#i never thought i would see the day wicked gets such a wonderful adaptation. only in my wildest dreams

[blee-bleep]

just watched wicked. this is what i felt the whole time

[tetsurobunni]

The Final Battle

☞ harry potter x jjk crossover au // 3.9k words

☽ the battle of hogwarts: jjk style, remnants of satosugu friendship, pain, hurt, more pain…sigh… pure angst with a magical twist for flavor

☽ warnings : major character death

☽ pairing : satoru gojo x suguru getou

☞ my inner harry potter geek really came out full force with this one…so did my sad writer juices i apologize beforehand :)

“satoru….hey, professor nanami cast the spell to defend the school. it won’t be long…”

“i know. i’ll join you when it’s time.”

the illuminating sheen of the dome rose high over the towers of hogwarts. gojo could hear the hum radiating from it, the power from the spell glowing against the overcast sky.

this is it.

should he count his blessings? pray? to what deity, or god, or higher being should he speak to before his world comes crushing down?

gojo’s wand feels heavy in the palm of his hand, thumb gently grazing over the smooth spruce. he imagines the dragon heartstring at its core, the beast he knew lived inside.

he had seen it himself, his peers had too. how even before traveling to hogwarts in his first year just how powerful a wizard he was-and would grow up to be.

if only he knew where he would be in his seventh year. standing in front of the large oak doors leading to the great hall, his fellow students young and old rushing into place all around him, wiping their brows and preparing for a war.

a war that would cost gojo everything.

he knew who he would see on the other side of the battle. the image of his face made gojo’s stomach churn and his chest ache.

his best friend.

his only friend.

he felt a hand rest atop his left shoulder, the scuffed toes of professor nanami’s boots coming into view beside him. he met his professor’s eyes, receiving a small nod of acknowledgment. gojo had grown quite close to his professor throughout his years at hogwarts. he was one of the only people that had garnered gojo’s appreciation and trust.

nanami knew. he had watched all of them grow up, after all. he was the one who informed gojo of the news that sent him spiraling.

that was two years ago.

now, as voldemort rallied his followers and dark creatures of the forest, gojo knew he would face him again.

“the spell is weakening.”

“it was only a matter of time.”

“are you prepared?”

“no.”

“neither am i. but we must.”

with a pat on his shoulder the professor left his side, sheathing the oak wand in his sleeve.

“strength. endurance. tolerance. balance. practicality. that is what my wand stands for. each of you have your own unique wand that chose you; yes, the core of your wand does hold great power and meaning, but so does the wood that keeps it intact. it is a vessel. and it is strong.”

gojo remembers listening to his professor and thinking he was absurd. but his friend had watched on with glimmering eyes, thirsty for new knowledge, and he had decided that maybe the idea wasn’t all that abhorring.

“hawthorn. somewhat arrogant, reflection, intelligence, vigor, new beginnings or endings. feels most at home with a wizard of natural talent. wicked, eh satoru? what about yours?”

“ah, mines spruce. quick-witted, adaptable, flamboyant, strength, resistance, is known for its unusually fast reactions and somewhat stubborn nature in the hands of a nervous or untrained wizard or witch. good thing i’m not that, eh?”

“your wand is supposed to be stubborn? you’ve had no problems!”

“well of course i haven’t! i don’t remember a moment in my life where i’ve ever been nervous. no wonder…”

the conversation had drifted away in a few minutes, the flickering of the lantern lulling gojo to sleep. when he came to, the weight of a second robe rested on his shoulders. he had ignored the blush that rose on his cheeks and wiped drool from the corner of his mouth

gojo had looked down at the book that ended up as his makeshift pillow and found himself mindlessly reading more information. gojo had failed to mention the extra research he had done; it was innocent, just an extra flip of a page. what he read he never told.

‘although hawthorn is a very powerful wood, it is adept to curses. many of those who practise dark magic have been affiliated with wands made from hawthorn. they are not to be taken lightly in the wrong hands.’

he didn’t regret it then, but after he had gotten the news from nanami about what his friend did, the guilt ate him alive.

now as he looks out the castle doors to the cracks spindling in luminescence revealing the murky darkness of the stormy sky, gojo realizes that this might be his last day at hogwarts.

the realization is fleeting. he can’t afford to be thinking that way. not now. he feels the eyes of his classmates pouring into his being. they’re looking to him to save them.

you should just try to save yourselves.

itadori comes to stand to his right, fushiguro to his left. maki and nobara flank behind him.

this is is family. they all know their tie to one another. they’ve been training together for almost a year on their combat skills. itadori had been experiencing some difficulties, but nonetheless proved to be the closest match to gojo himself.

“holly. with a phoenix feather core. why?”

“just curious. look up what your wood means sometime, will ya?”

“yea…sure. not sure what that has to do with anything…”

gojo and professor nanami both had thought his wand would be made of dogwood- it matched itadori’s personality-the holly was a surprise. paired along with a phoenix feather core was practically unheard of.

but as the dark magic started to rise, itadori started to blossom. he was an amazing wizard.

gojo had his own hypotheses, but as always kept them to himself. no need to cause any further turmoil in his life.

“gojo?”

“you can call me satoru, y’know.”

“sure…gojo?”

“…yes itadori”

“i’m scared.”

gojo felt his heart clench. the boy beside him might be powerful, but still just that- a boy. he didn’t deserve this. none of them did.

“you can always back away. you know that, right?”

he watched as itadori looked across the bridge towards the darkness, then to his friends and classmates surrounding them.

“gojo?”

“hm?”

“are you scared?”

“no.” yes.

despite what lay ahead of them, itadori cracked a smile. “same as ever, eh?”

gojo forced the corners of his lips into a smirk. “you know it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

as soon as the remaining bits of professor nanami’s spell wore off, the fighting commenced. the huge stone knights began at the putrid giants that shook the ground as they walked, but, as expected, they didn’t hold for long.

there were hundreds of death eaters that immediately swarmed the entrance to the castle. gojo and the others had already gotten separated. he found himself looking for glimpses of them as he fought, power rushing through his veins as flashes of light shot through his vision.

one death eater after another fell to his wand. a goblin here. an enormous arachnid there. a shield spell shot itself from his wand to catch a pillar that threatened to fall on a young girl. gojo didn’t spare a second to marvel at how his wand seemed to act on its own.

itadori was nowhere to be found. nobara was matched against a witch he swore he had seen on the cover of a newspaper. she had been locked up in Azkaban for upwards of ten years.

a patronus he knew belonged to megumi weaved itself through the dust and dirt of the fight, closely followed by its darker counterpart. he made the mistake of watching the white wolf too closely in its decent over one of the towers and felt the breath get knocked from his chest as he flew backwards into a wall.

he coughed weakly into his hand, rubbing the blood that surfaced there onto his pants. the wall he flew into crumbled around him. he wasn’t sure who had landed a blow on him, but whoever it was had to be powerful.

only three people had ever managed to conquer such a thing, and two of them were currently fighting for hogwarts.

gojo petrified a lone death eater that had tried to sneak up on his left. he quickly ran over to the frozen body to lift the mask, though he knew it wasn’t who he was searching for.

“gojo, on the bridge!”

the yell had come from megumi, whom he saw battling three death eaters at once. after quickly disarming one them, gojo turned towards the bridge.

a flash of pink hair caught his attention. he watched as itadori seemingly chased after someone and raised his wand to cast his patronus to follow him. he stopped in his tracks when he saw a figure across the ravine.

it was him.

gojo’s hands shook with a ferocity no one had seen before. his wand illuminated the battlefield so bright many had to shield their eyes. the fighting ceased for only a moment as everyone turned to look at the being that stood in place of gojo satoru.

the short silence was broken when a death eater sent a curse flying towards nobara. a flick of gojo’s wrist was all it took for the death eater to fall in a heap on the ground, dead.

gojo’s entire being felt laced with ice. he knew he would see him. he knew. so why…

why did it hurt so badly?

screams and cries fell on deaf ears as gojo made his way across the crumbling bridge towards the forest. his hands trembled at his sides, legs weak as they carried the weight of this moment.

the figure had seen him and immediately dissipated into thick black smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~~

the forbidden forest had never scared gojo. he actually found comfort in the deep hollows and twisted roots that overcame the dense woods. he spent a lot of time here throughout the years even though students weren’t allowed.

his feet led him along the familiar pathway he had taken numerous times before. a lone centaur raced towards the castle, not sparing gojo a second glance. he had long since become acquaintances with the creatures of the forest.

“gojo!”

“itadori? what in the- what are you doing out here? you’re going to get yourself killed!”

“i saw voldemort go into the forest so i-“

“well, what a sight.”

gojo’s eyes widened as he registered the voice that came from behind him. itadori looked over his shoulder in confusion; when he saw who the voice belonged to, his face morphed into a look of pure rage.

“itadori. this is my battle.”

“but-“

“you need to leave.”

“no, no i’m not just going to leave you here-“

“yuuji? wow, it’s been a while… you’ve grown.”

gojo turned to face the voice, visibly wincing as his eyes landed on his old best friend.

“satoru”

“suguru.”

getou had gotten taller since he last saw him. a scar ran across the length of his forehead and his hair had grown longer.

i always said his hair would look good long.

“i can feel the power radiating from you, satoru…it’s delicious. my lord will be quite pleased to meet you”

“your ‘lord’ can kiss my ass.”

getou chuckled, “no need to be vulgar”

gojo’s hand clenched around his wand. one spell and this could be over, but it would be irreversible. even though gojo knew getou wasn’t the same person he was a year ago, he still trembled at the thought of his old friend not being alive.

“gojo-“

“no, let him stay awhile satoru! it’ll be so much more fun”

itadori sneered at getou before pointing his wand towards him. gojo could see the slight shaking of his hand. he was terrified.

getou laughed, his arms opening wide as if welcoming the two into his home.

“so much more bite than when i last saw you, hm? the dark lord spoke highly of you…”

“stupefy!”

gojo’s head whipped around in a flash just in time to see itadori’s body fall to the forest floor. a man with long gray hair skipped towards them, giggling maniacally.

“ah mahito, just in time!” the man bowed in getou’s direction, inching closer to itadori’s paralyzed body. “master informed me that yuuji itadori had followed him here and sent me to fetch him…who is this handsome fellow, hm?”

gojo stood tall, senses on high alert. he was almost okay dealing with getou alone- but now there was an unknown wizard present. if voldemort sent him to do his biddings, then he must be strong…

“this is my old friend from hogwarts…satoru, meet mahito.”

“i’d rather not.”

mahito licked his lips in response to gojo’s remark, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine. every aspect of this man screamed lunatic…and he was here for itadori.

a grunt escaped itadori from his position on the ground. gojo could see him trying to regulate his breathing, but it was obvious the younger boy was panicking.

“oh satoru, don’t be crass. the dark lord has been yearning to meet the young boy for a long while.”

“a long while? what the hell are you talking about?”

getou chuckled, brandishing his wand from the dark cloak that hung around his shoulders. gojo’s hand instinctively tightened around his wand as he watched his old friend walk towards itadori.

mahito tapped his fingers rhythmically against the handle of his own wand, seemingly awaiting orders. getou kneeled down closer to itadori’s face.

“yes, a long while.”

gojo still didn’t understand what that meant. itadori hadn’t met getou when he was at hogwarts, so how did his presence suddenly become voldemort’s pentacle of fascination?

“take him.”

“WAI-“

before gojo could even move to cast a spell, itadori’s scream was cut off as mahito apparated them both away.

“he’s just a boy!”

“maybe so…but a very powerful boy indeed.”

“his power doesn’t justify voldemort’s infatuation with him! i don’t understand why his involvement is needed-“

“they are tethered, satoru. remember?”

gojo’s body turned ice cold.

“…no, you…you…it was just-“

“just a suspicion, yes, that is what you told me, wasn’t it?”

no. no. it couldn’t be.

“the dark lord was very delighted with the information, so, i have you to thank, satoru. whatever may happen to the boy will be because of you.”

gojo’s mind went stark. he didn’t think, just moved with no purpose; he just let his rage pull his limbs into action like a puppet.

unspoken spells flew from both wands, the two wizards trapped in their last battle. the two were evenly matched. this didn’t surprise him.

after all, getou was one of the three people who had been able to land a jinx on him.

it was nonstop. gojo couldn’t stop himself if he tried. he was seething with anger not just towards getou, but towards himself. there was such a sinking feeling in the air, like they were dancing on cracking ice.

for an instant the two locked eyes. gojo felt his footing slightly tip, and that was all it took for getou to find an opening and send him flying backwards through the air. he landed hard on his back, wincing as a jolt of pain went through his head.

he knew he should get up. continue the fight. run and find itadori.

but he didn’t.

“you didn’t kill me.”

he didn’t see getou’s reaction to his comment. a patch of night sky that had broken through the clouds caught his attention.

for a moment he wished getou had killed him.

“get up.”

“i don’t want to.”

“satoru, get up and fight me.”

getou snarled and grabbed gojo by the collar of his jacket, pulling him up to meet his face.

“don’t you hate me?”

“…no.”

“why not! you…you should despise me! i betrayed everyone-including you!”

“i don’t.”

and it was the truth. gojo had spent hours in his dormitory stuffing his leaking eyes into his pillow, trying to be revolted by his best friend. he still had scars on his hands from punching the stone walls of the dungeons, trying to force his own physical pain into hatred.

it never worked.

“…i still don’t understand why you did it.”

that seemed to catch getou off guard. he slackened the grip he had on gojo’s collar, backing away with his head hung low.

“…he found my father.”

gojo’s eyes widened at the statement.

“i…i thought your father was-“

“dead? me too…” he paused for a moment, scoffing before continuing, “but he wasn’t. all that time we spent searching for letters, newspaper articles, headlines on the news- hell even muggle police reports- was for nothing.”

“so you went with him.”

“what other choice did i have, satoru?”

the atmosphere that had engulfed the two snapped.

what did he mean? ‘what other choice did he have’? gojo felt the anger from before start to trickle back into his veins.

“you could have stayed.”

getou met his eyes. they stood in unison, gaze never faltering.

“i had no reason to stay.”

“that’s bullshit and you know it, suguru.”

“what reason then? i was a horrid student, i didn’t care about grades, our so-called friends loathed me satoru! i had no family, no home to call my own i-“

“you had me, suguru!”

getou went silent. the only noises that could be heard were their heavy breaths and muffled yells from the castle. the wind sent a chill straight to gojo’s bones and he shivered, suddenly realizing there were tears trailing down his cheeks.

“i betrayed you satoru. without a second thought.”

“i don’t believe you.”

“i pushed you to investigate itadori’s powers. voldemort told me he would reveal my father’s whereabouts if i gave him information on the boy,”

“but-“

“i broke your trust! i didn’t even try to warn you of what i was planning, or that my father was alive-“

“suguru-“

“don’t you see!”

gojo stared at the look of pure exasperation and pain on getou’s face. he had a feeling it mirrored his own.

he watched as getou pulled the sleeve of his cloak above his forearm, placing the mark of the death eaters etched into his skin on display.

“this is what i am now, satoru.”

“and i’m just supposed to…what? hate you? was i supposed to hate you then? because i didn’t, and don’t.”

“that’s- that’s exactly what you should do! i would hate me-“

“well guess what suguru!” gojo was yelling by now, the words clawing their way from within his chest, “you don’t get to decide how your decisions make others feel!”

he ignored the fact he was moving steadily towards getou as he yelled. when he got close enough, gojo realized they both were shedding tears.

“i don’t understand why you care so much about me-“ gojo let out an unhumourous laugh, “what’s that supposed to mean, huh? you think i stayed up all those hours searching for your father out of what- obligation? pity?”

getou searched for an answer, stammering over the thoughts running through his head.

“i don’t understand why-“

“because i loved you!”

no more skirting around thin fractures, or waiting with baited breath to discover to truth. it was done.

and it broke him.

gojo had done well hiding his pain the past two years. the signature smirk was automatic-it appeared on his face without effort. conversation passed through his mouth without falter. he had trained himself to be the perfect student.

but this…this he couldn’t pretend to recover from.

“you…”

“it doesn’t matter now. what’s done is done.”

“were you ever going to tell me?”

“…i don’t know.”

when did his wand become so heavy? was his chest supposed to hurt this bad?

“oh god…satoru…”

he didn’t want to feel this way anymore. the sorrow was eating him alive, peeling back layers and layers of his soul.

he repressed the urge to comfort getou as he watched his past love fall to his knees.

“i’m so sorry, satoru.”

“sorry can’t fix everything, suguru,”

if only you had said it then…

“not now. not ever.”

please make this pain stop.

“…i know.”

“so let’s finish this.”

every fiber of his being was screaming at him to stop. a tiny voice yelled ‘you can help him!’. he forced the thoughts from his mind, they would only get in the way.

he had made his decision.

getou didn’t falter from his position on the ground. his wand stayed by his side. the only movement he made was to lift his head towards the night sky as gojo himself had done before.

i love you, suguru. forgive me.

“avadakdavra!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the walk back to the castle was torture. the weight of getou’s body was heavy in his arms. it was worse than he ever could have imagined.

the silence that had encompassed him the forest was shattered the moment he stepped foot onto school grounds. the battle was over, it seemed.

the carnage left behind was gut-wrenching.

gojo ignored the gazes of his peers as he wandered into the great hall. he knew this was where they had planned to house all of the wounded, and despite the hollow feeling in his gut, he needed to find his family.

“gojo!”

he turned to see who had called his name and felt relieved when he saw it was itadori. the relief was short-lived, however, when he noticed the sobs wracking the young boys’ body.

gojo retrieved a lone bedsheet and carefully placed getou’s body down, taking one last look at his past love’s face before he covered it. he left getou there and made his way over to where itadori was crouched over a figure lying on the floor. megumi and maki were both there too.

where was nobara?

“it happened right before you went after itadori…”

gojo’s gut wrenched when he saw who the figure was.

“i assume you saw getou…you didn’t even realize what had happened…” the memory of the battle flashed before his eyes.

“i killed that death eater. the woman. i- i could have sworn…no i know i killed her-“

“it was too late.”

“…gojo?”

he kneeled down and took one of nobara’s bloody hands in his own.

“yes, it’s me, i’m here now nobara.”

“you found getou…didn’t you?”

“…yes. i did.”

this wasn’t supposed to happen. gojo swore he had done everything to prepare them… butit wasn’t enough.

nobara wheezed as a chuckle tried to escape her body, the action causing her to cough uncontrollably as air tried to seep into her lungs.

“i can’t believe…out of all of us…that i’m the one dying…could have sworn it…would have been yuuji…ha!” itadori offered a small laugh, more tears escaping his eyes.

“wow, even on your deathbed you’re still fighting with me…”

gojo met the eyes of maki, who he could tell was choosing not to say anything. megumi refused to look at nobara’s face. instead he stared at the floor, silently crying, not bothering to wipe the tears away.

they’re so young.

gojo felt a sob lurch in his throat but he refused to let it free. he had to be strong. or, at least, act strong. it wasn’t time for his facade to break.

for their sake.

“you ok, nobara?”

“yea…i’m ok.”

gojo watched as she took her final breath.

“gojo…gojo she’s… she’s dead, gojo…”

he pulled itadori’s smaller body into his own, holding him there as the boy sobbed openly. megumi took ahold of maki’s hand, the latter turning her head into the boys’ shoulder as she let her own cries break free.

i’m sorry… i’m so sorry…

[acciofanfics]

Payback (Cedric Diggory x Reader)

Summary: Marcus Flint messes up (Y/N)’s potion to mess with her. Unfortunately for him she has quite the idea for payback. 

Paring: Cedric Diggory x Slytherin Reader

Warnings: Language maybe? Plotting? I think this one is pretty safe.

Word Count: 1248

A/N: So this was just a random idea I had... Let’s pretend that none of our hearts were broken in Goblet of Fire and they just had regular Quidditch for the sake of this imagine. Requests are still open! - S

____________________________________

Her blood boiled, and anyone watching the girl could’ve easily come to the conclusion that her face was hotter than the potion in front of her bubbling out of her cauldron. (Y/N)’s teeth were gritted and she mostly tuned out Professor Snape who was scolding her on such a stupid mistake. A stupid mistake in deed, one she definitely did not make.

Perhaps the old saying that people can feel when they’re being watched was a lie, because Marcus Flint didn’t seem bothered by the holes she was boring into the back of his head while she cleaned up ‘her’ mess. No, (Y/N) had seen Marcus dump a vial of something in her cauldron while she was gathering some lion fish spines. She had to make the assumption it was because she’d turn his offer to Hogsmeade down.

A wicked grin spread on her face as a plan formed in her head. Surely she could tell the truth, she was one of Snape’s favorite students and top of his class, but where was the fun in that. No, she would get Marcus back. It might not be that day or the next, but she had something in mind and it would take little to no effort to execute.

It’d taken only about a day and half for her to gather all of the information and material she needed. It was on to phase two, which would be the trickier part. (Y/N) waited patiently, her nose half stuck in a book to keep suspicion down. But when her target came into view she wasted no time throwing the book down, “Diggory! May I have a word?”

Cedric stopped in his tracks... there was slight concern on his once carefree face. In his defense, Slytherins rarely talked to people outside their own house without ill words being exchanged. He was taught however to be polite, and (Y/N) was never really a name he heard terrible things about so it seemed only logical to indulge her request, “Y-yes?”

“I was just wondering if you might like some insider information on an upcoming Quidditch game?" (Y/N) smiled sweetly at him.

Cedric knew exactly what she was talking about. In about 3 days Hufflepuffs and Slytherins were due to play against each other. Their strategy would be a nice advantage... especially since their strategy was usually to cheat. Was this considered cheating? How did he know this wasn’t a trap anyways, “Why?”

“Flint made me look like an idiot in class the other day and I truthfully could not care less about his stupid Quidditch team, so why not get a little pay back?” (Y/N) could see the wheels in his head turning, probably trying to read some blasted moral compass or whatever, “I’m not telling you to jinx the brooms or anything. Just trying to make sure you’re capable of adapting to their playing style. It’ll still be completely up to your team’s skill on whether or whether not you can even make this information useful.”

Well, she had a point. “I suppose if you wanted to tell me something, it would be rude to leave a conversation.”

For the next 3 days, Cedric and (Y/N) found themselves having brief chats in the corridor. At first it was just about something Marcus said, but then it was a ‘how was your day?’ then about whatever Marcus said. Cedric could see why she’d been sorted into Slytherin... she was smart and determined and a bit cunning, but he still thought she seemed different. She wasn’t overly rude or snobby and she said it was all for payback so that had to count for something.

Cedric found his eyes drifting to her whenever they shared a class or when he could spot her in the Great Hall. She was quite pretty.... really pretty actually, and he was growing fond of her personality too. It did make him wonder why Flint would’ve gone out of his way to mess with her, especially being a housemate. Cedric wouldn’t even entertain a thought like that for a second if their places were reversed. And he pondered their places being reversed at least a few times, particularly whenever he saw (Y/N) getting chummy with Flint. He was certain she probably assumed that the end would outweigh the means. He supposed they did... I mean, they ended up winning.

(Y/N) contemplated revealing her ingenious plan when Marcus Flint (the rest of the team in tow) storming into the common room. She decided against it though, his frustration was satisfaction enough, and she hadn’t felt amazing about betraying EVERYONE on the team. Still, his annoyance made her giddy and it was best she got out of there, before she blew her own cover by laughing at the sore loser.

Cedric wasn’t sure why he assumed he’d find her in the library, but he did, and now that he found her he felt a little silly. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say, “Hey.”

“Well hello. I believe a congratulations are in order.” (Y/N) smiled again at him, this time it wasn’t nearly as fake (maybe not even forced at all), “Shouldn’t you be off celebrating? I heard it was a spectacular game for Hufflepuff. Someone in the hallway was talking about how you were reading his mind.”

Cedric blushed a bit. He’d heard that too, and as good as it felt it did make him feel a little guilty too. “Well, we owe to you really. So I thought I’d come say thanks.... so thanks.” He chuckled nervously, wondering why he was suddenly so worried about what he said. Well, he knew why. She didn’t need him anymore and he didn’t want to say anything to remind her of that.

“You’re welcome, but honestly I’ve seen you guys play. You probably could’ve won without me.” Her compliment seemed to sincere that Cedric was worried he was turning red again, but then she winked at him and he knew he didn’t have to worry. He definitely was. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“I do have a question for you, if you don’t mind.” Cedric waited until she nodded to continue, “Why did Flint want to mess with you anyways? You’re both very, I mean you’re both in Slytherin.”

“I told him I wouldn’t go on a date with him, and that git ruined my potion! That’s bloody insane right? Plus most of them only care about themselves... which I suppose I shouldn’t talk much.” (Y/N) laughed, there wasn’t much point in denying that she might’ve been acting a bit selfish lately.

“Insane....” Cedric took a breath, and calmed himself down. He was normally so laid back. “You know, if you were to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend... it might add insult to injury.”

(Y/N) shot him a knowing smirk, “I think you might be right. You can meet me in the courtyard, no reason to walk all the way to the dungeons.”

Cedric smiled and nodded. He’d be there without a doubt. When (Y/N) looked back down at her book he assumed that was his cue to leave, he needed to get back anyways. There was a celebration going on and his absence was most likely noted. His head snapped back immediately when he heard her call his name. She didn’t even look up from her book, but Cedric could sense the smug smile on her face (not that he minded), “Seriously though. Good game today.”

[saikagerights]

Lay Me Down to Rest - Entry for Day of MirSan 2021

Hello there! And welcome to my first Inuyasha fanfiction, as apart of the @dayofmirsan event. 

I initially was planning to be an observer of the event, but sudden inspiration struck at 1am during my nightly routine of falling asleep to Inuyasha. Rewatching the Monkey Sprite episode is interesting for many reasons. For one, there was an unhealthy amount of filler added into the anime adaptation of this story-line, which gave hit-or-miss comedy. But the most important thing is that Miroku and Sango are mostly unaccounted for in this story-line, which gives shippers like me an opportunity to write some “off-screen development” for them. And though the anime does give us an idea, I’m afraid that Miroku’s indifference and frustrated edge in the scene feels a bit off, so I decided to add a bit of a bit of context. Consider this a bit of a fusion between the anime in manga, though the scene is based off of the anime. Also I was very liberal with my use of English/Japanese dub terminology. I watched the anime in English, but switched over to the manga to replace the Final Act, so it’s a bit inconsistent. 

I’ve been observing this fandom from afar ever since I started getting into Inuyasha back in December, and though I wanted to try and engage with it, it seemed very daunting given this fandom’s age and organization. But I’m very grateful that I was given the chance to participate in this event, and lucky that inspiration struck me at the right time. I’ve really been looking forward to seeing the works that come out of this event, and I hope you enjoy my contribution. 

And thanks for the mods for allowing me to share my work with you fellow fans

InuYasha and it’s properties are owned by creator Rumiko Takahashi and Sunrise 

Read on AO3

Sango tailed the monk as he led their investigation. The villagers they had asked so far had no knowledge of the wicked demon, only of the pestering monkeys that were ravaging their fields. Her companion simply nodded, thanking them for their time and promising that the Inugami would save their village. They soon found themselves at the outskirts of the village on an empty patch of land outside the forest, save for one tall tree. Sango found his behavior during their search to be strange, especially as he now paused at the tree, leaving his Shakujo leaning against its trunk.

Was he just as stumped as she was? Would this reprieve be a chance for them to rethink their approach? 

“Why have we stopped here, Miroku?” She questioned. “Aren’t we supposed to search for Naraku’s whereabouts?”

Her befuddlement heightened as he laid his body to rest in the grass underneath the shade of the tree with a sigh, both hands pillowing his head. His intentions then became clear at the sight of his eyelids slipping shut.

“How might we do that when we have neither Inuyasha’s nose or Kagome’s detection?” His tone reflected his relaxed poise. “I merely said that so that Inuyasha would be more inclined to help those villagers.”

Her head tilted downward towards the monk’s resting face. “I understand wanting to help, but do you honestly think that Inuyasha dealing with those monkeys will get us any closer to finding him?

“Not particularly.” He punctuated the off-handed remark with a yawn, overstating his disinterest. “But enough of that... Why don’t you join me here?”

She stood awestruck at his bold request. He lays there while their friends were helping this poor village and now he asks her to do the same? If Inuyahsa were to find out, he’d surely have more pressing things to worry about than the food security of the village. 

“I don’t think it would be wise, considering your flippant lies.”

The man remained still, no sign of concern disrupting his posture. 

“If you changed back into your battle attire before our return, they’d never suspect a thing.” He ignored her statement, a peaceful smile casually appearing on his face. She instantly recognized this move. He was fully convinced he would get his way, the sleazy crook. “Besides, I’m sure sleep has been as kind to you as it has been to me as of late.”

Although it was usually hard to detect amongst his manner of speaking, the monk’s sarcasm was not missed by the slayer. She knew very well that Naraku’s sudden disappearance had their whole group on edge, including herself. And while sleep had become its own battle, the desperate investigations of their enemy have left her distracted from everything else. Sleep meant the rest needed to fight again, but it also meant time alone with one’s most intimate thoughts. What always plagued her mind nowadays were things she’d rather not willingly engage. Finding Naraku should be her biggest concern now, but she indulged her companion despite what she would consider was her better judgement.

The monk had a particular talent for steering her away from rationality.

“Knowing your pervy ways, I’m sure you’d try and sneak a peek at me”

The monk could’ve never noticed the sneer on her face behind his still-closed eyes. The same smile was plastered on his face as well, despite her accusation. He really did enjoy giving her grief, didn’t he...

“Trust me, my dear. I have no intention of moving from this spot for a while. Or at least until Inuyasha comes for my head.”

 “Then I guess you wouldn’t mind if I left Kilala here to guard this spot until I returned.”

He chuckled at that. “I don’t mind at all. I’m sure she’d love to watch me lie here, right Kilala?”  

Sango looked to the nekomata, who merely chuffed in response. She was wary of Kilala’s strange trust in the monk at times, but she was sure that the demon would keep an eye on him in case he tried something funny. 

Miroku took this as the perfect time to reveal his indigo eyes to her. 

 “Please, my intentions are more honorable than what they seem, believe me.”

There it was, that gentle voice of his used to convince her of his authenticity. The same breathy tones that sent her heart racing and her stomach in somersaults. She knew Miroku was confident in his charms, but she also liked to think that he was fully aware of this game they played. She only came to grips with it recently, but there was something going on. 

They’d fight, they’d talk it through, and just when she thought he would try to make a move, that damn hand of his would find the wrong place to caress. Or it would be when she found herself grieving once more, and he could comfort her with his words alone. How did he always know what to say that made everything clear and could heal every fiber of her being, but also had a hand that never failed to do the exact opposite? He was a truly frustrating man, but he was the only one she ever considered more than just that. 

But did he really know? That was a puzzle Sango couldn’t solve. It wasn’t as if anything meaningful resulted from these escapades. Afterwards, they would act as if nothing happened, and he would return to his typical flirtatious ways with any woman that entered his line of sight. So Sango liked to think that Miroku fully knew that he was toying with her feelings. That way it made it easier to lower her expectations and resent them despite Kagome’s not-so-subtle prodding. 

When she became abruptly aware that her eyes had been locked on him for too long, she made her hasty retreat, hoping he didn’t catch her bright red flush in the shade of the tree. 

“This man will be the death of me,” she softly cursed herself as soon as she knew she left his earshot. 

_______________________________________________________________

Upon her return to their little “spot,” she was greeted by an alert Miroku. His body was now fully upright and turned towards her approaching form. 

“You’ve accepted my invitation, I see”

“I thought you were trying to sleep”

“I still am, but I’d figured it would help if I got a quick glimpse of your beauty before-hand.”

She rolled her eyes at his shameless attempt. “You really are troublesome, you know that?”

“You wound me, dear Sango!” He unceremoniously flopped back into his previous position, his left hand patting the spot next to him. “You are free to lie beside me if you wish.” 

Without the need for consideration, she silently opted to sit against Kilala’s curled form, stretching her legs in front of her. He managed to convince her to relax alongside him, but she had no intention of allowing herself to get too comfortable around him in the likely case the monk’s wandering hands wandered once more. He sighed audibly at her decision, but allowed his eyes to close again without any further word. He could act like a child all he wanted, but she would not budge. 

She watched the man for a while, observing his state of rest. She could tell as much that he hadn’t fallen asleep just yet by all of his idle noises and the way he kept trying to steal a glance in her direction. 

“Can’t sleep?”

She hadn’t even tried to close her eyes just yet, as she was still trying to grasp their current situation. Why was he so insistent on sleeping if he was just going to try and stare at her the entire afternoon? Why did he lie to Inuyasha in the first place if this was how they would spend their time? With all these questions moving around in her head, she might as well ask for the most basic of them.

“Miroku? Why do you lie and steal as casually as you do? I always thought that monks were pure-hearted.”

“What a wonderful question!” He exclaimed. With such enthusiasm, she was almost afraid of the answer she would soon receive from him. “I’ve been traveling on my own for so long, and it’s quite difficult to acquire wealth in such unfortunate times. I wish to give aid to those in need, but I also believe that it never hurts to help yourself as well.” He settled for an even tone and let his eyes slip open once more. 

 “And you are right, It is true that holy-people such as myself are meant to be free of sin. But,  I was born tainted by the hole that resides in my hand.” His voice tapered off at his pause, the newfound silence growing thick with each passing moment. His sound returned to him, soft and low, as if it were only meant for his ears alone. 

“It doesn’t matter how much I devote myself to my faith to any idol or deity. My curse is hell-bent on deciding my fate....”

But we are trying to stop Naraku! To free you from the Kazaana. You can always change your path after that! She immediately contested, perhaps a little too loudly, but she didn’t care. How dare he speak so little of himself and avoid her gaze as he did it?! She refused to accept his belittling statements. 

“It is very hard for me to see a future for myself at this time, I’m afraid…” He brought his head up to look at her. A flash of fear ran through his eyes before he looked down once more. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t speak like that.”

He’s afraid…

And he had every right to be. 

“Please don’t apologize.”

He never showed it in front of their group, but behind that calm and smooth exterior remained a man trembling under the weight of his own mortality. He was a man after all, and men were never to show what made them most vulnerable. But with how much he gives to help others, it feels unfair for him to just allow himself to suffer inside as he did.

 If they understood each other as well as he liked to claim, then she knew he hated the restless feeling they had knowing nothing of where their wicked nemesis resided, surely plotting something to exploit the fears he caused within their hearts. Knowing that her poor brother remained in that demon’s grasp sickened her to her core, and sitting around with no leads made it hard to lay dormant as they did now. 

“I get it. I am just as frustrated as you… About Kohaku-”

“-You don’t need to go any further” He  interrupted her thoughts, I didn’t mean to remind you of your pain like that.”

 “Miroku-” 

 “-Please,” he sharply cut in once more, hoarseness settling into his throat. He must’ve noticed it as well, as he cleared his throat soon after. “let’s just try to find rest while we still can.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, clearly trying to force unconsciousness upon himself. Sango relented, trying to relax her body, idly stroking Kilala as she watched the man slowly succumb to rest. It was surreal to see him struggle like this when it seemed like meditation was second nature to him. She decided on trying for sleep once his breathing evened out and all the remaining tension left his face. 

________________________________________________________________

Miroku wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but he could tell from the shadows before him had grown considerably when his eyes peered open. He turned his head to see Sango now curled up against Kilala, her face all but buried in her demon companion’s fur. He slowly rose to his feet, slightly stretching as he made an intake of his surroundings. It looked as if the sun would soon begin it’s retreat from the sky. The monk knew the rest was necessary, but he definitely didn’t look forward to another predictively sleepless night. 

One more glance at Sango’s sleeping form was enough to convince him to approach her, neglecting his Shakujo to silence his movements. He knew, probably better than anybody, of the threat imposed by the slayer’s attuned senses. He also knew the danger of being caught if she awoke to his gawking. Unfortunately it was a risk he was willing for one small fleeting moment to stare at her.

What an idiot he had been for making her sympathize with his life. Even worse that it reminded her of her own grief. He was happy to indulge her curiosity, but when he looked up at her, he turned cowardly at what he saw. It wasn’t fear, or sadness over his grim fate. It was the very same fire that lit behind her eyes in battle. 

She was prepared to fight for him, it seemed…

He dare not think that she would go any farther for that. He was not worth her death. In fact, nothing was worth her death. The honor of her clan was at stake, and her life was essential in carrying on their legacy. One measly itinerant monk with a fated death should be worthless in her eyes, even if he wanted nothing more than to keep her alive.

Even if he wanted more than anything to see a future with her.

He turned away from her, returning to his spot in a now seated position. The monk had half a mind to wake the woman, but decided against it. Every waking moment for her was its own battle, after all. She needed all the rest she could get. And he’d gladly wait for her until that battle resumed, and fight with her at every step.

And if dying for her now meant he could spend the next life by her side, then he would welcome death with open arms. 

“I hope this woman is the death of me,” he softly wished before all else melted away to his own meditation.

______________________________________________________________

Yeah I realized I took some liberties here with how Miroku and Sango’s relationship was at this point. This episode takes place after the Temptress of the Mist and Demon-Head castle, but far behind Mt. Hakurei, so what was going on with them hadn’t really become a “pattern” just yet. And Miroku had just comforted her in her grieving state for the first time right before that. Sango wasn’t deep enough to say he was her reason for living, so that’s why I kept her on the fence and didn’t have her feel too disappointed, because that’s what came after Mt Hakurei. 

I’m a sucker for long winded perspective changes, especially here with all the parallels I draw between them. Some of my best lines were written here, especially the ending line. My GOD. I swear, I wrote that and everything made sense. I said “yes” over and over again, it was so good.

Also can you tell whose voice I’m talking about when describing Miroku’s? The answer is Koji Tsujitani. I always knew about Tsujitani’s delivery that makes Miroku sound truly “fake” but I noticed rather recently how he would add so much breath, especially in serious scenes. On the other hand, Kirby Morrow played the character down and deep in his throat, which isn’t bad when talking about his overall performance, but I decided to favor Tsujitani’s performance in this instance. 

(I’m a classically trained singer and a music education major, so I’m a nut for analyzing voice acting. I have respect for both of these men may they rest in peace.)

Thanks again for the opportunity, and I hope to write more for this series. 

-Saikage

[catte-bard]

FFXIV Write 2021 #13: Oneirophrenia

Urianger in his few months of knowing the pixies felt there were two very important facts about them. They were rather friendly, little creatures. And they were mischievous little devils. Fond of mayhem they were always trying to find little tricks to play on visitors to Il Mheg.

And Urianger was their favourite playmate. The mysterious elf who spoke with a funny voice and who had taken up residence in one the old mortal dwellings. He absolutely delighted them. Mortals never stayed in Il Mheg; they feared the fey and usually tried to pass through quickly when traveling its roads.

Today he had been making notes of the different kinds of flora that bloomed the land. Making quick sketches—though his hand wasn’t as talented as young Master Alphinaud’s—as well as jotting notes down about them.

Fascinating, it was all incredibly fascinating. He had theorized that Il Mheg must be somewhere geographically where Ishgard is on the Source. And yet it  possessed a completely different clime. 

He had been studying the plant life, curious to see if there were any similarities to those on his home shard. However, much of the flora seemed to have evolved in its own way separate from those on the Source. Which he supposed would make sense. The First’s history had been carved out in a different path from the Source. It had experienced its own eras, its own disasters, tragedies, and other impactful events. And so the flora and fauna and even the landscape itself would’ve adapted differently. 

“Urianger!” A chipper voice suddenly popped into existence. 

“Good morning to thee, Kenn Beq.” Urianger hummed as he scribbled something down in his journal about the tree he was resting under.

“What are you doing this time?” Kenn Beq asked, flitting close to look over his shoulder. “Oh what pretty pictures! Uri likes flowers! Lemme see! Lemme see! Don’t be shy now!”

And with a flick of their wrist, Urianger’s journal was suddenly lifted out of his hands and into the air. The Archon let out a noise of protest. It seemed the pixies were in a mischievous mood today.

 “Kenn Beq.” Urianger fiercely said as if reprimanding a child. “Return that at once.”

They merely giggled at him and leafed through the pages. “Oh calm yourself. I only want to look. Oooh, Uri seems to be a scholar as well. Kenn Sul, come look!” They then called and another pixie popped forth.

Kenn Sul and Kenn Beq were perhaps the equivalent of twins in the world of mortals. The other pixies explained that the pair had been “born” together. And thus the two of them together were the source of much mayhem.

In truth, Urianger always found them rather endearing. Perhaps, reminded of another set of twins he knew well; and thus tolerated their presence. However, today he was in no mood to entertain these two.

“Oooh, how pretty!” Kenn Sul fawned. “You should have told us you liked flowers, Uri.”

He sighed. “Aye, I wish to learn more about thou’s land. And I’ve found the best way to learn about one’s surroundings is to observe the plant life. Now if you would be so kind.” And he stretched out his hand, waiting for his book to be returned to him.

The twins shared a look. And he did not like the smirks on their faces. The pixies were like children, he’d decided—very naughty children. Always scheming something wicked.

“Oh fine.” Kenn Beq agreed and sent the book floating back down to him. 

“Uri, if you like flowers we can lead you to some very special ones!” Kenn Sul then said. “Ones that aren’t in your pretty book yet!”

Kenn Beq clapped their hands together in excitement. “Yes, yes! Oh I love those! I would love to see them in your book!”

Urianger eyed them warily. Wisely wondering if the two were up to any tricks. One had to be careful when trusting a pixie. Sometimes they were honest creatures and sometimes they would lead you straight into the jaws of a hungry draco. 

And these two were no exception. Nay they were much worse!

“I am too busy for games, my friends.” He shook his head. “Mayhaps another time.”

And Kenn Sul made a stomping motion in the air, crossing their arms. “But it is no game. We mean it!”

“Yes!” Kenn Beq added. “There is a flower patch on the far end of Il Mheg that we know you want to...to sturdy? No that’s not the right word for it? Um Kenn Sul, what was it scholars like Uri did again?”

“I believe it was study.” Their twin offered. “Oh you were quite close!”

Kenn Beq did a twirl in the air at the praise before turning their attention back to Urianger. “Come, come! We’ll show you. And if it’s a rotten trick of ours then you’re free to cuff Kenn Sul across the head a few times as punishment.”

And with that Kenn Beq flitted off.

“H-hey!” Their sibling called after them as they followed. “Why do I have to take the brunt of the blame?!”

Urianger sighed; he could just stay here and return to his studies. Perhaps even return to the Bookman’s Shelves for a lunch. But he felt the twins would take offense to that. They would come pester him until he agreed to come with them on their little adventure. And if not that, they certainly would find a cruel trick to play on him.

And so against his better judgement, he tucked his journal under his arm and followed the tittering fey.

“See Uri!” Kenn Sul proudly announced when they had arrived at their destination. 

The pixies flew excited circles around him, pointing at a cluster of shrubs with bright purple flowers blooming on them. Indeed he had never seen these flowers on his travels before. And drew closer out of curiosity. Upon closer inspection he found the flowers’ petals were also speckled with yellow like little freckles. And the flowers themselves were about the size of his entire hand.

“How fascinating.” The Archon hummed and opened his journal to take notes. “And what are these called?”

Kenn Beq came flitting up to rest upon his shoulder. “The mortals that lived here long ago had a name for them—I don’t remember what it was though. We pixies however call them Dreaming-While-Awakes.”

An odd name. He’d have to poor through the tomes at his home to see if he could discover its proper one.

“Are they poisonous? Or dangerous at all?” Urianger tilted his head. He knew many flowers were deceptively beautiful and here and the land of fey one could never be too careful. Just the other day a pixie had warned him to stay away from a cotton-like plant that was said to sting like nettles despite its soft appearance. 

“No.” Kenn Beq said, casually swaying their legs. “We’ve never seen it harm mortals before.”

He nodded and assuming Kenn Beq’s knowledge could be trusted, he made note of the observation in his journal. And out of curiosity reach out to touch one of the soft looking petals. 

The moment his finger brushed against the petal the flower shuddered and sprayed out a cloud of what he assumed to be some kind of mist or pollen. And then it closed up at once, curling itself into a tight little bud.

Urianger startled, coughing and hacking on the strange concoction it had assaulted him with. The smell was absolutely horrendous, it burned his throat and made his eyes water.

Faintly he could hear the twins laughing at him. Accursed little imps! He should have known better! However, before he could berate them for their trickery, they quickly flew off.

Whatever ailed him seemed to finally dissipate after a few agonizing minutes, though Urianger still suffered from its effects. Do not rub your eyes. It could spread the irritant and damage sight. His studies reminded him. And so he kept his hands away from his face.

It took a moment, but the burning seemed to abate to a more tolerable level. He paused for a moment, doing a mental well-being check. He didn’t seem ill or in any pain—the only thing plaguing him were eyes and a slight headache. But otherwise he didn’t seem to be in any danger.

It seemed Kenn Beq had not lied in that regard. The spray probably was some sort of defense mechanism for the plant. To keep itself from being eaten. He made a note of this within his journal before turning to head home.  

During the walk back he did not encounter Kenn Beq or Kenn Sul again. The pair of them smartly staying away from him while his anger was still hot. On the morrow they’d probably come bearing gifts of apology, usually polished stones from the river that they thought were pretty. 

And so his walk had gone undisturbed. However, about halfway he had to pause. The throbbing in his head had grown steadily worse. Going from a dull ache to a full on piercing pain. A side effect from the flower?

He groaned, clutching at his head with a hand. He winced at the sun beating down on him. was it always so bright? It made him feel nauseated under its beating warmth. Had that flower been poisonous? 

Gods, above he felt so dizzy—the world was spinning and— 

“You alright love?”

 A voice snapped him from whatever was ailing him. 

“You’re not looking too good. What tried to drink Thancred under the table? Though I have to say that’s not a very hard feat to accomplish.”

That voice…

His head still ached and he had to squint through the bright sunlight at the figure before him. It couldn’t be and yet...it sounded like her. It...it looked like her.

He could feel himself trembling as his lips parted to form her name. It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

Yet there she stood grinning at him, hands propped on her hips. “Come on then, up you go.” She insisted. “We need to get back home;?don’t want to be out here in the dark, do you?”

Finally. Finally he had the strength to form her name on his tongue. “Moenbryda?” He whispered incredulously.

She cocked her head. “Were you expecting someone else?” 

Once again he was left speechless. How? How was this possible? This had to be a trick! Some cruel, cruel trick done by the pixies. He felt angry. He felt sorrow he thought he buried welling up within him again.

Abruptly, Moenbyrda’s smile fell and was replaced by an expression of concern. “Are you alright, love?” She asked moving forward to cup his face between her hands. And Urianger was surprised to find her touch warm. So real.

“How…” Urianger managed to find his voice. And he could feel tears misting in his eyes. “How are you here?”

Moenbryda seemed surprised and even offended at that. “Urianger...I’ve always been with you. Don’t you remember?” A frown furrowed her brow as she placed the back of her hand against his forehead. “Hmph, that flower must’ve done a number on you, eh? You’re positively burning up. Come on, let’s go back home and prep some tea. That always makes you feel better.”

“But…” Urianger began to protest. 

“Hush my dear.” Moenbryda told him and patted him on the cheek. “It’s all going to be okay. You just need to rest.”

Something in her words seemed to soothe him. The emotions rattling within him stilled. And suddenly he felt so tired.

“Right...right.” He murmured, feeling dazed and let her lead him back home. 

This felt strange. Like it shouldn’t be happening. And yet...her hands had felt so real against his cheeks. Her fingers felt so real as they entwined with his. And her voice, her sweet voice—he could never mistake it. It was her.

And yet it couldn’t be. Back and forth his mind warred like that. Illogical and logical fighting to dominate his mind which right now felt as if a fog had settled over it. 

 It didn’t feel right but Moen had promised all was well. And well...he trusted her.

They had made it to the Rising Stones.

 Wait...that’s not right. Is it?

He couldn’t ponder on it much longer before Moenbryda dragged him inside. She had settled down at a table and quickly shooed him away, insisting that he start a kettle for them.

“And why am I making the tea when it was thee whom suggested it?” Urianger had asked.

And Moenbryda grinned that wonderful smile of hers. Wry and filled with mischief. “Because you need something to occupy your mind, silly thing. You’ve walked the whole way here with a blank look on your face like your head was suddenly empty.” She teased. “You need something to do to get that brain of yours working again.”

He merely shook his head and wandered over to the stove to prepare the tea. Cheeky. She was always so cheeky. And that was one of the things he loved most about her.

The thought tugged at something at the back of his mind. And the dizzy spell that had ailed him earlier had suddenly returned. The elezen had to lean against the nearby wall for a moment to get his bearings. Why was he feeling so nauseous all of a sudden?

“Is everything alright, Urianger?” he heard Moenbryda call out to him. “You haven’t been acting well since that incident with that flower. Funny thing must be messing with your head.”

“Yes...the flower.” He murmured and clutched at his head. Something about that was making his head throb again. What had Kenn Beq called it? Something wasn’t right.  “The Rising Stones. How...did we get here? We were just in Il Mheg.”

“We walked here, obviously. Are you feeling okay?”

No. Not at all. Something...something wasn’t right.

“I am fine.” Urianger reassured, shaking his head to clear it. And with trembling hands he turned his attention back to his task. Right...he needed to put the kettle on to warm the water— 

Two cups of tea sat before him. Warm and with steam rising up from them. How? Had he already brewed it and just wasn’t paying attention?

“Uri!” Moenbryda called impatiently. “Are you going to hog it all for yourself?”

He pushed down the nauseated feeling rising within him and turned to carry the cups to his waiting companion. This was nice. How long had it been since the two of them enjoyed a nice tea and chat together? 

Again the tugging at his mind came. The flower. Il Mheg. Sitting here in the Rising Stones didn’t seem to fit with it. His sluggish mind swept it away. Focus on tea with Moen not that.

The two of them chatted pleasantly. Reminiscing  in old memories and recounting stories of their time after graduating the Studium. It was a pleasant time and Urianger felt he had not had genuine laughter in so long. 

He couldn’t help but to feel he was forgetting something though. Something that kept nagging at the back of his mind. It had been tugging on him ever since meeting Moenbryda again.

There was something about her. Something about this day. This very moment. And every time he tried to focus on it he was left feeling dizzy.

“Mm you always made the finest tea, Urianger.” Moenbryda praised as she took a long sip. Knocking it back as if it were a tankard of ale. “Always could taste the care you put into it.”

“Preparing tea is an art.” Urianger replied as he took his own sip. Puzzlement welled up within him. His tasted so plain. Had he put enough herbs in it? “Master Loiusoix taught me that important lesson. “

Moenbryda hummed. “You were always his favourite.”

He set his foul tea aside, no longer having the taste for it. “Do not pretend that he never had a fondness for thee.”

She merely shrugged at that and crossed one leg over the other. “Do you miss him?”

The question seemed out of nowhere and surprised Urianger. He scowled and looked down at his lap. “Aye.” He admitted. “Every day, I long for his wisdom and his guidance. For there are some days where I oft wonder if I am taking the right steps. And if I am taking them down the right path.”

Moenbryda hummed thoughtfully. “And me? Do you miss me?”

That question was odd that it made him jerk his head up to see...her fading. 

“Moen?” He whispered in worry.

She was fading. Fading away again.

Something...something was wrong. He felt hot all over and that piercing pain in his head from earlier had returned.

“Moen…” Urianger reached out to grasp her hands. “Moenbryda, what is wrong?!” Desperation made his voice hoarse.

And his dear friend  stared at him sadly. And yet she smiled. “Ah told you that silly flower was messing with your head.”

The flower? Yes...yes he remembered now. The fog was slowly lifting and his head was clearer.

Kenn Beq had called something peculiar…Dreaming-While-Awake.

“This isn’t real.” He admitted to himself.

“No.” Moenbryda beamed. “But at least it was nice while it lasted.”

He stared at her sadly and when to grab her hand this time his fingers brushed through it. He closed his eyes with a grimace. Of course, he should’ve known better. Known that such a perfect moment could only exist within the confines of his mind.

“Oh don’t be sad, dear.” Moenbryda consoled. “I told you before, I’ve always been with you.”

“Yes…” He agreed, closing his hand into a fist and looking down at the table. “But only within mine dreams.”

“And within your heart.” She told him. 

“And within mine heart.” He repeated solemnly. “I suppose it does answer thine question though. ” He murmured, looking up at the empty air where she’d once been. “I do miss thee terribly.”

When he came out of the strange vision, Urianger found himself lying in a field. Likely somewhere in between where the flowers had been and the Bookman’s Shelves. He hadn’t seemed to travel far in his stupor.

He groaned, wincing at the piercing pain in his skull. Now seeming a thousand times worse with him being awake. He awoke feeling sweaty and hot. And when  he tried to stand he instantly regretted it, forced back to his knees as he retched up the contents of his stomach. 

Twelve, allow me strength to make it back home.

This would be the last time he trusted the fey on botanistic excursions.

Journal Entry No. 63

Dreamer’s Neem (the the pixies seem to dub it Dreaming-While-Awake)

A beautiful looking flower that grows to about the size of a grown Elezen male’s hand. A light shade of purple and dappled with yellow freckles it seems to grow on shrubs in isolated patches around Il Mheg. 

As a defense mechanism against creatures that would try to prey upon it, the plant sprays the aggressor with an agitating powder before closing in on itself. It should be noted that this powder contains a very potent hallucinogenic agent that causes truly powerful visions that seem to affect all the senses.

The former human inhabitants seemed to have used the flower for recreational purposes. Similar to the use of milkweed on the Source. It should be noted however, that while the plant may not be deadly it is best to avoid it. The effects of its defensive powder could prove to be overwhelming to individuals not familiar with the plant.

It should also be well noted that an individual exposed should be given cool water and broth for the rest of the day. The after effects of the hallucinations may leave them weak of stomach. And solid foods could agitate their condition.

Have care for thee whom wouldst seek out this plant. For the vision it offers may not always be pleasant. Speaking from mine own experience it was rather tame. Though other accounts I hath read indicate more nightmarish experiences. How lucky I was in mine own…

[bloody-bee-tea]

Not just a vacation

peachy2peachy commissioned me for some merman Jiang Cheng and a totally overworked Lan Xichen, who is being forced on vacation and then falls in love. Thank you for your support and I hope you enjoy it <3

Lan Xichen is restless. He has never been away from his company for this long and just as he’s thinking it he realizes exactly what his uncle and Lan Wangji meant.

It’s been 19 hours. 

If he’s being honest Lan Xichen can’t even be called a workaholic at this point anymore, because there isn’t anything for him outside of the company and his work.

Lan Xichen isn’t even sure when he last slept in his own bed or when he enjoyed a quiet morning at home. His life is all about work. His office is more like a living-room at this point.

Lan Xichen reaches for his phone almost on instinct—surely a quick look into his mails can’t hurt anyone—but he stops himself right before his fingers can make contact.

He’s on vacation, Lan Qiren was very adamant about that. If Lan Xichen checks his mails then Lan Qiren will know—he always knows—and he will be disappointed. Lan Wangji will make his sad face and even though Lan Xichen can’t see it from where he is in the middle of the ocean, he simply knows it.

Better not to risk it.

Lan Xichen suppresses a sigh and sits back down on the bed. A glance out of the window shows him a blue ocean and an even bluer sky and he knows he should get out there and enjoy it. He did some research on Aitutaki of course, and while he has to admit that it’s objectively beautiful it’s also really remote and Lan Xichen already itches with the separation from his company.

Maybe his workload really is unhealthy, Lan Xichen muses, and then lets out a sigh before he gets back up again.

Time to see what this island has to offer.

It’s just as beautiful as it looked in the pictures he found online, and Lan Xichen has to admit that the quiet and serenity is already getting to him.

He finds a nice spot at the beach to lay down his towel and his head barely hit the sand before he’s drifting off to the gentle sounds of the water.

When Lan Xichen wakes up, it’s already dark. He sits up, slightly disoriented and definitely hungry, to look around and while the beach and the sea were already beautiful during the day, Lan Xichen finds it almost more beautiful now that there are only the stars to illuminate it.

He gets startled out of his thoughts when there’s a small splash and then a person seems to emerge out of the water.

Lan Xichen stays still and watches the shape for a few moments, expecting the person to leave the water at one point but when nothing happens, Lan Xichen gets worried.

“Hello?” he carefully calls out. “Do you need help?”

He seems to have startled the person because he can hear a “Fuck” before the head disappears again.

“Oh,” Lan Xichen whispers and walks closer to the water. 

Maybe the person went under when he startled them? Lan Xichen is about ready to throw himself into the water as well—how difficult can it be to find that person again—when the head re-emerges.

“Are you alright?” Lan Xichen asks, voice just barely loud enough to carry over the water, and when he’s met with silence, he worries.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks again, already marching up to the water to save whoever is out there, but before he can, the person speaks up again.

“Do not get closer!” 

The words stop Lan Xichen dead in his tracks and he frowns.

“Are you alright?” he repeats and is relieved when the man seems to come closer.

“I am,” he reassures Lan Xichen and then there’s the strange splashing noise again, as if something bigger and more adapt to the water was with the man out there.

“Are you really? That noise—,” Lan Xichen trails off and the man lets out a sharp laugh.

“I really am. Don’t concern yourself with me.”

Unlikely, Lan Xichen thinks and walks closer again. He’s gratified to find that the man doesn’t move further away.

“That’s hardly possible when you take a night swim and startle the hell out of me,” Lan Xichen calls back and wonders if the prolonged distance from his company is making him rude already.

The strange man doesn’t seem to think so because he snorts out a laugh.

“Get back, stranger,” he calls out and Lan Xichen is about to tell him his name when the man suddenly disappears.

Lan Xichen waits a little bit longer just to see if he might show up again, but when it becomes clear that that won’t happen, he goes back to the hotel, where he is met by a frantically gesturing owner of the hotel.

“Sir, where have you been?” he’s asked immediately and Lan Xichen frowns before he points back.

“I fell asleep at the beach,” he gives back, much to the horror of the owner apparently.

“We don’t go to the beach at night! Strange things have happened, it’s not safe for you to be there,” Lan Xichen is told and Lan Xichen would agree with the strange things at once.

He doesn’t see how the man in the water poses a danger, but Lan Xichen is probably missing something.

“What happened?” he wants to know but the owner shakes his head.

“Not good for you to know, just stay away,” he advises him and then rather forcefully shoos him back into the hotel.

Lan Xichen doesn’t sleep much that night.

The next night Lan Xichen goes back to the beach. He keeps out of sight at first, hoping to catch the man unawares first, his mind still reeling from the research he did during the day. 

It’s probably not what Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji wanted for him when they sent him on this vacation, but Lan Xichen needs to know what’s going on here. The only thing his research turned up were tales of mermaid  and Lan Xichen is not ready to believe that.

Until he catches sight of a rather huge tail, flapping out of the water.

The sight of it startles a gasp out of Lan Xichen, apparently loud enough to be heard over the water, because he hears the same muttered “Fuck” carried back to him.

“It’s you again,” Lan Xichen calls out and he’s met with a silence that drags on for so long that he starts to fear the other man might have left.

“What the fuck do you want? Do you not know you’re not supposed to be here?” the man suddenly says, and Lan Xichen sees him swimming closer.

“I have heard,” Lan Xichen gives back and the man laughs.

“You just don’t care, huh?” 

Usually Lan Xichen would care very much about that; he is not one to break the rules and staying away from the beach at night seems to be a rather unspoken rule. But this is just too curious to let it rest.

“Would you believe me if I said I was worried about you?” he tries, taking some careful steps closer to the shoreline.

“Nope,” the man says and Lan Xichen smiles.

“Would you believe me if I said my family forced me on this vacation and I am already bored out of my mind?”

“Maybe,” the man answers and comes closer as well.

“My name is Lan Xichen,” Lan Xichen introduces himself and he’s pretty sure he catches a mischievous twinkle in the man’s eyes, barely visible in the dark.

“Good for you,” the man says and promptly ducks back under the water.

“Hey,” Lan Xichen calls out, stumbling forwards until his feet are fully submerged in the water and he only stops when the hem of his shorts starts to get wet.

Nothing happens, but Lan Xichen doesn’t move back, too intrigued to simply leave again, and his persistence is rewarded when the head pops back up.

Lan Xichen distantly notes that the head was too long under water for a normal human, but he tries not to dwell on it. How ridiculous that would be.

“You’re really annoying, you know that?” the guy grumbles and Lan Xichen gives him his best smile.

“I wouldn’t be, if you told me your name,” he sweetly says and watches how the head almost disappears into the waves again.

“Jiang Cheng,” Lan Xichen suddenly catches and his smile turns brighter.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jiang Cheng,” he says and going by the cold shower that runs down his back, Jiang Cheng is glaring at him.

“What do you want?” Jiang Cheng demands to know and Lan Xichen shrugs.

“I want to know why you’re in the water at this time of night,” Lan Xichen tells him and is met with a wicked smile, white teeth reflecting the moonlight and Lan Xichen is pretty sure he can see a fang.

“Why don’t you come closer and you can find out,” Jiang Cheng tempts him and Lan Xichen can hear his uncle’s voice, telling him just how monumentally stupid he is being, but his legs carry him forward nonetheless and it isn’t until he’s right in front of Jiang Cheng that he stops.

“What if I eat you now?” Jiang Cheng asks, but Lan Xichen is too mesmerized by the fins Jiang Cheng seems to have instead of ears.

“Holy shit,” Lan Xichen breathes out and immediately cringes at the curse word.

His uncle would be so disappointed.

“What, never seen a merman before?” Jiang Cheng boldly asks and flicks his tail—his tail—to splash some water at Lan Xichen.

“Can’t say that I have,” Lan Xichen weakly says, roaming his eyes over Jiang Cheng’s body.

It’s too dark to make out the colour of his tail, but it’s long and strong, shimmering even in the dark. Lan Xichen can’t see at which point tail meets torso, but Jiang Cheng’s chest seems entirely human, apart from the gills on his neck and the webs between his fingers. The fins on his head and his strangely shaped eyes mark him as definitely other than human but Lan Xichen only finds him beautiful.

“You really are a strange one,” Jiang Cheng remarks, and he leans close as if he’s inspecting Lan Xichen in turn, before he throws himself back and disappears into the water.

~*~*~

Lan Xichen spends his entire day at the beach, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jiang Cheng. It would make sense for him to only show up at night, but still Lan Xichen is holding out hope. 

And he’s being rewarded when he catches a purple glint on a strong tail, moving quickly away from the open beach. Lan Xichen follows Jiang Cheng into a small lagoon far away from other people.

“If you’re this trusting someone is gonna eat you eventually,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, but he seems pleased that Lan Xichen was looking for him.

Now that Lan Xichen sees him in daylight he realizes that Jiang Cheng’s tail is of the most wonderful purple, rich and deep, and Lan Xichen itches to brush his hands over it, but he keeps that urge in check.

“Many have tried,” Lan Xichen says with his best CEO smile, “and no one succeeded yet.”

“Ah, I see,” Jiang Cheng whispers and swims closer. “A shark on land. Maybe I should be careful that you don’t eat me.”

Lan Xichen’s mind takes dangerous turns at that, and he can feel his ears flush at how low Jiang Cheng’s voice dropped.

Jiang Cheng laughs at his reaction and Lan Xichen is mesmerized by that sound. 

“You’re staring,” Jiang Cheng accuses him when he notices and Lan Xichen doesn’t even care.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers and now it’s Jiang Cheng’s turn to blush.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng grumbles out and Lan Xichen smiles wickedly at him.

“Make me,” he dares him and Jiang Cheng stares for a long time at him.

Lan Xichen wasn’t expecting to get hit by a wave of water, but it’s a very effective way to shut him up.

~*~*~

After that Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng meet daily in their small lagoon.

Lan Xichen isn’t sure what his uncle would say to that, but he’s not even thinking about his company or the work, so even though Lan Xichen is sure this wasn’t what Lan Qiren had in mind for him when he sent him on holiday, he should be pleased by this development.

Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng have shared a lot of details about their lives in the past seven days they have been meeting and by now Lan Xichen knows that he is in love.

With a merman.

Lan Xichen would laugh at the mere notion of this ever happening, but Jiang Cheng is very real, splashing around in their little lagoon and telling Lan Xichen about the hunts he has been on, and he is very lovable.

Lan Xichen isn’t sure if he ever even stood a chance.

He knows that their time together is running out; he is on vacation for two weeks and not a day longer after all.

But those are thought Lan Xichen likes to push far, far away.

He’d much rather think about Jiang Cheng.

“You really are beautiful,” Lan Xichen can’t help but say again as he watches Jiang Cheng float on the water, basking in the sun.

“And I already told you to shut up,” Jiang Cheng shoots back without opening his eyes but this time Lan Xichen won’t have it.

He slowly swims closer, sure that Jiang Cheng is tracking his every movement even with his eyes closed, and it’s not long before Lan Xichen reaches him.

Jiang Cheng never explicitly allowed him to touch the tail or any other part of Jiang Cheng, but they have brushed against each other occasionally, and Jiang Cheng never pulled away. Lan Xichen thinks it’s enough for him to take a chance.

“But you are,” Lan Xichen whispers and slowly reaches out to smooth his hand over the powerful tail.

The scales are mesmerizing and hard, and Lan Xichen could spend his days mapping out every part of them.

When Lan Xichen looks back at Jiang Cheng, he finds that the other is already looking at him.

“I’m not human,” Jiang Cheng says, flicking his tail as if to remind Lan Xichen of it, and Lan Xichen smiles at him.

“No, you’re not,” he agrees. “You are beautiful,” Lan Xichen says again and boldly moves his hand higher, over the line where scales meet skin and then further up Jiang Cheng’s chest, and then higher up still, skipping over the gills until he can cup Jiang Cheng’s cheek in his hand.

“What are you doing?” Jiang Cheng whispers and Lan Xichen guides him closer.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he mutters, briefly waiting for Jiang Cheng to move away from him, but when that doesn’t happen Lan Xichen closes the last bit of distance between them.

Jiang Cheng tastes like the sea and Lan Xichen knows he could get lost in it.

And maybe he will for the next seven days.

~*~*~

“I love you,” Lan Xichen tells Jiang Cheng four days later, sure of that by now, and even though it hurts he was prepared for the bitter laugh Jiang Cheng lets out.

“Don’t be stupid, Xichen,” Jiang Cheng says and pushes himself back into the water, leaving Lan Xichen’s side cold and bereft.

“I do. I love you.”

“Gods, Xichen, you’re on holiday here. This is my home. Where do you see this going?” Jiang Cheng demands to know and Lan Xichen has thought about that, turned around in bed all night, just thinking about that, and by now he’s sure he has the answer.

“I see this going everywhere,” he resolutely says and then reaches for the bag he brought. “I see you in my future, and I will not accept anything else.”

“You’re flying back in three days. There is no future for us,” Jiang Cheng argues and Lan Xichen is gratified to see that the thought seems to pain Jiang Cheng as much as it does him.

“There will be,” Lan Xichen decidedly says and then takes his phone out of his bag. “And I will prove it to you.”

He dials his uncles number, not even caring about the time difference, but it still takes barely three rings before his uncle picks up.

��Xichen, you’re on vacation, so this better not be about work,” Lan Qiren greets him and Lan Xichen smiles, his eyes never leaving Jiang Cheng.

“It is, kind of. I’d like to set up a remote work place. Here, on this island. Because I don’t think I’ll be coming back any time soon.”

There’s a very concerning silence on the other end of the line and then Lan Qiren explodes.

“Lan Xichen! What do you even think you’re doing! This is a vacation and not a way for you to get out of work indefinitely!”

“I know that, that’s why I want to work from here. Uncle, I met someone and I am not going to leave him.”

Lan Xichen can hear Lan Qiren take a few deep breaths before he presses out: “We’ll talk about this at a more reasonable hour for me.”

Before Lan Xichen can object to that Lan Qiren has already hung up on him, and Lan Xichen is left to stare at his phone, before he shrugs and puts it back into his bag.

When he turns back to Jiang Cheng, he finds that he is already staring at him.

“You would really do that?” Jiang Cheng asks. “Work from here? Just for me?”

“I love you. Of course I would. You can’t leave here, so I will come to you.”

“You’re an idiot,” Jiang Cheng decides as he swims closer and pulls Lan Xichen into a kiss. “But I do love you. And I’m coming with you.”

Lan Xichen needs a few moments to understand those words, and then he simply blinks at Jiang Cheng.

“You’re coming what now?” he dumbly mutters and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes in that beautiful way he has, before he emerges from the lagoon.

On a pair of human legs.

“You really think if we didn’t adapt we’d still be around?” Jiang Cheng asks as he walks Lan Xichen back to the beach and Lan Xichen is more than willing to be led anywhere by Jiang Cheng.

“You can change your forms,” Lan Xichen mutters and his heart does a little flip when Jiang Cheng grins at him.

He does have the most beautiful smile.

“I can change forms. I demand ten weeks a year back here and you’ll have to meet my family.”

“Deal,” Lan Xichen says without hesitation, because he would give Jiang Cheng everything he has if he would ask for it.

“And you cannot change your mind about me,” Jiang Cheng adds, much more quiet this time and Lan Xichen pulls him into his arms.

“Never,” he promises. “I’m a true romantic at heart. There will only ever be you,” he whispers into Jiang Cheng’s now very human ears, and he knows it’s the truth. He can feel it deep in his bones that Jiang Cheng is it for him.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng mutters as he clutches at Lan Xichen’s shirt. “I’m sorry, I kept this a secret, I had to be sure first.”

Sure of Lan Xichen’s feelings and his devotion, Lan Xichen guesses, and he isn’t even mad about it.

“I understand,” he says and then tilts Jiang Cheng’s head back to kiss him.

Jiang Cheng meets him readily and that is the last they speak for a while. There are other things for them to do right now.

Now with a sequel!

{Buy me a kofi}  

[bnha-almost-a-hero]

ૢ✧∘*━━𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍,

a;n: ʰⁱ, ʰᵉˡˡᵒ. ᵉⁿʲᵒʸ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵖⁱᵉᶜᵉ ˡᵒᵒˢᵉˡʸ ⁱⁿˢᵖⁱʳᵉᵈ ᵇʸ 'ᴸᵃ ᶜᵃˢᵃ ᴰᵉ ᴾᵃᵖᵉˡ'. ⁿᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁱˡᵉʳˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˢʰᵒʷ ᵒʳ ᵐʸ ʰᵉʳᵒ ᵃᶜᵃᵈᵉᵐⁱᵃ ⁱⁿᶜˡᵘᵈᵉᵈ. ᵃˡˢᵒ ⁿᵉʷ ᵇᵃʳᵒqᵘᵉ ˡᵃʸᵒᵘᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵃᶜᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ'ˢ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵈᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ.

𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, 

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬; yandere! shigaraki tomura, a blabbermouth! reader, dabi, toga himiko

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲; le casa de papel ⁽ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵏᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᵐᵉ ˢᵃⁿᵉ, ˡᵐᵃᵒ⁻⁾

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; bank robbery, hostages, guns ⁽ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᶦᵐᵃᵍᶦⁿᵉ ˢʰᶦᵍᵍʸ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵃ ᵍᵘⁿˀ⁾, stockholm syndrome, post apocalypse, a brief, shitty rant on evolution and socio-economics because...? i should have made a graphic, fuck—

The first thing a person does when the world ends is adapt.

It’s an animal’s first instinct to every major event in life. How can I survive this? How can I live to preserve my future? It takes a while, sure, but you learn to find a niche in the system—something left behind by the species before you. And you take that niche and you exploit it.

When the League of Villains had raided the bank you were in, you couldn’t help but wonder why no-one had done so sooner as your skin prickled and your body trembled. Banks were amongst the first buildings ransacked when the government body collapsed and a power vacuum emerged. 

After all, society had practically hammered in the idea that money was something one should strive to obtain since one entered schooling and learnt of jobs. And, Blu-Tacked to the walls of many a primary school, was a clip-art of a bank—representing both the letter ‘B’ and the far-off concept of money.

A civilisation's head was often the person with the most influence or possessions: both of which could be bought with money which was most concentrated in a bank. That’s why you had come here, you told the head of the operation, Shigaraki Tomura as he rounded up the hostages with the nozzle of a rifle.

“Shut up,” He muttered from behind the hand clinging to his face. You stared up at it for a moment as you knelt down and pressed your hands behind your head in surrender. Your eyes traced the knuckles, the notches, the imprints surrounding the fingernails. So lifelike, you think as you watch him turn and walk away, I wonder who sculpted it. 

The other hostages whimper beside you, heads meek in their disparity, but you can only smile. 

The world had truly and honestly went to shit.

“Don’t you find it odd?” You asked the man, Shigaraki, when he came to transfer you to the western atrium of the bank. Four of his fingers curled around your arm, cold to the frigid bone and with a grip that could crush ice. Still, you did nothing to stop him as he dragged you along, even taking a few steps of your own accord. You spoke once more, “Don’t you find it odd how banks make money out of thin air? How all they do is print paper and say, ‘Hey, this is worth something,’ and we all just go along with it?”

 Silence.

“I guess that kinda constitutes cult behaviour, right? I mean, what’s stopping someone from refusing to acknowledge the value of money?” You make a ponderous ‘hmm’ with your lips as Shigaraki stops. “On that thought, why is gold so valuable? It’s just a metal; it’s not even that useful. Then again some people eat it, so—”

Shigaraki’s thumb presses down hard onto your skin, followed by the nail of his index, “You talk too much,” He mutters. You look at the hand clinging to his face, wondering what adhesive he must have on it. Do adhesives even work on clay, you wonder, or maybe it’s a clouded plastic? He reaches his other hand up to scratch at his neck, the third time today that he’s done so. “It pisses me off.”

“Where’d you get that hand from?” You ask, feeling like an idiot when his red eyes flit towards yours. A part of your mind asks if maybe you’ve poked this bear a little too much, but you shake your head, it’s just a fake hand. “Like, does it have a sculptor tag on that brass thing at the bottom?”

Your hand reaches out to grab at the golden lining at the bottom of the hand, but Shigaraki veers back suddenly and swats your hand away.

“Don’t touch Father!” His voice is almost a shriek in its highness, yet there still is a brash rasp to it that you recognise. With a brief movement, you snatch your hand back to rest it against your chest—crestfallen. Shigaraki straightens up at once, eyes narrowing to a flash of red before he turns and stomps off.

Your lips part, but the wheeze that escapes it betrays your total bewilderment at the situation. You stand there, watching as his gaunt form disappears through the door at the end of the hallway, eyes wide and fingers twitching as the last of your adrenaline dissipates.

“Another tantrum?” A voice says behind you, you jump. “I’m not surprised anymore. Never thought he’d snap after you, though.”

You twist around, eyes remarking the tall, willowy figure behind you. Dabi, his name is, the one who’s been half-assedly threatening the hostages since the heist started. 

“What are you talking about?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

Dabi chuckles and pushes past you, then turns so you can see one frighteningly blue eye beneath the expanse of black hair. “You’ll see, doll.”

“You shouldn’t be talking to them so much,” Izumi murmurs to you when all of the hostages are rounded up in the morning. Your poor ‘hostage-buddy’ had gone pale ever since the League had crashed through the door, their eyes glassy and red. “They’re—” They pause, looks around for a second. “They’re villains.”

You nod along to them, though your eyes are trained to Shigaraki who’s going about overseeing the sorting of hostages. Your belly still simmered with uneasy guilt when you thought back to the incident three days ago. He was obviously attached to the hand—you knew that—and yet you had reached out to touch it without permission like an—

“Idiot,” You murmured, kicking the marble flooring with the tip of your shoe. 

“What?” Izumi whispered, although they stiffened as Himiko Toga came skipping along.

“Noth—,” You yourself stiffened when Toga came at a standstill before you, slitted eyes peering into your soul. 

She smiled a wicked smile, then spoke, “I need to have a talk with you!”

You gulped. Beside you, Izumi shivered and stepped forward, about to speak but upon glancing the blade settled at Toga’s hip, fell stiff and silent. You couldn’t blame them, though, you would’ve done the same thing.

“Sure,” You stated, attempting to put a smile on your face, if only to settle Izumi’s nerves. 

Oddly, Toga reached out to grab your hand, tugging you along to the eastern corridor. You passed Shigaraki on your way, who turned his head to regard you and Toga. Was that anger you caught in his eyes as he looked over at Toga? You thought nothing of it. 

Toga hummed a hymn as she lead you further and further into the bank until you were just in front of the printing room. This is where money is made, you thought, staring dumbly at the steel, vault door. This is the heart of the world.

Toga giggled at the look you gave the door, “Tomura had the same face when he saw it. He was less happy when he found out that he couldn’t get it open.” Toga pressed a palm flat against the door. “It has a Quirk-cancelling force field around it, so we’re stuck here until we can get the door off.”

“That’s why you’re still keeping hostages,” The remark is a rouge thought vocalised.

Toga nods, “Yeah, there were some pesky heroes outside looking for you guys, but Spinner’s got rid of them.” She makes a gun motion with her hands, you gulp. “Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I came here to talk about boys!”

“Boys?” You ask, a little confused and a little indignant. “We’re in a hostage situation!”

“Yeah, I know, but I noticed that Tomura’s taken a liking to you.” She boops you on the nose. “Well, he’s liked you for a long, long time, but he’s finally got to be close to you. I wish it was like that with my Izuku.”

The identity of Izuku is the least puzzling thing about that sentence.

“For a long time, what?” You blurt out. 

“He was in love with you before the End happened,” Toga smiled, stepping closer to you. “He was so sad because he thought you died, imagine how happy he was to find you here!” Toga babbled on, “He’s not too happy about that Izumi guy that’s always following you around, though. If I were him I would’ve have gotten rid of them, but—”

Your mind leapt. Izumi, you’d left them alone with a bunch of villains. You turn your gaze toward Toga, who seems lost in her own conversation before looking behind you. The door leading out of the hallways seemed so far, although if you were fast enough, it would be easy to just run there. 

With a final glance to Toga, you turn and get ready to start running. A hand against your arm and a blade against your back stops you, however.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

[watch-grok-brainrot]

For the minific ask meme: Jiang Yanli and U. coming home.

So… I LOVE this prompt. Thank you !!! What i wanted to do with this took a few brain jumps. First, i wanted a story about soup and about Yanli feeling like her role is to use soup to stabilize everything and heal. Then, i thought about writing a dark Yanli that haunts JC -- but that’s so OOC I decided not to go there. Finally I settled on this. It has been in my head for over a month, trying to figure out how I want to write this. Thank you for your patience!

Earth Offical’s Pardoning

Rated G

Word Count: 1213 (+/- 5 because I never let things be)

Content: cql compliant not other adaptations/novel compliant, canonical characters being dead, family feels, sad JC, baby!jin ling, mention of food because when do i not mention food?, holidays, visiting people, watching her child growing up, childhood development milestones

----

Zhongyuan Festival. Earth Offical’s Pardoning. The fifteenth day of the seventh month. On this day, the doors of the underworld opened and Jiang Yanli found herself walking hand-in-hand with her husband towards the world of the living. 

They traveled first to Carp Tower. Zixuan wanted to unite with their son and his family before seeing A-Cheng. Their gossamer forms breezed over the tower stairs and into the main complex. The small lotus pond Zixuan had built for her was abandoned -- brown lotus stems and dried lily pads stuck out of drier ground. 

Zixuan squeezed her hand and they headed towards his family’s Ancestral Hall. Jin Guangyao was in the midst of orchestrating a grand ceremony to honor the ancestral spirits. Jin Ling could not be found. Zixuan stepped before his still grieving mother, knelt, kowtowed thrice with tears in his eyes. He then stood up and tried to comfort her with intangible hands; they trailed over her shoulders and cupped around her face. Jiang Yanli bit her lip and looked away. 

After half a shichen of listening to insufferable ceremonies, Jiang Yanli grew impatient. Zixuan noticed her anxious hands and returned by her side. Jiang Yanli took her husband’s hand, “Let’s go see A-Cheng and Ling’er.” 

Together they folded the fabric of existence and stepped over to Lotus Pier. Crossing the threshold, they flew over the familiar lotus motif of the training grounds, straightened and then landed before the sword practice hall. Walking down the wooden corridors, Jiang Yanli traced her fingers through the hated cracks and scorch marks left from the Sunshot Campaign. A-Cheng kept them intentionally, persevering their appearance. They served to motivate the new disciples, to guide people in righteousness, and to remind everyone what the sect had once lost.

She glided along the familiar winding paths, missing the way wood once felt beneath her feet. She loved the twists and turns, like life, like rivers, like fate. There was something comforting to the seemingly inefficient corridors of her childhood home. Zixuan trailed behind, commenting occasionally on the beauty of said home. 

A few lotus species remained in bloom in the late summer. Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan stopped to admire the multi-layered ombre hues; their bodies hovering over the flowers, their hands failing to make the flowers waver at their touch. 

When they finally stepped into the Jiang Sect Ancestral Hall, Jiang Yanli realized Lotus Pier had been strangely devoid of people this entire time. Had A-Cheng sent everyone else away?

A pot of Lotus root and pork rib soup, plates of sweet and fragrant pastries, fresh fruit, and fresh lotus pods were set out as offerings for Jiang Yanli, for her parents, and for the other ancestors. A-Cheng sat at the edge of the lotus altar, as she often did after their parents’ death. Ling’er squirmed in A-Cheng’s left arm as his left hand held a wooden tablet. His right hand was pointing at the text on the tablet -- the tablet with her name. 

“A-Ling, this is my Jiejie, your mother. She was the most amazing person. I hope you grow up to be strong, kind, and intelligent, just like her,” A-Cheng said as he bounced Ling’er on one knee, his voice cracking as he spoke. 

Zixuan let go of her hand and she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around her little brother and her child. Shortly after, Zixuan sat down next to her and held his hand out to caress their toddler son. They had missed so many months of his infancy. 

“Ling-er is so big now. He has gotten half again as big as he was when I last saw him,” Zixuan said.

Jiang Yanli hovered her hand over her child’s head, “He babbles now. I wonder who he talks to. Is the wetnurse good for him? Does he have friends? Is he lonely? Is there someone to respond to his babbling?” Her vision blurred as she blinked back tears. 

The two of them sat by A-Cheng and Ling’er, watching A-Cheng play with the boy and teach the boy. Who would bet someone with as deadly a title as Sandu Shengshou would be so gentle with a child? 

Ling’er became fussy and A-Cheng set him down. The baby pulled himself up by A-Cheng’s robes and reached up to ask for A-Cheng’s hand. 

“You can do this yourself,” A-Cheng responded gently and shooed Ling’er away from him. 

Ling’er’s bottom lip quivered. 

“I know you can walk if you try. Look, I’ll catch you if you fall, ok? But at least try. Maybe your parents are here. It would be nice if they were around to see you take your first steps.”

A-Cheng picked up Ling’er, stood up, and set Ling’er next to the altar for stability. Then he took 3 large steps back, squatted down, and motioned for the baby. 

Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan watched, captivated by the two of them. Would they really be so lucky to witness their child’s first steps today?

Ling’er reached for his uncle. He took a few steps balanced against the altar and then pushed off. A step, two steps, and then teetered forward. Zidian flew out and caught the child. “A-Ling, good job! If only your mother were here, she would be so proud of your first steps!”

Jin Zixuan yelled, “Zidian! A vicious spiritual weapon was just used on our baby! What is your brother thinking? That’s dangerous!”

Jiang Yanli smiled, “A-niang taught us how to walk like this. Zixian knows bloodlines and the owner’s intent. It can be as steady as a banister while feeling more gentle than a dandelion puff.”

They spent the rest of their day with A-Cheng. They watched Ling’er be fed, be held, be coddled. They watched A-Cheng patiently teaching, softly holding, and playfully carrying the boy. Ling’er clung to A-Cheng and A-Cheng to Ling’er. Afterall, they were the closest blood relatives each other had. 

Time flew and night fell. A-Cheng took Ling’er to the market on the docks. Jiang Yanli knew the day was ending; her time here was ending. A-Cheng purchased a violet and gold lotus with nine intricate petals and a candle shaped like a lotus pod. He set Ling’er down and handed the lantern to the boy. 

“Hold.”

Ling’er took the lantern by a corner, waved it, and dropped it to play with the lotus pod candle that fell out. Jiang Yanli felt Zixuan’s arm around her waist squeeze her close. If they were still part of the living, watching her brother and her child bond like this would be bliss. 

A-Cheng picked up the lantern, took Ling’er’s hands and set the candle inside. He then lit the wick with his spiritual energy. The light from the flame flickered, casting violet and gold shadows over the uncle and nephew duo who belonged to the sects of violet and gold.

A-Cheng swooped Ling’er into an arm and gently set the lantern in the water with his free hand. Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan felt themselves drawn towards the lotus lantern. They held each other close and watched A-Cheng walk away with Ling’er towards Lotus Pier. They stood in place but the pull of the lantern carried them away. Lotus Pier slowly faded as they returned to the Earth Offical’s realm. 

Notes: 

So… there are 3 [something]-yuan festivals. Shang means upper. Zhong means middle. Xia means bottom. They all have an associated saying: for Shangyuan Festival, Heaven Offical’s Blessing (yes, like the title of the novel); for Zhongyuan Festival, Earth Offical’s Pardoning; for Xiayuan Festival, Water Offical’s Salvation. (uh… I chose salvation here because the chinese means relieving/saving from distress/suffering).

I don’t like the sound of A-Ling, so i went with Ling’er. I think JC would try to keep his sister’s naming convention and stick with A-Ling… but I also think Yanli might call Jin Ling Ling’er, especially since er can mean child. E.g. Ying’er LITERALLY means infant so uh… WWX probably didn’t get that name for a reason. XD Though i can see gremlin CSSR calling him that… 

Yes, Jin Ling is too young to walk. Maybe JC feeds him spiritual energy when he plays with the baby and so Jing Ling developed a bit faster? IDK. I wanted the story to be set on the Zhongyuan Festival so I fudged childhood development a little. I can also see Jiang Cheng intentionally trying to make Jin Ling do things younger so he can be “better than” or “beat” WWX at things… :/

I think this is only a little sad? Or it starts off sad and ends on an ok note? I’m curious to see what people think

[chokemeanakin]

Anakin Skywalker x Sick gn Reader Being a Dipshit

Summary: Reader has a cold and Anakin takes care of her despite the fact that she literally goes looking for trouble

masterlist

Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24711994

You’ve never truly hated yourself until this moment. 

You’re a capable individual, you know this. Living in the Jedi’s world during an intergalactic war was no easy ride, and you’d come to adapt to their hectic way of life. Through trials and tribulations, no matter how dangerous, exhausting, or mentally scarring, you’d always managed to come out on top.

Except for now.

When you needed yourself the most, you really let yourself down. 

Colossal screwup, you cursed yourself as your sweaty hand slid off the top of the pill bottle once again. Your fingers were red and rubbed raw from the indents on the lid. Useless idiot.

The strain from trying to pry the lid off the pill bottle made your sinuses clog up and your headache worsen. You squinted your eyes, shielding them from the harsh fluorescent lights as you sat in the corner of the bathroom and struggled. 

For some reason, you had thought joining the Jedi on their quest to destroy the separatists and restore peace to the galaxy would come with a ‘never get sick’ card. You never saw Yoda take a day off for the sniffles. 

Alas; here you were, curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor, wrestling with a child-proof pill bottle. Anakin was just outside, probably listening to your failing attempt to self-medicate. You promised him you’d be back in a second, but it’s been more like 5 minutes and you were sure he’d barge in at any moment now.

“Y/n?” speak of the devil. “You okay in there?”

“Fine,” you grit your teeth, tugging on the top once again. The directions said pull up and twist. That’s what you were doing, so why wasn’t it working?

“You need help with anything?”

You narrowed your eyes at his tone. He was holding back laughter. 

“No.”

“If you say so…”

You had about 20 seconds before he used his weird Jedi tricks to sneak his way past the locked door and find you in your pathetic predicament. Desperately, you attacked the lid-- twisting and turning, pushing and pulling. You balled up your shirt and used it for more grip, to no avail. Finally, as a last resort, you grabbed for the scissors you kept in the drawer under the sink. You raised it over your head and were just about to stab the bottle open with the blade when the door to the bathroom suddenly opened, and Anakin was catching your wrist in his hand. He gently took the scissors out of your grip, setting them on the counter out of reach.

“What did I tell you about playing with sharp objects while sick?”

You scrunched your face up, half-glaring at him and half wallowing in your own miserable embarrassment. You had hoped you could at least take some painkillers by yourself, to prove to Anakin that you weren’t some helpless little fawn while you were feeling under the weather, but of course the child safety measures had other plans. 

Anakin took the pill bottle from your stinging hands and twisted it open with ease. He shook a couple tablets out onto your waiting palm and then capped the bottle, setting it aside.

“See?” he handed a glass of water to you with a smirk. “Not so hard.”

“Can it, Skywalker,” you threw the pills back and sipped the water. The cold liquid soothed your aching throat. “I may be sick, but I can still kick your ass to Tatooine and back.”

“I’ll hold you to that, when you’re better I mean,” he took the empty glass from your grasp and set it back on the counter. Without skipping a beat, he bent down to wrap an arm under your shoulders, helping you to your feet. 

“Geez Ani, I’m sick, not crippled,” you groaned, sniffling as he led you back to bed. You ended up tripping on your discarded boot, and would have fallen flat on your face if he wasn’t holding you. He had the decency not to mention it. 

He brought you to your bed, helping you lay back against the pillows. You watched his face contort in concentration-- eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, eyes narrowed-- as he focused on pulling the blankets up over you, smoothing down the edges, adjusting your pillows, trailing his fingers down the side of your face in between. You couldn’t help the blush on your cheeks as he held your chin delicately in his gloved hand, leaning down to place a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead. 

“You can always ask me for help you know.”

“I know,” you shrunk deeper under the covers, feeling squeamish under the intensity of his gaze.

“Is your throat still bothering you?”

You nodded, averting your eyes as you suddenly became bashful. It wasn’t just that you hated admitting to weakness-- it was also the fact that Anakin was so damn pretty, even up close, and he was fully using it against you. The boy had some wicked eye contact, and every time those dark blue eyes locked on you, you felt like melting. 

Anakin caressed your cheek with his thumb, no doubt noting the heat that pooled there. The corner of his mouth tilted up in a slight smile-- he knew what he was doing to you.

“I’ll go make you some tea.”

As soon as he left the room, you let out a long breath. It was meant to relieve some tension built up in your chest, but it really resulted in you hunched over in a coughing fit. You pressed your arm against your mouth, trying to muffle the awful barking sounds coming from your throat. Each cough felt like nails were dragging against the walls of your throat. Your forehead broke out in a sweat with the exertion, and the headache came back with a splitting furiosity.

Screw this, you decided, throwing off the covers and standing from the bed. Fresh air was just what your ailing body needed. 

You wobbled over to the balcony doors on weak legs, feeling like you could just collapse at the knees at any moment. Climbing onto the concrete wall of the balcony, you folded your legs criss-cross and watched the city lights twinkle before you. There was a cool breeze tonight and it did wonders to soothe your fever. This was possibly the best decision you had made since falling ill.

However, looking below you, there was at least a thousand feet between you and the ground. And no barrier stopping you from falling. 

Oh well, you thought to yourself. It’s not like anyone’s gonna push me. 

You sat on the balcony for a while, closing your eyes and breathing in the cold night air as you waited for Anakin to come back with the tea. It was very peaceful, and even the honking of impatient drivers in late night traffic was like a lullaby to your ears. Soon, you found yourself drifting off to sleep, your head falling forward as you slipped into unconsciousness.

“Force, Y/n, what are you doing on the ledge like that?!” Anakin’s voice ripped you out of your sleep. You startled, gripping onto the edge of the concrete as you blinked your eyes open to the millions of tiny city lights before you. You turned to see Anakin rushing toward you, floating the mug of tea he was holding away with the force. 

He tried wrapping his arms around you, but you squirmed out of his grasp.

“You can’t touch me, Anakin, you’ll get sick,” you mumbled drowsily. You yawned and rubbed your eye with a fist as he sputtered something about how you didn’t care about that before.

“Just come away from the ledge, Y/n, it’s not safe up there!”

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself to unsteady feet slowly. “You worry too much,” you told him, turning around to face the city and opening your arms out wide. “See? I’m perfectly alri-- ah-- ah-- aaahh choo!”

The sneeze took you by surprise, and you pitched forward with the force it used to expel from your body. Suddenly you were too far over the edge of the balcony, and for a moment of heart-stopping terror you were falling…

… Until familiar strong arms caught you around the waist and pulled you back to the floor of the balcony. 

“You are a pain in my ass,” Anakin hissed, ushering you inside. He closed the doors to the balcony a little too hard with the force, holding you tightly all the way back to bed.

“Damn,” you croaked, letting him drop you back into bed and tuck the sheets even tighter around you, like a straightjacket that’ll stop you from escaping again. “I almost just died.”

“You wouldn’t have died,” Anakin huffed, turning his back to retrieve the tea he left on the dresser. “I wouldn’t let that happen. I, however, just had a mini heart attack.”

“Just a mini one?”

“Stop talking, you’ll only hurt your throat more.” The panic was slowly leaving his eyes as he sat on the edge of the bed. To calm you down or himself, you weren’t sure, but he began brushing your bangs out of your face as you sipped on the tea. 

You closed your eyes and let yourself melt into his touch, the soft tickling sensation of his hand grazing your forehead, the warm presence of him. You sniffled lightly, rubbing at your dripping yet somehow stuffed nose with your sleeve, hoping he would never stop carding his fingers through your hair. 

“You should rest,” Anakin took the mug from you after a moment and set it aside. He waved his gloved hand, and the lights in the room darkened so that the only thing casting light was the single candle burning on the bedside table. It flickered in the dark, casting shadows over Anakin’s face. 

Suddenly you felt his hand leave your face and his weight lift off the bed. Your heart dropped with the realization that he was leaving. Desperately, you reached for him before he could go too far, latching onto the hard metal of his gloved wrist.

“You can stay,” you told him quietly. Then you added, “Please.”

Anakin tilted his head thoughtfully, staring at you for a moment. You were glad it was dark so that he couldn’t see the colorful emotion staining your cheeks. It’s not like you two hadn’t slept in the same bed together-- you were dating, after all-- but showing affection never came easy to you. Neither did asking for help, or admitting weakness.

Anakin, to his credit, didn’t hesitate for very long. Gently, he got back into bed with you, this time snaking his arm under your head so that it would rest on the soft cushion of his bicep. You turned and curled into his chest, breathing in his scent. He always smelled like leather and metal and spices. Your favorite scent in the whole world.

“How are you feeling now?” Anakin murmured as he rubbed your arm soothingly, cocooning you against his body in his own.

“Like shit,” you admitted truthfully, but burrowed your head deeper into his chest. “But this is nice.”

“I’m glad,” you could hear the smile in his voice. 

You loved his voice. Just like his smell, his voice was one of your favorite sounds in the world, coming second only to his laugh. You wanted to keep talking, to keep hearing it, but you found yourself being weighed down with a heavy exhaustion. The warmth coming from the blankets and emanating from Anakin was enough to cloud your mind with sleep, the steady drag of his hand against your arm a soothing distraction from the miserable sickness waging war inside your body. Before you could say another word to the love of your life, you passed out right in his arms.

[nadana-vhet]

Hot Chocolate

WoL: Ahmi Vhelo, Keeper of the Moon Miqo’te

Pairing: WoL x Haurchefant Greystone

“Ah, there you are!” A familiar voice boomed behind her, confident and warm as it grew louder as he approached.

Ahmi turned her head to see Haurchefant, dressed in more casual attire as the night wound down and Camp Dragonhead slowly became still. She hummed a greeting towards him, not speaking for a moment as she had just popped a handful of Coerthan berries into her mouth. “You were looking for me - Is aught amiss?” She asked, concerned, after she swallowed. She dangled her legs over the balustrade that overlooked the camp, the highest point that she could climb without directly scaling the tall tower atop the main building. Since coming to Camp Dragonhead in search of the Enterprise, she found herself up here a lot. She enjoyed the calm of watching from above, as if nothing could touch or ground her as she let her thoughts wander.

“Oh, no.” Haurchefant shook his head, patting her blanketed shoulder in comfort. “All is well tonight, my friend, especially now that I have found you! I simply wished to chat with you, ‘tis all.” He winked, sitting next to her and reaching over to pluck a berry from her hand. She rolled her eyes at him playfully, which only led to a warm chuckle from the flirtatious elezen.

She relaxed her shoulders at the relief of knowing she wasn’t needed for something daring, for once. Her hand shifted, allowing the pouch of berries to sit on her knee closest to him as they ate in silence for a few moments, looking up at the night sky of Corethas and watching the moon and the stars through sparse, wispy clouds. It was cold out, so she had taken the precaution of wrapping herself in a blanket, but secretly she enjoyed the slight sting of the chill on her reddened cheeks.

“You seem quite at home here, it seems. Your friend, Alphinaud, has not become accustomed nearly as well,” he chuckled, glancing over at her through his silvery bangs as he mused, “I do not believe you have ever mentioned where you hailed from?” He suddenly seemed aware of this fact, and his tone was almost a hint apologetic, as if he felt bad for not asking before.

“Gridania,” Ahmi nodded, popping another red berry into her mouth before swallowing, “I had actually never left the Twelveswood until shortly before joining the Scions.” She handed the berries over to him, signifying she was done snacking, before moving her hands to rub some warmth into the tips of her ears. “I’ll admit, though – I hate how warm it is in Thanalan. I’ll take the cold over sweating any day,” she laughed softly.

“Ah, it seems we have that in common! I also, in fact, have never left my home domain. Do you think you have room for another in your ranks? If anything at all, I could be of use assisting the Warrior of Light in reaching things in high places.” His hand hovered over the top of her head, as if to emphasize her short stature.

Ahmi attempted to feign offense, but it was hard to hide her amusement at his warmth. “Unfortunately, Urianger already fulfills the needed top-shelf-reaching quota.” For emphasis, Ahmi reached a hand above her head to mimic the action. The simple gesture made Haurchefant’s heart flutter, but for once he didn’t have a witty, flirtatious aside for her. He simply stared for a few moments until she furrowed her brows at him. Halone preserve him, she had only been here a week and he was already faltering.

“Haurchefant?” She questioned, and with his name from her lips he shook himself from his stupor.

“Hm?” He hummed before blinking, realizing his blunder as he cleared his throat. “Well, how unfortunate. I suppose I must continue my existence inside these confining walls.” Haurchefant sighed dramatically.

Ahmi chuckled, though through her amusement she shivered at the growing cold of the evening. “I assure you, Ser Haurchefant, that you will be the first to know if the Scions are in need of another such individual.”

“I look forward to it, Miss-“ Haurchefant paused, noticing the fact that the miqo’te was beginning to suffer the consequences of the harsh Corethas wind. “Never mind that, I request that you let me escort you inside before you become a frozen statue atop my camp!” he offered, turning around and standing on the stone walkway before holding out a hand to her.

“I am sure I would be quite an unsightly statue,” she grinned, taking his hand gratefully before hopping down from the balustrade.

Despite both their hands being covered by gloves, Haurchefant couldn’t help but quietly marvel at how tiny her hand felt in his. He led her inside and practically begged to continue keeping her company, using the excuse that she needed to recover from the cold before he (a most proper and diligent host) would even consider leaving her alone.

The two made pleasant conversation as he lead her through the main castle, down stairs and hallways until eventually he turned a corner to a simple sitting room, having only been recently dusted due to the arrival of the Warrior of Light and her white-haired companions. He hurried across the room to light the fireplace, begrudgingly accepting aid from the miqo’te as she handed him kindling and crouched next to him. “I insist, Miss Ahmi – rest! You must be far too cold.”

“Mm, yes, but I will warm faster if I keep moving.” Ahmi quipped back with a smile.

Haurchefant tried to argue further, but it was useless against her wits. He simply gave in and allowed her to do whatever she pleased, which he began to appreciate as he watched her delicate hands pass over the matches. He continued to notice the small details (he wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not) like her eyes watching intently for any opening to assist further, or the way her blue waves contrasted with the firelight as it flickered to life.

Haurchefant excused himself before he said something too embarrassing, and when he returned he brought a tray with two mugs and two metal kettles, one with a painted blue top, and another red. He set it down on the table in front of the fireplace and gestured towards it with a flourish. “Fortemps specialty hot chocolate – the blue lid is without alcohol, and the red one with.”

“What kind?”

“Why, rum, of course. The only proper alcohol that is allowed to go in hot chocolate, lest I show up to remedy the mistake personally.” He smiled, picking up the mug closest to him and pouring some of the alcoholic hot chocolate into his mug.

Ahmi chuckled, “You sound very passionate about your hot chocolate, Ser Greystone.” She seemed to think for a moment before picking up her mug and pouring from the non-alcoholic kettle, “I hope you are not slighted at the idea of drinking alone, but I much prefer to try out your esteemed recipe unabated, first,” she smiled at him, blowing on the liquid carefully before taking a sip. Her eyes lit up happily, humming contently into the lip of the mug. “Oh my gods, this is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted!” She threw her head back dramatically, closing her eyes as she savored the taste.

“Oh? Well, I know plenty of other things that taste better. Perhaps they even reside in this very room.” Haurchefant’s eyebrows quirked upwards, which offered another giggle from his companion.

She leaned across the table and pushed his shoulder playfully, shaking her head at him, “Are you wont to seduce every adventurer that passes through Corethas?”

“Only the pretty ones,” he corrected, brushing his hair from his face with another wicked smile.

Ahmi rolled her eyes at him, settling herself back in the cozy armchair across from him. “Mm, likely story.” she pursed her lips, but behind the glint of her grey eyes there was a surprising glimpse of mischief, despite her otherwise unassuming demeanor. He wasn’t sure if she was teasing or serious, but even so, he wasn’t quite sure of his own intentions either.

She had discarded the blanket while he was off making their beverages, the fur draped across the back of the chair, her elbows propped against its arms. She wore a a simple enough sweater and skirt combo, with the former being tucked in at the waist to flatter her full figure. It had been about a week since her and her white-haired companions brokered for his help, and he had noticed that she had quickly adapted and bought some warmer clothes from the few merchants that occasionally stopped by to sell their wares. It seemed only practical, since it was unfolding that their stay would be longer than they were expecting – especially with how it was becoming increasingly difficult to procure information about the Enterprise. He would search tirelessly, however, because the one asking this of him was so captivating.

And she vowed to help Francel, of course.

“‘Tis true! And, Camp Dragonhead does not get many adventurers, so perhaps you have been the only adventurer I have attempted to seduce,” he winked again, though there was an inkling of truth to his defense. Of course he had seduced men and women alike, but Camp Dragonhead didn’t get many adventurers, and none of them were as beautiful as her.

“Mm, now I am wondering if you came to find me just to see if you could bed me, with all this obvious flattery. How predictable, the plight of men.” Ahmi teased, her laugh like the bells of the convocation, calling forth its congregation to worship.

“My chambers are open for you any hour of the day, Miss Ahmi,” he grinned, taking another long sip of his boozy concoction. Another jest, but it was absolutely not a joke. Not in the slightest.

Ahmi blushed a little deeper under her already reddened cheeks, still adjusting to the warmth inside the walls. “You cannot expect me to come that easily, foolish man. Perhaps I will indulge you once you have given me a reason besides your boyish charms. A backstory, perhaps?” She hummed at him expectantly, holding out her mug for him as if she expected him to oblige what she was asking.

“I am simply a humble knight of Ishgard,” he bowed his head, but she certainly was not going to take that as an answer. He could talk anyone’s ear off if he so chose, and she had figured that out very quickly. She watched him expectantly, egging him to continue on.

Haurchefant obliged, but not before making her promise to divulge some of her’s in return. He spoke of all the good parts – mentioned being a bastard, of course, as it was unavoidable when she realized he did not share the Fortemps surname. Beautiful and perceptive, he noted. He skimmed over the hatred of his stepmother, of how othered he felt as a child. Instead, he spoke of how hard he trained as a knight, of silly little adventures he had inside and out of the city, and of his young self getting into all sorts of trouble.

He even recounted the tale of trying to defend a woman from some grisly man. Haurchefant had only been a mere fifteen summers at the time, his voice cracking as he valiantly told the man to unhand the lady. However, to his embarrassment, she just laughed and explained that he was just her very affectionate, very drunk husband.

“I see you have been chasing after maidens since you were a boy.” Ahmi giggled, and by that time she was on her third mug of hot chocolate. She kept it without alcohol, which he noted, as she urged him to continue his stories. She felt so blissfully comfortable to talk to, asking questions at all the right places and making him feel like she was actually interested in his silly antics, so much so that he didn’t feel guilty talking about himself as he usually did.

Finally, he told her of Francel and their friendship that he held dear. He recounted the time Francel had gotten kidnapped by bandits, and how frantic and worried he was for his friend as he tracked them down with merely a hunting knife to defend himself. He left out the grisly bits, as he knew she was experienced enough with combat to fill in the blanks. It was then he revealed that it was this deed that finally awarded him his position as a Knight of Ishgard. He was fiercely proud of his position, and Ahmi could tell.

“T’would seem that you, of all people, should deserve the position the most.” Ahmi noted, a steep compliment to Haurchefant, but she spoke it as if it were a simple fact of life. “A true knight should fight for justice and the ones he loves, and it seems you hold the standard for that code.” She smiled brightly at him, and again Haurchefant’s heart threatened to burst from his chest. He knew it was no more than a puppy crush. She was a primal slayer, after all – a beautiful, kind, delightful primal slayer. However, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in danger of it turning into something more.

“I… thank you, my friend. I appreciate the sentiment more than you know,” he smiled at her softly before glancing down at his mug. She is going to leave, ‘ere long, Haurchefant thought to himself, she has duties to attend to, and I mine. However, that does not leave out the possibility of more casual affairs, if she so chooses…

However, by the time Haurchefant had pulled himself out of his internal musings for yet another time that night, he had found that her eyes had drifted shut, her mouth slightly agape as she slept quietly, curled up in the armchair with the mug still held in her hands, though thankfully it was empty.

When Ahmi awoke the next morning, she was curled up in her own guest chambers, the same fur blanket she had the night before draped over her. The sun shone dimly through the curtains, and though she could tell it was far later than she would have liked to have woken up, her chest filled with a pleasing warmth despite the cold and she allowed herself to rest for a few moments longer.

[distraught-himbo]

This will be the first in what is hopefully a many parted series of my thoughts, which I will be titling The Ramblings of a Passionate Fool.

Lately, dear reader, I've been thinking of love. Of who gives love, and who gets it. Of who deserves it, and who does not. And I've been thinking of how those lists don't match as well as they should.

Now before I start, I want to make something very clear. I hate the word deserve. So very often, people use deserve in the cosmic sense. That is to say, when they use the word deserve they mean that the universe owes them something. Ie, if I were to say I've been working hard recently, and I deserve a break, I would be saying some cosmic force out there should see my labors and sympathize, that my efforts have put the universe in my debt, and that this debt should be repaid. I dislike this idea, and disagree with the premise. When I use the word deserve I will be specifically referring humans owing something to each other.

So with that nitpick out of the way. Who is deserving of love, and the problems with that question.

Does everyone deserve love? Do some people deserve it more than others? Can you do something to make you undeserving of it? Thinkers and philosophers have asked these questions for centuries, and while we've never come to a certain answer, I would argue we as a society have come up with a baseline that most of us can agree on. Most people, I think, would agree that humans deserve love from birth. I belive very few would argue that a newborn doesn't deserve a parents love, that a child shouldn't be loved by friend, that an adult shouldn't be loved by a partner or spouse. In the same way, I belive most would agree that you can revoke your right of love. Murders, rapists, some people's lists are longer than others, but most people would argue that you can do something that makes you no longer worthy of love. These are the foundations we base our morals, our lives, our very selves on. But what if those are challenged

Love, is a gift. Given by a person, and sometimes taken. And gifts, by their very nature, are not based off of what one deserves. There are murderers that have a spouse waiting for them. There are rapists who have parents that still care and still grieve. There are horrible, awful people out there who still have people who care for them.

Now, maybe you can just dismiss this by saying those people are wrong, they are making the wrong choice by still loving those criminals and monsters. And maybe you are right. But does that matter? Does it make the love less real? If you give a gift to someone who doesn't deserve it, that doesn't change that you chose to give the gift. Simply put, I belive humans are flawed, and they give their gifts to flawed people. It might be right, it might be wrong, but in the end they make their choice.

There's another problem. People can change. Or at least I belive they can. Some don't belive that, and to them there the world seems more clear cut. Once you revoke your right to love, that is final. You made your choice and now you will live with it. For the rest of us though, the world is a little more complicated. If you belive that someone can truly change then by nature of that belief, you would belive that they can become once again worthy of love. Now how they would do that, what that would take varies opinion to opinion, but the core of that belief is consistent. And within this problem is another. I belive that the way people change is through love. Showing love, and being shown it. Through loving others, and being loved by them, I belive a monster can once again be someone worthy of being loved. Yet there is the issue. In order for someone to become worthy of love, they must first be loved. To earn a the gift, they must first be given it. Such a strange paradox, and I know of no answer to it. But it does make me wonder. Maybe it's alright that people give their love to those who do not deserve it. Maybe in human foolishness and flawed choices there is a seed that can grow into a beautiful thing, brokenness turned to hope.

I've discussed evil a lot, and how love can be given to the most wicked of people. So let's take a break from that and talk about what we would define as good people. You would think that there would be less questions and easier answers here, but I'm not certain you'd be right. Let me paint you a picture.

A child in an abusive household. A place full of racism, misogyny, full of fear and hate. As a child of course, they know no better, so of course they are filled with those same things. A bitter, angry, scared, isolated child. Would that child deserve love? I'm certain you would agree that of course they do. A child cannot be blamed for the circumstances it was born into, and in my opinion no good person would blame them for adapting to their environment and showing the scars of where they were. Now say this child grows to a young adult. And not only have they grown physically, but they've grown emotionally, and mentally. They've distanced themselves from the hate they grew up with, they've attempted to right the wrong they've done. They are attempting to learn, to grow, to become a person they can be proud of. No one is perfect of course, but they wake up every day and try to be a better person, to be a little more light in a world that they know can be so very dark. Would that person be worthy of love? Once more I think most would agree that of course, that person is completely worthy of being loved, of receiving what they try to give every day. And maybe you think these questions are too easy. But let me pose this. What if no one does. What then? See you could become a person more worthy of love than any on earth, but if no one chooses to love you what do you do then?

The problem has to do with what we discussed before. Love is a gift. And no matter who you are, you do not get to demand someone else's gift. No one owes you their love, no matter how good or bad you may be. A cruel paradox isn't it? You can be deserving of love, you can be someone who should be loved. But no needs to love you. You, are not owed, anyone's love. So what then do you do? Some people become bitter, full of pain and resentment for a world that didn't love them when they were worthy of it, and loved someone else despite their unworthiness. And while neither they nor their actions are in the right, maybe we should not be so quick to judge. After all, love is what all humans crave above all else, and to be given none and given no reason why would be something I wonder if any of us would be willing to handle.

(I would like to add as a note that there are people like this who think they deserve a specific person's love and demand it, and hate when they don't receive it. I am in no way making excuses for these people, or attempting to justify their behavior)

In prologue. I don't have the answers to these questions I've asked. I don't know who does. But I do know one thing. Showing love is so important, to everyone, and only serves to make this dark world a little brighter. So show some love to someone who deserves it. Show some love to someone who doesn't. And show a little love to yourself.

Thanks for reading.

[elfrootaddict]

It has been a looooooong time since I posted anything regarding my Halla & Wolf series but I have recently managed to start the next volume: Keeping Company

Here are two small extracts from chapters 1 & 2 🤗

Chapter 1 of vol. 5 Keeping Company:

...

Lana then spots Commander Cullen shouting inaudible instructions towards his exhausted recruits, and then peers up at Solas, “You go on ahead. I just need to speak to our Commander before I head inside. See you at dinner?”

“Of course,” concurs Solas with a smile. “See you then.”

With a respectful nod towards Solas, Lana turns and walks towards the soldiers in training, “Cullen!”

Before leaving Haven for the Hinterlands, Lana often found herself wandering around the camp when she wasn’t either talking to Solas, playing Wicked Grace with Varric or sketching in her cabin. By the second day, she found the Inquisition’s military adviser training new soldiers or improving strategies with the experienced ones near Haven’s frozen lake, with the snowy mountains stretching up towards the scarred sky. In the quieter moments of her day, she would often enjoy watching the soldiers train under the guidance of Cullen’s experience and expertise. And since she has no training, or use, when it comes to utilitising a sword and shield, Lana found the number of different ways a sword can be used to strike down one's opponent to be equally grotesque and fascinating. It was a whole other world of defense she never knew and it piqued her curious mind.

Not wanting to get directly involved or noticed, Lana would quietly sit and observe to learn what she could from a distance. And on the few random occasions, Lana and Cullen would quickly share a couple of glances from afar and release mutual smiles of respect towards one another. This would be the only time they would interact, albeit from a distance, when they were outside the war room.

That is until by the fifth day, when a soldier in training managed to parry a sword out of another’s hand and accidentally fling it straight towards Lana, piercing the ground only an arm-stretch away from her feet. Irritated with his soldier’s negligence, Cullen orders the soldier to retrieve the sword and the young man immediately hurries over in panic, “Please forgive me, Herald! It will never happen again!”

Lana waves her hand in the air in an attempt to de-escalate the situation, “No, no, it’s fine. Please, don’t worry.”

The soldier simply offers a respectful bow and turns on his heel, passing Cullen as he heads towards Lana himself, “Maker’s breath,” remarks Cullen looking embarrassed. “I apologize on behalf of my soldier, Herald. Clumsy fool.”

With a sympathetic laugh, Lana looks up at Cullen, “It really is okay, Commander. It was just an accident.”

“Regardless,” reiterates Cullen with furrowed brows. “It should not have happened.”

Still looking up at the Commander, whose appearance Lana felt was easy on the eyes for a human, and his shining armour with a deep red fur wrapped around his shoulders, offers a simple smile. “That was still quite an impressive move.”

Cullen releases a soft laugh under his breath, “Disarming one’s opponent like that does not happen often.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” begins Cullen looking down at the ever curious elf peering up before him. “To get such a bind on your opponent’s sword like that means that your opponent isn’t very experienced or they are beyond exhaustion and are no longer concentrating. Usually your opponent will be able to parry such an attack if they know what they’re doing before the sword is twisted out of their hand.”

“Parry?”

“It means to counter a move,” explains Cullen casually, however based on Lana’s curious but perplexed expression, he releases a polite smile, “Perhaps it would be best if I showed you? If you’re interested, of course. I understand if you are needed elsewhere.”

Delighted by the invitation to know more about the world of swords and shields, Lana stands to her feet with a wide grin, “Of course! That is if you don’t mind? I can always come back another day.”

With a sincere smile, Cullen cocks his head towards his soldiers and reassures Lana that it would be of no inconvenience at all to show her some of the basic techniques of fencing and mastery of the sword. Since then, Lana and Cullen would often spend some time discussing other off-hand topics while watching the soldiers practice their techniques. Igniting another unexpected friendship.

~~~

Chapter 2 of vol. 5 Keeping Company:

...

“Now what?” murmurs Lana eventually to help snap her mind out of her obscene thoughts and back to the present. Back to reality.

Solas releases a wide smile at Lana’s eagerness as he cannot help but feel his own giddiness swirling inside him. The idea of bringing someone from this world into the Fade with him was quickly denied by the overly cautious, frightened and grossly misunderstood people of Thedas. Nobody cared to know more about the Fade than what the Chantry already preached. The Dalish were far too superstitious and did not want to disturb the resting place of their pantheon, lest they catch the wandering eye of Fen’Harel. Their minds were all made-up and nobody could tell them otherwise. Especially a wondering, lowly elf nobody had ever heard of before.

Reaching for his side of the fireplace, Solas grabs a small clay bowl with crushed, dried elfroot, “Now, before I light this I want to mention a few key aspects about the Fade that I believe you already know, but I feel should be said regardless,” Lana takes small shallow breaths as she listens intently to Solas’s every word. “Your beliefs and willpower is paramount in the Fade. Everything that exists there, exists by your expression of thought. If you are expecting a demon, the Spirit will adapt. Magic can be used if necessary but I strongly advise against it. Magic in the Fade is incredibly unpredictable and may end up causing more harm than good. As a somniari, I have far more control over my surroundings and abilities, so you will follow my lead and enter my dream.”

Lana slowly nods in acknowledgement, “Okay.”

“Now, I remember you mentioning that you have only entered the Fade once with your Keeper. So, I have taken the liberty of drying up some elfroot to help you relax. Making the passage easier for you,” Solas brings the bowl closer to his face and creates a small flame, lighting the dried healing plant before blowing all the flames out. A plume of smoke rises from the bowl as Solas places it on the grown between them. “Take my hands and close your eyes,” Lana looks down at the open palms laying before her and gently places her hands onto them. Solas then curls his fingers around, sealing her hands in a firm but gentle grip and murmurs. “Now, just focus on breathing in the air and connecting to the Fade. I will do the rest.”

With her eyes shut and seeing nothing but darkness, Lana focuses on her other senses: the elfroot fumes burning her nose as she takes in sharp, deep breaths, her aura humming alive as it connects to the Fade, the heat from the fire almost too hot against her face, her hands slightly damp in Solas’s grip, and the hairs standing up on the back of her neck as the magic begins to swirl around her. Suddenly her head begins to feel as light as a feather and slowly spins around, giving her the feeling she might lose her balance. But with Solas holding her securely in place, she knows she is safe from falling.

[theprincesslibrary]

1. Handsome stranger

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Rating: Explicit Relationships: Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters Characters: Thancred Waters, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV) Summary:When she thought back on it, it boiled down to two things: - He was handsome - She had needs

Ul'dah was exhausting. It wasn't just the sizzling heat or the deadly court intrigues: Ul'dah the restless never slept. At first, she had been amazed by the glamour and the opulence of the commercial hub, but after two weeks in the city, she was starting to get motion sickness. The perpetual noise and bustling activity of its streets made her feel like she had been trapped in a beehive, and the contrast between the abundance of the city-state and the desolation of the surrounding desert was dizzying to the point of nausea. She missed the trees, the open space... Ul'dah was by no mean small, but it was crowded. Everywhere she went, she almost stepped on someone else's toe. Literally. In the forest, she could be alone for days, lost in her own world with no one to interrupt her daydreaming. In Ul'dah even the quietness of her mind was lost to her, stolen by the overwhelming noise of the jewel city. She missed the eeriness of the Black Shroud, its shadows, and its otherworldly atmosphere. Hell, she even missed the constant threat of the woodwrath.

The city wasn't all bad, of course. The melting pot of civilization made for some amazing food. And the baths... Gods, the luxury of city plumbing. She didn't consider herself to be shallow or high maintenance, but after a moon in the wilderness of Eastern Thanalan, a rose-scented bath had been a necessity. The people of Camp Drybone had been lovely, but the place smelled like sweat and desperation. Not a scent she liked lingering on her skin.

Still, Ul'dah wasn't for her, she'd be gone by morning. But before that, she wished to indulge in some recreations: it was after all what the city was famous for. She didn't care much for the arena, or the gambling halls, but she'd gladly partake in some form of tumbling. A girl could only play with herself for so long. And it had been a long time since someone had touched her outside a fight. A. Very. Long. Time.

Scanning the room, she studied her prospects. The barmaid was cute. They had flirted a few times, but she had the feeling the girl, as curious as she might be, wasn't there  just yet. The rest of the patrons were either passed out in a corner or on their way out to throw up in the back alley. Then, there was him: tall, ash-blond hair, tattoos... He was sitting two stools down from her, nursing a cold drink. She had seen him a few times around the city. He wasn't the only handsome man, but somehow he was the only one she had truly noticed, and she was pretty sure he had noticed her too. Whether their unspoken attraction would lead to more than a few appreciative looks was yet to be determined.

She signaled the barmaid and made a small head motion in the stranger’s direction. The brunette smiled in return, then nodded: girl’s code for "not an asshole". She ordered another drink and studied his profile. He was handsome. The hard line of his jaw and his chiseled features made him look sculptural, like a forgotten deity. Judging by the sand still attached to his boots, he hadn’t been in the city for more than a few hours. He had the stance of a warrior - all taut muscles and tanned skin - his calloused fingers only seemed to confirm her intuition.

She wondered how those hands would feel on her, on the most sensitive parts of her body…

"Didn't your parents teach you it's rude to stare?" he finally asked. "Didn't yours warn you against talking to strangers?"

When he turned his head to face her, his smile was as wicked as she expected. His eyes swept down her body and back up to her face, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"I guess we'll have to get better acquainted then."

Within minutes, they were up on the second floor, and he had her pinned against a wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms looped around his neck. His kiss wasn't tentative or shy. It was deep and dirty: he was claiming her mouth as if he were laying claim to her whole body, marking her as his own if only for one night. Time stopped around them, as they stood against the wall, tangled with each other. He tasted like the desert, like cheap alcohol and sand, yet she couldn't wait to get drunk on him. It didn't matter that they were in a public place, or that some drunkard could stumble down the hall. All that mattered was his mouth on hers and his hands on her body.

She buried her hands into his hair and his mouth drifted down her throat, sending chills down through her. She arched under his touch, her skin tingling with lust as her hips pushed against his, delighted to feel him hard and thick against her core. She let out a lustful moan when he nipped at the sensitive spot near her clavicle.

"Gods." She whispered. "Not a god." He shot back. "This would be the part when you tell me your name then." "Why, will you scream it?" "Can you make me?"

He pulled back and huffed at her challenge. She had been making the most indecent noises just a few seconds ago. But if challenging him meant he'd try even harder to please her... well, she'd be winning either way.

"You're lucky I'm a gentleman and was taught how to behave in public."

She arched a brow.

"This is you behaving? Hate to break it to you pretty boy, but you’re failing at that." "Trust me, if I wasn't," he leaned in closer, stopping short of their mouths touching, "your pants would be down by your ankles, and my cock would be so deep inside you, we'd both see stars."

The image sent a shot of electricity through her body. She was down for that. In fact, many parts of her were craving just that. She might have forced him to make good on his words, had they not been interrupted by the inn's foul-mouthed patrons: drunk shouts erupted downstairs, bringing them back to the corridor and its lack of privacy. Gracefully, she disentangled herself from him and slid down the wall.

"Well then, let's see what you can do."  

She barely had time to close the door before he removed his shirt and tossed it in a corner of her room. His pants were hanging low, and she got an eyeful of those side muscles near his hips: the adonis belt. Adonis, the name fitted him.

"Thancred." He said, forcing her to look up, and grinning at the obvious effort it took her to tear her gaze from his body. "Excuse me?" "My name. I'd rather you pray to me than the twelve when I make you come."

She half laughed, half snorted, and crossed her arm over her chest.

"Arrogance isn't as sexy as you think it is."

He didn't reply, simply kicked off his boots and removed the rest of his clothing, exposing even more of his body to her hungry gaze. He was naked, yet she was the one feeling vulnerable. Maybe it was the way the dim light coming out of the window cast shadows on his face, or maybe it was the glint in his eyes, but in that instant, he looked intimidating, slightly dangerous, and all the more enticing.

She licked her lips while she studied him. Her eyes stopped on his erection, her mouth watering at the thought of all the wicked things she could do to make him scream. Her stare traveled back to his face, and she noticed his teasing grin had morphed into a wolfish smile.

"Take off your clothes." He demanded.

She wasn't one to be submissive in the bedroom, but she'd be lying if she said his commanding tone didn't arouse her. She would comply, but at her own pace.

Her attire was lighter than what she was used to. The scorching sun of the Thanalan desert had forced her to adapt her gear and even in the comfort of the city, the heat could be unbearable, almost paralyzing. Still, she was fully clothed, and her shirt had oh so many of those tiny buttons. She took her time undoing them one by one, reveling in the tension that filled the room. She all but stopped her task when he circled the base of his cock, her throat going dry as she watched his hand move from tip to base and back up. A bead of liquid glistened at the tip, and she had to refrain herself from licking her lips once more. He was teasing her just as she was teasing him, and there was something extremely erotic about watching him pleasure himself, knowing she was the one to elicit that need. Her shirt finally fell on the ground, and he let out a low, appreciative, hum at the lack of binding.

"Take off the rest." He ordered.

She did so without delay, and he was on her before the remaining of her clothes even touched the ground. With one swift motion, he lifted her off the floor and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him. He carried her over to the bed, dropped her without much regard, and then he was on her again, crowding her, stealing her air. Everything in the room disappeared and she could only focus on him and how good he felt pressed against her, how he invaded all her senses. Her hands explored the expanse of his back, marveling at the sensation of his muscles rippling and flexing under his skin. His body was perfect even in its tiniest flaws. Like hers, his skin wasn't without scars: some were simple nicks, others looked like old wounds. She traced them with the tips of her fingers, making him shudder under her touch.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers and breathed heavily. When he opened his eyes again, she could barely see the brown in them.

"Huh huh," he chided her. Taking her hands, he placed them above her head. "No distraction. I’m supposed to make you scream, my honor is at stake after all. But where should I start ?"  

She huffed at his fake wondering, but her laugh was caught short when his mouth captured one of her breasts, his tongue swirling around the hardened nipple. He kept kissing his way down her body, sucking and nipping, exploring every inch of skin. She watched him as he traced the scar near her navel with his tongue, and her toes curled as an unexpected shot of pleasure rolled through her. Who would have thought something that almost killed would come to bring her so much pleasure? But it seemed he had a talent for making her whimper with need. Her back arched off the bed as he went lower still, and he chuckled against her skin at her eagerness. By the time he started nibbling her upper thigh, she was breathless and wanting, a litany of yes pouring from her mouth. And then it all stopped.

His warmth left her completely as he sat back on his heels, hovering over her like a predator. Still dazed, she propped herself on her elbows and glared at him. The corner of his lips twitched, repressing a smile.

"If looks could kill," he joked.   "You’re a fucking tease."

Her breathing was ragged, and she didn't know if it was from frustration, anger, bliss, or a mix of all three. His gaze traveled down her body, mapping down every curve, every dip as if he was studying a battlefield.  

"I could do a great many things to you", he mused as his hand circled the base of his length once more.

He stroked himself slowly, languorously, his eyes drinking every inch of her: the intensity of his inky gaze almost a caress on her skin. Heat pooled at her core and she clenched her thighs together in a desperate attempt to alleviate her needs.  

"No" he stopped her, "show me."  

Her cheeks flushed a deep red, but she obeyed once more, spreading her legs wide for his enjoyment. She might have felt some degree of shame at her willingness to comply had she not been this wound up, but all she could feel in that moment was want and need.

His gaze dipped to her core, and she quivered in anticipation as he licked his lips. His free hand reached out to her, and she flopped back on the bed, unable to hold herself anymore, as he parted her folds, sliding one finger into her heat.

"You're so fucking wet. I bet I could fuck you right now. You'd like that, would you?"  

She nodded in agreement, unable to utter a sound. His hand stilled.  

"Say it."   "Yes". She gasped.   "Good girl".  

She looked down at him, his smile was pure sin as he added another finger to his ministrations. The pressure increased, he hooked his fingers slightly, and a strangled sound came out of her as her hips lifted off the bed. And then he stopped again.  

"I could do that, but I would need some encouragement. ‘Please Thancred’; ‘More Thancred’… I’m not picky, anything will do." "I'm going to murder you."

Her voice came out breathy, needy, there was barely any bite to her words. She could almost feel his satisfied smile in the heavy air of the room.

"Not what I had in mind".   "I swear on the twelve..."  

Then his mouth was on her. Her chest heaved as he lapped greedily at her core from cunt to clit, burying his nose in her damp curls. She felt electric under his touch, her whole body vibrating with a hungry need. His hands were hooked on her outer thighs, keeping her open to him. She reached for his head, pressing him closer, grinding against his mouth. Her head thrashed from side to side as he pulled her clit into his mouth. The tension inside her finally snapped and she cried out to the twelve as wave after wave of pleasure washed through her.  

Once her breathing slowed, she propped herself on her elbows once more, but this time there was no frustration or anger in her eyes. Her whole body flushed at the sight of him resting against her thigh, a wicked smile plastered on his face while he licked his fingers clean off her. She couldn't resist the irrepressible urge to kiss that satisfied smile off his face. She reached out to him and forced him up for a kiss. She was drunk on him; intoxicated by the scent of her arousal still lingering on his lips.

The kiss slowed, becoming more intimate. She wasn't devouring him anymore instead, she wanted to savor him. It was like getting to know him. Her lips moved under his slowly, seductively. She traced the contour of his mouth with her tongue and he opened to her, allowing her to explore his mouth leisurely. She was still breathless, pleasure coursing through her veins, but her body ached for more: more of him, more of them. She pushed him off of her, and onto his back, then lifted herself to straddle him. For a while she did nothing more, just stared at him: it was her turn to toy with him and she would enjoy every second of it.

She lowered herself to him, kissed the corner of his mouth, licked his neck, bite his nipple... he growled in response, the noise resonating through her whole body. Placing her hands on the hard planes of his chest, she started rubbing her wetness against his length, her whole body singing with pleasure, enjoying every little noise she got out of him. He was giving her full reign over his body, letting her use him as an instrument to reach her own pleasure and it was intoxicating. She felt powerful, in control.

When she was satisfied, certain to have teased him more than enough, she lifted her hips and grabbed the base of his cock to position him at her entrance. They growled in unison as she lowered herself onto him, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed deep inside her. He slid his hands up to her side and held her there, anchoring her to him. She started rocking her hips against him, slowly, languorously, reveling in the exquisite feeling of him stretching her. Her pace picked up, and his followed, until they moved in sync to a rhythm of their own. His grip tightened on her hips, and she felt him tense under her.

"Gods, you feel amazing."

The rumble of his voice sent goosebumps racing over her. She liked his praise; liked the groan coming out of his mouth; liked the sight of him beneath her. He was the one figuratively pinned down, and it was exhilarating. She tightened around him, her head spinning, and then she broke apart, shattering into a million pieces. She was still coming, her body shaking with pleasure, when he flipped them over, and rose to his knees, lifting her hips off the bed. He moved inside her with long hard thrusts, wanting to drag her orgasm, to hear her pleas and prayers for more. And she prayed until she couldn't bear it anymore. Lust consumed her as hips moved against hers, each thrust deeper, harder. There was no more bet, no more game, just an irrepressible need for their body to melt together, for their hearts to beats like one. With one last thrust, he came, his body shuddering as he spilled himself deep inside her.

He collapsed next to her, his breathing as erratic as hers as they both stared at the ceiling in blissful silence. For a long time, neither of them moved. They were content, deliciously exhausted.

"This didn't go exactly as I planned." He finally said. "You were supposed to scream my name; maybe even pray to me."

She rolled to the side and propped herself on her elbow. In the dim light of the room, his body seemed to glow; she knew it was most likely the thin layer of sweat on his skin, but lying naked in her bed, with that infuriating smile on his face, he truly looked divine.

"I'm an atheist." "I'm not much of a preacher, but maybe I should try to convert you. To save your soul of course."

[greywindys]

I had a fic I was working on for 2Doc week, but it betrayed me and turned angsty when I wanted something softer. So instead, I thought I could share a fic I never published, and I believe the first fic I ever wrote (dated in Google as complete on June 17th, 2016. Holy moly!)

It fits into day 3′s prompt of firsts - the first night the spent together on good terms. The beginning of the bond, I guess. It could also be considered the first head massage (lmao), as I like to think 2D is good with his hands in various scenarios 😉. (I adapted the head massage into scenes in later fics, but this was the first time I worked with it as a concept.)

If there are any “M” or “D” I apologize! When I was starting out, I was too self-conscious to write their entire names (lmao @ me). Oh, how things have changed. Hopefully, I corrected them all, along with most of the typos...

The rating here is T. Essentially, Murdoc encounters 2D late at night when he can’t sleep, and ends up watching a movie with him. They begin to form a tentative bond, head massages are had as much needed sleep. Takes place during P1.

Also happy bday again, Murdoc 😭

For Murdoc, sleeping is a daunting game of chance. First, there are the good nights, when he drinks enough to remain in a complete stupor until daylight. Then, there are the bad nights when his body’s need for genuine slumber catches up with him. On these nights, he dreams. More often than not, they come to him in the form of nightmares ranging from painfully specific to vague and unsettling. Like a flood, all of the emotions and thoughts he had intended to leave behind in Stoke return.

Tonight is one of those nights.  

This one, in particular, is the reason he’s left the grimy safety of his Winne, head still aching. He intends to rummage through the studio mini-fridge for the half-consumed bottle of rum he started that morning. (after all, his anxiety wasn’t going to fix itself). Instead, he's thrilled to discover the fridge has been restocked, and he's about to grab an unopened bottle of rum when he's interrupted by a crash coming from the direction of the lobby.

The noise is coming towards the kitchen now in slow, shuffling steps. Murdoc presumes it could either be one of the wayward demons he summoned the other day, or it could be another one of the building's many intruders looking for a blank wall to vandalize. Nothing he wants to deal with now in his anxious state. Murdoc considers making a run for his Winnebago but decides against it. ‘You’re Murdoc Niccals” he thinks to himself, ‘Bass god and creative genius. You're not ten anymore and you don't get scared.' With that, he braces himself and he turns to face the unknown figure that was now in the doorway.

“Oh...Hi, Murdoc.”

It’s 2D.

“I've got half a mind to lob you through another car window,” he says trying to mask his surprise. “What the hell are you doing walking around with the lights off in the middle of the night?” That must have been the source of the noise. Typical. It’s as if 2D is intentionally searching for a way to get injured.

2D scratches his head. “No need to get so steamed up about it. I, uh, well, I guess I was trying to keep to the ambiance and all that. I didn’t think anyone else would be awake right now.”

“I don’t know what’s so unexpected. I get more done in a night that you would in a year,” Murdoc replies. He takes a sip of one of the bottles of rum he’s assembled on the counter. “So long as there are still songs to write, the siestas can wait.”

“Not sleeping well then?” 2D asks blithely. Murdoc can’t tell if the singer has seen right through him or failed to comprehend a word of what he just said. He finds him very unreadable at times, and in the most infuriating way.

“No. I was working. Being productive. You ought to try it once in a while,” Murdoc grumbles in response. “Anyways. What’s all this about the ‘ambiance’?” As if 2D is that deep. “And why here?”

“That new zombie movie, you know the one I was telling you about? Well, it arrived today,” 2D says with a grin. “And now I’m watching it. It’s a lot scarier when you do it the dark.”

“Well you have a TV, no, THREE TVs in your room,” Murdoc retorts, exasperated. “Just go away and watch it there.”

“Yeah, uh, l thought about that, but the special effects in this one are supposed to be wicked good and the screen in the lobby has a clearer picture than the screens in my room. I would have watched it this afternoon, but Russel said Noodle shouldn’t be watching all the blood and guts, so I waited until now. It’s better watching scary movies late at night anyway, you know?” 2D is looking at Murdoc now, a tinge of hopefulness in his voice. “A couple blokes on this forum I was reading were describing it like a Romero meets Raimi type film, really over the top.”

“Sounds like a real Oscar winner you have there,” the sarcasm in Murdoc’s voice is palpable.

“Actually, it was a straight to video release, but you should check it out,” 2D says. “I’m only about ten minutes in now...if you have...time,” he trails off awkwardly.

The band had faced many inexplicable and absurd situations, but it is 2D’s consistent attempts to be friends that confounded Murdoc the most. His first inclination to tell the singer to fuck off. Yet the thought of the solitary journey back through the car park gives him pause. He isn't sure he can handle being alone right now. He needs an immediate distraction, a mood lifter, and making fun of 2D has the potential to be a two in one solution. At the very least, it was a safer gamble than going back and running the risk of falling asleep again.

Murdoc makes 2D wait for an answer in uncomfortable silence before replying. “Fine,” he says, “This better be entertaining.”

2D brightens at his response. “Just let me grab some snacks and then we can go back.”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, and this time turn on the damn lights.”

With some newly acquired light and a bag of crackers in hand, 2D leads Murdoc to the lobby. A collection of pillows and blankets litter the floor. All the while, and to Murdoc’s annoyance, he takes the time to tell him every detail of the conception of his setup. He had been in the lobby for the past four hours watching movies. According to 2D, doing so in such an open area was much scarier than in his room or even in the building’s cinema. He was also sorry because they would have to turn the lights off again when the film starts. “Because well, you know, Muds. The ambiance.”

“Just start the bloody movie will you,” Murdoc replies from his spot on the floor. The size of Kong is intimidating at night, and it’s not helping him calm down. He hates how much his dreams still affect him. Physically, he had left all the bad energy behind ages ago, but mentally it follows him like a low-hanging mist, threatening to completely engulf him daily. He couldn't seem to make it go away, but he could control how much he thought about it. Alcohol was typically his mainstay but right now, that job belonged to an unwitting 2D. If he didn’t start the movie soon, Murdoc was going to set his entire movie collection on fire.

“It’s the little triangle that does the trick, right?” 2D asks as he studies the remote. “Never mind. I think I have it. There we go.”

The scene starts with a group of young adults in their twenties hiking through the woods as night falls. Occasionally, the camera switches angles. It shows the group from alternate perspectives such as the bushes or the tops of trees.

“The director wanted to flip the whole slow zombie portrayal on its head,” 2D explains. “There’s already been talk of fast zombies in the indie horror community, but he wants to take that one step further. In an interview, he said that not only were his zombies going to be fast, but they were also going to fly.”

“That’s stupid. And you thought this was worth the twenty or so quid you blew on it?”

“He’s ahead of his time. You’ll see. Look,” 2D says through a mouthful of crackers. He points to the current scene. One of the protagonists had wandered away from his group in search of a good place to set up camp. “See what he does with the camera there? We’re watching the main character from the perspective of a flying zombie. The director wanted to make a movie about an outbreak that emerges in the wilderness, not because of some virus. It's meant to add to the impossibility of the situation. How do we fight against something not man-made? Watching the film through the eyes of the monster emphasizes how alone and insignificant we are in the face of well, everything. Man versus nature, nature versus man.”

Murdoc grabs the bag of crackers from 2D. “Oh please. This is hardly cutting edge. We all know they’ll all be dead in the end because nature is bigger than man. Duh.” He takes a handful for himself and continues watching.

2D ignores him and continues his reflection. “It makes me wonder whether it would be better to be a zombie at the end, rather than survive. Not sure I would want the loneliness that comes with it.”

Murdoc is beginning to realize that 2D is in one of his chatty, philosophical moods. He attempts to tune out the singer’s blathering with another drink from the bottle of rum he brought with him from the kitchen. He came here to watch a ridiculous movie. Instead, he's stuck listening to banal musings about the true nature of humanity from someone with a half-functioning brain.

“Well if there’s ever a zombie apocalypse here, I’ll be sure to let them eat you first if you’re so eager. You’re already halfway there anyway, and certainly no better off than these divs on screen.”

“Thanks, Muds. If I ever get infected, I’ll make sure not to bite you...unless you want me too,” 2D replies.

This time, it’s Murdoc's turn to ignore him. “Anyways, as far as I’m concerned, anyone who’s too pathetic to fight against a zombie apocalypse deserves whatever is coming to them.” He gets a twisted sense of comfort from blaming.

“I dunno...I don’t see any shame in being afraid of a monster bigger than you. That’s what makes these movies so scary. We all have our own monsters that seem impossible to overcome,” 2D says sagely. “It’s not anyone’s fault, it’s just how it is.”

Murdoc scowls. “Does watching movies at this hour always turn you into a half-braindead Socrates? Or Plato? Hippocrates? He's just naming names now. He fidgets.  

On-screen, another character screams as one of the zombies bites her arm.

“Are you alright there, Muds?” Why did 2D have to pick up on everything? “Movie too scary for ya?”

“No!” Murdoc snaps. “It’s not that… It’s just...” Neither 2D nor the rum he grabbed from the fridge earlier had done anything to dull his current bout of nerves. Instead, all the tension has been gathering at the base of his neck. The throbbing in his head from before is even worse. He groans in frustration.

“You just seem a little on edge, that’s all.”

“...It’s my head.”

“Oh, you have a headache,” 2D says, seemingly pleased that it’s an issue well within the breadth of his expertise. “Do you need any help with it? I was talking with my mum about mine just last week; she gave me something good.”  

Murdoc perks up. He could count on one hand the number of scenarios where he would place his trust in 2D. Pain medicine was one of them. A strong painkiller could change everything. “Do you happen to any of those buggers with you now?”

“Sure,” 2D says, smiling as he moves closer to where Murdoc is sitting.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m um, well for this to work I’m actually going to have to touch your head.”

Immediately, Murdoc jerks away. “You what?!”

2D shrinks back in response. “It’s just a head massage, Muds.  My mum’s worried about the number of prescriptions I have so we cut one of the stronger ones out and replaced it with this. We wanted to see if it made a difference. I’ve been going to a massage therapist for the past two weeks or so. It doesn’t quite do the trick but it works well enough, I picked up some technique myself, uh, I think.”

“You can take all that geeky zen rubbish and sod off,” Murdoc mutters.

“Okay, Muds...alright.”

They continue watching the screen as victim after victim gets infected. 2D continues to interject with overlong descriptions about symbolism, zombie lore, and film technique. Murdoc weighs his options. If he’s being honest, he’s at a point where he would accept anything that might make him feel better. But why did it have to be 2D? On the other hand, the singer wouldn’t stop talking. Considering it was just the two of them, and no one else would ever have to find out, Murdoc makes his decision. Allowing 2D to touch his head in this scenario was justified. Interrupting yet another explanation about the folly of man, he asks, “Hey uh...2D? You know that massage you were talking about? Will giving me one make you shut up for more than ten minutes?”

“Oh..uh,” 2D sounds surprised. “Yeah. Yeah, we can give it a try.” Hesitantly, he moves behind Murdoc and begins.

2D’s fingers send tiny sparks along Murdoc’s scalp as he kneads the muscles in his forehead, moving downwards along his hairline. He dwells on how amazing it feels but pushes that thought to the side with haste. He keeps his eyes locked on the screen and the excessive depictions of gore and chaos. It’s an apt representation of turmoil he is currently feeling inside. What he finds so maddening about 2D, even more than his inscrutability and empty-headedness, was his willingness to be kind to Murdoc. Murdoc had spent the past twenty or so years convincing himself that kindness was not meant to be a part of his life. There was something inherent to his existence that repelled it from him. And he had come to accept that until 2D had to come along and mess it all up. It had to be because he was just too stupid, there was no other answer. Murdoc wasn’t sure he would be able to handle any other answer.

As 2D moves his hands to the back of Murdoc’s head, he begins softly humming. He begins following along to the soundtrack of the movie but soon trails off on his own. Evidently, watching the movie without any sort of verbalization was not going to happen. However, the melody he’s come up with is wistful and soothing. Murdoc makes a mental note to ask him about it in the morning to see if it would fit with some lyrics he had drafting. Slowly, and a bit self-consciously, Murdoc feels himself begin to relax.

“How does it feel so far? Is it working?” 2D asks.

Oh, it was working. More than that, Murdoc realizes a significant amount of his tension had abated. The darkness of the lobby no longer looks so menacing, the unpleasant memories that were hovering over him seem to have floated away. He's never been able to settle himself down from a bad night without copious amounts of alcohol. It’s an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation.

“I think the movie is almost over. Didn’t quite live up to the hype but it was still pretty entertaining after all. How about you?” 2D asks, still looking for a response.

Murdoc yawns. “I’ll give this director you were so excited about some credit. He knows his way around a good death scene. I don’t think I’ve ever seen fake blood used that way before.”

“The fake blood actually cause a lot of controversies because some of it was real animal blood. I almost didn’t buy it myself.”

“Ah. A man after my own heart.” 2D’s hands are still kneading the back of his head when Murdoc moves to lie down on his stomach.

“Oh, are you going to sleep now?” 2D asks.

“No. Keep going.” He would have never considered it earlier in the night but, as the singer's fingers continue to run through his hair, Murdoc muses that sleep may not sound so bad after all. Even though it was just 2D, it’s comforting to have him there. 

“So I guess it’s been helping then? My mum will glad to hear,” 2D says. “But you might want to run a comb through your hair a bit more often, it’s all greasy...also a bit tangled in the back.”

“Just...shut up.”

So he does, returning to the reflective melody he had been humming just minutes ago. It’s the singer’s soft croon that sticks in Murdoc's mind as he finally drifts off completely.

-------

When his eyes open, the first thing Murdoc notices is the half-empty bottle of rum he had left by his side. The next thing he notices is that he's still in the lobby, surrounded by blankets. He must have slept there the entire night. 

“Oh, morning, Muds,” comes a familiar voice just to the right of him. “You’re awake.”

Turning quickly in the direction of the voice, Murdoc finds himself face to face with 2D. “What the hell are you still doing here?” M demands, mortified, “Why didn’t you go back to your own room?”

“Well, I was going to do that, but once you laid down, I wanted to lay down too, and you rolled over on my arm and wouldn’t budge. I tried to tell you, but all you did was try and elbow me. You missed though,” 2D mumbles. It sounds like he’s still half asleep. “Then I guess I just nodded off.”

Murdoc feels his embarrassment beginning to morph into anger but decides to ignore it. He's pretty comfortable right where he is. “You’re lucky you’re my lead singer.” 2D was also lucky that he gave good head massages. “Because otherwise, you would be on some really thin ice right now.”

“We’ll be lucky to see any ice at all this winter what with all the warm weather.”

Usually, an obtuse response from 2D would have earned him a string of insults or a swat on the head. Today was not going to be one of those days. Murdoc turns again so that he’s facing away from the singer, pulling the blanket over his head to block out the light. He was going to savor the moment a bit longer. Despite 2D being 2D, it’s rare that he’s ever felt so at peace.

“Hey, Murdoc? Wait,” 2D says, “You never gave me my arm back.”

“Too bad. I’ll check back in a couple hours,” Murdoc grins beneath the blanket. He still couldn’t pass up a chance to inconvenience the singer at every opportunity. It was too much fun.

“Don’t be such a wanker,” 2D says as he attempts to jerk his arm out from underneath the bassist. “I was nice to you!”

He was right. And he was probably nicer than he deserved, given their history. For that reason, Murdoc would roll off his arm soon enough. He still wanted to talk to him about that song he had been humming.

The singer had surprised him last night. Murdoc knew that 2D had an uncanny ability to figure out how to annoy him to maximum effect, but he never would have expected him to also know what to do to put him at ease. Underneath the covers, he ponders what exactly this realization means to him. He isn’t sure, but he knows it means something. It wasn’t going to eliminate the underlying resentment he still clung to, nor was it going to solve his infinite list of issues. But at the very least, he could rest assured knowing that he wasn’t completely alone.

[jimmyseos]

hello ! it’s ya boi angela back at it with a third muse (lol) so here’s my wonderful little sweetheart chef JIMMY ! ( @mapleviewstarters​ )

『 justin h. min. twenty eight. cis man. he / him. 』 oh heavens, is that JI-HOON ‘JIMMY’ SEO from MAIN STREET i see roaming around mapleview? minnie may’s always calling them -DISTRACTED & -OBSTINATE. i happen to think they’re not that bad! they’re a pretty cool SOUS CHEF AT LA BELLE VIE and every time i’ve seen them, they’ve always been +GRACIOUS & +INVENTIVE. i hope i see them around again!

QUICK LIL BIO !

has gone by jimmy since he can remember, only his family call him by his birth name

grew up the younger of two; his older sister (4 years older) is a married doctor with two kids ( so you can imagine he has a little bit of a complex )

grew up in the city ( nyc babee ), learned how to cook from his dad ( mostly comfort food stuff )

pretty popular in high school - tennis captain, honor roll, a super nice guy

in college, he was a biology and kinesiology major; he got amazing grades and graduated a year early

decided to fulfill his parents’ dreams by going to medical school

BUT he dropped out of med school after a semester and he decided to go to culinary school instead

graduated culinary school in 3 years, started working at a local restaurant

met eden soon after he got a job as a junior chef

moved to mapleview with eden because they wanted a fresh start ( jimmy got a job as a station chef at la belle vie )

he has since worked his way up to sous chef

he is always ALWAYS trying to create new dishes but he’s still very much a comfort food kind of guy

his parents never really understood the “chef” thing, and it took them quite a while to really get over it -- “cooking is a hobby, not a job ”

but they’ve come around in the past couple years ( tbh when he moved is when his parents got over it because they missed him )

when him and eden broke up, he moved to main street and they’re still friends, it’s just a little awkward sometimes

he’s been saving up money since he started working so that hopefully one day he can open up his own restaurant

he wants to open up a korean-american restaurant with all of the dishes he’s cooked growing up because we love ~comfort food~

PERSONALITY !

ji-hoon ( means ‘wisdom/purpose’ and ‘rank’) seo (means ‘calm’ or ‘poised’.)

he’s just generally a calm, easygoing guy UNTIL he comes up with a new dish or just a new food idea, in general

then he gets a little wild and just super excited about his ideas because he absolutely LOVES creating

this means he can also get a little hyper-focused on his ideas and gets a little frustrated when they don’t pan out like he thought they would

he’s super super friendly and loves cooking for people, so don’t be surprised if he’s always having dinner parties on his nights off from work

he’s lowkey wicked smart but he doesn’t really care about all that because being a chef is his dream and he’s moved on past all the med school and academics stuff

Taurus Sun ! Libra Moon ! == “a flexible personality”, mans can Adapt

he’s charismatic and sensitive, respects everyone, values fairness and he gives a lot of importance to socializing ( and how others see him )

CONNECTION IDEAS !

serious ex-girlfriend : eden yang - they moved to mapleview together then broke up a bit after, but they’re still friends !

best friends [ 0 / ? ] : may or may not have met them while with eden, idk tbh but anyone around his age and just ~good vibes~

college friend(s) [ 0 / ? ] : went to college together ! i havent decided yet where he went BUT we can talk that out -- definitely somewhere on the east coast tho

post-eden fling ? [ 0 / 1 ] : maybe they went on a couple of dates, but jimmy kind of threw himself into his work and it just didn’t really work out ( maybe they’re friends, maybe not, up to you )

rival [ 0 / 1 ] : any other chefs who wants a rival ??? or idk maybe they have other beef with each other lol ( but lowkey jimmy’s not great with conflict oop )

frenemy [ 0 / 1 ] : sometimes they’re chill, sometimes nah

neighbor(s) [ 0 / ? ] : main street residents ! they’re probably friends because jimmy has a lot of leftovers and he very much gives it out a lot

im in ‘head empty, no thoughts’ time so that’s all i could come up with but im really down for anything !!

like this or message me if you wanna plot pls !

[lawrising-a]

📝 i'm late to the party but one for nikki pls,,,,,,,,,

( @madetrouble )

. november 23 .

‘ do you wish to know a well kept secret only known by a hotel writing pad? why there's tiny clips of papers massacred around the room? the answer is simple ; it's the fact that i've been writing about my survival partner. whenever bright pink makes my vision swim and my fingers twitch with the urge to let it out. frustrations, bold opinions ... regrets. the reason there are holes in fragile papers is because my grip on the pen cannot loosen. i get too violent with my motions. jerky, overtly emotional. now i find myself rambling on the back of a magazine, hoping to calm my bundling nerves before i try this again. this is the last available thing to write on in my nighted hotel room ---- unless i resort to the skin of my arms, of course. it's too desperate, though the former troublemaker always tended to bring out a stranger in me. ’

‘ when i briefly brought up my woes to jael days prior, she recommended organizing my thoughts by using my hands. a silly thing that felt more like a jest than someone looking out for my strained connection ; though i resorted to it nonetheless. my brain scatters about, fleeting feelings disappearing the moment i try to take my pen to them. would this bode better if i pretended this was a letter to send her? logistically, that adds up better than the initial plan which was writing aimlessly. so i wish to try and adapt this new direction moving forward ... ’

‘ ... ’

‘ i never said i don't like you : are words that were once spoken to you, nikita, before. with a terseness to my tone, forever testy whenever i acknowledged your presence. and i did do mean it. that statement stands strongly today like our bodies do. unwavering despite everything thrown at us, even with the unending outside forces snipping our bond to loose ends. never have i disliked you. at least not in a way that i believe would be genuine distaste. sometimes you push all the right buttons to light something dangerous in me ; molding me into something i am not. you make me angry, spiteful, teeth aching for revenge. there was a time where i believed that was all your doing, actually. twisting my perception into wicked tainted nothings to fuel a point left unseen by our corpse filled audience ... never say i don't learn, however. it's come to my attention that i have always been that person. easy to rile up. eager to sniff out mistakes so i look holier in comparison. is it so wrong to need to be needed more than your peers? to be the better option, so you're the first choice? considering how our relationship's turned out, i'll take that as a yes. ’

‘ admitting things to your face is hard, you know? sharp dolled up eyes pierce right through me. you look me over with unkindness, like you're waiting for a shred of weakness to expose. you scare me, nikita. you'd hurt me if it meant your survival ; some of your words and choices have scarred me for life thunder makes me think of manny, of the rounds you put in his chest. i watched that. never took my eyes off him for a second unlike you and joey but what makes the shivers race down my spine is knowing there's some of me trapped in you. there's no comfort with knowing i would've done the same things you had. i wish there was, but looking at you is like looking in the funhouse mirrors. you're so easy to demonize. to write off as the worst parts of me. naively pretending that is all you are. it's why i think things so achingly tender that is only reserved for this, between me and something to write on. if you knew, you'd be a shark : eager to work more blood out of me when you see it pool around my limp body. i can't let that happen. ever. ’

‘ despite my ill toned words and critiques, i do want to say. to say nikita, i don't blame you. not for roi's death, not for colleen's, and not for safiya's. i don't harbor any blame even as you ripped the people who loved me away. sometimes i think i can. i think about manny and safiya especially, eager to use them against you once your hackles raise ... but it veils the tiredness within. there is no blame here. we've both done awful things to survive. what makes me hesitate with you is the fact none of the awful feelings have faded yet. there's been times where all i wanted to do was imprint upon you, nestle deep into your sturdy side ; slipping my hand around your neck and cupping you tenderly there. i held you like that before, remember? although the sting of our bond makes me think otherwise, as well as all the things we've snarled to each other in the past. is that kind of affection for people with tethers like us? i doubt it. but please know i wish differently ... and that, through it all, there is a part of me that respects you. admires your beauty and courage, naturally drawn to taking shelter in it at the worst of times. you're the flood and the lighthouse. god, i get so painfully poetic at times that never matter. ’

‘ space runs thin on this magazine, thus bringing the curtain to a close. there is so much more i tell you in my dreams. more words weighing my tongue down like iron. they all forever pale when worded so needlessly complex, perhaps even totally lost on you. which brings me to my dry words. no poetry weaves in-between these next lines. they must be heard and understood ---- no more implying things. ’

‘ i love care about you. you scare me with your strengths. inspire something crueler in me something that helped me survive and i think of you often. to be blunt, i think about if you're okay. wonder what manny saw in you. think what ifs that you'd probably feel weird about. do you think about everlock as much as me? will you accompany me to literal hell and back for lost, beloved souls? did you want me to back? ’

‘ yet, i think, the million dollar question is ... ’

‘ do you write about me too? ’