#i may post snippets

[hmooncreates]

honey sweet

is a zine that showcases poetry written by h moon. the poetry ranges from romantic to serious to silly. poetry can be used as a kind of therapy for many people including me. 

i was first encouraged to write poetry by a late professor so i would like to dedicate this collection to him. i thank him for all that he taught me and all the ways that he helped at a particularly bad time for me.

the poems included in this zine are

With You fancy things ribcage story magic bugs disturbed off the shelf a prayer to the god of knowledge

TRIGGER WARNINGS: implied disassociation, religion, bugs, doll imagery

$3 on itch.io || ko-fi

[laddertek]

etho said actually you _don't_ understand the intricacies of how tango is my boyfriend and bdubs is my ex

(and how tango and bdubs kiss too)

Scar: We went on that little adventure, you know! Etho: Yeah, yeah, we had our adventure, that's true, that's true. Scar: You disparaged your teammates. That's it, all right, no more spoilers. Etho: (laughs) Our team has -- our team has some weird dynamics this -- this season. Cleo: (overlapping) Really, Etho? Is there trouble in paradise? (pause) Who's third-wheeling with you, again? I can't remember. Etho: (laughs) Uhh. The -- Cleo: Genuinely can't remember. I know it's you and Bdubs. And...Tango? Tango. Tango. Etho: (loudly) Why -- Why is Tango the third wheel? Why -- why isn't Bdubs the third wheel? Cleo: Because it's you and Bdubs. I'm sorry. I understand how that relationship goes. Etho: (dissatisfied) Hmm.

[stellewriites]

ghost and soap that move in together in between missions to save on money and eventually - inevitably - fall into bed together. but somethings missing

they’re both a little too sharp around the edges, need something sweet to ease their cravings and soften their bites, but no one fits right

until you, that is. so don’t be surprised when they make sure you’re sticking around by any means necessary

[cod-thoughts]

“Thought you’d sleep in for once,” Ghost muttered, leaning down to meet Price’s lips in a lazy kiss. It wasn’t rushed—just a slow, easy press of their mouths, like they had all the time in the world.

“Couldn’t,” Price murmured against him, his hands finding Ghost’s hip. He tugged him closer, their noses brushing together as Ghost kissed him again, deeper this time. Price’s grip tightened, but there was nothing hurried about it, just deliberate and steady, as if he was memorising every detail.

Ghost huffed softly when they pulled apart, the sound low and amused. “You’re insatiable, old man.”

“Damn right,” Price shot back, his thumb tracing slow circles against Ghost’s hip. “You’re the one who came in here lookin’ like that. Can’t be helped.”

Ghost shook his head, but there was no real heat behind it, just the faintest curve of his lips, knowing he wasn't wearing anything special. He leaned in again, his fingers slipping under the collar of Price’s shirt, brushing against bare skin. Their mouths met in another kiss, slower this time, like the kindling of a fire, warmth spreading between them with every touch.

Then it happened. Ghost shifted his weight, leaning into Price a little too much as Price tugged him forward. He stumbled, landing hard in Price’s lap, chair creaking underneath them, his thighs bracketing Price’s hips as the two of them froze for a moment, faces inches apart.

“Fuckin' hell,” Ghost muttered, his hands braced on Price’s shoulders as the faintest flush crept up his neck.

Price, for his part, looked completely unbothered—if anything, the grin spreading across his face was downright wolfish. “Now this,” he said, his hands sliding up to Ghost’s waist, “is a sight I could get used to.”

Ghost narrowed his eyes, his voice low and rough. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Can you blame me?” Price replied, his gaze flickering over Ghost—his broad shoulders, the way his muscular thighs framed Price’s hips, the faint pink staining the tops of his cheeks. “Should’ve done this soon as you came in. Hell, I should have you like this all the time.”

“Thought this morning was enough for you,” Ghost shot back, his voice a teasing growl, though the flush on his face deepened.

Price’s eyes darkened, his grin turning into something hungrier. “Not even close.” Wrapping his arms around Ghost’s waist, pulling him down just enough that their bodies pressed together, the solid weight of Ghost against him making Price groan softly. “You’ve no idea how fucking good you look right now.”

Ghost opened his mouth to retort, but Price didn’t give him the chance. He surged up, capturing Ghost’s lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was feral, desperate, all teeth and tongue as if Price couldn’t get enough of him. Ghost let out a low, surprised sound, his hands slipping up Price’s shoulders to his jaw as the kiss deepened.

Price’s hands roamed, one sliding up Ghost’s back to tangle in his hair, the other gripping his thigh, fingers digging into muscle as if to anchor him there. Ghost groaned, the sound muffled against Price’s mouth, his body reacting before his brain could catch up. His hips shifted instinctively, pressing harder against Price, who growled in response.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Price muttered, his voice rough and breathless as he pulled back just enough to drag his teeth along Ghost’s jaw. His lips found the sensitive spot beneath Ghost’s ear, biting down lightly before soothing the mark with his tongue.

Ghost shivered, his fingers slightly tightening around Price’s jaw. “Thought you could handle it, Captain.”

“Handle you?” Price’s laugh was dark, his lips brushing against Ghost’s throat. “Barely.”

The room felt hotter, the air between them thick with want as their movements grew more frantic. Price’s hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of Ghost’s spine, squeezing his thighs, pulling him impossibly closer. Ghost leaned into it, his breath hitching as Price’s teeth scraped against his collarbone.

“John,” Ghost rasped, his voice strained, his usual composure cracking under the heat of Price’s attention.

“Tell me,” Price said, his voice a low growl as he kissed him again, biting at his lower lip before dragging him impossibly closer. “Tell me what you want, love.”

Ghost didn’t answer with words. Instead, he kissed Price with a desperation that said everything, his body pressing against him as if trying to fuse them together. Price groaned into his mouth, his hands sliding to Ghost’s ass, urging him to roll his hips into a sinful grind.

Whatever playful teasing had been between them was long gone, replaced by something raw and consuming. Snaking a hand into Ghost's hair, Price pulled him back with a gasp and looked up at Ghost, his chest heaving, his brown eyes burning with want as he took in the sight of his lover—flushed, ruffled, and completely his.

[howlonomy]

Might I pester you for another monster clover?

clover: just happy to be here :)

[maiko-coy]

yoooo! The au sounds lit! We need more angry Dogday.

Do you have more ideas about it? 👁️

Thank you, I'm glad you like it!!! I do have several ideas for the AU, especially around the plotline and a bit of the side drabbles.

Missed Chances AU is basically revolving around the smiling critters in the Playcare (however, its specifically focused on our dear Dogday and Catnap, of course), but I've separated it into three arcs. First arc is the pre-HOJ. This is more on to fill in the backstory of the critters and how they are trained to interact in the Playcare, as well as them finding their own independence and creating their own personalities. This won't be as long as the other two arcs but I do plan on doodling a few drabbles from this arc for fluff and character development. This arc builds up until the Hour of Joy event. Second arc is post-HOJ. This arc focuses more on the events after Hour of Joy and how the Critters survive through it. This arc specifically focuses on Dogday. There will be major angst here with almost zero-to-none comfort because I'm still closely following the canon events. So yes, Dogday will still end up how he is in the canon game. This arc builds up until the canon Chapter 3. Third arc is post-chapter 3. As y'all have seen in my previous post, this arc is where Player saves Dogday, Dogday being vengeful, and saving Catnap. I haven't thought most of this arc yet (considering that the chapters aren't done yet) but I have planned out at least how Dogday and Catnap interacts here, as well as Player, Kissy, and Poppy. Sorry people but I don't plan on making any ships in this AU, simply because I don't think they have the time to in this situation and that I have no idea how romance work LMAOAOAO but I dont mind if yall ship anyone, I'm just saying that I don't plan on drawing any lovey-doveys in here. I also plan on giving this AU two endings: True ending and Good ending, cuz I'm evil like that. Maybe I'll make non-canonical doodles of this au who knows

[bookshelf-in-progress]

I want you guys to read this retelling so bad.

But first I gotta write it. And that takes so long.

[seaweed-water]

wip wednesday

thank you for tagging me, @dear-massacre... i'm assuming this is what you wanted lmao. also dedicated to @rugbertgoeshome who just lovingly spammed me ♥️

tw: implied rape, rape, depending on how you look at it i guess? someone gets raped

Stiles dips his head down and seals their lips together, holding Derek under his jaw. They watch each other through slotted eyes, and Stiles pulls away with soft lingering pecks as he says, “It’s today.”

With furrowed brows, Derek’s eyes flick between Stiles’, their faces inches apart now as Stiles waits for it to sink in, and then Derek understands.

“Right now?” he asks, his voice unsteady, a spike of adrenaline rushing through him at the realization he’ll be branded forever on this day. He asked Stiles to surprise him with it instead of counting down the days with dread in his veins.

“Right now,” Stiles confirms, and sweat sprouts over Derek’s skin as he swallows and presses into Stiles’ neck, seeking comfort as his limbs start to quiver in anticipation. Stiles’ arms wrap around him, nose pressing in his hair, lips brushing over his temple as Derek attempts to sink into him. He’d almost prefer to wear the collar forever, but even the thought isn’t satisfying enough. He can take the collar off, and then how would anyone know who he belongs to? He must be branded and marked permanently, forever—anything less simply won’t do.

Stiles lets him delay the inevitable a few more moments, fingertips massaging over Derek’s scalp as he breathes in the doctor’s warm scent to calm himself, until finally Stiles pulls away, stealing another kiss before he says, “Go kneel by the fire, baby.”

Derek does as he’s told, draping over the chair, knees planted on the cushion Stiles placed for him. Stiles’ fingers hook under the elastic band of Derek’s pants, peeling the fabric away. The skin on his ass cheek turns cold in the wake of the iodine Stiles swipes over him, and he shudders, the hair rising over every inch of his body.

The branding itself doesn’t hurt quite like Derek expected. Maybe worse than a tattoo, the white-hot iron searing into his ass cheek for all of three seconds. The euphoria kicks in before he really gets a chance to revel in the pain, and Stiles applies an ointment as Derek lies over the chair cushion with tears in his eyes.

“Have you ever branded anyone before?” Derek asks, his voice a bit raw. He blinks his tears away, the heat of the crackling fire scorching over his wound.

“Yes,” Stiles answers, tearing medical tape strips off the roll.

“Who?” Derek looks over his shoulder, his brows furrowing. He knows the answer before Stiles opens his mouth.

“Do you really want to have this conversation right now?”

“Yes.”

The doctor takes in a deep breath, his gaze tentative, lips pressed in a tight line. “Isaac, a few before him. They’re all dead now.”

Derek’s jaw hardens as he looks forward, the velvet backside of the armchair his only view. “Isaac isn’t dead.” But he will be if Derek has anything to do about it.

Stiles places a precut plastic wrap over the new mark, taping it in place, and Derek sucks in a sharp breath as he presses his face into the cushion.

“Isaac doesn’t have my collar.”

With a few shuddering breaths, Derek clenches his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut. “Did anyone else have your collar?”

“No,” Stiles says, the smile evident in his voice. He reaches out and runs his fingers through the hair on the back of Derek’s head. “You are not allowed to kill him. Your punishment will not be fun if you do.”

“Why won’t you let me kill him?” Derek feels Stiles’ lips on his neck, just above the buckle of his collar.

“Drop it, Derek.”

“Are you still fucking him?”

Stiles huffs out an exasperated breath, his fingers gripping in Derek’s hair before pulling him back and twisting his head to meet his gaze. Derek strains, planted on his knees, Stiles mirroring him. “I spend all my time with you. Do you really not know the answer to that?”

That’s not a yes or a no, and Derek’s jaw hardens, his eyes flicking between Stiles’ with knit brows and an obstinate glare.

Stiles purses his lips, frustrated. “No, I’m not still fucking him.”

Derek eases up a bit, still straining in his position as Stiles holds his head back, neck bared. “Then why can’t I kill him?”

“I said drop it, Derek. You’re going to have to trust me. You’ll understand when it’s time.”

It seems Derek doesn’t have a choice. He obeys, begrudgingly, and Stiles tends to him, passing him painkillers and water, feeding him before they go to bed. He lies over Stiles’ chest, ass cheek burning, and deliberates to himself as he stares into darkness.

Perhaps Derek can’t kill him, but cutting the brand off was never explicitly forbidden.

He’s known where Isaac works, where he lives, his favorite TV dinner, and all about his track record thanks to Stiles’ detailed notes and his own investigative work. He learned of Stiles’ brand on his skin fourteen hours ago, and in that time, he’s already got Isaac tied up and naked over his kitchen counter.

Derek could have just re-branded him, but he couldn’t bear to let Stiles’ brand exist beneath it. Instead, he flays the skin off, and Isaac passes out after screaming so hard, only waking up once Derek presses a glowing metal spatula over the bleeding flesh to cauterize the wound. He could have just let Isaac die from blood loss, but Derek is a good boy—he obeys his master, for the most part.

Isaac’s eyes are watery and dazed, his mouth taped shut as he glares wearily up at his offender, gaze flicking to the medallion hanging off Derek’s beloved necklace. Derek grips his jaw, glaring right back. “You don’t belong to him anymore.”

Derek tosses the removed skin into the garbage disposal and flicks it on, and Isaac watches with tears in his eyes, from the pain of his missing flesh or the loss of his master, Derek doesn’t really care. He fucks him for good measure, just to assert dominance and remind Isaac how powerless he is. When he cuts the ropes, Isaac lies there in shock, Derek’s cum leaking out of him.

The doctor praises him when he gets home, as if he’d expected nothing less.

“Clever boy,” he says as he kisses Derek’s temple and places a plate of food in front of him.

“How’d you know? You’ve had clients all day.”

“I’ve had a tracker on your phone for years, baby.”

Derek feels silly for even asking. no pressure tags: @demonicfaerie @endwersed @eevylynn @hellameyers @keldjinfae @violetfairydust @gege-wondering-around

[bewitched-if]

does irl mc still live with their parents? :0

i hope you dont mind me answering two asks here because it's technically the same question but:

yes, mc still lived with their parents. the thing is, mc isn't brave enough to apply for a job bcs ya girl (gender-neutral wise, of course), has social anxiety.

mc's family wouldn't also risk mc getting help from ppl, like if mc got close to someone enough they could expose their so-called "family". they could not take chances

[itwoodbeprefect]

i was tagged by @star-pacifist (<3³), who is of course NOT the person who has been tagging me in other things but an entirely different tumblr user. don't worry about it.

rules: tagger gives a word, then for each letter of that word you share an excerpt from your WIPs that start with that letter.

the word i was handed is DOGS! 🐶🐶

D

the first lines of an angsty bad buddy character study thing in second person, called The 5 Stages of Greed:

1. Denial He’s back. No – you’re back. But he’s back too: back in the bedroom right across from yours, back in the disapproving lines on your mother’s face, back in your thoughts, back in your life, back in that hidden soft little spot in your heart where he fits so well.

O

portion of a fic in reference to the canonical "cok long" neon sign on peaceful property:

“Oh, I don’t-” Kan tries. Pangpang merrily barrels on. “Like, for example it could turn into-” Sadly, the world will never know how Pangpang would have finished that sentence, because Kan’s hand closes firmly over her mouth, and she makes a surprised noise instead. It leaves Home with serious questions. “But how would you do that? What kind of sign would say vagina when it breaks?” Even allowing for some creative English spelling and grammar, that’s a pretty tall order. There’s some mumbled suggestion from Pangpang, but what she’s saying only becomes intelligible for a second, when she wrangles Kan’s hand away before Kan slings her other arm around her and covers her mouth again. “Pussy!” reverberates through the room.

G

from a starsky and hutch fic that's set just before the tag scene of the kira episode, in which they're putting their heads together to write a script on how to confront her:

“Good,” he says, distractedly. “Yeah,” Starsky adds, vaguely. “Uh huh.” “Right.”  “Okay.” “Nice.” Hutch is all out of noncommittal affirmatives, so he tries something else. “Huggy isn’t here right now.” There’s something connected to that, something it could lead to. He finds it after a moment of distraction caused by how full of anticipation Starsky looks. “We could practice, just in case.” There’s something that’s not quite hope in the quick twitch of the corner of Starsky’s mouth – something a step beyond it. Trust, maybe. “Hey, that’s a thought. You never know what might come up.”

S

from a fic which, if it ever gets finished, will be a single scene of pure silly fluff, written for the best tv series i've ever seen about a zoo penguin who gets turned into a human high schooler (the fic is tentatively called "How to break the ice if you love a penguin"):

“Sun is looking at penguins.” “I’m not.” He really isn’t. He’s looking at things penguins might like, which is entirely different. There’s only one penguin he wants to look at, and he’s not on the computer.

as a bonus, the topically relevant (assuming the topic is DOGS) current first words of a the heart killers fic that doesn't have an opening line yet:

“You’re the knife, I’m the fork. One’s no good without the other.” There’s a lot he could do with just a knife, but he’s not telling Style that. A fork can deliver a mean jab, too. “Maybe one day we’ll adopt a little spoon,” Style continues, dreamy. It’s hard to tell if he’s joking or serious, but that’s par for the course with him. “What’s a spoon?” Fadel asks, and then he hears himself, and makes the conscious decision not to worry about the kinds of words Style has him putting together. “Do you want a puppy or a child?” “I think both would be cute. They could play with each other. I could teach him about cars.” “The dog?” “You’re a dog.”

i'll pass on WORD as my word, and i'll send some no pressure invites to play: @redgoldblue @wereflamingo-in-thai-dramaland @actingcamplibrarian @luredin @spaceradars @girlonastring, and anyone else who writes anything, ever. doesn't have to be fic! could be original fiction. could be your thesis. could be your shopping list. go wild.

[emloafs]

no pressure but i would read a thousand full length novels of ur hawkmetri fics. soo

stop anon you're making me blush

(you're def not ready for what i've been cooking)

[runekeepershymnal]

“Two questions,” Nanami said tersely as they made their way out of his building and onto the street.

“Shoot,” Gojo replied, trying to fight down the vague panic about his side of the binding vow.

“One,” Nanami said, tone unchanged, “what are you staring at? And two: Why am I leading us when you haven’t told me where we’re going?”

Gojo swallowed hard.

“Well,” he hedged. Nanami stopped in his tracks and turned on him, snatching the sunglasses from his face.

“Lie to me and I go right back upstairs and back to bed.”

Gojo felt his eyelids crinkle with tension despite his best efforts as a beam of sunlight from between two buildings lanced over Nanami’s head and right into Gojo’s sensitive eyes.

“One,” Gojo answered, raising his hand to try to hide from the light Nanami didn’t block, “I was staring at your ass. I don’t suppose you checked the back in the mirror when you were trying those pants on, but I’m a little afraid that someone’s going to see it and run their car off the road. Two: I was too distracted by your ass to think about what we’re supposed to be going to do. Three, not that you asked, but yes, the sun is very bright and my eyes fucking hurt, so please give me back my sunglasses.”

A scowl, then a deeper one, and then a very slight softening around the mouth as Nanami returned his glasses. Gojo put them back on silently.

“Better?” Nanami asked.

“Yes,” Gojo answered. Through the darker lenses, he could now appreciate the way the sun filtered through Nanami’s backlit hair. Nanami, in turn, took off his hoodie and tied it around his waist, censoring himself.

“Also better?” he asked again. Gojo shrugged.

“Depends on your definition of ‘better.’”

“Less distracting?”

Nanami sighed as Gojo remained silent.

“What?!” Gojo whined. “Your top half is also fantastic.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, but Gojo thought he might've been blushing.

“It is absurdly hot out,” Nanami finally said through gritted teeth, apparently oblivious to the other pedestrians straining their necks to look at the very tall, built blond man. Slow motion whiplash.

“So you're just going to have to cope."

[n0bluev]

I always render the face first (its not even fair...)

[karamell-sweetz]

fairy rui. *hands this to you and walks away ominously*

[inonibird]

Sahuldeem Spin-off Snippet #1

Hey, did you know that writing has been extremely hard so far this year? Or doing anything creative at all, for that matter? But did you also know that for a while I’ve been noodling around with—get this—FOUR different story ideas that are adjacent to my Sahuldeem series?? And that, in lieu of posting something new that I've written, I figured I could share a snippet from one of these unfinished spin-off stories because it's Valentine's Day and I WANT TO??? This nameless work can best be described as: "An alternate timeline where Ronderu travels back to the day she died…and doesn’t." It is pure alternate universe frippery; self-indulgent, for-the-ancestors'-sake-give-them-a-happy-life goodness. The description in the actual word doc is: "Ronderu reality warping fix-it shit". This isn't how it starts, but it's quite near the beginning. Enjoy~

— — —

Ronderu landed in something cold, felt her feet slip and stumble, and plunged face-first into saltwater.

Spluttering and thrashing, she found she had not fallen far, nor could she have—she’d sprawled in the churning, knee-deep surf of the Jenuwaa, and though the waves rocked her about in a seemingly conscious effort to force her prone, her palms and knees found sand and gravel and managed to ground her. She still fought to haul her head and sopping hair above the surface, struggling to take in the sight of the beach that stretched before her.

The sea. The surf. The beach.

It all began to rush back with nauseating clarity, churning her stomach and souring her throat with bile. A vise closed over her chest and squeezed, a painful premonition…or rather, she recognized, a horrific, impossible memory. For a moment she couldn’t breathe.

But then the pressure around her chest shifted in quality. They were arms, wrapping around her torso and pulling her up out of the frothing surf, up into a supportive grasp and the slight yield of organic leathers.

“Íb-ku huul!” a voice shouted in her ear. “First you yell at me about currents, then you fall in yourself?”

Dizzy, limp-limbed, she twisted her neck and turned to stare up at him.

Sheelal.

Whole again. Masked and magnificent in his clan cloak. The spark of youth and hope in his golden eyes. Nothing broken in his mind, body or soul. This was Sheelal as she had loved him. 

This was Sheelal as she had left him.

She opened her mouth to speak but spat brine, instead. It occurred to her that her body wasn’t quite working properly—as if her spirit was not yet in sync with her flesh, her arms too heavy and numb, legs too unsteady and weak, jaw loose, vision tunneling, spine shivering as she struggled to be.

She didn't remember living ever having been so painful.

It must have been a concerning sight to witness, because Sheelal’s eyes widened behind his kakmusme and his arms tightened. “Ronderu?” he demanded, and his voice—no longer grating and distorted by technology, no longer steeped in decades of exhausting hatred—pitched up in panic. “What’s wrong? Hey! Are you okay?!”

Despite everything, Ronderu knew she couldn’t delay their forces’ assault on the beach without jeopardizing all she had come to correct. Internalizing her screams of frustration, she fought her own traitorous body until her hands balled into fists and her lips wrapped themselves around her teeth in the proper configuration. “M’fine,” she managed to slur. “Jus—jus’slip. Slipped. Beach. Get me to the beach.”

Dutiful to a fault, he shifted his grip and scooped her up into his arms, resolved to carry her to the shore. She almost let loose a burst of inappropriate laughter when he staggered under her weight; this was not the mumuu-built man he had grown into, but the lean, still rather scrawny Sheelal who had almost died from a ravaging bout of wet lung barely two years earlier. She loved every straining, determined inch of him, ear pressed to his hammering heart as he clutched her to his chest and forged through the knee-high waves, fighting against the drag of his water-logged cloak.

“Gods, I love you,” she found herself mumbling as his knees wobbled and dropped both of them to the damp sand. She felt his hands fumbling with and removing her kakmusme before his warmth briefly left her side as he climbed to his feet. He was shouting orders—delegating, so he could focus on what was important. Me, she realized when his hands returned, cradling her cheeks and sweeping through her wild hair, gentle but firm ministrations as he tried to revive her from he he surely presumed to be a dizzy spell. I’m more important to him than this war.

“—don’t know what’s wrong, if you’re sick or if something stung you, but I need you to try and get up. If you can’t fight we can’t have you here on the beach—maybe one of the others can try to land and pick you up, but I-I don’t think I can carry you somewhere safe, I don’t even know where you could be safe, we’re too close to the colony—”

He’s talking too fast, she thought a second before a wheeze interrupted his racing words and dredged up a few breathless coughs. Feeling a little more in control of herself, she pressed her palms into the sand and heaved her body upright with a grunt of effort. “I…I’m fine,” she shakily assured him. She gripped his shoulder with one hand, seeking balance as much as confirming his solid presence. “Sorry to scare you. I’m fine, I can fight. Deep breaths, Sheelal.”

He obeyed, relief oozing from his sagging shoulders. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked anxiously. “You still look pale.”

Ronderu allowed impulse to guide her, and she wanted nothing more than to embrace him. So, pushing back his kakmusme to expose his worried face—Ancestors above, he looked so young—she leaned her forehead into his and drew in a deep, almost delirious lungful of his kuu-lir.

It was him. It was really him.

She’d clawed her way through space and time to see him again, to bring him back to his best self, the self he deserved to be above all else, and the sheer rapture of feeling him threatened to overwhelm her with less-pleasant sensations.

“Ya igni, after all the grief you’ve given me, don’t you dare throw up in my face.”

She finally laughed, too giddy. “I-I won’t. Promise.”

[fallenwhumpee]

Worth it.

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Blood, magic whump, hypothermia, stranger caretaker, hallucination(?)

Leader always believed that their worth was defined by the people willing to help them when they were in their lowest. They always believed having people back them up was the real tresure.

Judging themselves by their own thoughts, Leader was worthless.

Trembling in the water, Leader tried to stay still. They were floating on their back, their blood oozing around and their thoughts as blurry as their vision. They had no strength to get themselves to the shore. Hell, they had no idea where the shore was.

Leader should have been panicking by now. But there was no point in trashing. Waste of their precious time and strength. They were probably not going to make it, and they could only hope the blood loss would rock them to sleep before hypothermia could.

When they eliminated panic, only an odd feeling left. The magic showed them another death. A lot more merciful one. A good ending, at least, even if getting there was torture.

Leader didn't think magic could be mistaken, or the future could be changed. They didn't think they would be dropped off in the middle of water just because of fear, after being ambushed by their own. If they had only listened Leader... that future could happen.

But maybe it wasn't the magic that showed Leader those. Maybe it was just what they wanted to see, and the truth just came to spit on their face. There was no way that they could explain how they didn't break any rules yet cast such powerful spell after fighting all day.

Leader felt their will crumbe as if it was frozen with the cold and someone was hammering it. Not for the first time, they felt the line between dark magic and the forbidden magic blur into each other. Sure, Leader was willing to sacrifice their emotions or give up some of their strength, but they weren't desperate enough to sacrifice something else.

Why not just give in? They could save themselves.

Leader trembled again, pushing the poisonous thought away. They didn't want to become a mindless puppet, and they were stronger than the temptation.

But did it really matter? When they were slowly fading away?

Leader breathed, their lungs screaking for some air. Those were dangerous thoughts, and they didn't belong to Leader.

A cough shook their body. They had to turn to expell some of the water from their lungs. Their head was barely above the water as they coughed their lungs out, their control over their body slipping.

Leader forced themselves to turn on their back again, not able to keep themselves afloat. They ignored how much water they swallowed in the progress and how it made their stomsch turn. They were too drained to care about it.

Leader’s vision blurred, the sky above merging with the depths below. The cold seeped deeper into their bones, numbing their limbs until they could barely tell where the water ended and their body began. They tried to take another breath, but their chest tightened, and a sharp pain shot through their ribs. The taste of salt and iron filled their mouth, darkness taking over their other senses momentarily.

A wave rolled over them, pulling them underwater for a brief, terrifying moment. When they resurfaced, Leader’s body barely responded to their will. Their wet clothes were sticking on them, the howling wind freezing their skin through the thick and wet layers.

They were so, so tired.

Deprived of their magic and strength, they didn't want anything else than closing their eyes. They doubted they would wake up, but at least they weren't in pain. Breathing slowly, they let their thoughts focused on only one thing.

Cold.

All they could feel eas cold. Reasonably, Leader thought. But it didn’t feel right. They had passed the point they were supposed to feel cold. They tried to move, but they didn't feel the swaying feeling of the waves. They were... still. Their back ached on the solid ground, their heavy body slumped on the floor.

Barely able to crack their eyes, Leader met with darkness. Soon, it became a thick, suffocating sight, as if it was wrapped against their throat and pressing their chest. Were they sinking? Was all of this just a last cry of help from their body to wake up their mind?

"You suffered too much," a voice whispered, gentle and soft. Leader struggled as they tried to remember if they had ever heard that voice before, but their mind failed to progress.

Slowly, it got easier to think. They could feel warmth embracing them, giving them a break from the constant shivering.

"You know you don't have to," the warmth burned their cheeks, the voice feeling closer to their ear. "You have the strength to make it stop."

Leader wanted to argue, but their body wouldn’t move, their voice trapped in their throat. The heat held them captive, and all they could do was listen as they felt their skin burn.

"You tried so hard," the voice murmured. "To be strong, to lead, to protect. Only to die alone, bleeding and broken. The people you cared never cared about you. But I won't let this injustice go on any longer."

Leader clenched their fists, nails digging into their palms as they struggled against the crushing weight on their chest. "No," they managed to whisper, the word barely audible. There was nothing to do within their strength to save themselves.

Leader’s heart pounded in their chest as they tried to move again. "No," they muttered again. They tried to open their eyes. Their body seized with pain as they found themselves on a softer ground, the world spinning around them. They were still cold and hot at the same time, still weak, but they were alive. Every part of them hurt, from the deep wound at their side to the biting cold that clung to their skin. The remnants of the dream (hallucination? nightmare? they weren't sure) clung to them, and for a moment, they almost wished they had given in—at least then, they wouldn’t be in this agony.

It took several long moments before Leader realized they weren’t alone. Someone must have pulled them from the water and wrapped them in a blanket. Not that they weren't grateful, but it did very little to chase away the cold.

Blinking through their blurry vision, Leader noticed a figure kneeling beside them.

Leader’s heart pounded in their chest. They flinched away from the person, their body too weak to do much more than that.

The figure said something softly, holding up their hands to show they meant no harm. Leader didn't understand one word from the stranger, and even though the gesture was clear, Leader wasn't buying it.

Leader tried to push themselves up to get away or at least seem intimidating, but their limbs were uncooperative, trembling violently with the effort. They barely managed to prop themselves up on one elbow before collapsing back, their breath coming in ragged gasps as a coughing fit took over.

The figure panicked, helping Leader back down with more words Leader couldn’t understand.

Leader’s vision swam as they stared up at the stranger, every instinct telling them not to trust, not to let their guard down. But they were too weak to fight, too drained to argue or make a point. They gritted their teed with frustration as they realized just how helpless they were.

The stranger mumbled, their voice soothing, almost hypnotic in its calmness. A magic circle with light colors glowed over them, but Leader couldn't summon the strength to break through it.

Leader’s eyes fluttered closed despite their efforts to stay awake, exhaustion - or the spell, they couldn’t tell - winning over. The last thing they felt before sleep claimed them was the gentle touch of the stranger’s hand on their forehead, cool and reassuring over their warm skin, even if it failed to ease the alarms taking over their fading consciousness.

Leader drifted in and out for a frustratingly long time, their mind a haze of pain and fevered dreams. The warmth that surrounded them was a far cry from the icy grip of the lake, but it was no less disorienting. Every breath was a struggle, their chest tight and burning, each inhale rattling painfully in their lungs.

But alongside that pain was something else—something softer, warmer. A hand, perhaps, carefully dabbing at their forehead with a damp cloth, or the feeling of a thick, scratchy blanket tucked securely around them.

When they finally managed to crack their eyes open, Leader found themselves in a small, dimly lit room. A fire crackled softly somewhere nearby, filling the air with warmth and the faint smell of burning wood. For a moment, Leader wondered if their mind finally pitied them and gave a calm dream, but the pain in their chest and the wet, rasping cough wasn't something they could make up.

The stranger was sitting on a stool beside the bed, busy with something Leader couldn’t see. When they noticed Leader’s eyes on them, they turned, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Leader tried to sit up, but their body refused to cooperate, a wave of dizziness forcing them to stay down. The stranger made a soft sound—something between a shushing noise and a hum—before gently pressing Leader back against the pillow.

The stranger patted the bed with a frown, pressing their hand to Leader's forehead.

Leader whined, frustration bubbling up inside them. They needed to know where they were, who this person was, and most importantly, why they had saved them. But when they tried to speak, their throat burned, and all that came out was a hoarse, unintelligible croak. They couldn't even raise their hand to push the stranger away.

The stranger sat next to them. They gestured to themselves, placing a hand on their chest. “Caretaker,” they said slowly, enunciating the word as if trying to make it easier for Leader to grasp.

“Caretaker…” Leader murmured, the name foreign on their tongue. They tried to repeat the gesture, but their hand barely lifted from the bed before falling back, too weak to complete the motion. Caretaker smiled again, this time with a hint of sadness, and placed their hand over Leader’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.

For a while, there was silence. Leader’s eyes drifted shut again, but they fought to keep them open, determined not to slip back into the void. Caretaker seemed to notice and began speaking softly, their voice low and melodic, though Leader couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter; the sound was comforting, a lifeline in Leader’s confusion and pain.

Leader tried to get a hold of themselves, and they did, even though they noticed Caretaker was gone by the time they regained awareness. Leader felt the loneliness crush them again, the emotions they supressed for the sake of staying calm surfacing. But they couldn't have that. They weren't ready to deal with any of those. So, they did the only thing they knew with those. Used them to cast a spell.

They knew how pathetic it sounded, but they were desperate to save their team, and it left them absolutely drained. Now they were feeling even worse. They had to relieve some of the pain to keep their sanity.

Leader weakly moved their hand to their chest, curling their fingers. They murmured the spell and let the dark circles surround their body like a blanket, their pain fading to the depts of their mind temporarily just like their feelings.

Leader flinched when they heard a gasp, the spell breaking with their concentration. Usually, such things wouldn't affect them, but they were too weak to keep the spell under check without focusing on it.

Leader turned their head to where the sound came, only to see Caretaker frozen in their place. Then suddenly, Caretaker began checking their plants with panic.

"Hey," Leader rasped. They tried again when Caretaker ignored them, but a coughing fit took over. Caretaker hesitantly came over, unsure if they want to help.

Leader pointed the plant in the corner, and weakly made a gesture like pulling it before shaking their head, hoping it meant no for Caretaker too. Then they pointed themselves and made a pulling motion towards up, magical energy forming for a moment before disappearing as Leader felt their strength fail.

Caretaker checked that plant. Leader knew what the other person thought, but they also believed they proved it wrong. Leader wasn't pulling life force from other things, which was the core of forbidden spells. There was nothing to be afraid of as long as Leader had their self-control.

Caretaker came back after making sure the plant was untouched. They took a paper and a pen, scribbling something. Leader recognised the basic healing spell, of course. The source came from the caster's magical energy, which Leader lacked. It was the reason of their lean towards dark magic— they used their emotions to make up their shortcomings.

Caretaker put the pen to Leader's hand. Leader wrote their own slowly, their hand trembling. Only a few symbols were different, but it must have satisfied Caretaker because Leader could see the relief in the other's eyes.

Leader closed their eyes as Caretaker looked at the spell more carefully. They were lucky that the magic came from the same runes. It proved Leader innocent.

With an excited smile, Caretaker tore the paper from Leader's hand— it didn't require much strength. They scribbled some spells and circled some symbols.

Safe, sleep, heal.

Caretaker looked at them proudly. Leader would laugh at the solution to their lack of communication if they had the energy. But they also knew if they laughed, they would start crying.

Did Leader deserve this? From a stranger? Perhaps not. But fate - and the stranger - decided they were worth it.