#i feel so dead and burnt out and its been two days

[dixons-sunshine]

You hummed quietly to yourself in the kitchen of the small two-story house you and Daryl occupied in Alexandria. After a harsh, intense period of fighting with not only the undead but the Saviours as well, it was nice to have some semblance of peace in the aftermath. It had been a grueling process to rebuild the remains of Alexandria from the ground up, but with the help from everyone in the community, as well as from people in other communities as well, Alexandria stood tall and proud once again. With all the houses rebuilt and with additional houses built as well, you and Daryl had opted to claim one of the smaller properties as your own, a sanctuary away from the bustling crowd of Alexandria after an exhausting day.

The paragraph of my first ever work in the The Walking Dead writing community. The story that kick-started this blog into what it is today. in SICKNESS and in health, posted February 25th 2024. Honestly, it feels like a lifetime and no time at all has passed since then. It’s such a surreal feeling.

When I wrote that story, I definitely did not expect anything to come of it. I remember being on season seven at the time of writing that, and feeling my heart break with what happened to Daryl in the sanctuary. I wrote that little comfort fic for myself at first, just to feel better about the hurt that was season 7, but then I thought “hey. I might as well post it. I’m sure someone out there will enjoy it.” And that’s what I did. I posted it and exited Tumblr directly after, and did not touch it again for a whole day. And when I did…

I saw my notifications showing me a bright blue ‘99+’. And I had gained a whole 20 followers, putting my follower count at the time at 29. Seeing that made my heart burst with joy. I could not believe that people were actually enjoying what I wrote. Also, I remember scrolling through my notifications and stopping dead in my tracks when I saw that @angelwings-crossbowstrings, aka one of the people whose stories inspired me to try my hand at writing for Daryl in the first place, had not only liked it, but reblogged it and followed me. My poor mom got bombarded with “holy shit, this amazing writer just followed me!” messages that day. She had no idea what I was yapping about, but she was supportive.

After that, I tried it again. Wrote something, posted it, and it got notes. And then again. I wrote my first installment for my “Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU” as my third ever fic, which is still my most popular series to date. That fic also served as the gateway to people sending me their amazing ideas via requests.

And the hits just kept on coming after that. And I still can’t believe that I get to say that people like my writing. Take that, my third grade English teacher.

This year had its ups, and it definitely had its downs. Due to the fact that I was so excited to get this blog up and running, I pushed myself too hard a lot of times, and I have burnt myself out on more than one occasion. I told myself that if I didn’t pump out fics every day, people would be disappointed in me. I had set high expectations for myself, and I felt so bad when I couldn’t live up to them. However, through lots of reassurance and guidance, I realized that it was unhealthy for me, mentally speaking. I was pushing myself way too hard, and I needed to slow down if I wanted to keep the fun of writing alive for me.

This year, I also had a moment where I was scared. I found something that made me realize that my blog could have potentially been the next target for a known plagiarist, and it made me fearful. I pour my heart and soul into every story that I write, so having the safety that I associate with writing threatened was a terrifying thing. However, thanks to the vigilant creators behind the @fanfic-plagiarism-watchdog blog, my worries were settled. (Although I still keep my eyes peeled for any suspicious activity on that other blog.)

Now, for the ups. Let’s get the negativity out of here. We’re ending this year with a bang.

I never celebrated this, but I reached 1k followers this year! It happened so quickly, I barely had time to register and think of how to celebrate it. At the time of posting this, I’m a little less than 70 followers away from 2k, and I just wanna say thank you to each and every one of you for deciding to stick around. Your love and support means the world to me.

I had a work of mine surpass 2000 notes! That number is still so surreal to me, oh my god.

Not something writing related, but I moved this year. It was definitely a good decision and I don’t regret it at all. It was hard moving everything from one house to the next, but in the end, it was definitely worth it.

I also met some amazing people because of this blog. I still can’t believe that I get to say that I know them on a somewhat personal level. @lazyneonrabbitt, @angelwings-crossbowstrings, @enlightndone, @shadowcitrine, @dixondystopia, @dix0nvix3n, @deansapplepie, @snailss, @remnantsofsleep and @yevmarie.

And I can not forget about my girl @holdmytesseract. You’re one of my absolute favourite people ever and I love you. Keep being your awesome self, sweetheart.

And @thevegandarkelf. I still can’t believe that I get to talk to her on a daily basis. What started out with a comment about how our angels (our OCs, Vec and Georgie) would have been friends in an alternate universe spiraled into, if I may be so bold, a friendship. Taylor has become a huge part of my day-to-day life, and I honestly can’t believe that I get to just text you randomly throughout the day about anything at all. I love you.

I would also like to give the biggest of thanks to @daryl-dixon-daydreams. Her fic entitled “Plan A” was the first ever work of Daryl I read here on Tumblr, and she was one of my biggest inspirations to start writing after my long hiatus. So thank you for blessing us with your amazing writing, and I can’t wait to read more of what you put out.

Now, to finish this off, I thought I’d give my personal favourite fics I wrote this year:

Daryl Dixon:

Hazelnut—Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Was It was Boogeyman?—Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams—Young!Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Needs To Be Perfect—Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Crushes Are For School Girls—Daryl Dixon x Georgianna Hawkins (OC)

Scud Frohmeyer:

Look At Me—Scud Frohmeyer x Fem!Reader

Perfect End—Scud Frohmeyer x Fem!Reader

Performance—Scud Frohmeyer x Fem!Reader

Murphy MacManus:

Make A Move—Murphy MacManus x Fem!Reader

The Safety—Murphy MacManus x Fem!Reader

Irish Man In A Closet—Murphy MacManus x Fem!Reader

Thank you all so much for sticking with me this year. I love each and every one of you so much, and I can’t wait to embark into the new year with all of you.

Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays, and happy new year in advance!

[milky-fixx]

toshiro hitsugaya + "beach"

900 words. fluff. adult!toshiro just being a Mom at the beach, but also a simp. idk he’s just sassy.

Toshiro hates the heat, but he likes you. That's how the two of you end up at a beach getaway in the World of the Living. While he had his protests—

(“I have paperwork to catch up on.”

“Let your Lieutenant do it for you!”

“Rangiku? Actually doing her work? Hilarious.”

“You need a break!”)

—you were dead-set on your vacation and had your sales pitch ready.

(“We can eat watermelon shaved ice and build sandcastles, or use your zanpakto to make ice sculptures, or whatever you want! We can walk along the beach when it’s cooler in the evenings."

Not entirely convinced, he opened his mouth to retort when you pulled out your ace card. Your last resort.

“Plus… I may know a way to get Matsumoto to finish her tasks for a few days.”

“…Fine.”)

He was sold.

Truthfully, he did need a vacation. His sense of duty just made him a hardass about accepting one.

Plus... it meant he got to spend more time with you.

Pressing the back of his hand to his brow—it's sticky, with sweat, he notices sourly—he follows just a few paces behind you as you flit about the beach. Despite himself, he feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips at your childlike wonder.

"Look, 'Shiro! It's a crab."

"We should catch one and cook it for dinner."

“Ahh, look how many pretty shells washed ashore.”

They were pretty, but he could think of someone with more beauty.

"Hm. They're nice."

"Do you want to build a sandcastle?”

"You'll get burnt," he says as he eyes your exposed skin.

Of course he slathered on as much sunscreen as he could before stepping onto the beach. Yet you denied his offer to rub some onto you with a wave of your palm, a simple boast of how you simply tan in the sun.

How opposite the two of you are, yet how well you mesh together.

He's been told he’s cold, like the winter personified, like the reiatsu that constantly shrouds him. You're warm, almost burning in intensity, like the summer heat that threatens to melt through him. You're in your element here.

Nonetheless he’s watching you intently to make sure your skin doesn't burn.

Maybe he also just likes looking at you, so carefree. He could just reach out and press his lips against your sun-kissed complexion—

He shakes his head to rid himself of the urge. The heat seems to be seeping into his thoughts. He crouches down, picking up the bucket that you discarded. He takes a moment to note your height difference. Gone are the days when he was considered too young, where you towered over him. Now he can revel in the fact that you have to tip toe just to reach his chin.

"You're doing it wrong," he says as he observes your sand creation. “That kind of castle would never survive the tide."

He helps you, rolling his eyes good-naturedly as you fleck some sand at him in response to his critique. When you look away, he does the same, a sludge of sand slapping your knee. You gasp and he raises a brow.

He used to hate doing things that made him seem too childish, all too aware of how people saw him—as the young, inexperienced prodigy.

Yet with you... he finds your laughter infectious. Whether it's you giggling at the way a crab burrows its way into your castle, or even at how he gripes about the heat.

He finds he doesn’t mind indulging in these juvenile activities. When it’s with you.

You venture towards the shore in search of seashells as Toshiro pats more wet sand onto the base of your castle. It's only when you call his name triumphantly that he looks up.

His eyes widen.

Not because you're proudly holding up a conch, but because the tide is hurtling towards the shore behind you, threatening to engulf you.

You don't seem to notice.

"Watch out!” He’s moving before he can even speak, managing to grab you before water crashes onto the shore.

In a flurry of waves and movement, the both of you fall onto the sand, his arms cradling you to him. Water threatens to invade his nostrils but he exhales roughly. He nearly swallows a mouthful of it before the tide recedes.

And then he’s propped over you, on his hands and knees, water dripping from his hair onto you, the both of you sopping wet. You cough up some seawater, but you're fine. Toshiro's brows furrow.

"What were you thinking?" he says tersely.

You could've died. You worry him sick. He takes his eyes off of you for a few seconds and you nearly die.

"Were you even looking? You could've drowned—”

He's not sure who leaned in first, but the kiss interrupts him. Despite himself, he can't refuse, clutching you closer to him, pressing his lips against yours insistently.

You taste like salt and the sun and he wants you so badly.

But he also wants to keep you safe.

The two of you break apart with flushed cheeks and short breaths, and Toshiro huffs, pressing his forehead against yours.

"You're ridiculous, you know that."

"Yeah, but I'm your type of ridiculous."

Your giggle breaks off into a gasp as another tide washes over your bodies, this time gentler.

"That's it." He grumbles, jerking back his slicked hair as you cough up more water. He gets to his feet, reaching out a hand for you. "We're drying off."

[ink-through-her-veins]

Arthur stumbles upon the dragon purely by happenstance, but by gods is the beast a chatty thing. It goes on and on about destiny, Albion, peace, and Arthur’s favorite part how the once and future king (himself) and his fated other half (Emrys) are two halves of the same coin, and everything will become clear when they realize this. Then the beast tells Arthur that Emrys not only has magic, but is magic, and Arthur’s head begins spinning—not with fairy tale romance where he gets swept off his feet as he’d been imagining moments before—but how anyone could have magic and not be evil.

‘Merlin could do it,’ he thinks wistfully, his unrequited crush upon his manservant rearing its ugly head even as he contemplates his soulmate.

He’s pulled from his daydream by said crush ambling clumsily into the cavern, gaping wildly, and then blurting out, “I can explain!”

The dragon laughs. “I already have, Emrys.”

And Arthur’s head starts spinning again. He pushes himself off the ground, takes a single step toward Merlin, and pulls himself back as a landslide of realization clobbers him like a thousand stones. “You knew?”

Merlin looks completely broken when he says, “I didn’t want anything to change between us.” I didn’t want you to have to choose between me or your father.

Arthur’s heart aches. Tears burn behind his eyes. “Of course,” he bites out, but all he can think, is what kind of man can’t be loved by his own destiny? What kind of monster must he be?

Things do change. Merlin’s stiffer. Arthur’s quieter. The dragon beneath the castle becomes one of Arthur’s closest confidants even if it speaks in riddles and leaves Arthur’s clothes smelling so strongly of smoke even his father notices.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispers one night as the smell of Kilgarrah’s sulfurous smoke fills his nostrils as he prepares Arthur for bed. He misses the smell of Arthur’s sweat, and the combination of leather and grease that clings to his armor. He misses the way Arthur used to look at him, joke with him, befriend him before he knew about the magic. “I’m sorry I’m like this.”

I’m sorry I’m me, Arthur thinks as he silently raises his arms to let Merlin drop a sleep shirt over his head. He only grunts in response.

Months pass, and as the ground thaws so do Merlin and Arthur, because though he may speak as clearly as a mud puddle Kilgarrah isn’t wrong: one cannot truly hate that which makes it whole. Arthur clings to Kilgarrah’s promises. One day. One day. Hopefully one day soon.

And the day comes in late summer when Merlin’s nearly skewered by a bandit while he and Arthur are on a hunt. Arthur’s checking him obsessively for any signs that the blood on him is actually his, while Merlin swats at his hands insisting he’s fine.

“Why wouldn’t you use your magic!?” Arthur screeches shoving Merlin’s hands out of the way so he can look over every inch of him.

“So I could be burnt upon a pyre? No thanks.” Merlin manages to push himself free of Arthur and stalk away.

“We’re meant to marry one day. We’re two sides of a coin, soulmates. Do you truly think me so monstrous?”

Merlin’s eyes are big as eggs. “What? Married? Soulmates?”

“What do you think Kilgarrah meant?”

“He’s an overgrown lizard!” Merlin shouts suddenly feeling too warm and too confined despite the mild weather and endless amounts of fresh air. “That…He…Is that what two sides of the same coin means?” He’s pacing the meadow, ignoring the dead bandits scattered in the tall grass. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I am. I…I don’t think you’re a monster, and I’m sorry you have to choose between your father and I. I’m—“

Arthur sees something then in the way Merlin tugs at his hair, eyes full of concern when they swing toward Arthur. Fools, Kilgarrah had called them, and fools they absolutely were.

“There’s no choice,” Arthur murmurs, sidling up to Merlin to take his hand. “It’s you. It was you before I knew of our fate and your gifts, and it’ll be you no matter what stands in the way.”

[gimme-a-man-after-midnight]

my royal roomie (part 2)

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Orm Marius x Reader

part 1:

https://www.tumblr.com/gimme-a-man-after-midnight/693273500438429696/my-royal-roomie-pt-1?source=share

Summary: After a few days of living under your roof, Orm gets to know the little surface dweller he's been stuck with. With time, a stormy night, and a bottle of wine, the prince learns that he has more in common with you than he may think.

Word Count: 4,000+

Warnings: female reader, slow burn, light cursing, mentions of past emotional abuse, divorced parents!reader, dead parent, comic lore inaccuracies, floral inaccuracies??

Author's Note:

hi y'all! here's the full part 2 i've been working on for some time! thanks for the support on the last one and again, so sorry for the late continuation :/ i hope this story is to your liking! happy reading!

After the first one-on-one conversation you had in the living room, Orm didn't come out of the guest bedroom for days. You’d see flashes of platinum blonde out of the corner of your eye, just barely missing him by a few seconds whenever you’d be in the kitchen or outside of his door. You had made many offers through the red painted oak of his room to go grocery shopping together or take him on a tour of the town, but all of your efforts were met with a stern "No thank you." You had lost any hope you had of forming some kind of connection with the Atlantean for a while, cutting your losses by quietly resigning to a parallel existence. What you didn’t expect was the mutual understanding you two would come to on one fateful stormy Friday night, much like the one that brought him to your doorstep.

***

 Heavy traffic from the drive home, a full message inbox on your telephone, and the burnt attempt at roast chicken sitting on your oven rack had you nursing a glass bottle of wine by the living room window. Bad days were normal for anybody, but it didn’t make them easier to deal with on your own - the added stress of the stranger living in your space didn’t help either. You had been living a quiet life ever since you moved back to the sleepy town some years ago, taking up very little space and leaving minimal traces of yourself. Whether it was out of caution or cowardice, you weren’t sure yet. Either way, that silence had brought you comfort at a time where your thoughts were too loud, but now with another person occupying your space the quiet was becoming suffocating. 

Orm wasn’t by any means a bad roommate - he kept to himself, he didn’t make much noise, and he even managed to wash his dishes whenever he knew you weren’t in the kitchen - but he was a man.The last time you had lived with a man, the end of its course felt similar to how you two were living now, and maybe that’s why it was bothering you so much. Tip-toeing around the Atlantean made you feel uneasy in your own home, a situation you were all too familiar with. Typically at this time in the night you would be cooking up some plan to urge the man out of his guest room, but after the day you had, you didn’t have the heart to try. 

Once you took your final gulp of wine, wiping at the sides of your mouth with the back of your hand, you trudged away from the raging display outside of your window. The dishes could be a tomorrow problem, you thought to yourself as you were leaving your kitchen counter behind. You had only made it a few paces out of the living room before your body was overcome with chills, making you draw your blanket tighter around you. The draft through the house was unmistakable, confusing you thoroughly due to you always making sure the doors and windows were shut before bed. As you stepped deeper into the house, you realized the distinct breeze was coming from the direction of the guest bedroom. You had made it a point to allow Orm his space, but your brain was stirring with reasons for what he could possibly be doing in there  - most of them unsavory. 

With a deep breath and a tight fist holding your blanket, you gently rapped at the door. 

“Hey, Orm?”

No response. You knock again.

“I don’t mean to bother, but I’m feeling a bit of a breeze through the house and I can tell it’s coming from here, so I just want to see if everything is alri-”

The door suddenly opened a crack, revealing half of Orm’s face which was already more than you had seen in days. 

“If you don’t mean to bother, then don’t.”

The curt response, although expected, has you taken aback. Already seeing the Atlantean retreat from the spot again, you hold the door in its place in effort to keep his attention.

“Look, I know you wanna be alone, but I can’t help wondering why a cold ass breeze is coming from your room, so I just want to see what’s going on. Please, it’s freezing right now.” You do your best to keep control of your tone, not wanting to let on just how much the cold was getting to you - giving the prince another reason to look down on humans wasn’t on your agenda for the night.

 Almost as if he commanded the storm, the lightning cracked loudly outside as Orm swung his door open, revealing his full disheveled state to you. You jolted in place, practically leaping a step back in defense at the swift move.

“What’s going on is the stench of your burnt dinner was practically singeing my nostrils. I opened a window in hopes that I could find some relief, because clearly you surface dwellers have no trouble polluting not only the ocean, but your precious breathing air as well! I have little care for how cold your fragile body may get, so I suggest you retire to your room at once and leave me be.”  

There was a gap in the yelling match conversation, almost as if the blond was waiting for you to bite back at his harsh words, but the glazed look in your eyes and parted lips made it evident to the Atlantean that your mind was elsewhere. Orm followed your gaze, noticing that it was locked onto the maroon sweater he was adorning, looking at it with equal parts surprise and melancholy. His enhanced hearing picked up on a hitch in your breath and chattering of your teeth, confirming to him that you were clearly shaken.

After the long silence, you mousily spoke.

“I didn’t leave that sweater out for you.” 

 The arbitrary words silenced Orm, his expression turning to one of confusion as he looked down at the knit fabric on his chest.

“...where did you find it?” 

Your voice didn’t change in volume when you made your inquiry, but your tone was somber. The candid emotion made the Atlantean clear his throat awkwardly, unsure of how to handle such vulnerability from his host. You couldn’t even fully appreciate how much messier Orm looked in comparison to when he first arrived - looking like a 90s wet dream with his ungelled hair, clenched jaw, and broad shoulders peeking out of his loose fitting clothes. No, it was the clothes that were holding your attention hostage.

“It was deep in the wooden wardrobe of my room…the garb you set out for me wasn’t suitable for the storm,” Orm says, arms crossed in a defensive manner as he anticipates your response.

A part of you wanted to laugh at his retort, the corner of your lips quirking up for a millisecond before melting back into the numb expression you had prior. 

“Are you going to ask me to change? Because I don’t see why I should relent,” the blond goads, pulling a haughty expression that comes all too naturally.

Orm wasn’t sure himself why he wanted to urge a response from you - why he wanted to learn more about this sweater that was clearly jumbling up your thoughts enough to render you so silent. He tried to chalk it up to plain boredom, tried to reason with himself that all his time in self-isolation was making him yearn for more. Still, even with those excuses lined up to justify his actions, he couldn’t explain why seeing the down-turned expression on your lips felt so unnerving. This woman in front of him now was like a shell in comparison to the buoyant, eccentric character he had been previously introduced to - and for some bizarre reason he didn’t like it. 

Your thought process, on the other hand, was going in a completely different route. The glaringly red knit in your line of sight brought back too many memories that you had made efforts to bury. The cursed sweater in combination with the Atlantean prince’s snark makes your breath quicken and your mind wander to the whisper of a past life that still takes up space in your home. You couldn’t decipher if your shivering was coming from Orm’s open window or from your body trying to eject all of the feelings evoked from seeing that damn sweater.

“I-I…you…you shouldn’t-” you shakily exhale, your eyes surveying around your surroundings to try and focus on literally anything else. You backstep, hoping that physically running away from the situation will do you good, but your eyes lining up with the red-clad chest and the sound of the booming thunder makes you falter. Your hand clutches at your chest, the white knuckled grip on your blanket alerting your roommate.

The prince's body calls to action, making Orm take an instinctive step forward, reaching out as if to try and steady you. 

“What is happening with you? Why are you so high-strung? Do humans go into cardiac arrest so easily?” 

You couldn’t hear his stern questioning, your mind flitting to images of firm fists slammed against tables and nights spent alone, buried deep under your covers in the hopes of being swallowed by the sheets. It was like the space in your lungs was being taken up by a vice grip, and your ability to think - to form a simple thought that didn’t make your heart hurt - was completely ripped away from you. Even after four years, the memories of him still have so much power over you in a way that’s paralyzing.

“I-I just - I need - I need to breathe!”

With that final exclamation, you scurried away from the Atlantean, quickly making it back to your room before slamming the door shut behind you. Orm was left stunned outside of his door, his eyes trained in the direction of your room down the hall. 

What the hell just happened?

***

Arthur was done - so done.

The newly crowned Atlantean king had so much on his plate already, what with his upcoming engagement underway and him having an entire kingdom to look after. While he did appreciate his little brother feeling comfortable enough to call him at such an ungodly hour, the words the blond uttered made him want to pull his hair out. 

“I think I broke her - your human.”

“Bro, what?”

It was too fucking early for this. 

“Don’t call me - agh, nevermind - something’s wrong with your human and I’m not sure how to approach the situation. Is this really an environment you believe me to find enrichment from? My host is clearly on the brink of some sort of breakdown and I-”

“Wow, I never took you for someone that was so easily shaken, brother.”

Arthur’s poorly timed quip makes Orm stare back at the projection call with a blank face.

“First off, she’s not my human, she’s her own person. Second, what did you even do? She’s not one to just collapse on her own - although she is a serial overthinker and could definitely talk herself to an early grave...”

Orm, frustrated with his half-brother’s lack of support, rolls his eyes over the call.

“Okay, okay, but seriously. Something must’ve set her off or triggered her to react in a way. You sure you didn’t do anything?” 

“All I did was answer the door when she knocked. When she saw me at the entrance, she saw the sweater I was wearing and was overcome with emotion. That’s hardly my fault.”

Orm can see Arthur’s brows furrow in thought at the information, almost as if he’s assessing whether he’s been given the whole story or not.

“Well…where’d you get the sweater?”

“I hardly think that matters-”

“Just answer the question, bro-”

An exasperated grunt leaves Orm as he grips at the sheets beneath him in an attempt to contain himself. A part of him regretted bringing up the matter at all, communication with his half-brother being much too awkward to bear. 

“I got it from the wooden wardrobe inside of my chambers! It was much more practical to wear than the flimsy garb-”

“Shit,” Arthur cuts him off, the hologram shifting as the man rubs at his eyes. “The wooden wardrobe with vines on the sides?”

It was Orm’s turn to be taken aback, unsure of how he knew the detail from off the top of his head.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

A muffled sigh comes from Arthur’s end, the image changing again as the king shuffles out of bed quietly to not disturb a sleeping Mera.

“Listen, dude. It’s not my place to speak on her business like this, but all I can say is that the wardrobe - that room - holds a lot of memories that are painful for her. I know you didn’t mean to bring them up, but that wardrobe is off limits. Just try and apologize for now, but don’t pry.”

“But why should I-”

“Orm, seriously! I get it, you don’t like being there - that you’ve spent every day in your room ever since I dropped you off, but she’s been trying. She’s been doing everything she can to get you out of your shell and you’re not giving back anything. There has to be some give here, and that can start with you saying sorry.” 

Orm was surprised by the fact that Arthur knew of his daily whereabouts already, undoubtedly asking you for updates on him. However, what surprised him the most was that even though you have seemingly complained to his half brother, you never once suggested kicking him out - never demanded he leave your house and have Atlantis deal with him. You truly were a peculiar little thing. 

“...fine. But don’t expect me to continue such niceties with her.”

A belly laugh could be heard from over the call, surely out of amusement for the prince's unwavering coldness.

“Good. Now hang up, you disrupted my beauty sleep.”

With a scoff, Orm presses on the green gem of his wristlet and heads off to the direction of your room.

***

When Orm knocks on your door, he expects a big fuss - bouts of yelling, arguing, or cursing that’ll leave his highly sensitive ears ringing. What he doesn’t expect is everyone of his knocks being met with silence - deafening silence now that the storm has subsided. 

“Hello?”

The prince feels weirdly small waiting by your door for your answer, having no clue what he’ll be met with on the other side of him. (It also gives him some insight on how you must feel every time you knock on his door to chat, although he’d never admit to having similarities with you,)

“Are you ignoring me?” 

More silence. 

“Oh, enough of this childishness.”

With a deep breath in, Orm turns the knob of your door and lets himself into your room. He’s met with colorful tapestries embellishing the walls, big rugs covering the hardwood floor, and twinkling lights surrounding the bed frame. The scene that you set for yourself in your room makes Orm think about his home - the way that the colorful bioluminescence would sparkle throughout his kingdom. 

When the initial first impression of your room wears off, he notices there is no one in the bed. No squirming presence under the sheets or anyone sitting on top of the bed to give him a stern talking to. Where did you go?

The blond takes a tentative step inside, stepping over the fuzzy carpets to keep from disturbing their arrangement. When he walks past the bed frame and closer to the window, he sees a lump of a human wearing a large blanket over their shoulders and some type of bulky headgear that covers your ears and emits sound. You were completely enthralled by the scene outside of the window that you hardly notice Orm stepping up next to you. 

A sudden hand on your shoulder has you jolting upward with a yelp, your hand instinctively slapping away at the intruder before you turn to look at where they came from.

“Jesus fucking christ!”

Orm gets into his own defensive position as you scramble to press your back against the wall, looking at you as if you were a trembling animal.

“My god, woman!”

“What are you doing in here you scared me half to-”

“I knocked but there was no answer so I-”

“Oh, so you decided to just welcome yourself in?”

Orm purses his lips in frustration, not thrilled at being met with the uproar he had originally expected. You sigh to yourself in disbelief, willing yourself to be quiet since there would be no productive conversation if you two kept yelling at each other.

“Next time just take the hint that I’m busy if I don’t answer, okay? You can’t just barge in here when you want, it’s not cool…”

The Atlantean has some sense to feel a shred of shame when you speak, although your words are hardly convincing when your eyes don’t turn in his direction for even a second. You look so timid standing there in your corner with the blanket consuming you completely - not at all like the spitfire that called him an “asshole” and warned him not to “test her.” (He secretly felt some relief in your loud exchange mere moments ago, because it meant that version of you was still there.) 

“I…I apologize for intruding.” 

Your head whips up to finally meet the man’s piercing blues, your mouth left slightly agape at an actual apology leaving the arrogant Atlantean’s lips.

“Uh…it’s okay...although, try not to do it again.”

Another moment of awkward silence passes.

“So…why’d you come in here?”

You ask this question as you take a seat back on the floor, resuming your position of staring out of the window only this time without your headphones. You pat the spot next to you on the floor, urging Orm to sit next to you. With a small eye roll, the blond begrudgingly joins you on your multi-colored carpet, opting to rest his arms against his knees as means to shield himself from you.

“I came here to apologize, not just for barging in, but for what happened earlier. I shouldn’t have gone through the wardrobe without your permission even if I needed different clothes. I should’ve asked you instead of rifling through your belongings on my own accord.”  

His apology, although rehearsed, seems genuine enough for your shoulders to relax. Your eyes follow the droplets of rain slowly trickling down the glass of your window, racking your brain for the right thing to say. 

“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, I just…I haven’t revisited the memories that room brings in a long time. You putting on that sweater unearthed them today, and it got me bad. See, I was having a shit day already what with keeping up with the shop, and then an accident causing traffic on the way home, and the wine that I usually like being out of stock-” 

Your rambling gets cut off by a soft chuckle coming from the man next to you, a sound that seems so uncharacteristically happy for his usual demeanor. The corners of your mouth perk up in disbelief, the expression making Orm quickly look away from you. 

“Huh. So that’s what your laugh sounds like. It’s nice…”

Orm didn’t understand why he reacted in such a way, you weren’t saying anything particularly funny…

…It’s just the way your eyes became so animated as you spoke more, your hands gesturing stronger as you explained further - it was amusing to him. So different from the usual company he keeps, always firmly placed brows and crossed arms from the high council members he consulted. Even the Atlantean women, although much more pleasant company, were more regal in comparison to his surface dweller host.  However, what you did have in common with those women was your tenacity. Even with his cold attitude towards you, your kindness was unwavering - a few times a day, without fail, you’d knock on his door with the promise of food and semi-entertaining company. He’s starting to regret only agreeing to the food.

God, he must be going stir crazy.

“What is it about the sweater that made you react in such a way?”

This was when you noticed that Orm was no longer wearing the offending material, choosing to wear the simping cotton T shirt you had given him. It may have been nothing - a simple delusion on your part - but the weight on your chest felt lighter at the idea that the Atlantean took it off to bring you comfort. 

“It - uh,” you stuttered, “it belonged to my ex-boyfriend. All of the stuff in that wardrobe did, actually. We painted the vines on the side of it together…” 

Orm’s arms flexed tighter around his knees at your words. He didn’t know how to respond, feeling significantly awkward due to adorning your ex lover’s clothing, so he decided to just shut up and let you continue.

“When I was 14 my parents got divorced. My mom wanted so badly to make it work, but my dad didn’t like his life here in Amnesty Bay - a part of me felt like he also didn’t like his life with us in general. I mean, he never had a problem making his grievances known, so…” 

Now, this was something the blond was familiar with - uncomfortable family dynamics. The realities of his parents’ marriage were never shielded from him growing up - he often witnessed the brutality of his father whenever his mother, Atlanna, would make her opposing opinions known. He often felt conflicted about which side to take - the one of least resistance that prioritized the well-being of his people or the one that looked out for the well-being of everyone, Atlanteans and surface dwellers alike. Hearing you now, speak your piece on your own upbringing, comforted him in a way he didn’t expect.

“The divorce was messy. Lots of nights spent being pulled in every direction, but with no real place to find peace. After everything settled, my dad ended up moving to New York while my mom remained here. They agreed that for the school year I’d stay with my mom, so she’d have some help at the flower shop, but I’d visit him on major holidays…”

The blanket around you suddenly feels too thin, a chill running over you as you recount your tale. You take a sneaky glance over your shoulder to check if the blond was still listening, and you were surprised (and delighted) to find that his steadfast gaze was at the side of your face. 

“...At some point during my years at university, my mom stopped asking me to visit - demanded that I only live with my dad when I was out of school. You can imagine Arthur had his qualms about that…”

You chuckled to yourself at the memory of a young Arthur blowing up your home phone upon hearing the news. 

“It would only be for the same visiting time as before, so there wasn’t much fuss on my dad’s end, but my relationship with him had become so different after the divorce that it wasn’t ideal. It…It hurt to hear my mom reject me like that.” 

Orm’s mind flashes back to the rain soaked figure of his mother, presenting herself to be siding with his half-brother after his defeat. The sting of her counteraction still lingers in his chest.

“When I had started dating my ex during my third year, I found out the reason my mom was keeping me from home - she got sick…cancer. All of the overworking to pay the bills, lack of support, and the hereditary traits…she got really sick. I guess she didn’t want me to see her in so much pain…” 

Orm watches as you turn away to stubbornly wipe at your face, a sniffle coming from your direction. He hadn’t expected you to willingly speak on your background when he asked about the sweater, but a part of him felt guilty for being the cause of your current distress.

“When she died, I moved back here to look after the house and take over the shop…but my ex had moved in with me. Darren.” 

More tears fell from your cheeks at the same speed as the rain running down your window.

“Darren offered to help me with the business, help me get on my feet. A part of me knew that he was going to hate the life we were starting together based on talks we had about the future, but I ignored it all when my grief became the only thing I felt for a long time. He always wanted more - more than our little town, more than the flower shop…so when an opportunity presented itself to have a life on his own, he took it. Just like my dad did…” 

 Orm’s heart drops at the end of your retelling, knowing the feeling of rejection and abandonment all too well. His father would be rolling in his grave if he knew what feelings this little surface dweller was stirring in him. The gap between the Atlanteans and the humans was closing in his mind, and Orm wasn’t sure if he cared to stop it. All he wanted at this moment was to stop you from crying. 

“I’m sorry for putting on the sweater…and for being an ungracious guest these past few days. I’ve been a real dick.” 

You can’t help but guffaw at his choice of words, using your fist to mask the unsightly sound as a cough. 

“That’s not a very princely thing to say…” 

Orm’s head tilts back as he snickers, feeling slightly proud of himself for inciting a better mood in you.

Ah, that laugh again, you think as you admire how ethereal the man looks in his relaxed state. 

“Perhaps my brother is to blame for my much more…colorful vernacular.” 

“Perhaps,” you hum in agreement, “or you’re just not as much of a dick as I previously thought…sorry for coming on so strong that first day.” 

Orm’s blue eyes shine at you with something unfamiliar - different to the cold, distant stare you were first met with. You find yourself wishing to always be at the receiving end of his kind eyes. 

Orm clears his throat before uttering, “No need to be…I was the one that misjudged you before ever seeing you.” 

A silence falls over you two, a comforting one built between new comrades. Your (e/c) gaze meets his as the storm calms outside of your window, signaling the start of a new chapter for you and your royal roommate. 

[mimiwrites2000]

The Last One To Reach The Tree

Archive of Our Own

If the tree could speak, it would’ve cried. If the tree could speak, it would’ve sobbed and wailed and mourned humanity, mourned the death of humanity in every human’s heart. If the tree could speak, it would’ve begged to be burnt, to be cut down.

Mikasa was eager to meet with Eren, she was eager to reunite with him. And so was Armin.

~~~ Post Canon story about the theory that Armin is the last one to reunite with them.

He always knew Mikasa was more eager to reunite with Eren, and he knew she would join him as soon as she could. 

And he knew that it would hurt as hell. 

Even if it was after seventy years. 

Even after they had kids and grandchildren. 

He knew it would still hurt as hell. 

He lived every moment with her, they were at each other’s weddings, they held each other’s first borns, they were there when they were called a grandma and a grandpa for the first time. 

What else was there to happen? 

What more were they to see? 

He heard those words from those around him far too many times. 

Mikasa lived her life to the fullest and mama had breathed until the very last word of her story. 

But it hurt him, as hell. 

It hurts him to look at a headstone, two headstones, and know that his friends were there. 

Under the ground. 

Six feet under the ground. 

Beneath that tree, with its trunk aloft and proud, layers and layers of months and years and decades, and its leaves a varying charade of oranges, yellows, and occasionally, a bright blood-red, swaying in the spring’s warm breeze. 

Armin looks up at the leaves above his head, just a quick glance, before he regrets it and tilts his head back down; the midday sun’s rays harsh in his eyes. 

He leans against his cane, resting his chin on the hand that clutched the cane, and sways on his spot. 

“The living and the dead,” he says, “oh the living and the dead.” 

He gazes at Eren’s headstone, a much older headstone, the craving almost washed out; but Mikasa, for as long as she lived, had always taken care of it, as if the headstone had a heart of its own, as if it breathed and was alive. “Eren, you should’ve seen Mikasa, she lived a happy, long, life,” Armin mutters, “she had kids and grandkids, she held my kids and my grandkids, and my daughter is pregnant, I feel bad for her child, because her child will never know Mikasa. 

“Eren,” Armin continues, tilting his head; he is tired, so tired. “We lived long lives, we lived very long lives, we even retired, can you believe that? We retired, for once, the scouts retired before dying.” 

Then he turns his gaze at Mikasa’s headstone; speckless, new, “Mikasa…” he wants to say something, he should say something, he couldn’t know what to say, what is there to be said anyway? 

“Mikasa…” he calls her name again, and with a broken voice, he quietly cries out, “I miss you… I miss you.” 

Armin had so many things to tell Eren, to tell Mikasa, but words felt like a heavy weight, a very heavy weight he could no longer carry, instead, he reminisced. 

Silently. 

The times in Fort Salta, after the war. 

In fact, Armin couldn’t remember those days too well, a thick fog obscured them from Armin’s eyes; not because of his old age, well through his seventh decade, but because he had been through so much pain, so much hurt, so much chaos that his brain just decided to take those days off of the shelve, and burn them, as if they never happened. 

The only thing Armin remembers was holding Eren’s lifeless head in his arms. 

But the months after it, Armin remembers them so well. 

He remembers his friends, being closer than ever, he remembers Annie’s father, he remembers him so well, his cane and his face and his unyielding scrunched eyebrows. He remembers his face when he asked his permission to propose to Annie; shocked, yet happy, yet confused, yet unbelieving— 

But relieved. 

Armin remembers his wedding day so well, it was vivid in his mind. He could never forget his friends’ efforts to give him a wedding, so they held an intimate party on the boat, only for themselves. They got Armin a suit and Annie a white dress; they were simple, really, but it meant the world to him. 

He was the first of his friends to get married, but the last to have a child. 

It was a struggle, another hardship in life, but Annie got pregnant in the end, and her pregnancy was tough, hard, and difficult, but they had a beautiful boy that got his mother’s nose and his father’s eyes. 

Then they had two more children; another boy, and their youngest, a girl. 

A gorgeous, gorgeous girl. 

She is Armin’s happiness. 

He loves all his kids; of course he does, but his daughter is the light in his eyes, she is his happiness, his joy. 

He loves her, and he loves her button nose, because she was the only one who didn’t get her mother’s nose, but she got her mother’s eyes and hair. 

All of his kids grew up, and all of them had the best education they could have, and all of them got married; his daughter was the last of them to find a partner, and is pregnant with her first child. 

“Oh, Eren,” Armin finds words, finds a few words that he could use, “I am sad, I am sad for you, I wish you know what it feels like to hold your child, to hold your grandchild.” 

Armin lets out a strangled sigh, “It’s none of what I ever felt in my life. Holding your child, seeing them growing up, fighting with them, all the screams and the fights and the misunderstandings… Eren, I wish you lived to feel that too.” 

Armin’s hand on the cane wobbles, and it jumps from its place, breaking in half. Armin falls on his knees, threads of winces and groans leave his mouth, the thorns of the weed around the graves dig mercilessly into his wrinkled hands.  

He slowly sits straight, taking deep breaths. He closes his eyes; that wasn’t the first time his body let him down, his body had always betrayed him, had always given up at the worst of times and worst of places. 

Armin pulls the thorns from his hand, plucks them one after the other. Some of the thorns left no trace behind, not even a scratch, but most of them left a scar and a trail of blood. 

Armin hugged his hand, and breathed deeply. 

“We lived long lives, Eren, we lived long lives.” 

“Armin?” 

Armin turns his head, and there she is. 

“My love,” he greets her, as she approaches him. 

She is older than him, two years older than, but she is the healthiest of them all. And Armin wondered how she did that; she carried kids and went through all of those decades, and there she is. 

White hair invaded her head, wrinkles adorned her face, her hands thin and yet calloused, and her eyes as blue as the day he met her. 

“You can’t leave the house unannounced, Armin, what did we say about that?” She tells him as she stands next to him, but he doesn't get up. 

He doesn’t want her to know that he fell, he doesn’t want her to know that he broke his cane and fell. 

But with one glance at the broken pieces of the cane, she understands. She kneels next to him, and sits beside him. 

“I won’t stand in your way,” she assures him, “just let me know when you want to leave the house, the kids are worried about you.” 

“Who is visiting?” He asks. 

“All of them,” she informs him, “we invited them for lunch, don’t you remember?” 

“Ah right,” but he doesn’t remember. 

“Let’s head back home,” Annie starts to get up, but he holds her hand, halting her. 

And her heart drops in her stomach. 

“My love,” he calls her, watching his friends’ headstones, “we lived long lives, didn’t we?” 

Annie’s eyebrows meet in the middle; Armin isn’t being himself, he is distant, far away. 

In another time. 

In another place. 

“Armin?” 

“We lived long, happy lives, didn’t we?” He asks her, turning his head, and looking at her. 

She sits back down, “We did.” 

“We did everything any human wishes to do, didn’t we?” 

“We did.” 

He hums, satisfied, and looks back at his friends’ graves. 

Armin 

Armin 

Armin 

“Do you think…” he asks, “they are together now?” 

Annie’s throat closes on itself, she wants to shake him. 

She wants him to take her hand and walk home with her. 

She wants to tell him that he can’t go before her, that he can’t let go yet. 

Not yet. 

Not before her. 

Please, please, please. 

“They are together,” she mutters, taking a deep breath, the corner of her eyes burning, “they are together.” 

“They are happy, they are together,” Armin continues, a tear sliding down his face. “Annie…” he breathes her name, the way he always pronounced it with his heart, “I want to be with them too.” 

She gazes at his face, and she would’ve protested, she is supposed to tell him no, that his kids are waiting for him, lunch warm on the table. 

She is supposed to tell him that he is still there with them. 

But he isn’t. 

Armin 

Armin 

Armin 

He is already there, he is already a step out the door. 

He is no longer with her. 

He doesn’t ask her to forget about him, he doesn’t ask her to let him go, because a voice, a familiar voice, told him that she will be with him very soon. 

“I miss them,” he says to Annie, “I miss them so much.” 

“They miss you too,” Annie whispered, placing her forehead against his own. “And I will miss you, I will miss you.” 

But his sight isn’t focused, and she doesn’t know if he heard her or not, she doesn’t know how far he is. 

She kisses his forehead, a long, prudent kiss. 

Annie gets up, she wipes her tears with the back of her hand, and walks away; he deserves to go easily, he deserves a painless departure. 

She walks down the hill and never glances back at him, she walks back to their house, and when she walks in, the joyful chatter dies down. 

“Ma,” one of her sons calls, “why are you pale?” 

But she doesn’t answer. They get up from the dining table and approach her, “Ma, where’s father?” 

She doesn’t answer; she knows the answer, but she can’t say it. 

“Mother,” her pregnant daughter, the last to get up, “mother what’s wrong? Where is father?” 

“He is with them,” Annie finds her words, “he is happy with them.” 

A long thread of whats pierce the air, before the two sons pushed past Annie, rushing outside the house, towards that hill. 

The daughter only looked at her mother, frozen in place, in time, as his sons ran to that tree under on that hill. 

On that hill, under that tree, with his friends surrounding him, Armin took his last breath. 

He doesn’t know for how long he slept, or if he even fell asleep in the first place. 

The leaves above him; a bright, juvenile green, swaying with a soft, warm breeze, and the leaning sun casts a soft, warm light over the clouds drifting in the sky, cascading shades and hues of a heavenly glow that whispered unearthly melodies. 

He has been to that tree and that hill far too many time, and yet, it feels… different. 

It feels… unreal. 

“Took you too long.” 

Armin hears someone talking to him, a familiar voice. 

A voice he didn’t hear in too long. 

Way too long. 

“Yeah,” Armin answers. He hears laughs, and footsteps, and someone sitting next to him. 

Armin turns his head— 

“Eren,” Armin says. 

“Took you too long,” Eren repeats. 

“You fucking asshole,” Armin says, then he smiles, and for the first time in so many years, he has no issues getting up fast. 

He throws his arms around Eren, and despite his dilemma, despite his confusion of reality and dreams, he hugs Eren, tight and long and— 

“Gosh, I missed you,” Armin says, the tears on his face choking his voice, “I missed you, you fucking asshole.” 

“I missed you too,” Eren says, his voice steadier and softer than Armin’s. “I waited for you for so long.” 

“Where is Mikasa?” Armin asks, looking around. 

“She’s home,” Eren gets up. 

“Did you treat her well? I swear to God—” 

Eren laughs, “Hey hey! Relax!” 

“When will I see Annie?” Armin asks Eren impatiently. 

Eren smiles, stretching his hand towards Armin, “Soon, very soon.” 

Armin takes Eren’s hand, and only then does he see his hands; smooth, young skin covering them. 

“Let’s go home,” Eren tells Armin, pulling him up, standing on their feet. 

“Let’s go home!” Armin chirps, a smile on his face. 

And with that, the tree watched as Armin sprinted down the hill, Eren running after him, eager for the reunion, eager for the laughs and the warmth and the happiness. 

Armin was impatient to reunite with Mikasa again, but secretly, a small part of him was pained to let go of Annie. 

She is going to be here, he had to remind himself, she will be here very soon. 

The tree was once again abandoned on that hill, observing the far horizon of mountains and blues that met together in the middle; complementing each other. 

If the tree could speak, it would’ve cried. 

If the tree could speak, it would’ve sobbed and wailed and mourned humanity, mourned the death of humanity in every human’s heart. 

If the tree could speak, it would’ve begged to be burnt, to be cut down. 

[seiya-starsniper]

I don't know if you're still doing the flower language prompts, but I wanted to send about twelve and narrowed it down to two lol.

So for Dreamling: Sunflower, dwarf ("How many ways do I have to confess for you to believe me?") and/or Tarragon ("Here's all the reasons why you shouldn't like me")

🤘 five-and-dimes

@five-and-dimes my beloved, so happy to hear from you!!! <3 I did my best to combine these two because they’re SUCH GOOD PROMPTS and they also fit the @monsterfucktoberbingo theme so well. Hope you enjoy!!!

Square: Cryptid

Flower Prompt Game!

----------

When Roderick Burgess unveils his circus’s latest spectacle, Hob is one of the only spectators who doesn’t gasp or recoil in abject horror at what he reveals.

“Behold! I have captured the omen of Death himself!” Roderick declares loudly. “Many have decried his existence, but here he stands before you!” he gestures to the chained being. “Look upon his horrid form. Does he not strike fear even in the bravest of men?”

Well, he certainly struck something in Hob, but he wasn’t sure that the feeling was fear.

The creature on display was absolutely stunning, if Hob were honest, but he can understand why his appearance would seem a horror at first. The thing certainly wore the basic shape of a man, with pale white skin that seemed to glow under the harsh din of the spotlight, and messy black hair that fell down to his shoulders. But where his feet would be, there were instead large, golden talons with long obsidian nails that dug deep into the dirt below them as the creature struggled to keep his balance.

And his hands. They were barely hands at all, with only four fingers on each, and white nails so long they were practically claws. The skin too, from finger to elbow was ashen black as if burnt, but when Hob looked closer, he could see the skin there shimmered like the rest of him in the light. 

The most significant part of the creature, though, was his wings. They were what Hob expected an angel’s wings to appear like, large and spanning the length of his body. Except, instead of white, these wings were pitch black, with the very tips of them colored a deep red, as if dipped in blood during war. Hob so badly wanted to see the full wingspan of the creature, certain that it would outdo even an albatross, but, understandably, Burgess had completely bound the creature’s wings in both rope and chains in a measure to keep him from escaping.

Burgess cracks his whip near the creature’s feet and he snarls at the crowd, who jeer and yell in response. Burgess cracks the whip twice more but the creature has gone silent, glaring defiantly now at all its unwanted audience. 

When its eyes land on the area Hob is seated in, he swears it is his eyes the creature locks his gaze onto. And oh, even from as high up as he is, Hob can feel the ice forming in those cold blue eyes. It pierces through him like a hot knife through butter, and Hob finds himself willingly drawn in, wanting to move closer, wanting to reach out and touch this magnificent being—

The lights cut out shortly after, ending the show for the night. Hob goes to bed that night and dreams of the creature on the stage, dreams of talons and feathers, and drowning in an ice cold lake the color of the being’s eyes. 

When he wakes in the morning, Hob is resolute. A creature as magnificent as that does not belong in chains. He sets fire to Burgess’s circus arena later that night, and he and the creature (Dream, he called himself) steal away into the night.

—-

“Why are you helping me?” Dream asks him one afternoon after they’ve been on the run for three days.

“Would you rather I left you to rot in Burgess’s circus?” Hob shoots back as he’s skinning the stag Dream hunted and caught them for dinner.

“You had a life in that village, did you not?” Dream says, refusing to let go of the subject and stomping his talons into the forest floor. “Why throw it away for something like me?”

Hob shrugs. “I’m a widower with a dead son,” he replies. “Not much of a life by anyone’s definition. Besides,” he adds, “You looked like you needed saving.”

“So it’s pity then?” Dream snarls, unfurling his wings to their full length. They brush against the nearby trees and the sheer strength of their muscles snap a few branches clean off. Hob realizes he had been right about Dream’s wingspan. It was wider than that of an albatross, and they were absolutely gorgeous. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” Hob says before he can stop himself.

Dream stumbles back and retracts his wings, clearly caught off guard by the revelation. 

“You don’t mean that,” Dream says, looking anywhere but at Hob. He’s got a furiously red blush that starts at his cheeks and seems to crawl all the way down to his chest. It makes him look even lovelier.

Hob smiles despite himself. “Maybe that’s why I saved you,” he chuckles. “Maybe I just wanted you all to myself.”

“Then you are an even bigger idiot than I thought,” Dream replies, before he stomps off. 

—-----------

On a particularly cold night, Hob wakes to find himself covered by one of Dream’s wings.

“This means nothing,” Dream mutters, even as he presses his chest to Hob’s back. 

Hob can’t help but grin like a fool. He reaches out to run a finger along the bend of the wing that’s currently serving as his blanket, and delights when he feels Dream shudder behind him.

“Your secret’s safe with me, you big softie,” Hob chuckles before he falls back asleep, feeling more content than he has in years.

—------------

They’ve been on the run for almost a year before Burgess and his men manage to catch up to them. They’re cornered at the bottom of a valley, and Hob knows if they can make it to the river and cross it, they’ll be all right. Burgess’s men are all on horses that wouldn’t dare cross the rushing waters. 

They’re almost to the clearing when Dream stops suddenly and says, “Leave me.”

“What?! No, I’m not leaving you!” Hob exclaims. “Come on, we’re almost at the river—”

“Burgess’s horses will cross the river,” Dream replies. “He’s desperate to get me back, alive or dead. And you are tired.”

“I’m fine,” Hob insists. 

“You’re not!” Dream argues. “You’re practically limping and you—you have done more than enough for me. If I leave you now and fly north, they’ll stop following you and come after me instead.”

“Sorry sweetheart, you’re stuck with me,” Hob replies, pulling out his sword and getting ready to fight as he hears Burgess’s men grow closer. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Don’t be an idiot!” Dream yells. “Roderick Burgess had been hunting me long before we met, and he will continue to do so until one of us is dead. You cannot possibly want to be on the run forever.”

“And if I do?” Hob asks. “Dream—how many ways do I have to tell you I want this—want you—before you’ll believe me?”

Dream hisses, and before Hob can say anything else, he finds himself lifted high into the air as Dream takes off with the both of them, rushing at full speed towards the river. His long white claws dig into Hob’s skin and Hob holds on for dear life as he buries his face into Dream’s neck to avoid the whiplash of the wind.

When they finally land, Hob can no longer hear the neighing of the horses, or the yell of Burgess’s men. Dream practically drops him to the ground, and Hob realizes the other had used the last of his strength to get them to safety. Before he can collapse, Hob catches him, and after a quick look around, manages to find a small cave that they can use for shelter for the night. 

“That was bloody brilliant, love,” Hob sighs happily once they’re inside and lying side to side. “Think I just fell in love with you all over again.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Dream mumbles. “Love me, at all. I have caused you nothing but harm, and you will always be on the run so long as you stay with me. I cannot give you any of the comforts of a human life, not money, status, or a family.”

“I know,” Hob replies gently, taking Dream's dark hands in his. “I’m not asking you to. I told you before, all I want is you. You can give me all the reasons you want about why I shouldn’t, but I’ll still choosing you.”

“Idiot,” Dream says, but his tone is fond. He then wraps a wing around Hob and scoots closer, so their bodies are flush against each other. “Though I suppose you are my idiot.”

Hob smiles and presses his lips to Dream’s. “As long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

[beauisoffline]

random headcannons for finlay cause theyve been sitting in my mind for DAYS...

i dunno who the og poster is, but ive seen a post where someone said that Finlay rides a motorcycle on the mainland and i luv that headcannon. I feel like maybe she had a really old one from when she was 17 or 18 (around late 1930's), but she eventually got a newer model, to be specific, a Honda Gold Wing GL1000.

She definitely has tattoos. Maybe a wave or Snapdragon flowers. And she has a leather jacket with burnt in details that match either one of the tattoos.

Finlay had two sons, but the one she mostly was hearing was her youngest- Callum, who had died from an illness when he was younger. and Finlay constantly blames herself for not noticing it sooner.

Her other son is named Calder, and he works in the Air Force. And hes a huge mamas boy. He misses her very deeply when shes on the rig. He writes to her whenever he can.

Finlays love language is acts of service. She absolutely HATES PDA, but doing little tasks shows her appretiation just fine.

One of the top gossipers on the rig- but most dont know- as she mostly spills some with Rennick- and mostly Innes whilke they're on smoke breaks together

Brodie once found out Finlays first name to be Evin, and when he used to as a joke to call out to her, Broide swears he never had ever seen Finlays head snap back to face him so quickly. She was horrifed that Broide found out.

She has one of the bewst smiles on the rig, and is a natural improv comedian. Finlay can and will make fun of others if they know its a joke.

Following that, if shes dead serious about her insult- she swears like a salior. Even more so that Caz- which surpised him when he overheard Finlay yelling at Addair for fucking with sumthing she was trying to fix, and had order to not be used while she was fixing it for her own safety.

also if you find the og poster of the first hc, please let me know so i can give them credit!!!

[a-killer-obsession]

Wanna say real quick if you're a fanfic writer and you're looking at my page like "ohhh they hit 500 followers so fast and they have a upload schedule and post twice a week, maybe i have to post twice a week to get followers" - Stop

This turned into a whole guide for newbies so more under the cut

Please do not use me as an example! Im disabled and unemployed which means i have time to write two chapters a week, please do not put that sort of pressure on yourself!!! I only let myself have a upload schedule because i keep a small backlog of chapters, meaning i have some buffer if my health is bad or i get writers block, and as yall saw recently i will take a break if i loose that backlog. If i was forcing myself to write two chapters a week on a strict deadline i would absolutely loose my shit and probably burn out very quickly. And to be entirely honest, I haven't seen much difference in follower growth now that I have a schedule versus when I was just posting whenever I remembered to. I really don't think a schedule makes a huge difference, I just like having one because it gives me some sense of routine now that I'm unemployed.

What im trying to say, especially if you're new to posting fanfics, is please dont stress yourself out by thinking you need a strict schedule for anyone to like your fic or follow you. You shouldn't be writing for followers anyway, write for yourself! Write because YOU want to write. And if you fall out of love with that writing, dont feel like you need to force it just to make others happy! When i get burnt out writing Wavelengths, I keep going because *I* want to get to the ending, I've been excited to write it for months. Its another reason i dont start writing new long forms until i have a generic plan of where im going, which is something i highly recommend. Having a chapter you're excited to write really helps when you're trying to find motivation.

While I have you here, let me lay down some general tips for new fanfic writers, especially for those who post on tumblr:

Write because you want to write. Don't ever feel like you need to cater to someone else, that's a sure fire way to get burn out

If you do get burn out: don't worry about it, either it'll pass or it won't. Maybe you'll drop that idea all together and move to something new. Don't sweat it, write what makes you happy. Forcing yourself will only make it worse and it'll show in your writing. Writing fanfics is a hobby, it should be FUN. Sure someone might come across your fic years from now and be sad that it's not complete but they'll probably only be sad for a few days at most and then they'll forget about it. Its not a big deal. Who knows, maybe you'll find inspiration years down the line and make someone's day by randomly updating after years of hiatus. It happens 🤷

Dont worry about how much engagement your fic gets. I know absolutely incredible fics that get barely any engagement, and some frankly hard reads that have a ridiculous amount. Its all just dumb luck really. Again - write because you want to

Don't sweat typos too bad. I recommend finishing your chapter/one shot, giving it a day or so, and THEN come back to proof read. I find doing this gives me fresh eyes and I often find a lot of ways to improve the chapter while I'm fixing typos. If you accidentally leave typos in there, don't worry too much. As long as it makes enough sense for people to understand what you meant, people will still read it. Just look at the first few chapters of Wavelengths for example, they're riddled with typos from swapping from 3rd to 1st person, but people still read them (I'LL FIX THEM SOON I PROMISE LMAO)

Don't worry about being cringe. Cringe is dead, make your characters as self inserty and over powered as you want. CRINGE IS DEAD. If you think its fun to write powers and tropes that you're worried will be cringe, fuck it, write it anyway. As long as YOU have fun writing it. Do you know how many "whoops accidental pregnancy" trope fics I've written? Every single one of my long forms has either had it, or planned to, because I like that trope! I don't care if its cringe, I will continue to get my characters knocked up

Some quick accessibility things:

Please left align your fic! I've seen people posting center and right aligned because it "looks cool". These alignments should be used sparingly! As well as things like italics and different fonts/font sizes/colours! They should be used to highlight small sections only! Otherwise they can make it very difficult for people with reading difficulties to read!

If you're posting on tumblr:

Make sure the majority of your fic uses the default black font. Some people set the whole thing to a different font or the "small" font or a different colour and I literally can't read them, and it makes me so sad! I'm sure I'm not the only one with this issue! Its okay to use other fonts for things like headers and descriptions, but for the bulk of your fic use the default! Theres a graphic designer out there somewhere who spent a long time picking the best font for the body text on this website for a reason!

If your fic is longer than a few paragraphs, use the READ MORE function!!! Either cut under a description or the first few paragraphs so people get a preview of your fic. You may think it's silly to hide most of your fic, but if someone, especially on mobile, comes across your fic automatically trimmed on the fyp, and likes your stuff, and they go to your account to see more and have to scroll for a million years just to get past your newest post, they're quickly going to give up trying to read your other stuff. Using the read more function makes it easy for people to browse your blog and check out more of your works!! It also makes it more likely people will reblog for the same reason.

Along the same lines: have a masterlist. This can be as simple as a pinned post where you add a link every time you post something new. This makes it super easy for people to check out more of your work!

If you have a long form/multi chapter I also recommend going to the previous chapter and adding a "next chapter" link when you post the next one. Not 100% needed though, if you have a masterlist that can be enough on its own, people just appreciate having that next chapter link for binge reading. PUT IT AT THE BOTTOM PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING. I hate when I finish a chapter and have to scroll for a million years to get to the top for the link

Feel absolutely free to use the way I format my fics and masterlist as example, but like I said, it can literally be just as simple as a list of links. I recommend listing the links at bare minimum as the title of the fic, and the pairing people can expect (including if its nsfw is a good idea too)

Speaking of NSFW: if your work isn't suitable for minors please make that clear! Even just a 'minors DNI' at the start of the post is good! If you wanna get fancy there are lots of creators who make lovely 18+/minors dni banners you can use for free, just google it and plenty will come up. If you're not adding a cut before the NSFW content then make sure you mark the post as for mature audiences (idk how you do it on the computer because I'm mostly a mobile user but on mobile you can find it bottom right, the icon with the two people). Not appropriately censoring your posts can result in tumblr restricting and possibly banning your account.

Finally, and this one is oddly specific to people who use google docs, but you can use a copy of this google doc to automatically add all the html to your writing so you can just copy and paste it into tumblr or AO3, instead of having to manually fix all the formatting. Do not just copy and paste AO3 html into tumblr, for some reason it has major issues with italics and will cause you a major headache. Just use the linked doc, its a super time saver, I've been using it for ages now

Okay thanks for reading bye

[boredgirl2004]

Part 2 of Day 2: The book

As I said the words aloud, nothing had happened, I was relieved but also a bit angry. The nightmare that scared every loving ⬧���♒︎♓︎⧫︎ out of me, that asked me to open this stupid book and to find that nothing came of it?!!! I was angry that my mind was playing tricks on me, so I took my hand off the page and reached the book cover so I could close it. 

“What a waste of time!! First, the stupid dream asks me to open the book. I finally give in and open it only for there to be a warning from a guy who I don’t even know and instructions to summon whatever this ring is only for it to not do any-” I was immediately cut off from my hand being sucked back to the bloody handprint, the handprint, and red words emitted a bloody bright red glow, I left my blood being sucked out of my fingertips, I the pages in the book turning, they were quickly changing, from a burnt bloody page to a much cleaner and whiter one, immediately words began to appear, in all caps said the word “HAHA” over and over and over on the two pages, I immediately grabbed one of my books I had bought from Barnes and noble, only to be in shock to see that it had the same font and same words as repeated in the book of the bill. It was like those computer glitches, where the code would just repeat itself over and over after the system was hacked. Everything in the room began to shake until it began to float. Finally, one page of the book had the triangle figure appear, it pressed itself onto the page until it burst through. As it did, everything in my room slowly began to be set down. It began to speak.

“Well, well, well! Here we are at last!!! I’ve been waiting an ETERNITY to meet you, and I know you’ve been waiting nearly as long to meet me!!” I stood there in shock that the book or thing or whatever this was was talking to me! This couldn’t be real, it can’t be and how could it be?!

“Breath it in a second pal-this moment of anticipation! You always suspected this day would come, and it finally has! Your life will forever be divided into two halves: before you met me and AFTER. Welcome to the after!” It continued as I looked at it and began to stutter, trying to find my words. I didn’t know what to say about this situation as a whole! I wasn’t sure how to react. This was all confusing and shocking. I knew Stanford, the man who warned me to not turn the page said to not believe a thing this book says but I didn’t know it would be this weird!!! 

The thing talked over me while my brain was crashing, trying to find something, some word to say about all of this. “You’re probably wondering, “Bill, you’re an all-powerful being. Why write a book, huh? Why let me read it? Also, aren’t you dead? Are you dead or what? What’s the deal?” I have no idea what you mean…”  the page had turned on its own to reveal a dark silhouette of the triangle being. Its eye is emitting a glitchy, yellow and red hue as its mouth opens to reveal its crooked teeth (Bill needs to see a dentist fr fr) 

“I’m….p e r f e c t l y…..f I n e”

Before I could finally speak and probably ask my question since from his tone, it seemed like whatever happened last time didn’t go so well. I was rudely interrupted yet again. 

“In fact, I'm better than fine, because might feel silo And there's a lot we can do together! Oh, you might feel silly about "meeting" me. After all, "Bill Cipher" is imaginary. You're real and I'm not, right?

BUT ARE YOU SO SURE ABOUT THAT?

After all, you're mortal. One day, you'll be dust. But I'm an idea. And an idea can't be killed. So that's me 1, you o on the immortality front! And if I'm the eternal one and you're the temporary one, THEN IT MIGHT BE WISE FOR YOU TO GET ON THE WINNING SIDE EARLY, YOU DIG?

I know that drama queen Sixer warned you not to read this book, didn't he? Maybe the old nerd is right! Weak minds have gone crazy from just ONE glimpse at my TANTALIZING FORBIDDEN SECRETS! (Sees the hickory-smoked crater where

McGucket's brain used to be!)

But if you're as sharp as I think you are ... and if you're curious about the meaning of life, how to cheat death, Pine Tree's most embarrassing dreams, and your own interesting future, then I'll consider making a deal with you. How about a trade? I'll let you read my book in exchange for a favor down the line. We can work out the details later. What do you say?

TAKE BILL'S DEAD

YES?

TURN THE PAGE

No?

TURN TO PAGE 77”

I hesitated to turn the page, I slowly began to think about my choice. There were many cons to this, from what the guy wrote in the previous pages, he expressed how much meeting bill would be a regret for those who continue with turning the pages in this book; I don’t even know what Bill could do to me from just turning the pages in this book. What if I’m walking into a trap? What if there is more to this than what he’s letting on? What if-

“Ah, look at you, all tangled up in your own thoughts. Overthinking is such a waste of time! You’re so close to getting everything you desire, but you’re letting doubt hold you back. Come on, what’s the point of hesitation? Life’s too short for that kind of nonsense. Just turn the page, and I promise you—things will get a lot more interesting. And if you keep dithering, well, I might just start making decisions for you. So, what’s it gonna be? Ready to embrace a little chaos and get what you really want?” I looked down at the page to see Bill was in a sitting position, his leg crossed over the other and his expression expressed how bored and impatient he was from me thinking my choices. I was worried about how he could be speaking to me like this when he’s in  a book, this isn’t possible it just- isn’t-

 “Your hesitation is almost charming, but it’s getting a bit tiresome, don’t you think? Besides, if you’re worried about the logistics of me being here, maybe you should focus more on the opportunities I’m offering instead of waddling over what’s right. Overthinking won’t get you anywhere, dollface. So, why not stop doubting and start acting? The more you dawdle, the more interesting things will get when you finally make a choice.” He said with a mixture of smugness and amusement as he stared at me from the page. I sigh and remember my task. Find a way to destroy the book from the inside out, focus on not believing what he says, even if it’s too good, I kept repeating the same sentence in my head over and over as my confidence began building itself up as I reached the page. Still, I pause as I look at Bill and begin to speak. 

“If you’re are this bill-person that this guy Stanford Pines warned me about, how can I trust you despite the warnings in the previous pages he wrote before? What is something you could say that’ll convince me that I shouldn’t just close this book and leave it in my room, never to be opened again?” I waited for the bill's response, which didn’t take long, and had no thought. 

"Oh, come on now! Sixer was always so serious, wasn’t he? Just a big bundle of paranoia and charts. But listen to me: I’m not here to cause trouble—well, not just trouble. I’m here to offer you a chance for a bit of fun, a touch of excitement, and maybe a sprinkle of chaos. What’s life without a little unpredictability, right? Close the book and you miss out on all the cosmic shenanigans I have in store. Open it, and you might just find yourself in a whirlwind of adventure. I’m all about making things interesting and trust me, you don’t want to miss what comes next. So, are you in, or are you going to play it safe and dull? Your choice!" He said in a calming tone. 

It wasn’t enough to convince me. I sighed and began to speak once more but this time I was faking my boredom. “Not convincing enough. Well Bill, it was nice meeting you even though it didn’t last very long but hey, this is my imagination just like you said right?” I say as I slowly begin to close the book. Bill responded with a slight stutter but he quickly covered it up with his nonchalance, “Oh, come on now, don't be so hasty! You’re not going to shut me out, are you? I mean, who knows what you might be missing? I wouldn’t want you to close the book before you've had the chance to experience everything I have to offer. After all, isn’t that the fun part of imagination—exploring the unknown? Give it a little more time. What’s a little more curiosity going to hurt?” I paused, the book was nearly closed but I  slowly opened it back up. There was nothing but silence from both of us for a while until I turned the page. Bill's attitude changed immediately. 

“Right choice, bone sack! Welcome to the Book of…” The page was now a biblical book cover of the Book Of Bill, Bill continued “No, no! That won’t do! Do you call that a cover? What is this, amateur hour? I can do better than that!” As Bill stared at the cover, I replied “Well, I don’t see you as a professional, Maybe try something more….You?” I said a bit awkwardly. Bill looked at me nodded in agreement and turned his back to me as he snapped his fingers, the next page had turned by itself, revealing four different covers. The first had a realistic appearance, it was in the middle of a farm, a storm right above it, and the clouds emitted lighting that took the shape of Bill. “Too basic!” He snapped his fingers again to reveal a book that reminded me of those horror books of goosebumps made for kids back in the 80s, I think they also made a show about it but that was years ago. “Too nostalgic.” He snapped once more to reveal a cover that I would see here, too many Bibles that had Jesus or god descending from heaven and floated above the person praying to one of them. “Too preachy.” He said out of boredom as he snapped again. I could hear a saxophone playing sexy music, it revealed a buff Bill Cipher holding a woman, they were in a field, their hairs blowing in the wind. I couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the cover. “Too ravishing!” I wiped my tears and tried to control my laughter. 

“You think?” I said as I laughed once more as I wheezed out that Bill doesn’t even have hair or a human-like body. It looked so wrong to me but that’s what made it funny. Finally, Bill settled on a cover, It reminded me of someone on their computer trying to make the title and using as little effort to make it until they settled with Bill being tapped to the cover, misscapitalized and misspelled words, a tab saying “Good job Bill” with some emojis and a menu from right-clicking the picture. “There we go! Perfect! The crowd LOVES it!” I smiled and looked at him. “I bet they love it. It shows the author more than ever!” I say jokingly even though it was like a kid was in charge of making this cover. I see a bloody fingerprint at the right bottom corner of the page that says “Put thumb here”. The fingerprint had veins on the side of it causing me to be a bit concerned. “With that all out of the way, all this book needs is some ink! Hey, can I borrow some of your blood? Just press your thumb here, and I’ll absorb some right into the page! You won’t even notice it's gone!” I hesitated until I gained confidence and gently pressed my thumb on the bottom corner of the page, I felt a sharp pain on my thumb as if my thumb was being pricked and the blood was slowly leaving it. I tried to pull it off only for more blood to be sucked out of it. I kept trying to remove my thumb from the page, it was stuck there after a few pulls but after the fourth time, the book at finally let my thumb go.

Note: Hiiii, sorry for taking so long. Busy with life but anyway! I wanted to have Bill be more interactive so I tried my best trying to imitate the character the best I could.

[cherryhak]

彡November night - Choi Yeonjun

Pairing. Choi Yeonjun x gn!reader

Genre. Fluff | bsf!yeonjun | bestfriends to lovers | mutual flirting | confession

Warnings. Yeonjun smokes (don't smoke it destroys your health !!), mention on cheating, barely proofread

Wc. 1164

You pushed open the cold gate with your hands half covered with your gray hoodie in an attempt to warm them from the windy cold night.

The loud creaking sound of the portal resonating in the dead of night alarmed the man standing in the distance under a flickering street light.

He turned in your direction, the smoke evacuating his mouth from both the cold and the cigarette he was smoking was enough for you to know who it was.

You silently walked through the gates and made your way to him, standing against the pole of the street lamp next to his freezing yet warm body.

 

"It's been a while, how are you doing ?" Your bestfriend asked, huffing out the smoke from his cigarette 

 

It has indeed being a while, both too caught up in your own lives you almost forgot about each other's existence and haven't talked to one another in almost 2 months. You missed him and your daily late night conversations over the phone, his laughter, his silly dad jokes, his smile and the comfort he would bring you by just being around. 

You obviously didn't want to lose your bestfriend this easily so one random morning you decided to text him and asked if you both could meet up someday to which he immediately agreed on.

He missed you just as much as you did but he was never going to admit it.

 

So here you were, standing next to Yeonjun during a cold November night. Despite the creepy atmosphere coming from the flickering light above you and the sound of air violently hitting against the tall trees, it felt as if you truly belonged there, with your bestfriend. 

 

"I'm doing fine" your voice was quiet yet loud enough for him to hear

"Glad to hear that" he takes a deep puff of his cigarette "You're still with that boy ?" He asked, finally locking eyes with you and it felt as if the time stopped for a second.

You gulped, looking away before answering "Nope"

His eyebrows almost flew to his hairline in shock before putting back on his composed facade "What ? Why ?" 

"He cheated"

"Damn" he exhaled

An awkward silence took place in between the both of you "You alright ?"

You let out a small chuckle at his clumsy attempt at breaking the ice "Yes I am. I lost feelings for him a while ago to be honest..."

He cocked an eyebrow at you in surprise "You did ?" "Yeah"

 

He took another puff before throwing his half-burnt cigarette on the ground and stepping on it.

"So.." He stuffed his hands in his pocket jeans and leaned against the side of the pole "Got someone in mind ?"

"Maybe yeah" you try your best to contain your smile when seeing his lips drawing into a smirk "Oh yeah ?" His eyebrows raise in a way that makes you wanna dig your own grave and be burried alive for the rest of your days "How is he ?"

Its now your turn to smirk despite the unusual rythm of your heartbeat "Calm.. Kind of a bastard but i love him" your smirk grow wider "Acts cold to everyone but me"

And with this one phrase you knew he got it.

 

"Ah, I get what you mean" he chuckles lightly "So he's basically just like me, isn't he ?"

"Kinda yeah" you gather enough courage to look at him only to find him already looking at you with a cocky grin on his beautiful features and it makes you want to slap him and kiss him a the same time.

"What if I told you..." He trails off "that i also like someone ?"

"Oh yeah ?" You mimic his earlier response "How is she ?"

"Mhh.." His eyebrows meets as his eyes squint, lips forming a playful pout, acting like he was thinking deeply

"She's nice... outgoing, she's actually everything to me, i don't think I would be where i am right now without her" 

Your heart skipped two beats at his confession. Blush rushed to your face, dusting your cheeks and ears in a deep cherry tint.

He smirked at your expression, resisiting the urge to pinch your cheek because of how cute you looked at that moment.

 

Suddenly his teasing expression crumbled down and you could hear him take in a deep breath before speaking

"Y/n i really like you, i have for quite some time now but i never told you cause you were dating that jerk..."

You couldn't control the small laugher that escaped your lips ; a laughter of both happiness, relief but also the stress you've been holding in ever since coming here.

"I think you already got it but... me too" you looked down, sudden embarrassment getting to you.

 

His hand reached out to lay against the side of your face, cold fingers gently grazing against your cheek "So you won't say no if do this ?" He leaned forward until your lips were only inches away from each other. His strong gaze looking at you straight in the eyes, hot breath fanning over your parted lips, he raised his eyebrows asking for your approval. 

"Go ahead" your voice was barely above a whisper but Yeonjun sure heard it and gently pressed his plumped lips against your soft ones.

His free hand travel to the small of your back, pulling you in even closer as one of your hands reached your his neck, the other one burried in his black dyed hair.

His lips left yours for a few seconds as he spoke "i want you to know..." he went back to kiss you, lips moving in sync as you both shared a passionate kiss. "You are really special to me" he whispered "I love being around you, i love every single thing about you"

His lips find yours again but this time for a more intense kiss, filled with longing, love, burning passion and a sense of relief.

 

"Damn i missed you so bad" he breathed out before going back to abusing your lips

 

After a few more shared kisses Yeonjun pulled away, a light blush covering his nose and cheeks and if you weren't in this situation right now you would've assumed it was from the cold.

He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ears, looking at you with lovesick eyes

"Will you be mine Y/n?" 

You pretended to think just to mess with him a little but a chuckle immediately bubbled up your throat upon seeing panic flash on his face.

"Of course i will dummy" you laughed as he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.

"If you're my girlfriend now... may i kiss you again ?"

"I guess so.." You playfully answered

He slowly smiled before kissing you again, pulling you impossibly closer to his body, holding you tightly as if you could vanish at any moment.

 

 

And that's how, after almost parting ways, you ended up dating your long time bestfriend.

✿ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏʜᴀᴋ

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Charles and Jean never speak of the presence they heard, at least not verbally. They just silently agree to look for them and hope that they can find them. (And hope they are who they think they are)

But the presence left the house after that night. All the scratching and crying stops, along with the nice favors ( much to the Logan's chagrin, he was getting used to someone making his coffee for him in the morning.)

Charles and Jean are worried for a bit, until it becomes very, very obvious that it's in the woods surrounding the school.

Kurt and Rogue found it. A dead spot. Literally dead. Dead trees, dead grass, dead air, dead animals. The whole place looks like it's been dead for decades rather than a few days.

It's a bit of a walk from the school, taking almost all day to get there. Bloody, thick footprints, and handprints are all over the area, successfully scaring the two of them away. That's when they find out the weirdest part of the area. Mutations hurt there. Literally. Kurt teleported them back to the manor and passed out from the pain.

Charles and Jean make the connection and go under the guise of training. It dark by the time they get there, and at first, they think they wind is howling. But if they focus, they realize it's crying.

That kind, clumsy, painful pressure comes back. A little less painful, but still debilitating. Until Jean finally hears that voice she hasn't heard in forever. It's both in her head and whispered right in her ear. The voice is in pain, scratchy, and haunted, but it sounds so sweetly familiar.

"Please sis, you can't keep looking. It hurts but it's not safe for you. I'm not safe. Please, I don't wanna hurt you."

The wailing is strong, an alien cry amongst the cove of rotted trees and shriveled grass. The wind grows fiercer here, near impossible to hear over. But it's not wind, is it? It's the painful, shrieking howls of someone they thought was dead...

The air seems to pulse with pain, sending Jean and the Professor into migraines... The weight of it crushes everything in its grasp, begging someone someone take it away, to end it, to make it stop stOp SToP-!

Between her and the Professor, they're able to contain it, bubbling it with a popping sound, and the wailing is muted, the air breathable again, the shrieks growwing numb... And suspended in that sphere of darkness, pulsing with black and red and purple, sobbing amd crying and broken in mind and spirit, is Reader...

It's hard, seeing them like this.

The scars and oozing wounds that litter their skin... The burnt patches of flesh... The sharpened fingers, more claws than nail and bone... The way their shoulders shake and heave with each ragged, gasping sob... And their eyes, burning bright and glowing in the darkness, broken and begging for it all to end...

It doesn't take but a heartbeat to overwhelm them, just for a minute, that's all it takes-

Then Reader is slumped over, the bubble popping, and their form falling to the ground, tired and broken like a doll. Jean and the Professor are quick to collect them, alerting the others they found someone they'll want to see-

And then they're off, dragging their marred sibling and child along with them, mindful of the shards of thought that cry out, carefully pushing them under where they won't wake...

They're going to have to be very, very gentle with how they handle this... No one outside of them, their team, their family, can see Reader like this, this vulnerable and hurting... And sadly, they can't let Reader go, now that they have them back... Hank and Logan and Scott will hopefully have some ideas on how to sedate the fearful side of Reader, while hopefully the other teens can help smooth over any lost memories or feelings of loneliness.

It's all going to be okay now... They have Reader back, and they'll piece them back together, no matter what it takes...

(Hahaha! Now we're getting to the platonic yandere goodness, @sugar-soda!)

[buckbiddick]

all so human with our guards down.

read it here on ao3!

Upottery is a surprisingly tranquil place, at dusk. 

The base has kicked up into high gear, since May gave way into June, and Dick’s grown used to the feel of plane and truck engines rumbling beneath his sternum at all hours of the day. But now, standing outside with Nix in the few hours left of burnt orange daylight, the airfield has grown quiet. Only the muted sounds of men milling in between the movie and chow tents are left to accompany them, silence broken every so often by the weak fizzle of Lew’s cigarette.

Surprising himself, Dick’s actually grown a little fond of the tent village that’s been hastily pitched up beside the tarmac. Something about the soft barrier between the outside world beyond the canvas reminds him of camping in the backyard as a boy. 

He recalls one particularly hot afternoon in July, when he convinced his father to drag the old family tent off the high shelf in the broom closet. Even at ten years old Dick insisted that he pitch it himself, had wanted to learn how on his own, no matter how long it took. He slept the deepest he ever had that night, shivering in his sleeping bag against the chill, exhausted and proud. 

It’s a warm, little joy—that memory. One he plans to keep very close to his chest, given the utter enormity of what tomorrow could bring.  

“I used to camp like this as a kid,” he finds himself saying to Lew. They’re walking the line of the runway, a new habit that they’ve both silently fallen into at the end of particularly long days, without much thought as to why. Lew’s been claiming it as an excuse to stretch his legs—which is really an excuse for him to smoke. And as for Dick, well. 

He’s never really needed an excuse to follow after Lewis Nixon, has he? 

When Lew’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, Dick motions to the green capped tents lining the grassy strip that follow the edge of the tarmac, canvas billowing in gentle, sea-like waves in the breeze. “Only had the one tent, of course. But it reminds me of summers growing up, is all.” 

“Spent a lot of time in the deep jungles of Lancaster, did you?” Lew asks, the curve of his mouth lifting around the cigarette pinched between his lips. His third in as many as ten minutes. Dick doesn’t call him on it, reasoning it would be unfair to do so after the briefing they just stepped out of. Even he understands needing something to calm your nerves after finding out they’d all be jumping over the beaches of Normandy in no less than two days.   

“Suppose my mother would call the yard a jungle, if Pop hadn’t mowed in a while,” he says. That earns him a smile, real and soft-edged in the sunset, and something inside of him leaps at the sight, small but ferocious in its joy. The force of it almost startles him. 

It’s not often, he feels this way. Like he’s won something. 

He asks, “Did you ever go camping?” 

“Doris Nixon wouldn’t be caught dead sleeping in a tent,” Lew replies dryly. At Dick’s snort, he continues, eyes warm with amusement. “No, sir, it was a lakeside cabin with two baths or bust, I’m afraid. Not exactly the rustic wilderness vacation every young kid dreams of.” 

He pulls his lighter free from the chest pocket of his coat—odd, because that’s not where he usually keeps it. Dick pauses at that thought, catching himself. He grabs hold of it and swiftly tucks it away. 

“Can’t have been all bad,” he offers. “No leaks in the roof to worry about if it rains, at least.” 

“The Nixons’ biggest adversary,” Lew muses, flicking the lighter to life with a fond shake of his head. “The horrible rains of New Jersey.” 

There’s a pause as he cups the tiny flame close, the bridge of his nose bathed in a soft yellow. Shadows dance in the smudged hollows beneath his eyes, sharpening the crease between his brows. He looks tired, Dick notes. And he’s not hiding it as well as he usually does. 

He doesn’t know when he started noticing things like that about his friend, where he keeps his lighter and how he bites the inside of his cheek when he wants to keep his thoughts to himself. But here in the moment, watching Lew’s side profile bathed in the lukewarm heat of English summer—far enough away from the buzz of the base that Dick can pretend the inevitability of tomorrow is not moments away from pounding at his door—he’s not altogether sure he’s ready to explore why.

The silence stretches, and Dick doesn’t feel the need to fill it. They meander farther and farther away from the tent village, and he finds it a bit easier to breathe with each step. Lew polishes off his cigarette before flicking away the bud with a sigh. He doesn’t go for another, to Dick’s mild relief, but his mouth stays pursed as they walk. He glances over at Dick every now and again, like he wants to say something but isn’t.

A few more minutes pass, the sun crawling lower and lower towards the horizon line in the corner of his eye. When Dick finally opens his mouth to ask, Lew suddenly halts. 

“I got you something,” he says, out of the blue. 

Dick stops short, too. He stares at him for a beat. “You got me something,” he repeats, dubious. It earns him an eye roll, and a small, knowing smile pulls across Nix’s face at his tone. Dick finds he prefers it much more to the pinched worry that was there a moment before. 

“Sure did,” his friend says, rocking back a little on his heels. His hand is tucked deep into the pocket of his trousers, clearly holding something. He’s looking at Dick like he’s waiting for him to play along and ask, and something wholly exasperated and deeply fond swells in Dick’s chest at the sight. He relents with a sigh. 

“What is it?” he prompts, unable to resist the pull of in the open amusement Lew is looking at him with. 

“I’d say take a guess, but I don’t think I want to know what you’d come up with. Just know that whatever you’re thinking, I’m a far more thoughtful gift giver than that,” Lew says, eyes narrowing at him in an affectation of accusation. Dick opens his mouth to counter this, but Lew is already ploughing forward, “In any case, I was a little pressed for time, and what I wanted to give you won’t come in time before we’re off tramping around the French countryside, so you’ll have to get by with this.” With that, he pulls whatever he’s holding out of his pocket and tosses it underhand at Dick’s chest. 

He catches before he realizes what it is. It’s a little larger than his palm, perfectly round in the cradle of his fingers. The skin of the rind is only a little battered, probably from being in Nix’s pocket for so long, but it’s firm enough to tell him that it's perfectly ripe and ready for eating. 

Dick blinks down at the orange in his hands in complete surprise. 

He looks up at Nix, bewildered. “Where on earth did you find this?” 

“Now if I told you that, I’d really have to kill you,” his friend says, looking far too pleased with himself. When Dick raises his eyebrows, he shrugs. “Snagged it from a crate in some storage room behind the mess while I was looking for a place to hide a case of my drink of choice.” He fishes his flask out of his chest pocket, shakes it a little. The sunset bouncing off the metal makes Dick squint. 

“You and that Vat 69,” he huffs.  “How’d that work out for you?”

“Oh, fine,” Nix says, scratching idly underneath his chin. “I just gave up on all that nonsense and put it in your footlocker instead.” 

That really does get him laughing. He doesn’t miss the way Lew’s shoulders finally ease at the sound, and that small thing inside his chest gives another ferocious leap, victorious. 

They start the slow walk back down the airstrip, shoulders knocking occasionally when Lew’s steps wander close. His gaze is meandering all over the airfield, but Dick catches his eyes cutting over to the orange in his hands often enough that it betrays his nonchalance. Dick decides to go easy on him, and starts to peel the rind. 

At the first press of his thumb, the smell of citrus hits his nose like a party popper. Helplessly, it makes him smile. 

“So what did the Nixons do for family outings in the summer, if not camping?” he asks, and Lew’s head pops up from where he’d been eying Dick’s fingers pushing beneath the rind with a start. Their shoulders bump again, and Dick has to bite back a grin. 

“Well,” Lew clears his throat, expression schooling into the affectation of the suave Yale man he always puts on when he discusses his family. “My old man’s always been fond of golf, so I spent most summers hauling around his irons for him. Didn’t mind it so much once I realized I could hide a bottle of pale ale in the caddy bag.” 

“How old were you?” Dick asks, only just barely concealing how perturbed the thought of a young Nix staggering around the golf course after his father makes him feel. Lew’s already waving the thought away. 

“Old enough,” he says, a luminous amusement glowing in his eyes at Dick’s frown. “Once I got tall enough to hit a pile drive myself there wasn’t much time for that, anyway.” 

“And how were you by then?” 

“Well by then I didn’t have to sneak it anymore.” And here Lew’s face breaks out into a crooked, wolfish grin. “They’d just hand me a glass on my way in.” 

“For crying out loud,” Dick scoffs, and Lew bursts out laughing, a real, genuine sound that has him almost doubling over. Dick rolls his eyes skyward, praying for patience, but he already feels himself being won over just at the sight of the unconcealed joy on his friend’s face. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he still scolds, though, shaking his head, just to be clear on where he stands on the matter. He finishes peeling the orange with a little more force than is directly necessary. 

“Ah, I’m just pulling your leg, Dick,” Nix promises. He leans over and claps Dick on the shoulder with a firm squeeze of his hand before he moves away, the warmth of his palm lingering. There’s a slight pause before he admits, quieter, “we did a lot of apple picking, if you must know.” 

At that Dick looks up. “Really?” 

“Mhm,” Lew nods. “Little orchard in upstate New York, right around where my aunt lives. Place had all sorts of stuff growing. Strawberries, blueberries, that sort of thing. You pick the apples in the fall, mind. But boy,” he trails off with a shake of his head, eyes seeing something very far away. The expression on his face is peaceful, though. Content, in a way that Dick hasn’t seen on him in a long time. “You don’t ever forget the smell of an orchard like that in the summer.” 

Dick imagines a young boy with dark hair falling into his face, the wind gently pushing it out of his way for him like a mother’s touch. He stands in the middle of rows and rows of flowering apple trees, pinkish white petals fluttering in the breeze, that same look of peace etched onto his features. The thought makes him smile. 

Idly, he peels the orange open, takes a piece and pops it into his mouth. The citrus bursts on his tongue, sweet and cool in comparison to the army grub they’ve been living off for the last two years. Dick thinks it might be even better than ice cream. 

He eats another slice, and the way the fruit pops open in his mouth makes him huff a laugh. He runs his nail across his bottom lip to catch the juice, sucking it off the pad of his thumb. Lew watches him do it, chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

“Sounds nice,” Dick says, honestly, and offers out a piece of the orange to his friend. 

Lew only stares at him for a moment. Really stares, eyes flicking all over Dicks face. He takes it, and their fingers brush. Dick watches him swallow.  

“Yeah,” he says, turning the orange over slowly in his fingers before he looks away. Lew stares across the airfield at the large, hulking shapes of the planes, shimmering in the heat. “Yes, it does.” 

There’s a beat where neither of them says anything. Something about watching Lew stare at those planes makes Dick’s chest ache, a hollow feeling that only grows with every second. For the first time in what feels like forever, Dick feels the need to fill the quiet. 

“Better than golfing,” he jokes at the same time Lew blurts out, “I’ll take you there.” 

The force of it brings them both up short on the tarmac. Dick pauses, watching Lew’s face as he takes in what he just said. His friend’s eyes are wide, like the words up and jumped out of his mouth without his say so. Dick’s pulse jolts. He feels it in the soles of his feet, like he’s missed a step at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Sure you will,” he replies, easily, because it’s always easy to agree with Nix. But the promise echoes in that hollow space in his chest, growing wider and wider still. 

"I will," Lew says, doubling down, despite the uncertainty that’s closing in on them from all sides. As paratroopers, they’re supposed to be used to being surrounded, but the thought still makes Dick feel vaguely like he might be sick. 

They stare at each other, two dusty silhouettes backdropped by the russet orange blazing across the airfield. The sun paints shadows on the side of Lew's face. Dick can see it when the muscle jumps in his jaw. 

For as long as they've known each other, Dick Winters has never needed a reason to follow after Lewis Nixon.

It makes sense, then, that he would never need a reason not to stand beside him, either. 

"Chicago first, and now New York, huh?" he muses, breaking the quiet. He passes Lew another piece of the orange, a peace offering. "That’s quite the itinerary, Nix."

Lew huffs a breath like it hurts his lungs to do it. His eyes shine wetly in the sunset, but the crooked smile that pulls across his face is real. 

“Yeah,” he says. Half-laughing, he takes the piece and pops it into his mouth. He knocks their shoulders together, the movement rough enough to make Dick sway. “Just you wait, Richard Winters. We’ll make a socialite of you yet.” 

In retaliation, Dick tosses the orange rind at Lew’s face.

A few days later, after the jump and the gunfire and the horror of watching real men bleed out and die in front of him, Dick will be standing in a field near Sainte-Marie-du-Mont at sunrise. He will wipe the sweat off his brow and catch a hint of citrus on his sleeve. He’ll pause for a beat, then two, and hesitantly bring his sleeve up to his nose again. Eyes sliding shut, he’ll inhale deep, holding it in his lungs. Behind the orange, Dick will just make out the brush of Lew’s fingers against his own, and he'll breathe out slow.

Past the days old adrenaline thumping at his pulse, warmth blooms.

[eunchancorner]

Triple Trauma (Tiny Triple Threat AU)

I said babies, I should have said kids, I'm sorry

-

“Rupert, I have a job for you,” General Galeforce informed the ravenette as he entered the tent. Something about the wording, however, made Rupert a little nervous. If this was something professional, wouldn’t he have said ‘Lieutenant Price’?

“Yes, sir?” he responded, standing straight as his superior approached.

“You know how we had to handle that hostage situation a few days ago? 13 families, all that?”

Rupert nodded. He remembered almost every detail, including the video they’d been sent alerting them to it in the first place. Specifically, he remembered that not only had every family been taken hostage, but their homes had been burnt down just to make sure they’d never make it back to them.

“Well, during our relocation efforts, we’ve come upon a… troubling discovery,” the general began, “Only ten of the families have the parents remaining, meaning we now have 3 unaccompanied children on the base. We have reason to believe that the video we were sent was not five randomly chosen hostages, but specifically the parents of these children chosen to be executed. One child has also sustained major damage to his throat and it’s unclear if he’ll ever even talk again. As you know, a military base is no place for one child, let alone three, so, as my most trusted soldier, I need you to take care of them.”

What.

“I- sir, with all due respect, you should reconsider this. I mean, I’m no good with children! Plus, I have to be here, a-and Dave has to work most of the day,” the ravenette exclaimed, unsure he could even manage a single child.

“That’s why I’m going to put you on leave. It’ll only be temporary, son, at least until we can get them into a foster care system. I know you don’t think you can do it, but I have faith in you.”

“I can’t help but feel like that faith is very misplaced, but alright…” he gave in with a sigh. Galeforce led him to another tent, where another soldier, Anthony Lee, was knelt down in front of three kids, who were huddled in a dark green blanket. The tallest, or perhaps just the only one standing, was a very defensive-looking red-haired girl, and she looked like she was on the verge of attacking Anthony. The scene almost reminded Rupert of a little kitten trying to defend its siblings.

“Alright, Lee, I’ve found him, you’re dismissed,” the general told the other soldier, who stood, beginning to walk out before pausing to tell Rupert something.

“Good luck with the girl, she almost tried to beat my ass,” he warned before exiting. The ravenette rolled his eyes, thinking he was being dramatic.

“Rupert, these are the kids. We have yet to identify them, and they’re… They’re not making it very easy,” General Galeforce admitted, glancing at the little trio. “We keep asking for their names and the girl just keeps yelling that she doesn’t need to tell us. She’s brave for a kid that just went through hell, I’ll give her that, but… Do you think you could get her to open up?”

“No,” he sighed, “but I’ll try.”

He walked up to the three, kneeling down in front of them.

“Hey, kids…” he began, and was also promptly stopped by the girl’s enraged screaming.

“Go away! I want my dad! Where’s my dad?!” she yelled, blocking off the other two kids with her arms.

“Hey, hey, your dad’s… Resting, okay?” he lied. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that her dad was probably dead.

“Then where’s Mary?! I don’t wanna talk to you!”

“Hey, hey, Mary’s resting, too, okay? We need to know your name so we know who these people are, okay?”

“You’re lying! You don’t need to know my name! Let me see Dad and Mary!!”

“Kiddo, listen. If we don’t know your name, we won’t be able to figure out who your dad and Mary are, okay? We won’t be able to get you or these boys back to your parents, so what’s your name?” he finally told her, looking directly into her eyes. He could see her trying to think up an argument, before she sighed, looking at the ground.

“My name’s Ellie…” she conceded, before looking at the boys behind her; one wearing a black shirt, jeans, red sneakers and a pilot’s jacket someone must have given him, the other in a blue shirt, a dark blue coat, jeans and brown boots. She pointed at the one in the jacket, “That’s Charlie. He doesn’t like loud noises,” she turned and pointed at the other boy, “And that’s Henry. He can’t talk anymore…”

“Thank you, Ellie… now, we need to take you three somewhere for a while, okay? Your parents are, uh… gonna take a long time to recover, so the general has told me to look after you,” he told them, seeing Henry avert his eyes. Ellie sat down, shaking her head.

“No, I’m staying here and waiting for Dad and Mary. I wanna see them when they come back…”

Oh god, my heart, Rupert thought. This poor girl, I can’t tell her…

“This isn’t a safe place for kids to be, okay? You could get hurt here. Besides, my house is a lot warmer and has actual food and beds. We’ll bring you back when Dad and Mary are better, okay?” he lied, looking over at the boys. “And your parents, too.”

Henry crossed his arms, fixing his gaze on his crossed legs, but Charlie looked up at Rupert with a hopeful gaze.

“Food sounds good… They don’t give us good food here…” he murmured, “And I would like a real bed again… Can we, Ellie? He looks nice, and his hair is all fluffy. I like fluffy…”

“Mmm… Dad always said not to go with strangers…” she grumbled.

“Well, right now, I have just about as much of a choice as you do. It’s just until we can get everything sorted,” he assured her, “Then you’ll never have to see my ugly mug again.”

Ellie seemed to think for a moment, before reaching behind her. Charlie and Henry took her hands and stood, walking closer to her. He could see now that while Henry was, in fact, shorter, Charlie was about the same height as her.

“Okay, Mr. Fluffy Guy, we’ll go… as long as you get us something good to eat,” she conceded.

“Alright, and the name’s Rupert,” he told them, before standing up straight. “C’mon, I’ll bring you out to my car.”

The three kids followed Rupert out, waited patiently for him to unlock and open the back door of his Jeep, and helped each other up. They managed to get themselves situated in the back row, and once they had, Rupert got into the driver’s seat and set off.

They were quiet as he drove, and Rupert knew why; they were nervous. The poor kids had probably been through hell and back, then had spent a couple of uncomfy nights at a strange camp only to be told they had to go with a stranger. It was probably a lot for them to handle.

“Hey, you kids wanna grab fast food? Since it’s your first night, I figured I could at least treat you,” he offered, hearing two of them whisper among each other before Ellie spoke up.

“We want McDonalds,” she told him, earning a short chuckle.

“Right, McDonalds it is then…”

[peachyiie-0]

Fighting for you// Sanemi x Hashira wife.

Tw: Angst, cussing. (and fluff.)

Note: some of the events in this is not cannon, if you don’t like that feel free to scroll.

@hashirasslut gave me this recommendation, so thank you again for giving me the chance to write this!!

“I called this meeting to inform you all that we haven't heard back from y/n in over three days.” Sanemi’s head hung low to the floor as he clenched his fists. Master Kagaya knew that Sanemi was feeling the worst about this more than anyone else, which is exactly why he called this meeting. He was worried that Sanemi was going to do something irrational.

“It's obvious she's either in a lot of danger or a worse scenario, She's dead.” Sanemi flinched at the thought of you being dead, he couldn't bear it. All those years you two spent together couldn’t go to waste. You were dear to him, you were his wife. He needed you the most, without you he was a wreck. “Then why the hell are we just standing here like fucking idiots!?” His voice echoed through the courtyard as all the attention was now on him.

“Sanemi you know that the master has been trying to find her, we all have. But it’s not that simple.” Iguro said as he placed his hand on his shoulder trying to calm him down. Sanemi brushed his hand off instantly with a glare directly at Obanai.

“That’s exactly why I called this meeting actually, I think I finally found a stable location as to where she might be.” The Hashira instantly jumped back, they were surprised at the Master's statement.

“Then why the hell don't we go save her already?!” Sanemi grabbed his katana as he shot up from the position he was in. “Sanemi it's not that simple, we need a plan.” He glared at Tengen who had a serious expression resting on his face. Sanemi knew Tengen was right but he couldn't bring himself to calm down, not in a situation like this.

“Samemi, my child, you must calm yourself.” Master Kagaya said as he let out a sigh, he could tell exactly what Sanemi was thinking to the last detail. “You, Obanai, and Tengen will be the ones to rescue her.” Everyone's attention was still gathered on him as Sanemi was becoming more impatient.

“She’s likely located in the village east of here.” Just as the master was about to continue, Sanemi interrupted. “Isn't that place a fucking ghost town? Why the hell would she be located there?”

Master Kagaya bobbed his head knowingly. “And that's exactly why she would be there. The environment is perfect for a demon to be lurking.” Sanemi scowled at his perfect explanation. He hated how he was so calm in such a situation like this, it annoyed the hell out of him.

“I don't know exactly how many enemies there will be, so you must be on your highest guard. But I trust everything will work out perfectly, you may head out now. And as for the rest of you, you all should get back to your normal duties until then.” Everyone nodded as Tengen, Obanai, and Sanemi began to head out. Sanemi had a rush of thoughts going through his head. He couldn't let this chance go, he had to save you, and he was going to risk his life for it.

Sanemi, Tengen, and Obanai were now sprinting through the woods racing against time. Who knows if y/n was going to be there in the first place? It was a risky move to make, but then again time was running out and there were no other options. But if they fail they lose you for good, and that wasn't an option for Sanemi.

The three men had finally arrived at the abandoned village. Buildings that looked burnt to a crisp still stood tall before them, not long ago this village was beaming with people. It was a popular place due to its infamous shops that sell many things. The locals there were also nice, but tragedy struck after a storm hit it. On that day lightning boomed like cannons, and smoke lit the air as the lightning charged against the buildings causing fires. Screams echoed across the village, many things were lost that day. But it’s still surprising to see it still stands.

They walked through the main entrance as everything fell silent. Sanemi was scanning the area surrounding them as they walked. “Where the hell is she..” he said, his voice was gruff and breathy. He gripped his katana hilt as he continued to scan.

Tengen peaked over at Sanemi who was distressed. “We’ll find her, so try not to stress. It will only result in mistakes which we can’t afford to make.” Sanemi nodded silently. Tengen was right, although it hurt to admit he needed to stay calm and aware, otherwise only failure would await them.

Obanai stayed quiet hoping to hear some kind of noise, but there was nothing. “We need to start looking in the buildings.” Sanemi looked at Obanai who was not interested in searching outside anymore. “I'm willing to bet the demon or demons are using some sort of demon art to conceal their presence.” Sanemi nodded his head in agreement as Tengen began searching for a building.

Tengen scanned the surrounding area as he then saw a large building ahead of them. Sanemi’s heart began to race faster by the minute, the air around him only felt more and more like it was closing in on him. The entrance to the building stood tall before them, the Inside of the building was a dark powdered gray. The room smelt of ashes and the floor reeked of a metallic scent.

As they walked throughout the building they couldn’t help but get a sense of an eerie feeling. Maybe it was the fact that this place was abandoned, and most of its buildings were burnt practically decaying in the aftermath. Or maybe just maybe it was the feeling of being watched.

Sanemi flung around in an instant alerting the others in the process. He drew his sword from its sheath and slashed the air in front of him. Something was there, he could sense it. “Stay alert, somethings here.” The others began to follow suit and drew their swords. Sanemi scanned the room making sure nothing was out of place. Creek. Bingo, Sanemi looked up at the ceiling as glowing eyes peeked down at them. Upper five, his eyes glowed with a sense of mockery.

Sanemi without a thought leaped up on the support beam of the ceiling. Gyokko had a smirk lighting up his face, he was hiding something. “Where is she?” His harsh eyes were daggering Gyokko, who was enjoying the attention. But he stayed quiet, only chuckling to himself. “If you won't tell me then I guess I'll have to force it out of you.”

Just as Sanemi was about to attack, Gyokko slightly slithered his fin into sight. Sanemi’s eyes widened, there you were passed out tightly wrapped in his tail. Your body had cuts, and bruises everywhere, your face was as pale as a ghost. The only look that showed up on your mangled body was one of pain and regret. Gyokko only laughed out loud as he watched Sanemi’s face turn to pure shock.

“You don’t want me to kill her, do you? I suggest you back away slowly.” Gyokko had this evil smile on his face. Obanai and Tengen had their problems. There was another demon, one they hadn’t noticed, kaigaku. His strange blue eyes had the number Six embroidered on them. “Sanemi, don’t let him win! You have to fight, don’t worry about us, We got this under control!” Obanai and Tengen continued to fight Kaigaku, and they seemed to be doing fine.

But Sanemi didn’t know what to do, for the first time Sanemi was clueless. Gyokko began laughing at Sanemi’s frozen stance, Gyokko was surely going to use this to his advantage. Gyokko then unraveled his tail letting you go as he was now charging full speed at Sanemi’s lifeless form. But something strange happened…Slice. Tengen’s swords went through Gyokko’s head, decapitating it in a quick second.

Obanai was quick to go to your side, checking up on you. While Sanemi couldn’t quite make out what happened. “Get your head out of your ass, we still have work to do.” Tengen patted his shoulder, snapping him out of whatever trance he was in.

He nodded and quickly ran to you and Obanai. “She’s severely injured, we have to get her to the butterfly mansion this instant.” Said Obanai who was sheathing his sword. Sanemi nodded as he carefully picked you up, wrapping you in his arms.

As Sanemi, Tengen, and Obanai began walking to the butterfly mansion Sanemi was reflecting on his mistakes. ‘Why the hell was I so useless..?! I didn't do damn shit, Tengen and Obanai were the ones who carried the whole mission… I was completely fucking useless..!!’

Suddenly Sanemi’s thoughts came to an end as Obanai tapped Sanemi’s shoulder. “We’re here.” Sanemi nodded his head as he carried you inside the butterfly mansion. “Oh, it seems you brought her back safely! Good job completing your mission.” Said Shinobu who still had the same lifeless smile as always, it always irritated Sanemi to see the same lifeless look on her face. “You can lay her down on that bed over there, but you must leave the room now.” She then began to get tools ready.

“Why the hell do I have to leave the room?!” Shinobu glared slightly at Sanemi, he was still annoying as always, and the same annoying rude attitude beamed from him. “I don’t need distractions, plus it’s going to take a while, I don’t even have to do a full checkup to know that she’s severely injured.” Shinobu had an annoyed smile tracing her lips as Sanemi only sighed in annoyance. “Whatever, just let me know when you're done.” Shinobu nodded as Sanemi walked out of the room to let Shinobu do her work.

Soon a full two hours had passed and Sanemi was beginning to fall asleep waiting, Shinobu walked into the room instantly waking him up. “I have some bad news.” Said Shinobu who had a serious look plastered on her face. Sanemi clenched his fists, this was practically all his fault. If only he had gotten to you fast enough. “She has broken ribs, lots of bruises and cuts, I’m sorry to say but I need to keep her in longer.”

Sanemi looks at Shinobu with worry in his eyes. He looked down at the floor and then quickly went back to her. “How long..?” Shinobu grabbed her clipboard to check a few things then quickly placed it by her side. “At least a few days, I’m not exactly sure.” Sanemi paused for a moment as Shinobu then placed her hand on his shoulder patting it gently. “Go home and get some rest, you need it.” Sanemi nodded his head. He knew he could trust Shinobu to take care of you, but he still had worry guarding his heart. Right now what he needed the most was to clear his mind and get rest, and that’s what he did.

A few days had passed and not once did Sanemi bring himself to the hospital. He couldn’t bear to see you, not after he had failed so badly as a husband, he’s supposed to take care of you. And yet he let you slip right through his grasp. Master Kagaya noticed a change in Sanemi, he knew that he couldn’t properly perform his daily tasks as a demon slayer at the moment, so he let Sanemi go on a break. But during the break he was given he was in a state of depression, he couldn't stop reviewing his past mistakes.

They were constantly playing on a loop in his head, the other Hashira noticed it also. But they couldn't bring themselves to say anything, it wasn't their right. But finally, Sanemi got the news he’d been waiting for, Shinobu sent her crow to deliver a message to Sanemi.

Dear Sanemi,

I'm sending this note to inform you that y/n is awake. She’s in stable health to go home, you can come by now to take her home. Although she will be sore she should rest a little more, other than that she’s in good condition. I have some lotion that should help with sore areas, so when you come by make sure to get that. I hope this letter finds you well,

Sincerely, Shinobu kocho.

When Sanemi received the letter he was overjoyed, he was glad you were safe, In fact as soon as he received the letter he rushed to the butterfly mansion. He brushed through the two doors of the mansion almost immediately, as he then saw your face. You had eye bags hanging from your eyes, the corners of your eyes were red, and you were wearing a hospital gown. You looked terrible, and Sanemi could see that clearly, he was starting to regret ever coming. This is what he was afraid of, he didn’t want to see how badly he failed as a husband.

He walked to your side as you turned your head to see Sanemi slightly smiling at you, his eyes softening at the sight of your eyes meeting him. Shinobu quickly walked over to him, handing him the lotion for your sores, while whispering something into his ear. “It’s not your fault.” She then patted his shoulder and began to help y/n off the bed. You flinched slightly due to the sore parts of your body but got up perfectly.

Sanemi held out his hand for you to hold on for stability but you grabbed the railing of the bed for support instead, dismissing him and his hand. Sanemi flinched back slightly in surprise which only made your heart burst. ‘I’m sorry Sanemi..but I can’t.’ You brushed off the feeling, as you slipped on the nice slippers Shinobu laid out for you. “That should be all, make sure to get some rest y/n, ok?” You and Sanemi both nodded in response to Shinobu as you guys finally began heading out.

During the whole way home you felt a bit at the bottom of your stomach, after all this time you're finally going back to the place you missed the most. Home, the big building in front of you was just the place you needed to be, you’ve been waiting for this.

Sanemi opened the doors for you as you walked in, your eyes softened at the same old calming smell you always got. The candle wax burning from the candles you always liked, and the warmth surrounding you as the doors from the outside closed. “I’ve laid out comfortable clothing for you to wear on the bed, you can change now and head to bed since it’s getting late.” You nodded in response and began changing in the room.

As you finally finished changing you crawled inside your bed, you comfortably snuggled into the warm blankets as you felt Sanemi lay down beside you, you’re finally at peace.

You let sleep swallow you whole as you were now snoring exactly like a child.

Some time passed and you weren't able to sleep much longer, you woke up still feeling tired, but just as you were about to try to fall back asleep you noticed the spot next to you was empty. Your heart dropped. “Sanemi..?” You croaked out but no reply, it only made your heart jump out of your chest. ‘Did something happen to him?!’ Your mind only began to sink with worry.

Sanemi looked at the stars beaming on him as he continued to polish his katana on the deck of the home. ‘Shit.. I was completely fucking useless in that fight.’ He squeezed his katana and continued to polish it. ‘Would I even be able to save her properly if something takes her again? I can’t let that happen, I won’t allow it.’ Just as Sanemi was finishing up polishing his sword he heard a scream from your room. You were calling his name.

He instantly grabbed his katana and ran as fast as he could, he wouldn’t allow you to get taken again. As he turned the corner to the room he just saw you crying, tears were spilling from your eyes as Sanemi dropped his sword and rushed towards you.

“What’s wrong..?” He said as he wrapped his arms around you, but it only made you sob more. “I, I thought something happened to you…When I woke up you were gone.” You buried your face into his arms as he squeezed you tightly. “It’s ok, I'm here nothing bad is going to happen.” You nodded as he began to gently rub your back. You were finally able to stop crying, but as you looked up at Sanemi your heart ached.

“Sanemi I’m sorry, I was being so distant.. I just felt as though I was only a nuisance to you.” Sanemi’s eyes softened as he then placed a kiss on your forehead. “You’d never be a nuisance to me, not ever. And you don’t have to apologize, you did nothing wrong.”

As he said that you couldn’t help but to cry, more tears spilled from your eyes as Sanemi continued to hug you. “S, Sanemi Shinazugawa, I love you so much..” he gently placed a kiss on your lips as he nodded, “I love you more.” He whipped your tears as he then gently laid you down. He rested right beside you as he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly. Finally, he was able to rest now knowing everything was ok.

Authors note: Thanks so much for reading!! I know this took a while to write but it was super fun, and I enjoyed it a lot!! I hope you guys enjoy it also, and dw I’m still gonna finish doing my other requests;) so stay tuned for those!! If I made any spelling mistakes please let me know. And make sure you guys take care of yourselfs!!!💗💗💗

[autisticlenaluthor]

Control

takes place after music but before lena

Three days pass before Kara tells anyone about what happened at the park. 

When she gets home, she slams her door so hard it crumbles right off the hinges, then locks herself in her closet with her favorite book.

She cries for nearly two hours– big, heavy tears that burn as they fall and clump up in her throat. She cries for Kal, who she didn’t mean to betray; cries because she never would’ve been so kind to a Luthor if she’d known who they were. Because she can’t believe she was so stupid– can’t believe she knew Lena’s last name this whole time but still managed to convince herself she wasn’t one of those Luthors. And then she cries because Lena really did seem like any other girl. No– she was even more interesting than the other girls Kara knows and maybe that’s what hurts so much.

She’d wanted to be her friend. Friends with a Luthor.

She hates herself for being so trusting. So naive. 

But then she thinks about Kal (she always goes back to him) and how for years, Lex had been his right-hand man. And it’s like a switch goes off in Kara’s brain. If Lena could lure her in a day, it no longer seems so perplexing how her cousin could’ve stayed by Lex’s side for so long. 

Knowing their mistake is shared makes things the tiniest bit easier. 

It’s what gives Kara the courage to leave the closet after Eliza finishes putting the door back in its frame, and crawl back into bed. She eats dinner half under the covers and for the rest of the day, refuses to speak. No, she can’t speak– she can’t do anything, she’s too paralyzed with anger and exhaustion and every other emotion under the sun. 

But at least she isn’t crying. So hey, it’s a start. 

The next morning, Kara feels like she’s risen from the dead. Her limbs are heavy– her eyes raw and red. Dark bags hang below them, sunken in like hollowed-out bruises. When Kara tries to toast her Pop-Tarts with her heat vision, all she gets is a headache and a weird look from Alex for squinting and grunting down at the plate. 

Eliza tells her she’s experiencing something called a solar flare. She’s burnt herself out and now her body needs time to recover before it can sustain its powers again. She says it’s like when a car runs out of gas or when humans hit a wall and need a few days to recuperate. Kara wants to be upset at the explanation but really, she isn’t sure it makes any sort of difference. Even if she had her powers, she’d be too tired to use them.  

So Kara spends the rest of the day on her side of the room with all her lights off. She tries to read but none of the words stay in her head. Instead, she listens to the Fearless album on her iPod on a loop– not quite awake but not quite asleep. She daydreams about Krypton and the science guild and how the sunset looked from the giant window in her old bedroom. And then she cries some more.

By day three, Kara is bored and restless. If her powers had returned, she’d speed through the clouds until all her excess energy was dispersed. But they haven’t. So she has to settle for periodically flapping her hands and jumping around her room to get rid of the feeling that tells her she’s about to explode. 

It isn’t until the middle of the afternoon, when Alex is at softball practice and the house is feeling uncharacteristically quiet, that Kara finally brings it up.

She finds Eliza on the sofa in the living room and sits beside her on the other end. She brings her legs up into her chest, awkwardly fiddling with the drawstring on her sweatpants as she tries to find the right words. It doesn’t take long for her to realize there are none. So Kara bites the bullet and comes right out with it.

“The girl I had to work with the other day…” she begins. “For the extra credit project… it was Lex Luthor’s sister.” 

Eliza’s eyes widen and she sets her book down, turning her full attention to Kara.

“Oh my… did she– she didn’t do anything o- or say anything to you, did she?”

Kara shakes her head. Her voice is quiet. Withdrawn, almost. 

“No. She was weirdly normal. She didn’t tell me who she was.” 

“How did you figure it out?”

Kara shrugs. “Some girls from her school came up to us when we were cleaning. And they�� they started saying all these things to her and none of it made sense. So I asked and… they told me.”

“Oh.”

Eliza exhales, frowning.

“That must’ve been really hard.” 

“Yeah. I just… I can’t believe I didn’t know. I– I wanted to be her friend,” Kara says. Her hands start to shake as she speaks. Her throat feels too stiff– like it can’t properly wrap itself around her words. “I feel so gross. Like… dirty.”

“I bet,” Eliza responds, her voice soft. “I know how crazy the whiplash must be for you. But it’s not crazy you wanted to be her friend. You saw someone you liked and you wanted to get to know them. That doesn’t make you dirty.” 

Kara shakes her head and looks down, pressing the pad of her thumb against her nailbed. 

“Her brother tried to kill Kal. He’d want to kill me if he knew me. He– he doesn’t even know I exist and he hates me. And she’s his sister so she– she’d hate me too and she almost really did know me.”

She stops for a moment and clamps her mouth shut, hot tears prickling at her eyes. She thinks about Lena’s quiet, restrained laugh, and how different things would’ve been if she’d known. If neither of their identities had been a lie.

“I don’t want to see her again,” Kara says eventually. “I can’t– I can’t work with someone like her. Or like anyone in her family.” 

Eliza sucks in a breath. She nods, slowly, taking a second to gather her thoughts.

“Kara… what Lex did… it was horrible. And I know I can’t imagine how scary it must’ve been for you to see him go through that. Especially after everything you’ve lost.” 

My world. Kara wants to correct her. I lost my whole world. 

“But Lena is only– what, fifteen, give or take? And I- I’m not saying you have to be friends with her or even like her. All of that is up to you. But she doesn’t have any control over what her family does. Lex is a grown man who can take the fall on his own. But Lena– she’s still a kid… just like you.” 

“She’s not like me,” Kara whispers. “She’s nothing like me.”

“Maybe she isn’t. But we don’t know her,” Eliza says. “Just like she doesn’t know you.”

[cosmxc-ars3hol3]

Oh, ashes, ashes, Dust to dust

Title - Oh, ashes, ashes, Dust to dust

Rating - General Audiences

Archive Warning - No Archive Warnings Apply

Category - M/M

Fandom - Keeper of the Lost Cities - Shannon Messenger

Relationship - Councillor Bronte/Fintan Pyren

Characters - Fintan Pyren, Councillor Bronte

Additional Tags - Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 03: Everblaze (Keeper of the Lost Cities)

Summary - ‘After Fintan burnt Oblivimyre down during his healing, he sneaks his way into Bronte’s Castle in Eternalia so he has somewhere to stay. Bronte decides to help him stay hidden/keep people thinking he’s dead.’

its gonna be a multi chapter (hopefully) fintante fic that my tumblr mutual kale gave me when i was bitching about the appalling lack of fintante fics on ao3 (thanks kale!)

‘Councillor! Are you okay?' A younger Bronte yelled out to the councillor.

‘Yes, I am fine. Thank you, Emissary Bronte,’ he replied. ‘I should’ve expected that to happen.’

Bronte sighed and gave a small chuckle.

Councillor Fintan had been attempting to create some fire, although it wasn’t a type that was known or studied. He was attempting to create a brand new type of fire. He called it ‘Balefire’ and said that his end goal was to make a fire that could sustain itself without fuel, contained inside of a crystal, just like the ones used for leaping. Bronte asked if he could sit in while he figured out how to design and create this idea.

What had just happened was that in one of Fintan’s many attempts at trying to bring his ideas to reality, the crystal had shattered and rained little glittering sparkles over the two of them. The crystal had made a loud bang as it broke, scaring Bronte to his feet.

‘Do you really think this can work, Fintan?’ Questioned Bronte.

‘Do you doubt me that much, Bronte?’ Responded Fintan.

The two elves locked eyes with each other, and Bronte was the one to break the slightly uncomfortable silence.

‘You’re right. I should doubt your vision, Councillor.’ 

Bronte said, stone cold, but Fintan could see his embarrassment on his face. Despite his tone, Bronte’s face was alight with red and rosy cheeks, and he was awkwardly looking away from Fintan, not wanting to meet his eyes as Fintan stared at him intensely.

‘Look at me, Bronte.’ Fintan asked, although it didn’t really feel like a request coming from the councillor.

Bronte still felt too embarrassed to meet his eyes, so he decided to look at Fintan’s circlet.

He first looked towards the sides of the circlet, golden metals making pretty patterns that led to the centre, where a crystal made of a sunset orange-coloured sunstone was set in place with smaller shards of red carnelian, the circlet demanding respect.

‘I said, Look at my eyes, Bronte. Not my circlet,’ Fintan commanded, assertive but not aggressive. Bronte looked a little further down Fintan’s face, down to his bright blue eyes.

Fintan’s gaze was both stern and calm, a complex display of emotions that made Bronte slightly uncomfortable looking into his eyes.

‘I'm sorry, councillor, for any disrespect; I didn't mean it.’ Bronte answered back.

‘'s ok, Bronte. I know you; I know you meant no offence by what you said. Be careful next time, though; not everyone is as nice as me.' Fintan said it with a teasing tone and a playful smirk. Bronte looked away again, and the blush returned after it had finally left his face alone.

~~~~~~~~~~

‘Bronte, hey Bronte.’ Fintan said, drawing Bronte out of his imagination.

He missed the days when Fintan was known for his goodness, his ability to help.

If only he had known how Fintan felt about the world, maybe he could have helped change everyone’s minds. Maybe Fintan could have never started a rebellion, changing so many lives.

Unlike not long ago, Fintan was now known for his bad acts, the all-consuming everblaze he learned how to summon, the rebellion he ended up leading. Bronte wished it was how it used to be. Fintan was a pillar of hope for people who were just like the two of them. 

Not many people knew for certain who he and Fintan were to each other. Now that Bronte thought about it, he realised that Oralie and Kenric reflected him and Fintan in a way, two councillors, in love, but both never stepped off together before it was too late. One of the striking differences was that Kenric and Oralie would’ve been a perfect pair, both in their souls and on their matching scrolls. He and Fintan would’ve never had that for themselves.

‘I’m sorry, Fintan. i got lost in my thoughts.’ Bronte responded after sometime

‘i get it. do you wanna talk about it while i try to fix up my injuries?’ Fintan added

‘maybe later, but you don’t have to try to fix your injuries by yourself,’ Bronte assured ‘hand me the cream and bandages, would you please, Fintan’

Fintan reached over to where the medical kit was resting, grabbing what Bronte needed with a little wince when he had to stretch to grab the bandages.

when Bronte saw that Fintan had what he needed, he walked closer and sat down behind him