-progress sequel. Alternative title: Two fools in love have no idea what genre they're in.

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences for sexually suggestive content and mild language, and horror elements.

Tall, bright green trees lined the blacktop road, obscuring the path around the upcoming curves but not able to block out the sun on such a clear, summer day. The RV navigated the winding road with ease in Jack’s hands, most recently passing a green interstate sign, “You are now leaving Idaho”, and then the doubly large sign after it where a cowboy on his horse declared “Welcome to Wyoming: Forever West.”

“I think you were more excited to get your CD collection back than your truck,” said Jack as Connor flipped happily through his shoe-box of albums, whose edges were worn down to the cardboard where it had been slid out and back under the bench seat for years.

“The joy is split, for sure. I let the kids keep all the ones they wanted.”

Jack took his eyes off the road long enough to smile back at him, admiring the childish joy on his face as he hunched over the box, thumbing over track lists like he was a teenager again, in a music store for the first time.

Behind their RV, they towed along said truck, a 2000 Toyota Tacoma in what Connor affectionately called “Stacy’s favorite green”, bought brand new for cash the year he left the army. The truck he only drove for a few months before he became a fire lookout at Ironbark, and since then had been driven almost exclusively by Stacy: Connor’s older sister, another deceptively charming blonde with two children under 10 and no one to rely on besides her brother. Twin fuzzy dice in lucky red bounced beneath the rear-view mirror, bleached almost pink from summers at the lake and catching Jack’s eye in the side mirror.

“That was an incredible thing you did, Connor,” he said. “To buy Stacy a car in exchange for getting the truck back, when it was yours to begin with, and I don’t think she would have fought you on wanting to keep it with us.”

“Nah.” He shooed away Jack’s admiration, flipping over the CD in his hand. “I wasn’t gonna leave her with nothing. And it wasn’t like I got her a Mercedes, just a little something for her to get back and forth to the plant and the kids to school. I should be thanking you actually, you’re the one who looked over the engine and told the guy to change the oxygen sensors before we would paid for it.”

Jack just offered a shrug, though he smiled when Connor reached over to nudge his cheek gently with his knuckles.

“What kind of albums do you have, Jack? I think we’ve listened to nothing but the radio since we left Washington.”

“I like the radio,” he said matter-of-factually. “It’s got NPR, weather, every—THING! Connor, no.” He yelled (squeaked) in alarm when Connor began rummaging through the glove compartment, searching for evidence that he was fibbing. Curse the RV for being so wide, he risked swerving if he reached far enough to slam the lid closed. Meanwhile, smiling and completely unbothered, Connor continued to snoop.

“What do we have here? Oh, Jack. Jackie, baby, what are these?” He grinned in triumph to hold up a handful of CDs: his partner’s most private feelings in rhythm and prose. “Is this what you listened to before you picked me up? Tracy Chapman, Bobby Caldwell—Jackie? Blue-eyed soul?”

Jack’s red cheeks approached their smoking point, hands tight on the steering wheel. If Connor squinted, he might see steam rising from his collar beneath the tight line of his lips. “Don’t make fun of me, Connor, please.”

“I would never, Jack,” he said earnestly, all whiskey and warmth as he popped open one of the cases and began to decipher the RV’s stereo system. Static seemed to be the most common channel in their current neck of the woods, among a brief news transmission: ‘—ark state park in Washington, where the body count is up to 9—’

Stop. Go back.

“What?” He mumbled, so quietly Jack only hummed his vague acknowledgment as Connor flipped the channels back and forth, desperate to return to that station.

“It… it was this one, I’m sure of it,” he said, met with only snowy static from the stereo, and Jack took his eyes off the road for less than a moment.

“What was? I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

His blood chilled, too much like that night when he had descended from the tower to work on his generator in the middle of the night, believing they were safe and leaving Jack to sleep off his episode alone—until he heard the crickets go quiet in the bushes behind him.

Jack had been the one to save him then, and he would not be caught unaware again. Nor would he let himself be weak when Jack trusted him enough to need him.

“It’s not important, I can’t even find the station again.”

The awkward tilt of Jack’s half-smile was reassuring, even as his heart pounded too hard. He reached to press a button with a circular graphic, one Connor hadn’t assumed was supposed to be a CD, and the little orange display flashed ‘INSERT DISC’.

“… Ah.” It was Connor’s turn to blush, though Jack couldn’t hold himself back from a good-natured chuckle.

“Under 30 and still bested by technology.”

“Hey, I spent four years falling behind on the curve. Do you think the army gave us anything more advanced than ping pong paddles and sun dials? It did make me excellent at smoke signals, though.”

Jack’s laugh warmed him, the only thing he had found that could chase away the unease lately. “You’re an old soul even without living mostly analog all that time.”

“We couldn’t even afford all those letters, they just gave us ANAM,” Connor said with his most comically raised eyebrows, just to hear him laugh again.

As he slipped the disc in the slot, a sensual piano filled the cabin, renewing Jack’s embarrassment when a sultry saxophone joined the singer, the iconic croon of a soulful ballad. He burned, resisting the urge to show how much he was enjoy himself, and chanced a quick look at Connor.

To the tune of his fluttering heart, he only found him smiling, no longer looking through his shoe-box or reading the billboards. Smiling at him, all warm brown eyes as he whispered along with the words, as if to say that between them, everything was sacred because nothing could be wrong.

“I want the real thing, or nothing at all. I need someone that I can be sure will catch me if I should fall. Someone who’ll be there when I call, then I’ll know that it’s the real thing.”

“How… do you know all the words?” Jack said, more to himself than aloud.

“Why do you think?” He reached across the console to touch his hand where it loosened it’s grip on the wheel. “You never have to be embarrassed, Jack, not with me. We’re in this together.”

Easy for him to say, when he’s the one playing with the tempo of the poor man’s heart and the temperature in the room. They came to a stop under a light, and Jack busied his hands tapping his thumb on the wheel until he heard Connor’s seat-belt click, saw him rise to walk towards the back of the RV.

“Where are you going?”

“Use your imagination, Jack, I can’t exactly wander far. Although, I suggest you find a place to park soon, or you might miss the good part.”

“The wh—” He kept his foot on the brake, turning to look for him, just to bite down on his words as Connor slowly threaded his belt free, letting it fall to the rug with a quiet thump. Next came his shirt, pulled off by his hand on the back of his collar. Among the slow reveal of his toned back, the moles on his spine, the song urged Jack onward, a different one, something about “Come to me” and “Let me love you, honey”.

“The light’s green, Jack.” Connor smirked at him, and tossed his shirt in the vague direction of the driver’s seat.

Jack snapped his eyes back to the road, pressing the gas a little too hard and hearing Connor’s laugh drift up from where he grabbed the kitchen counter to steady himself. Quietly, lest he be seen through even more than he already was, he vowed that if he didn’t find a place to park in the next few miles, he would pull over to the shoulder and lock the door.

From the bedroom, a quiet moan piqued his hot ears, among the sound of what might have been his name if he could hear better over the stereo.

Shit. All right, 1 mile.

By the grace of somebody, otherworldly or other, the parking lot to a campsite appeared on his right, empty too, all thanks to the heat advisory that was said to last for the rest of the week. Jack was probably the only person in the county grateful for it, if only because it meant leaving the key in the ignition to keep the AC running left the music on too.

He found Connor already splayed across the bed, distracted from his intentions by the toy bear on the windowsill, the little “Get Well Soon” card in his arms beginning to fade from all the sunbathing he did while his dads drove from state to state. His fingertip nudged the bear’s plastic nose, and Jack began to press kisses along the slope of his shoulder, over the old ink of his tattoo.

“Are we staying here for the night? Adrian’s expecting you Monday morning,” he said.

“I won’t be late, I promise.” Connor turned to steal a kiss from his lips, several actually as he coaxed him to lie back against the pillows. “But whether we get there the day before or the morning of—depends on how much you’ll let me do to you.”

He bared his neck in a plain invitation despite his protests, allowing Connor to seek out his favorite places to kiss while Jack ran encouraging hands into his hair, shorter now after his interview, as well as smoothing his palms over the scratch of the day-old stubble on his chin. It had been a telephone interview, of which Jack reminded him he didn’t have to shave, but Connor insisted it was the right thing to do.

“You’ve always been the needier one, but this—,” Jack’s breath hitched when teeth grazed the skin behind his ear. “You’ve been really affectionate lately.”

“It might be awhile before we get the chance again.”

Light and teasing just a moment ago, the quiet melancholy of Connor’s voice against his neck made Jack’s eyes flutter back open. He cupped his face in his palms, warm in the cheeks where his body was still wound up despite himself, and beckoned him to look up.

“Hey.” From so close, he could see all the barely-there freckles across his nose and cheeks, too light to be anything more than a secret to the rest of the world who didn’t get to hold him the way Jack did. He placed another kiss on his lips. “You’re so good to me. Remember that.”

Connor’s brow scrunched, worried still as he let their foreheads touch. “I want to live up to the version of me that’s in your head.”

“He’s real, I’m holding him. I can feel his dick on my leg.”

The sudden sputter of Connor’s laugh puffed warm across both their faces, and Jack grinned back at him with what he hoped was all the adoration he felt in his chest, the swell of his heart when Connor smiled so bright.

“Okay, Jack… You say you’re not funny, but I like funny men.”

“Eh, logical fallacies, something something, cognitive bias.”

“You lost me.”

“No I didn’t, I can still feel—”

Connor shut him up with a deep kiss, coaxing his mouth open with his thumb so he could slide their tongues together until their lungs burned. With a wet sound, he finally relinquished his lips, admiring the daze in his hazel eyes and the berry-red of his mouth until his voice broke the spell.

“Who are you?” Jack quipped.

“Someone who loves you very much.”

The softness of his face disarmed any playfulness left in the air, replaced only by earnest devotion and the looming ache of starting over, bittersweet no matter how wonderful the company is.

They deserved a break.

Neither of them knew the winter was going to be a hard one. That before the end of the year, they would be in danger again. To take comfort now was a gift, to hold each other close before the leviathan resident of those Ironbark woods emerges from the trees and begins to seek out the only survivors who know it’s name.

They couldn’t know it was

was already awake

They cannot know my name.

#fears to fathom #ironbark lookout #fears to fathom ironbark lookout #fears to fathom fanfic #jack nelson #connor hawkins #jack nelson x connor hawkins #ftf jack nelson #ftf connor #horror fanfiction #romance fanfiction #mlm fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #silkenspeaks

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