#i think it was the firmness of it??? it was crystal shaped but i liked that

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXVII)

Chapter 27: ‘They loved music and swam in for a singer, who might stand at the end of summer’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! This one is one of my favourites… I’m very proud of Andy in this one :)

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

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Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 5601

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

The Singer’s House

When they said Carrickfergus I could hear the frosty echo of saltminers' picks. I imagined it, chambered and glinting, a township built of light.

What do we say any more to conjure the salt of our earth? So much comes and is gone that should be crystal and kept

and amicable weathers that bring up the grain of things, their tang of season and store, are all the packing we'll get.

So I say to myself Gweebarra and its music hits off the place like water hitting off granite. I see the glittering sound

framed in your window, knives and forks set on oilcloth, and the seals' heads, suddenly outlined, scanning everything.

People here used to believe that drowned souls lived in the seals. At spring tides they might change shape. They loved music and swam in for a singer

who might stand at the end of summer in the mouth of a whitewashed turf-shed, his shoulder to the jamb, his song a rowboat far out in evening.

When I came here first you were always singing, a hint of the clip of the pick in your winnowing climb and attack. Raise it again, man. We still believe what we hear.

Seamus Heaney, Field Work

Andrew was kissing you.

Fingers in your hair, he cupped your face in a tender yet firm hold. His lips were divine against yours, your head spinning with the feeling of his beard against your soft skin, feeling intoxicated by his scent…

Christ, he was so good at this…

His lips fell away from yours to trail along your jawline, down the curve of your neck, and you shamelessly moaned when he nipped at the soft skin there, leaving it reddened with his kisses. You unbuttoned his brown shirt, your favourite, the one that made him look so… divine…

“I want you so bad, Y/N.”

His voice was rough, so deep it made your entire being tremble.

“The things I want to do to you…”

You moaned at his words, kissing him again, pushing back his open shirt until you could peel it off him, run your fingers along his pale skin.

You fell onto your bed then, now both of you mostly naked. It was a blur, how the world kept on spinning, how time kept on ticking, how the last pieces of garments disappeared from your bodies. You didn’t care. All you cared about was the size of Andrew’s hands as they splayed over your breasts, across your ribcage, over your thighs, how he dug his fingers into your hips, the roughness of his calloused skin making you shiver. It felt like he was touching all your body at once.

His lips were trailing along your thighs now, and you moaned as he left a few marks here and there, as he rubbed his beard across your skin to make you squirm, which worked so easily every time.

“Y/N.”

The way he whispered your name before kissing your inner thigh again…

“Y/N…”

His voice a little louder as his breath fanned over the most intimate part of you.

“Y/N!”

You opened your eyes with a jolt, looking around, completely lost, not recognising where you were…

A car. You were inside a car. Trees and the countryside through the window…

“Y/N? You’re alright?”

You followed his familiar voice to look into the driver’s seat, next to you. Andrew was sitting there, his frame ridiculously big in the secluded space of the car. He was driving.

“You’re alright?” he asked again. “You were… kind of moaning in your sleep… I wasn’t sure whether you had a nightmare or something…”

Your eyes grew round, you averted your gaze back on the moving landscape on the other side of the window.

You had fallen asleep… you had fallen asleep while Andrew was driving you both to Bray, holy shit…

You had a wet dream about Andrew… when he was sitting next to you…

HOLY SHIT!

“Erm… can’t remember it but… I think it was a nightmare, yeah,” you nodded, trying to breathe despite the embarrassment that made your throat tighten.

“I didn’t mean to wake you at first, but I was a little worried… we’ll soon be there, anyway.”

“No, no, you were right to wake me. Thank you.”

You tried to find back your composure while Andrew hummed along to Bruce Springsteen.

Indeed, you had almost reached Bray, would soon be in Andrew’s hometown. You watched the sea stretching before you, the water darker than usual under the grey of the sky.

The town was ready to celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day, the streets decorated and full of colours. Andrew would miss the parade to rehearse for his gig, but you would enjoy the festivities on your own for a couple of hours before joining him again before the show. You had offered to stay with him while he rehearsed, but Andrew had asked you not to. He didn’t want you to ‘hear him fail’ as he put it. You didn’t want to make him nervous or uncomfortable, so you didn’t insist.

You were to meet up with his friends still. You were relieved when Andrew told you he wouldn’t invite Sam today. You had asked him, knowing it would be a great opportunity for him to spend time with her, but he didn’t want to invite her. You weren’t sure why.

For now, it didn’t matter. You were getting nervous as Andrew drove through the streets of Bray, and your embarrassment over your dream wasn’t helping.

You hoped his friends would like you. You had heard a lot about Alex, just like you had mentioned Siobhán often. You knew the rest of the group had been formed during their college days, that some of his childhood friends would come to the gig too. You felt a little lonely, but you hoped you would hide it well. You knew no one, except for Andrew. You hoped no one would notice how nervous you…

“Y/N… relax, it’s alright.”

You looked up at him.

“What?”

“You’re nervous. But there’s no reason for you to feel that way. It’s gonna be alright. It’s just a few friends… and besides, you’re not the one who’s going to sing tonight!”

He winked at you, shot you a charming smile, and it made your heart skip a few beats.

You scoffed.

“I’m not nervous.”

“No?”

“Not at all!”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“You’re tough enough as you are, no need to pretend to be invulnerable.”

There was something so tender in his voice, so earnest, as he spoke those words, you felt your chest and throat tighten.

“Maybe I’m a little nervous…” you mumbled under your breath, making him laugh.

“You’re adorable,” he let out the words like a confession, making your body grow warm.

“It’s a lot of new people to meet,” you argued, and he nodded.

“You can leave whenever you want. Don’t feel pressured to stay.”

“We’ve come with your car.”

“I’ll pay for the cab.”

“That will cost you an arm and a leg…”

“Anything for you.”

The words were humorous, but his tone was too tender for you to laugh.

You remained silent while Andrew was waiting at a red light, asked the question that had been on your tongue for days once the car started moving again.

“Andy… why didn’t you invite Sam?”

You saw that his hold on the wheel tightened, regretted asking that stupid question. But he answered anyway.

“I didn’t want her to come.”

His answer was genuine, it took you aback.

“Why not?”

He shrugged.

“She doesn’t care about music. She came only once to one of my gigs, when we started dating, and I thought I wanted to make a living out of it. She was bored out of her mind. She never came again.”

You frowned hard.

“What about your poetry? Your readings?”

“She doesn’t like poetry. She never came.”

“But… but it’s you.”

You saw the way he struggled to swallow, the heavy bopping of his Adam’s Apple.

“I was never reason enough, Y/N.”

You frowned hard at that.

“What do you mean? You were her partner. She should have…”

But then you thought of Frank, and when was the last time he had shown interest in the things you loved most?

Andrew shrugged, his eyes fixed on the road.

“I don’t want her here today. I’m going to sing, and have a good time with my friends. I don’t want to think about her, I want… I want to move on, today.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“Do you think you can do that? Move on?”

Andrew gave you a sad smile.

“I think I can. I think it hurts, but I can.”

You saw him blushing this time, before he would speak again.

“Actually, I… I think I’m falling for someone else.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow. Your heart was racing, at first with excitement, and then with disappointment.

Of course, he couldn’t be talking about you… that was why he was confiding with a friend. It wasn’t you. And you didn’t care! You didn’t care at all, because you wanted Frank, you wanted the life you had with him, you wanted your life back. Andrew could fall in love with whoever he wanted and you didn’t care. You didn’t care if it wasn’t you, you didn’t care, your heart was already taken, you didn’t…

“I… I think it’s been going on for a while,” Andrew went on, clearly nervous now. “But I realised recently and… I don’t know… I want to wait, until I’m over Sam. But I don’t think I’m going to actively try to get her back anymore.”

“Oh… okay…”

“It’s alright, I’ll still help you, if you want. I’m not even sure what I’ll do…”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Y/N, could we… could we not talk about them today?”

You bit your lip, nodded in agreement.

“Yeah… sure… sorry for bringing her up.”

“It’s alright, I just… I don’t want to think about them today.”

You gave him a smile while he was pulling up in front of a small house in the suburbs.

“This is our stop. My friend Katie is hosting.”

You were nervous again as you walked towards the house. There were seven people inside waiting for Andrew and you, people you didn’t know, people Andrew loved deeply, people…

“HOZIER! YOU FUCKER!”

You looked up as a blond woman opened the door and rushed into Andrew’s arms for a hug.

“Hi! Katie!” he chuckled.

“You’re late! As per usual…”

“I’m not!”

“You are!”

“There was traffic!”

“Traffic, my arse!”

She turned to you with a bright smile.

“Oh, you must be Y/N!”

“Yes, I am. That’s very nice to meet you.”

“Come on in! There are beers in the fridge!”

You grinned at her, followed Andrew inside. You were introduced to everyone, greeted with welcoming smiles. Alex gave you a hug, which you reciprocated with a chuckle.

“I feel like I know you already, given the amount of time Andy spends rambling about how wonderful you are.”

“Alex…” Andrew hissed, nudging him in the ribs, but you laughed.

“He rambles about you a lot too,” you answered, and Alex heaved a dramatic sigh.

“I know, but I’ve already told him, he needs to move on. He’s just a friend.”

“You’re breaking my heart, mate…” Andrew dramatically put his hand on his chest for good measure, making all of you laugh.

“Y/N, are you staying for the rehearsal?” asked Katie.

“Erm… no, I think I’ll head out and enjoy the city.”

“Oh! We’ll come with you! Let’s split. Musicians here, and the rest of us out there enjoying the festivities and getting pre-drunk.”

You laughed at that, but nodded at the invitation. You stayed in the house for a little while, people merely chatting. And then the four musicians had to get to work, and you left with the rest of the group.

You had barely walked out of the house that Katie was beaming at you.

“It’s great that you could come Y/N! It’s nice to know that Andy is moving on, that he’s got someone he can trust up there, in Dublin.”

You smiled.

“Yeah, we’re good friends now.”

She tilted her head.

“Just that?”

You blinked, surprised.

“Erm… yeah… we’re friends.”

“Oh, I thought you were together.”

“No! No, we’re not.”

“Oh, sorry then! It’s just… Andy was so excited about you coming, and he’s been rambling non-stop about you and… Just… in there, he seemed so happy with you. I thought you were more than friends. But sorry if I got it wrong.”

You gave her a reassuring smile, tried to hide how your heart was pounding.

And yet he was falling for someone else… right?

You watched the parade with Katie, Maggie, Seamus and Sheila. Or rather, you used the parade as décor while you caught up on a lot of gossip from their friend group.

Sheila was married to Rory, the drummer. Katie was a childhood friend of Andrew’s. They had shared one kiss when they were teenagers and promised each other never to do something as disgusting ever again. Then there was Alex and Sebastian, who had met Andrew while in college, both of them musicians. Seamus and his wife Maggie had been Andrew’s friends for almost two decades. There were talks of a baby, Andrew would be the godfather, without a doubt.

You found the group welcoming, and a lot of fun to be around. They all seemed nice, all were kind to you. It was a little strange how they seemed so eager to know more about you, to easily speak of Andrew and you as if there was more than friendship between the two of you. You brushed that detail away. Your head must have been playing tricks on you, it was nothing serious. You had made it clear that Andrew and you were just friends, and you had no doubt that he had never lied about that to his friends either.

You were on your way back to Katie’s house, choosing to walk there instead of taking the bus. It was easier, it let you enjoy the celebration throughout the city a little longer. Besides, the weather was quite nice today. Better enjoy it while it lasted.

“So… you’ve met Samantha, huh?” Katie asked, and it was obvious that she didn’t like Andrew’s ex very much.

“Yeah, I have.”

“How did you find her?”

You shrugged.

“I don’t know… she’s not… bad or anything. Like, she’s pretty nice. But… I don’t know. Andrew told me she never came to his gigs or that she didn’t read his poetry. That doesn’t sit quite right with me.”

“We couldn’t agree more,” Sheila nodded. “There was nothing wrong with her but… she wasn’t right for Andy. And the way she kept on pushing him away…”

“He hasn’t told me much about that,” you confessed.

“He asked her several times to move in with him, she always refused, said that they were too young, that she needed to find herself first… It was bullshit. She was just… keeping him around but didn’t want for things to get too serious.”

You nodded. Thought about Frank, of the way he kept on delaying everything too. They had done the same, you could see it now.

Didn’t you deserve better than that, too? Couldn’t you have better?

“I’m really glad you’re coming tonight,” Katie gave you a warm smile. “We all are.”

“I’m glad to be here. I’m glad he asked me to come.”

“Hozier’s voice is… unmatched, really,” Katie nodded. “And he’s so good on stage. He would have been a brilliant musician, if he didn’t like poetry so fucking much, and if… if things had been easier at the time.”

“Hmm… He told me about his family.”

“Yeah, it was rough. Again. But they came through. I know that Sam used to think he had wasted his chance, his life, because he didn’t take a record deal at the time. But it was bullshit through and through.”

“The pop thing?” you asked, and Katie nodded.

“The songs were just… pop hits, really. Or written to be pop hits. And Andy didn’t want that. He deserved better than that. He was right to say no. And then he chose not to pursue music further, and I think he was right. At the time, it was what he needed. I will never forgive Sam for making him feel like he wasted his chance.”

“He loves it though… Trinity, I mean,” you told her. “It’s obvious. He’s an amazing teacher. And a brilliant academic.”

“I heard he’s popular there,” Sheila nodded.

You laughed.

“All the students love him. His lessons are always full. I get why, he’s good at it.”

“And he’s hot,” Katie added, making all of you laugh. “If I didn’t prefer women, and had never seen him so trollied he puked on my shoes… I might even agree.”

“He threw up on you?” you asked while laughing.

“Ooooh! I need to tell you all about that!”

The weather was good enough for a barbecue, something simple and full of laughter. The gig was to begin at 9:30, and the pub was nearby. You decided to eat and celebrate Andrew’s birthday before the show. You were learning so many stories about Andrew, most of them being embarrassingly funny. He was blushing, but seemed content with the teasing camaraderie that had settled in Katie’s garden. Indeed, you had rarely seen him smiling so much.

It was finally time for the cake, and Alex carried it from the kitchen, candles glowing and ready to be extinguished with a wish. You were singing too loudly, not caring about neighbours complaining. The beer and the cheap wine that had been drunk throughout the evening were enough to make you tipsy and merry.

Andrew was grinning as he blew on the candles, and quickly scooped up a little bit of icing on his finger, mischief painted all over his features as he did so, making you all laugh.

God, he was so cute. Adorable. And so fucking hot…

You tried not to think about the dream you had earlier that day, about what it meant. You couldn’t want Andrew, of all people, it would make things so complicated in your life… and yet…

“Alright! Gifts!” exclaimed Maggie, and she immediately handed him a square box and put it in front of him on the table.

Andrew blushed, his smile growing more emotional.

“You didn’t have to…”

“It’s your birthday! Don’t start!” Seamus argued, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders.

You all brought out your gifts, and you felt so nervous when you put your own bundle in front of him. Meanwhile, he grinned.

“Thank you so much,” he mumbled, a smile shining through a thicker accent.

He opened the gifts one by one. Some were inner jokes between the group of friends, some were books, others music-related. He seemed happy with all of them. Katie made him wear a ridiculous colourful birthday hat, and he didn’t complain, merely giggled like a little boy. Then came your gifts, and you were so nervous and embarrassed at the thought that he might not like them, that it was silly…

He frowned a little as he noticed that there were several items in your bundle.

“You didn’t have to buy me anything…” he complained, but tore off the paper anyway.

First, there was a set of whiteboard markers, as he always lost his at work and constantly borrowed yours five minutes before his lectures. He laughed at that, rolled his eyes as you called him a thief, but couldn’t deny the truth.

He picked up the notebook you had chosen next, a leathered cover with a Seamus Heaney quote traced in golden letters.

Noli Timere

He looked up at you with surprise, but you merely smiled. He opened it to take a look at the pages, read the note you had written there.

For the poems I hope to hear one day.

He was blinking tears away as he put the notebook down, he didn’t say anything, and you could tell that it was because he wasn’t certain he could summon his voice. There were two books as well, one of your recommendations for him, and a special edition of a collection of Irish poetry. He let his fingers run across the beautiful covers, traced the letters before looking up at you. There were so many emotions in his smile.

“Thank you,” he let out in a breath.

“Happy birthday, Andy.”

You smiled at each other, and then Katie brought a knife for the cake. You saw how he carefully placed your gifts down, how his eyes lingered on them.

After the cake was eaten, it was already time to leave for the pub. You helped Andrew carry his presents to his car and were alone with him for a moment. Once all his gifts were safely placed in his trunk, you were about to walk back to the house, when Andrew called you back.

He stared at you for a moment, as if he were looking for the right words to say.

“I just… I just wanted to thank you. For your presents.”

You gave him a bright smile.

“It’s nothing, Andy.”

His expression softened, but there was something a little sad in his gaze as well, a longing he couldn’t refrain.

“It isn’t nothing. These… These were very special. Thank you.”

“I simply wanted to finally keep my markers.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head.

“I wasn’t talking about the markers, although that was funny. I didn’t even know those notebooks existed…”

“Oh, I ordered it. Like… I chose the quote to add on the cover. I thought… I thought it was fitting. I hoped it would help you write.”

You saw his eyes glistening, noticed the tears that gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“That’s really sweet. Thanks,” he spoke with such a soft, loving voice, you could feel your heart melt. “And the books… that’s really fucking perfect. Thank you.”

You grinned, feeling relieved that he liked your gifts. You weren’t expecting him to move closer though, it took you a couple of seconds to reciprocate his hug when he wrapped his arms around you.

You tried hard not to be overwhelmed by his scent, something woody and earthy that fitted him perfectly; by his warmth; by the feeling of his arms around you and his hands splayed over your shoulder blade and your back. They felt so big on your body, and you couldn’t help but feel safe under their touch…

“Thank you. For everything,” he whispered into your ear, his deep, low voice making your heart miss a few beats. “For coming today, for being here, for… everything.”

You tightened your hold on him.

“Thank you, Andy.”

You held onto each other for a long while, unaware of his friends seeing you and deciding not to interrupt whatever was going on. When he broke your embrace, Andrew leaned down to kiss your cheek, his touch feathery across your skin.

You hoped he didn’t notice how you couldn’t breathe…

The pub held a larger crowd than what you had expected. It had a decent acoustic, Katie told you, and some nice whiskey. You were high on laughter and the rest of the wine from dinner though; you decided not to drink alcohol for the rest of the night. You wanted to enjoy Andrew’s performance, and you needed your head to be clear for that. You had only a vague idea of what would be sung tonight. Some traditional songs at first, Sheila had mentioned The Humours of Whiskey and The Parting Glass. Then there would be covers of jazz, blues and rock songs.

You were so excited about this, you were buzzing with energy, your legs slightly shaking.

And then it was showtime.

They all walked on the small stage, the crowd gathered in the pub cheering loudly. Andrew was so tall on that tiny space, although Alex kind of balanced his friend’s impressive height with his own. Andrew greeted the crowd, and you were surprised to find that he didn’t seem so shy on stage, compared to how he usually was. He picked up a guitar, and the show began.

And God, what a show it was.

They were good. Like… actually good. And Andrew’s voice was so deep and powerful, he had something magnetic about him while he was on that stage. You understood now why everyone kept on saying that if he didn’t make it as a professional it was not by lack of talent, but by choice. He was truly impressive. You could only stare at him, the world forgotten except for him. His long hair flowing as he moved around the stage, the kicking of his feet with the rhythm of the song, the three undone buttons of his white shirt, the way he stared at you sometimes, glance darkened compared to its usual softness. And then he threw his head back as he played electric guitar, revealing the ivory column of his neck and damn…

… you had not been so turned on in years.

You were struggling to breathe as you watched him, as you sang along, as you danced with the crowd. When Andrew stared directly into your eyes as he sang in a growl, you were certain that your legs would give way from under you.

There was no denying possible left, there was no way you could try to fool yourself into thinking about Frank when Andrew was on stage singing like that and looking like that…

And then the tone shifted, the next song was quieter, a folk song for which he played acoustic guitar while he sang with so much emotion you started to actually cry…

Christ, you liked him. You liked him. Perhaps… perhaps even a little more than liked…

Andrew was beyond tipsy at that stage but he was allowed to drink without caution tonight, it was his birthday after all. And the gig was brilliant, he and his friends had been so good, the crowd was full of energy, he was high on adrenaline. And you… God, you were a ray of sunshine, now more than ever. Beautiful, radiant, and you fitted so well in his group of friends, and your gifts were so thoughtful, you were so funny like this, tipsy and about to fall into proper drunk, and you were just… you were…

“Andy, next time you and your friends have a gig, you need to tell me!” you ordered, looking serious despite how your words were a little slurred. “This was amazing! You were amazing!”

He blushed, but the liquor he had been drinking helped him accept the compliments.

“Thanks,” he gave you a smug smile and a wink, almost certain to have heard your breath stagger as he did.

“Alex told me he’ll have a gig in Dublin next month. We’re going!”

Andrew laughed, raised a surprised eyebrow.

“’We’?”

“Me, you… Katie and Rory are coming too…”

“I didn’t even know he had a gig yet… You signed me up?”

“You were already signed up, Alex said you always come. He looked so disappointed not to be able to come to your reading session for your poems.”

“Yeah, he’s all the way to Glasgow at the time. That’s alright, he’s seen plenty of those.”

You nodded brought your glass to your lips and only then noticed that it was empty.

“Oh! I need a refill! Want another beer?”

Andrew finished his glass in one large gulp, then nodded.

“Thanks.”

You giggled, leaned closer to confess something, and Andrew bent slightly as well, curious to know what you were up to.

“Can I make a confession?”

“’Course.”

“You were really hot out there.”

He raised an eyebrow, hiding badly the way his heart stumbled in his chest, the way he struggled to breathe…

He tried to control how his body reacted to this statement, he was in the middle of a busy pub after all, but it was difficult to do so…

“Really?” he asked, trying to sound smug and cool, when he was effectively struggling against his urge to simply smash his lips into yours and kiss you until none of you could breathe, and you could go to his car and be alone there…

You nodded.

“Not too bad, Andy. Not too bad.”

You gave him a flirtatious smile, before pulling away and heading straight to the bar.

Bloody hell…

He took a couple of deep breaths, tried to gather his wits.

You were just letting loose because you were drunk, this was nothing. He couldn’t let a two-minutes long flirt get to his head…

As a cold shower, his phone buzzed in his pocket and when he looked at the screen, the pixelated name of Sam’s was shining brightly in the dim light of the pub.

He hesitated to pick up, searched for you again. There were lots of people at the bar ordering drinks, you were patiently waiting for your turn.

He heaved a sigh, picked up the call.

“Sam? Everything alright?”

“Hi, Andy! Happy birthday!”

“Thanks,” he nodded, looking down at the tip of his white converse shoes.

“How are you doing? Celebrating?”

“Hmm… yeah, I’m out with the band, we had a gig tonight in Bray.”

“Awesome! Sounds fun!”

“Yeah, ‘s fun.”

“So… you played tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah… we had a full house. It was grand. Really grand, like… yeah…”

Sam giggled on the phone.

“You’ll need some water in the morning, you seem to be heavily celebrating.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to have the whole gang together, you know?”

“Be careful when you head home, okay? You’re staying in Bray for the night, right?”

“’Course, at Katie’s.”

“Good. That’s good. Be careful. Have fun, but be careful.”

“Sure will.”

This was such a normal exchange, why was he surprised by it? They used to have these kind of phone calls, back in college… why did he feel like she was holding back?

“By the way, while I have you… I wanted to ask you, for the wedding…”

Ha, there it was. What he had been expecting.

“Frank and I need to talk to you about the songs you’re gonna play at the wedding. We’ve made a little list, we need to see with you if it’s all okay.”

Play? The wedding?

God, he had forgotten about that… early on, right after the announcement, she had asked him to sing. He had completely forgotten about that.

And it hit him in the face then, how ridiculous that was. She had broken up with him to marry another guy, she had never come to his gigs, and she wanted him to sing at her wedding now?

But what did Andrew want? None of that… he didn’t want any of that…

“Look, Sam, I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“What? I’m sorry, the noises of the pub are very loud, I didn’t get that.”

Andrew didn’t want to raise his voice. He checked on you, but you were still waiting to reach the bar and order drinks. He made a bee line towards the exit.

The air was cold outside, the little alley at the back of the pub narrow and badly lit by a single, tired lamppost. A couple was kissing against the wall a few meters away. The alley stank, a mixture of cheap beer, urine and cigarettes, but Andrew didn’t pay much attention to it.

“I was saying… like… I’m not so sure it’s a good idea for me to sing at your wedding, Sam.”

“What? You said you’d do it!”

“Yeah… but… honestly, it doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

“Why not? You said you would! I want you there!”

“Do you?”

“What?”

He didn’t want to get angry. This evening was perfect, this day was perfect…

He didn’t back down, though. He was too drunk to be polite or cautious, to mind whether his words could be hurtful or not. He clenched his jaw, spoke his mind.

“Sam, you never came to my gigs, to my poetry readings, to anything that had to deal with my artistic endeavours… and now that you need a musician you want me to sing? That doesn’t sound fair. If you weren’t interested in hearing me sing for the past seven years, then you won’t be interested in hearing me sing at your wedding either.”

“I… I’ve always thought you had talent. It’s not my fault you didn’t pursue music…”

“It’s not what I’m saying. I still sang at gigs regularly after taking this decision. You didn’t come. You never came.”

“If it bothered you, why didn’t you tell me?”

Andrew’s eyes drifted back to the black door he had just crossed, thought of you and his friends all gathered in the bar, a group that loved him and supported him throughout everything…

He deserved better than Sam. He deserved so much better than her. And he had better. He had his friends, his parents…

God, perhaps, one day, he would have you…

“I shouldn’t have had to tell my long-time partner that it hurt me that she didn’t care about the things I love. I shouldn’t have had to tell you to come, Sam. You should have wanted to come. You should have loved me better. Get someone else for your wedding, I’m not singing.”

Before she could reply, Andrew had hung up, turned off his phone so he wouldn’t be bothered by it again, and then he walked back into the pub.

You were standing where Andrew was a minute ago, two beers in your hands, looking around in search for him, a puzzled frown on your brow. You grinned when you spotted him.

“I thought you were gone,” you pouted, handing him his new drink.

“’Course not. Just went to the bathroom.”

You nodded.

“Rory and Alex are challenging us at darts. Come kick their arses with me!”

Andrew laughed at that.

“Oh, hell yeah! Come on! Let’s get these losers begging for mercy!”

You gave him a toothy, excited grin.

“I’m so happy you invited me, Andy!”

His heart melted, there was so much love for you there…

And he knew he shouldn’t have used that pet name, it wasn’t reasonable to yield into that kind of intimacy when you weren’t his. You weren’t his… even if he was already yours…

Still, it was his birthday, and you were so beautiful, so kind, and there was so much love for you there, in his heart, that he yielded and said it anyway.

“I’m glad you came, love. I’m really grateful you came.”

[redwolftrash]

i need. a chewy thing.

i had one back in 2018 but i put it god knows where and i gave the other 2 to a girl i think was named genevieve (god i can’t even remember her face) and...who i’ll call raccoon scrimblo (who i have ranted about on here and online about a lot bc it’s a whole mess so i won’t get into it here).

never saw genevieve again after i said something (??? can’t remember what) while we were walking around somewhere after school ended and she got offended and told me to never say that again, and raccoon broke theirs after like a week of chewing on it

idk maybe it would pacify me or something

[im-robins-bitch]

Eddie Muson comforting his vampire gf who still isn't sure about the whole thing.

Eddie opens your wardrobe doors and does a double take. 

He’s looked in your wardrobe enough times to know what to expect, but the familiar array of colours and textures is replaced with a collection of wooden stakes in various sizes. Some look more ruthless than others. One is a twisting thing with unforgiving sharp edges. Its metallic colour reminds him too much of silver. He looks at it in horror and slams the wardrobe door closed. 

You come into your room seconds later, a towel lazily wrapped around your figure, “Everything ok?” 

Eddie thinks about lying, but he knows you can hear the frantic thumping of his heart, even rooms away, so he doesn’t even try to pretend. “Why do you have those?”

He points at the wardrobe, and your face falls as you realise your mistake. 

“It’s just in case…” You mumble, fidgeting with the edge of your towel nervously. He walks over to you and pulls your hands away, gripping at them tightly. He looks up at you with his puppy eyes and you crumple like paper. 

“I thought we talked about this,” He murmurs, arms quick to envelop you in a hug and pull you as close as he can get you. His long shirt sleeves dampen from your still-wet skin. 

You had been in a hurry to get to him when you heard the quickening of his heartbeat. You had imagined catching him snooping through your underwear drawer like he used to do all the time, but back then you had just been his girl, not his…creature. 

You sigh into his shoulder and your grip on him tightens, you try to be mindful of your strength, but even a year later it still feels so foreign for you to be so strong. “Eddie, If i ever lost control-”

“You won’t” He promises, hand rubbing firm lines up and down the curve of your back. 

“You remember Steves bbq,” You lament, hands scrunching up the back of his shirt, “I had to lock myself in the bathroom, over a little cut,”

Eddie pulls you from your hiding place, hands soft but firm as they cup your face. “It was different then, no one knew, you weren’t drinking, you just need to make sure you drink,” 

He says you need to drink as if it’s as casual as you sipping from a glass of water, not puncturing someone's skin with your teeth and sucking them like a parasite. 

He squeezes your cheeks together, kissing your lips as they pucker up from the motion. “You can drink me whenever you want, like your own personal capri sun,” 

Normally it makes you smile, but it seems being so close to him has your body betraying you, your fangs descend from your gums. He doesn’t hate you for it, in fact, he finds your appetite for his blood quite flattering. 

“Girlfriends aren’t supposed to drink their boyfriend's blood, it’s weird” Your hands quickly covered your mouth as you step away from Eddie. Putting as much space between you as you can muster. It isn’t much. 

Your gaze flees to the floor, pupils darkened by bloodlust. 

Eddie's fingers reach for the necklace dangling from your neck, the crystal is red, in the shape of half an anatomically correct heart. He pulls it towards him and when it clicks into place with a matching necklace of his own, a little darker in colour he smiles. 

“I like weird,” He promises kissing your lips, soft and quick. “We were weird before,” He hums, his fingers rubbing back and forth over the skin of your cheeks. 

[minnaci]

CALM AFTER THE STORM

contents: nanami kento x gn!reader, jjk s2 spoilers (shibuya incident), hurt/comfort, reader is implied to have died years before the shibuya incident, cooking together as a love language, kissing, reunions, death

what is death if not a new beginning?

or, nanami makes his journey to the afterlife. it's not so bad.

it's strange, nanami thinks. he had forgotten what it meant to move without pain, and yet here he is, dancing without a care in the world. his joints don't crack, his knees don't ache. he could have sworn he had injured his eye, and yet, here he is, witnessing the ocean in its full, unfettered glory.

pantai cenang is beautiful. idyllic. not a curse in sight. nanami takes a moment to soak it all in. fine white sand. crystal blue water. coconut trees. there's a distinct lack of people— surprising, given how popular the beach is with tourists— but nanami knows better than to question such a blessing.

there's a little cottage in the distance, one that doesn't exist on any map. in his heart, nanami knows you're inside, humming as you wash the vegetables you'd picked from the garden. it's been too long since he's seen you, held you in his arms. months. years. his heart squeezes. ah, that familiar ache— yearning. he quickens his pace.

absence makes the heart grow fonder. in his mind's eye, you twirl in the sand with him, feet nimble. he spins, more graceful than he’s ever been. he soars. he falls. fighting is dancing in the same way that the waves batter against the shore— beauty and violence, art and destruction.

nanamin! a shout echoes across the water, and nanami lowers his arms, turning on instinct to the familiar voice. even in his retirement, it seems that he can still hear the voice of his loudest student.

ah, he's exhausted— this is what he gets for indulging in the sun. he can sense your frown already. you'd always fretted over him, all soft hands and gentle touches.

the scent of blood rises on the wind, but there is no fear. even sharks need to eat. such is the way life and death dance together.

nanamin! the voice shouts again, or maybe it’s an echo of the first call, bounding across the surf. his fatigue overwhelms him like falling in love— slow, then all at once.

he is so, so tired of fighting.

faster than he can comprehend, there’s a firm pressure against his stomach. a mosquito buzzes around his face. he swats it away idly. there’s something he’s forgetting. something important.

nanamin!

ah. that’s right. he doesn’t have to worry anymore.

“itadori,” he says, voice carrying over the waves. “you’ve got it from here.”

there’s a gut-wrenching snap in his core. it severs something vital, and yet… he’s never felt more alive. he is a hollow-boned creature, like the birds. finally, the weight of the world is no longer his to bear.

your presence calls to him, draws him in from across the beach, and he turns towards your siren’s song. his lips form the shape of your name. in the blink of an eye, his hand is on the doorknob to your cottage.

"i'm home."

you whip around so fast that nanami almost fears your neck will snap clean in two. “kento?”

“it’s me.”

there’s a split second where the world freezes. the light from the late early evening sun dances amongst dust motes. your lips part, and nanami trembles with the force of his want for you.

then, like the tide to the moon, like planets to a star, you crash together. you fly across the room into nanami’s waiting arms, two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. when he kisses you, you taste like salt, like grief, like joy. it makes him want to kiss you more, kiss you harder, so he does.

you pull away, and nanami only just resists the urge to chase your lips.

"you're... so early. i didn't expect to see you here for a few more decades." you cup his face, fingers tracing over the familiar curves of his cheeks, his jaw. nanami turns his face into the affectionate touches.

"and leave you to eat dinner alone?" nanami leans in again, kissing the tears from your cheeks in a few quick, fluttering brushes of lips against skin. “i’m officially retired. where else would i want to be, if not with you?”

“you’re so romantic today.” there’s a choked quality to your voice.

oh, nanami thinks. it’s really been too long. “i’m romantic all the time for you.”

“i missed you.” apropos of nothing, the words tear from your chest, like you can’t hold them back anymore. your face crumples. heat pricks behind nanami’s eyes as you bury your face against his chest, frame trembling with the effort of holding back your tears. “i missed you so much.”

comfort has never been nanami’s forte, but with you, it’s as easy as breathing to hug you closer, to make soft, soothing sounds, to rub gentle circles over your back.

“i missed you, too,” he says, a confession. the world swims in his vision. he blinks rapidly. “more than you could ever know.”

he rocks you back and forth, back and forth, holding you as you shake apart in his arms. there’s no pressure to perform, no shareholders to impress, no curses to exorcise. only you, and your love, and your touch.

and he gets to have this forever.

nanami’s not sure how long you stay there, only that his skin still hungers for yours when you press a teary kiss to his cheek and maneuver out of his hold. you sniffle, wipe your eyes, and offer him a familiar apron with a watery smile. “here. you still remember how to cook, right, mr. salaryman sorcerer?”

“what are we making?” nanami takes the proffered apron. i’m the cook, it reads. he glances down at your apron, already knowing what it says. kiss the cook. the corner of his mouth twitches up.

“hainan chicken rice,” you say. “when in malaysia…”

“of course,” he says. “pass me the knife.”

it’s been a while since he’s handled a sharp blade. the handle sits in the palm of his hand— rough, worn smooth by years of use. a tool of the home. he finds that he likes the weight of it.

the rhythm of cooking is an intimate waltz. one, two, three. he crushes the garlic under the flat of his knife, then minces it. bits of garlic cling to his fingers, and he picks it off, shapes it into a pile. the papery peel is swept aside, to be returned to the earth.

the edge of his blade is used to peel ginger. short, quick strokes— not a motion wasted. when he’s done, the ginger’s aroma tickles his nose, as sharp as his knife. he slices it thinly and places it next to the garlic.

you heat oil in a pan as he works, humming a low melody. he hasn’t heard it in years, but it’s as warm and familiar as the bed you share. when the oil starts to sizzle, you add in his minced garlic, his sliced ginger. the scent spreads through the room, savory and safe.

you produce rice from a small rice cooker. it’s not ideal to use freshly cooked rice in fried rice dishes, but nanami has every confidence you’ll manage. while you stir in the chicken fat and bullion, he looks around for something else to set his blade to.

cucumbers, fresh from your garden outside. nanami taps one gently, a faint smile pulling at the edges of his lips at the hollow, satisfying thock. it’s quick work to peel them, revealing pale green flesh. it’s even quicker work to slice them. he loses himself in the task, in the comfort of your presence, and lets his muscle memory take over.

“are you using your technique on those poor cucumbers?” there’s a smile in your voice. nanami glances down at the cucumbers, and sure enough, they’re sliced in uneven fractions of 7/10.

the motions of violence are not so easily forgotten, but true peace lasts only in the memory of war. nanami gives you a small smile, presses a soft kiss to your temple, and resumes cutting his cucumbers— evenly, this time. even the sharpest of blades can be repurposed.

dinner is a quiet affair. two plates, two cups of tea, two settings at the table. conversation flows as easily as wine. your foot nudges against his calf— once, twice. he nudges back, delighting in the radiant smile that you can’t seem to hold back.

both of your plates sit empty upon the table. the last dregs of tea cool in your cups. cleaning up is quick, made quicker by long-established routine: he washes, you dry. on the last of the dishes, he leans into you— a silent request. you lean back— acquiescence.

he will never tire of touching you. instinct is a trembling little creature in his heart, and you are the soft hands that soothe him, letting him pull you flush against his chest. minutes drip into hours, and the sun begins its slow descent as he cradles you in his arms. somehow, you migrate to bed, and then everything is warmth and love and perfection.

these quiet delights, this tender intimacy— nanami revels in it, revels in this little life, this future you share.

“the sun is setting,” you murmur, a tender look in your eyes. you’re a vision painted in gold light, an angel in soft sheets. he could soak in you forever. “it’s almost time to go home.”

“is home as good as this?” he takes your hand, presses a kiss to the back of it.

“it’s better.” you slip out of bed, and he follows you outside. a gentle breeze ruffles his hair, brings him the scent of salt and the sea. the sun dips lower on the horizon, and yet, the light only brightens. it’s not harsh, but a gentle, beckoning warmth.

“are you ready, kento?”

“you’ll be with me?” it wouldn’t be a home without you.

“i will. i promise.” you take his hand, lean in, press a kiss to his cheek. tension drains from his shoulders like the low tide. a home with you is more than he could have ever dreamed of. “let’s go home.”

together, you walk into the light. neither of you look back.

tags: @angelshub @enchantedforest-network

[winxanity-ii]

SCARLET CHAINS, GOLDEN RIDDLES

ship: kurapika x fem!sphinx!reader warnings: non-explicit ( kinda angsty/sad, but it does have a bittersweet romance, so… win?) word count: 5.3k a/n: I know i said i wouldn't do it now, but i couldn't help my self, loloo. also this piece was inspired by a tweet from Kayla Ancrum (@KaylaAncrum), where she wrote about a man who falls in love with a sphinx and solves her riddles daily. I just had to explore that dynamic with Kurapika and a Sphinx reader! Let me know what y'all think! 🖤✨

★·.·´🇭‌🇺‌🇳‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ × 🇭‌🇺‌🇳‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Revenge doesn't always bring peace; sometimes it leaves behind something far more haunting.

Kurapika had fulfilled his mission, dismantling the Phantom Troupe and retrieving the Scarlet Eyes that once belonged to his kin. He should have felt victorious, perhaps even a semblance of peace, but instead, he felt hollow, drifting aimlessly in the vastness of the world.

The weight of his chains was gone, but the burden on his heart remained.

In restless strides, he wandered the lands, searching for something he couldn't quite name—purpose, healing, or perhaps a way to finally let go of the rage that had kept him alive for so long.

The bustling city streets did little to distract him from his turmoil.

Kurapika walked among strangers, his eyes scanning the faces that passed by, not really seeing them. The chatter and noise of life around him felt distant, a muffled echo that never reached his ears.

He just got off the phone with Gon, a short conversation that was filled with concern on Gon's part. Kurapika assured him he was fine, though the words tasted like lies even as they left his mouth.

The city was filled with countless distractions—stalls selling exotic wares, street performers drawing in crowds—but Kurapika moved through it all like a ghost.

It was only when he came across a particular stand filled with unique, almost mythical items that he found himself pausing.

There were trinkets, stones carved with symbols he couldn't recognize, feathers from birds that didn't exist in any book he'd ever read, and even vials of shimmering liquid.

Something about the stand drew him in, perhaps the promise of the unknown, the mystery of it all.

As Kurapika stared at a curious amulet shaped like an eye, a voice broke through the haze of his thoughts. "You look like a young man filled with woes."

Turning, he found an old woman seated just beyond the stand, her eyes rooted intently on him.

She was small, her back slightly hunched, with eyes that seemed to look right through him. Her wrinkled hands rested on a small table, a crystal ball sitting between them.

Her presence was almost otherworldly, and Kurapika couldn’t help but feel as if she had been waiting for him.

"Your heart is heavy," she continued, her voice soft but firm, like the rustling of ancient leaves. "You have found what you sought, but now you are lost. Seeking something else, aren't you?"

Kurapika frowned, his first instinct to brush her off, to walk away. He had no time for fortune tellers or their vague prophecies. But something in her gaze held him in place.

Maybe it was the fact that she was right—he was lost, more lost than he had ever been.

Before he could respond, the old woman reached beneath her table and pulled out a worn piece of parchment. She handed it to him, her eyes never leaving his. "Take this map. It shows places where you might find what you seek. A journey is ahead of you, young man, one that may finally bring you peace."

Kurapika took the map, his fingers brushing against the rough surface. He hesitated, staring down at the faded ink and the strange symbols marking various locations. "What kind of journey?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

The old woman smiled, a mysterious curve of her lips. "One that will lead you to the answers you need, not the ones you want. Follow the map, and you may find more than you ever hoped for."

Kurapika glanced at the map again, the markings seeming to shift under his gaze, almost as if they were alive.

He had nothing left to lose.

With a nod, he folded the parchment and tucked it into his pocket, a small spark of something—curiosity, hope—lighting within him.

His travels took him far from the crowded city, into remote villages and forgotten paths.

He heard tales whispered in the dark corners of taverns—rumors of a remote island untouched by time, home to creatures that should have only existed in myths.

The locals spoke of a sphinx—a creature of immense power, wisdom, and mystery. She was said to guard an ancient temple on an isolated island, her riddles a fatal test for any who dared approach.

She could devour the souls of those who failed or offer wisdom to those who succeeded.

It was said that she embodied both mercy and cruelty, bound by the ancient rules of her riddles.

Kurapika's interest was piqued. Perhaps this creature held the answers he sought, or at least the challenge he needed.

Something to pull him out of the hollow void that had settled within him.

The island was not marked on any ordinary map, but the worn parchment he carried seemed to lead him there, the strange symbols aligning with the whispered directions he gathered from those who dared speak of the place.

And so, Kurapika found himself standing on the deck of a small fishing boat, the salty wind tugging at his hair as the island came into view—a shadow against the horizon, shrouded in mist.

He felt a strange pull, a sense that whatever awaited him there might finally give him the closure he needed. He had faced monsters before, both human and otherwise, but something about this journey felt different.

As if, perhaps, it wasn't just about finding answers—but about finding himself.

The island loomed closer, and with it, the promise of riddles, danger, and maybe, just maybe, a way to heal the wounds that revenge had left behind.

Kurapika spent the first few days exploring the island, his feet carrying him along unfamiliar paths, his eyes scanning for clues hidden among the dense forest and crumbling ruins.

He learned the lay of the land—the twisting vines, the rocky cliffs that overlooked the endless ocean, and the small creatures that scurried away at his approach.

The island seemed to breathe, its secrets waiting just beneath the surface, and he was determined to uncover them.

After days of exploring, Kurapika made his way back to the nearby village, his supplies dwindling and his body weary.

It was night by the time he arrived, the village bathed in the soft glow of lanterns, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets.

He found a small tavern at the edge of the village, its warm light spilling out onto the street, the murmur of voices inviting him in.

Kurapika entered, the scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filling the air. He made his way to an empty table in the corner, ordering a simple meal and a drink.

The tavern was lively; villagers and travelers alike gathered to unwind, their laughter and chatter a comforting background to his solitude.

He ate slowly, savoring the warmth of the food, the taste of something other than the dried rations he had carried with him.

As he ate, he noticed a small crowd beginning to gather near the fireplace at the center of the room. The voices quieted, replaced by the expectant hush of an audience waiting for a story.

Kurapika's gaze shifted, his interest piqued as an elderly man stepped forward, his hands worn and his eyes twinkling with mischief. The storyteller cleared his throat, a smile playing on his lips as he began to speak.

"Gather 'round, gather 'round," the old man said, his voice carrying easily through the room. "I have a tale for you tonight, one of mystery, of danger, and of beauty beyond imagination."

Kurapika leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he listened.

The old man spoke of a creature, a sphinx, who guarded a temple deep within the island—a temple known as the Cave of Mysteries. He described the sphinx as both beautiful and terrifying, her eyes holding the weight of ages, her form a paradox of grace and danger.

The crowd leaned in, captivated by the tale, their faces reflecting a mix of awe and fear.

"They say the Cave of Mysteries holds treasures beyond belief," the old man continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that had the crowd hanging on his every word. "Riches enough to buy an empire, secrets that could grant unimaginable power. But the sphinx, ah, she is not easily bested. Many have tried, and all have failed—her riddles are a test of wit and courage, and the price of failure is steep indeed."

The old man finished his tale, the crowd breaking into murmurs, some laughing nervously, others shaking their heads as if dismissing the story as mere legend.

But Kurapika knew better.

He finished his meal, his mind already turning on how to find the temple and to the mysteries that still lay ahead.

The island held more than just danger—it held the promise of something he had never thought he needed.

So, driven by curiosity and the need for a challenge beyond revenge, Kurapika set off to find the temple, unperturbed by the locals' warnings of danger.

And he intended to see it through, whatever the cost.

The whispers of forgotten creatures and the hint of ancient wisdom called to him, a voice that spoke directly to the hollowness he now carried.

His feet followed the clues, ancient symbols etched into rocks and trees, guiding him deeper into the dense forest of the island.

Each step took him further from the familiar and into the unknown—a test he desperately needed.

The journey was arduous, the air thick with the scent of wild vegetation and the distant echo of creatures unseen.

Kurapika's senses were heightened; every sound, every rustle in the underbrush kept him alert.

Anticipation built within him, a sense that something lay ahead—something that might offer answers, or at least a distraction from the gnawing emptiness left by vengeance.

Finally, he stood before it—the temple, a structure both majestic and haunting, half-covered in creeping vines, its stone surface carved with the same symbols that had guided him here.

The temple seemed almost alive, its golden exterior shimmering in the fading sunlight, the intricate carvings depicting stories of ancient gods and creatures long forgotten.

The entrance was framed by towering pillars, their surfaces etched with worn inscriptions, and the air was thick with an aura of both reverence and dread.

The massive doors of the temple were slightly ajar, revealing only darkness within, as if daring anyone to enter.

But at the base of the stairs sat you—the Sphinx; a creature of paradox, you embodied both grace and danger.

Your powerful form rested elegantly, your tail waving languidly in the air, each movement deliberate and filled with quiet confidence.

Your form was powerful, the body of a lioness with muscles rippling beneath golden fur, yet your face held a beauty that was almost human, framed by a mix of a wild mane and intricate braids that shimmered under the fading sunlight.

Your claws were sharp, glinting with an almost metallic sheen, a reminder of the threat you posed to anyone foolish enough to challenge you.

There was an ethereal quality to you, a faint outline of wings that shimmered in the heat, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost unreal, giving you an otherworldly glow.

Your presence exuded power—a quiet intensity that Kurapika could feel even from a distance, a force that seemed to pulse with the very energy of the island.

The power you exuded was palpable, a quiet but overwhelming force that made even the strongest foes Kurapika had faced—the Chimera Ants, the Phantom Troupe—seem almost mundane by comparison.

There was something about you—something far more enigmatic, a blend of wisdom and danger that set you apart.

But it was your eyes that captivated him most.

As those golden orbs landed on him, they shifted, narrowing into sharp, cat-like slits, assessing him with an intensity that made Kurapika's breath hitch.

They were a deep, haunting shade, filled with the weight of centuries, and they seemed to pierce through him, seeing the parts of himself he tried to keep hidden.

In your eyes, he saw a depth of knowledge that surpassed anything he had ever known, and yet there was something else—a loneliness that he understood all too well.

Intrigued and cautious, he stepped forward, his heart steady, his mind sharp.

You watched him approach, your gaze unwavering, your posture regal.

Silence stretched between you, thick with tension and curiosity. You had seen many travelers before him, men who came seeking glory or power, only to fall before your riddles, their bones now part of the island's forgotten past.

But this one was different. He moved with purpose, not arrogance, his eyes holding a quiet determination that piqued your interest.

Your voice broke the silence, echoing through the empty landscape, carrying with it the weight of ages. "Young man, why do you seek me?"

Kurapika paused, considering his words carefully. "I seek answers," he said, his voice steady. "Answers to questions I cannot yet name. I seek something beyond vengeance. Perhaps you can help me find it."

A small smile tugged at your lips—cryptic, almost amused. "Answers come at a cost," you replied. "And only those who prove themselves worthy may proceed."

Without another word, you issued him a riddle, your voice carrying an authority that demanded his attention.

"Boundless am I, beginningless and endless, forever yet never the same. I am the river that flows and the sky that fades; I am possessed by none, yet present in all. What am I?"

The riddle was complex, woven with layers of meaning that had confounded countless before him. You half-expected him to falter, to hesitate as so many others had.

But he didn't.

Kurapika listened, his eyes never leaving yours, his mind dissecting each word, each nuance. His answer came calmly, confidently, his voice unwavering even in the face of your sharp claws and powerful presence. "Time," he said, as though the riddle was a mere puzzle, a challenge he was born to solve.

For the first time in a century, someone answered correctly.

Surprise flickered in your gaze, quickly masked by your stoic demeanor.

You studied him, this young man who had dared to approach you, who had not flinched under your scrutiny. There was something about him—an emptiness, a need that mirrored your own.

You had been bound to this place for so long, your existence woven into the riddle game, your only connection to others through the trials they failed. But this one had succeeded, and by the ancient rules, he had earned a boon.

"What is your request?" you asked, your voice softer now, curious.

Kurapika thought for a moment, his eyes drifting to the temple behind you, then to the sands around your feet. "For my boon, I wish to stay here," he said finally. "To rest beside you, under the stars, and awaken unharmed. Just for a night."

Your breath caught, an unfamiliar feeling tingling down your spine. The request took you by surprise.

It was such a simple one.

Men usually asked for riches, power, or freedom. But to simply… sleep by your side?

Against your better judgment, you found yourself agreeing. Slowly, you nodded, granting him this boon.

"Very well," you said, gesturing to the smooth sand near the temple steps. "You may rest here tonight, beside me. But know this, wanderer—come dawn, the the wheel of fate turns once more and the ritual will begin anew."

Kurapika nodded, a faint smile touching his lips.

As the two of you lay down, he moved closer, settling down on the warm sands beside you, the night sky stretching endlessly above. The stars blinked into existence, one by one, as silence fell over the island once more.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you felt something shift—a connection, fragile yet real, formed between two lost souls seeking solace.

As the night deepened, you watched him, the quiet resolve in his features, the way his eyes softened as he gazed up at the stars.

The silvery light of the stars reflected in his gray eyes, making them seem almost ethereal, as if the heavens themselves had taken refuge within him. A slight, warm breeze rustled through the air, catching in his blonde hair and ruffling it gently, giving him an almost boyish charm.

As he drifted toward sleep, you kept a close watch, noting the softened lines of his face, how the quiet moments seemed to ease the burdens he carried. His breathing slowed, the tension in his shoulders melting away.

There was a peace in the silence between you, a sense that perhaps, in this fleeting moment, neither of you was truly alone.

But you stayed awake, keeping watch, your mind racing with questions. What kind of man asks a creature like you for something so simple, so intimate? Why didn't he fear you, not even a little?

As dawn crept over the horizon, he stirred beside you, stretching slightly before his eyes blinked open, sleepy but clear.

When he saw you watching him, he didn’t startle or flinch. Instead, he smiled—a small, weary smile that tugged at something deep in your chest.

"Thank you," he said, as if he hadn't just put his life in your hands.

You narrowed your eyes, leaning closer. "Why aren't you afraid of me?"

He paused, thinking over his answer. "I've met monsters before," he said quietly. "I've even become one, in a way. But I don't see a monster when I look at you."

A flicker of irritation sparked within you, though it was dulled by something softer. "You don't know what I am capable of," you warned, voice low.

He only tilted his head. "Maybe not. But I'd like to find out."

And so was the beginning of something neither of you could yet name—a bond forged in riddles, silence, and the unspoken understanding of what it meant to be lost.

Each day, Kurapika worked tirelessly, studying the clues you left behind, learning the nuances of your mind through each challenge in your riddles, each more complex than the last.

Each evening, as the sun set and bathed the island in a warm, golden glow, he appeared again at the temple, his determination unwavering. His intelligence and wit kept him alive, his answers keeping him just close enough to be spared as he engaged in a battle of wits with you.

And each night, he solved your riddle with a grace and precision that began to feel almost routine.

Sometimes, he even looked… amused. As if he enjoyed matching wits with you, as if your challenge was something he relished rather than feared.

You were unused to companionship, your existence long defined by solitude and duty. Yet you found yourself anticipating Kurapika's arrival each day.

You began crafting riddles with a new purpose—not simply to guard, but to challenge him in a way that would make him think, to make him understand you. You dug into old tomes, dusted off forgotten phrases, anything to see if you could stump him.

"I am born of light, yet fear its touch. I dance on water, yet drown in its embrace. I am the silent whisper, the unspoken thought. I am the dream, the hope, the despair. What am I?"

"A shadow."

And yet, time and time again, he would answer correctly, and each time, he seemed to edge closer to you—not physically, but in a way that felt far more profound.

Slowly, you allowed him into your world, seeing in him a spirit kindred to your own.

Nights became more intimate, and not simply because he rested beside you. As the stars blinked into existence above, he would sit by your side and speak of his past—of his clan, his grief, the hollow emptiness that followed his revenge.

You listened, silently absorbing each word, drawn to the depth of his pain and the resilience that had brought him here. You saw the weariness in his eyes, the way they sometimes stared at nothing, as if the world held no color for him anymore.

In return, you began to share cryptic stories of ancient times, tales woven with wisdom and longing, fragments of yourself that had remained hidden for centuries.

Your voice, though calm, carried a weight that Kurapika seemed to understand instinctively. He saw through your cold facade, sensing a deep loneliness that mirrored his own.

And so, night after night, the two of you spoke, your conversations shifting from the guarded tension of strangers to the shared musings of two souls seeking meaning.

You spoke of life, of death, of purpose, and in those moments, you realized how much you had missed the simple act of talking, of connecting.

Your dynamic shifted from hostility to mutual respect, and then to something deeper.

The more time he spent with you, the more he began to see you as something beyond a “monster.” He saw you as a being who was as trapped as he was—bound by duty, by the need to protect something, even if it came at the cost of isolation.

The nights spent under the stars became something precious. You both developed a quiet, profound romance—one that transcended physicality, one that was born out of the fragments of yourselves that you shared with each other.

Now, as he rested beside you, he no longer simply lay in the sand, separate from you. Instead, he was practically nestled against your side, his head resting on your flank, his fingers sometimes absently tracing patterns in your fur as if you were a mere cat.

It was a sight that would have been inconceivable to you not long ago—someone finding comfort in your presence, in the warmth of your body. And yet, there was a peace that settled over both of you in those quiet hours, a comfort that neither of you had known in far too long.

Though, despite your growing bond with Kurapika, you were still bound by your nature to defend your territory from outsiders.

When other travelers occasionally arrived, driven by greed or ignorance, they foolishly attempted your riddles. And when they failed—as they always did—you showed no mercy.

You devoured them with the ferocity of a true predator; the golden sands stained a deep crimson with the aftermath of their foolishness, soaking into the sand until the ground seemed to pulse with the memory of their folly.

But instead of recoiling in horror, Kurapika watched silently, his gaze calm and understanding. He never turned away, never judged you for fulfilling your duty.

Instead, he would place a gentle hand on your hide, his touch soothing as you carried out what you must, a silent guardian beside you.

This side of him fascinated you—the way he accepted you, both the monstrous and compassionate facets of your being.

There was a shared acknowledgment between the two of you—an understanding that you were a creature bound by your instincts and duties, and he was unfazed.

To him, you were not simply a monster, but something more, something deserving of compassion and acceptance.

Together, you formed a duo unlike any other—a pair, a bond between a man who understood darkness and a creature who embodied it.

Time passed as if in a dream.

Kurapika came back, night after night, even as the seasons changed. You watched his hair grow lighter, faint threads of silver weaving through the golden strands. His face, once so sharp and intense, softened with age.

The lines that creased his brow told stories of battles fought and challenges faced, but in the quiet moments with you, those lines seemed to ease.

The way he answered your riddles, too, became more thoughtful, less sharp-edged, though he still never faltered. His intelligence remained, tempered now with the wisdom of age rather than the fire of revenge.

One night, after he'd answered another riddle and claimed his boon by your side, you saw him hesitate, his brows furrowing, lips parting as if he was searching for the right words.

His eyes lingered on you, and there was a sadness in them that you’d never seen before. "Do you ever wish… for a different life?" he asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned away, not wanting him to see the flicker of longing in your own eyes. "A Sphinx does not wish. A Sphinx exists. That is all," you replied, your voice steady, but there was a tremor beneath the surface, a crack in the armor you had worn for so long.

He didn't respond right away, but you felt his gaze on you, warm and understanding in a way that made your chest ache. "Even monsters can wish for more," he whispered, as if confessing a secret.

The silence between you was heavy, filled with unspoken words and shared pain. You knew that he understood your longing, just as you understood his.

Though you had tried to keep your heart distant, you found yourself more attached with each passing night, each shared breath under the vast expanse of stars.

As the years passed, you noticed his struggle. His occasional lapse in memory, the way he would pause, his brow furrowed as he searched for a name that seemed just out of reach.

The way his body moved slower, the once fluid grace of his steps now tinged with hesitation.

You realized you were growing attached, and in your quiet moments, you wrestled with the strange pull he had over you, your love for him subtly guiding you to keep him close.

The realization was both terrifying and beautiful—a feeling you hadn’t expected to know.

In response, you modified your riddles, the challenges that had once been a fierce contest of intellect slowly transforming into something softer.

You wanted him to succeed, to stay by your side.

You crafted simpler riddles, designed to fit his weakening mind, riddles that spoke more of memory and heart than of cleverness. They took on a painful simplicity: "Do you remember who I am?" and "When is it not sunny out?"

You watched him wrestle with these questions, a tragic yet beautiful contrast to the man he once was.

His eyes, still filled with determination, would meet yours, and he would smile—a gentle, tired smile—as he answered.

You treasured his presence, savoring each answer, each memory shared, knowing that time was slipping away. The silver in his hair grew more prominent, his steps slower, but still, he came to you, night after night, until even the simple act of walking to the temple steps became a laborious task.

One night, as he rested against your side, his head nestled against your golden fur, you lowered your head, nuzzling him softly.

He looked up at you, his gaze tired but content, and whispered, "Thank you... for keeping me." His words were filled with gratitude, a warmth that spread through your chest, and you knew, in that moment, that you would never forget him.

Even as the inevitability of time loomed, you stayed by his side, guarding not only the temple but also the fragile, precious connection you had built.

He was no longer just a challenger, no longer just a man seeking answers—he was Kurapika, the one who had seen you for who you truly were, who had brought warmth and meaning to your existence.

One night, you posed a riddle, your voice as steady as ever: "I know not life, yet I bloom and spread; I am sightless, yet your darkest hour, I shall guide you to light. What am I?"

His answer faltered. His eyes, now clouded with age, stared at you, his once steady voice weak and trembling as he began to speak. "I... I think..." He paused, blinking, his brows furrowing in concentration, trying to grasp the answer that seemed just out of reach.

His body had grown frail, his hands unsteady, and he blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the words that had always come so effortlessly before.

You could see the confusion in his gaze, a flicker of fear that he had never shown before—a fear not of you, but of the inevitable weakness that was overtaking him.

Your heart pounded, an unfamiliar rhythm that resonated with something deep and instinctual, your animalistic side recognizing this as a cue—the beginning of the end.

A pang of sorrow cut through you, sharp and deep, as you sensed the end drawing near.

You hesitated, torn between your duty as a guardian and the emotions that had grown within you, emotions you had never imagined you were capable of.

The silence stretched between you that night, heavy with the weight of what was left unsaid, and you pondered, thinking up a riddle so simple that he could answer it even in his sleep.

Something that would remind him, and perhaps even you, of the bond you had shared.

"What is your name?" you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper, carrying the tenderness of the years you had spent together.

Kurapika blinked, and then his eyes softened, recognition flickering back into their cloudy depths. A faint smile curved his lips, tired and gentle. "Kurapika," he answered, his voice cracking, the sound almost lost in the stillness of the night.

He lay down beside you, his body settling into the warm sands, and as his breathing slowed, he reached out, his hand curling into your golden fur. You felt his fingers tighten slightly, a silent reassurance, and you lowered your head, resting it beside him.

You curled your body around him protectively, your tail wrapping gently over his legs, holding him close as if shielding him from the inevitable. The warmth of your form surrounded him, a final comfort as he drifted into the stillness of sleep.

You stayed with him, your gaze fixed on his face, watching as the life slowly faded from his eyes, his final breath a soft sigh against your skin.

The night seemed to hold its breath, the stars above flickering like distant memories, and when the sun finally began to rise, you held his body close, feeling the weight of solitude return, colder and heavier than ever.

You stayed by his side, the warmth of him slipping away, replaced by the coldness of death.

It was a pain you hadn't known was possible for a creature like you—raw, deep, and unending. And when the sun rose fully above the horizon, bathing the island in its golden light, you knew what you had to do.

In a macabre but loving ritual, you devoured him piece by piece as a way of keeping him close forever. Each bite was filled with sorrow, each fragment of him a reminder of what you had shared.

You would honor him, keep his bones, bleach them under the sun until they were as pale as the sands, and decorate yourself with them.

His ribs became part of your mane, his finger bones woven into the braids of your hair, a token of the only man who ever dared to love the monster.

Days came and went, the seasons changing once again, but you felt the emptiness like a hollow ache, a void that nothing else could fill.

The silence was unbearable, the absence of his presence echoing through the temple, through your very soul.

Beneath the temple's golden arches, you remained, gaze fixed upon the endless horizon. You waited, as you always would, watching for any soul who might bear even a glimmer of the quiet strength and resolve he had shown you.

And even though you knew he would not return, even though you had consumed his body and held his memory within you, a part of you still hoped.

Hoped for the impossible, for a presence that could bring warmth to the cold emptiness left behind.

Because as a wise person once told you, monsters, after all, could still wish.

[lurkingshan]

After reading this post from @waitmyturtles about her read on Fire and Dynamite, I was thinking a bit more about the way the show has handled their story and what I love about it. And I think it comes down to a crucial point: Cooking Crush, unlike most Thai bl, is NOT in the bubble, and the presence of homophobia, both internal and external, cannot be separated from their story. This is a queer narrative to the core.

Both Fire and Dynamite are shaped by their sexuality and their experiences or fear of rejection because of it. Dynamite is out and proud and unapologetic about what he wants, and as we learn when his backstory is revealed to us, this is a direct response to the familial rejection he experienced when he came out. Dy is defiant and in your face with his desires because he has already experienced the worst kind of rejection and is always bracing for more. So he dares people to do it right out of the gate. He likes to know where he stands with people, so he’d rather be his brashest self and suffer the loss early before getting attached. He deals with fear by daring people to prove him right.

Fire takes his fear in the opposite direction, denying who he is and rejecting anything that makes him think too hard about the aspects of himself he does not want to deal with. Even without Dynamite in the picture, it was clear that he was trying to talk himself into liking Jane in a way he simply did not. Once we got to know his mother, the source of his fear became crystal clear, and it was easy to see why he worked so hard to suppress himself. Fire was unhappy living that way, and Dynamite was a constant reminder of what he was trying to keep down, so it’s no wonder he reacted so viscerally to him.

But that’s exactly why their story works. Fire needed someone who he couldn’t ignore to draw out his true self, and because Dynamite is so unwilling to put up with mixed messages and half-hearted declarations, Fire had to work himself all the way out before Dy would accept him. One of the genius things this show did in their arc was have Dy pull away as soon as Fire began sending mixed signals. Dynamite was fine in the face of Fire’s firm rejection—it as what he always expected to get from him along with everyone else. But he wouldn’t allow Fire to run hot and cold on him and play with his emotions, because that was where he knew he could get really hurt. And this boundary that Dy set forced Fire to figure out what he actually wanted and communicate it clearly.

Which is why we saw Fire change so much as soon as they were together, because in the process of deciding what he wanted from Dynamite, Fire had to make some decisions about who he wanted to be and how he wanted to live. And he chose to embrace his queerness and live a more authentic life. He is a new man in this relationship because he is being himself for the first time ever, and he’s finally breaking free from the weight of his own internalized homophobia. It’s a positive change and one that is clearly making him happy, and part of him must feel grateful to Dy for pushing him into figuring out what he wanted.

But crucially, that is where Dy’s pushing ends. He is utterly unwilling to make any further demands of Fire regarding coming out, to the point that Dy puts his own friendships at risk to hide their relationship and protect Fire until he’s ready. He understands the fear of rejection Fire is still dealing with because he lived it. And he has already proven that he’s up to the task of handling Fire’s mother whenever Fire is ready to face her. These two are still early in their relationship but they have already fallen into a very natural and easy pattern of providing each other emotional support and stability, and we can see them shoring each other up. They make a great pair and theirs is a story that can only exist between queer characters.

I just love that in this show that feels so light on the surface they have made room for such depth in the storytelling. Watching Cooking Crush feels like a warm hug because even though it’s gentle and funny and often silly, there are real emotional struggles to ground us, and the story takes them seriously. We’ve seen this consistently in the main storyline with Ten and Prem, and Fire and Dynamite are no exception.

[pianocat939]

YAY I FINALLY GOT ONE OF MY RAFFLE FICS DONE AFTER SLACKING OFF FOR 5 MONTS- I leaned toward a slight bit of horror cuz my followers wanted some so just a little bit

Ok so I did this really stupid thing of switching from 2nd person to 3rd person at random times, so I apologize if it gets confusing at any point. Just know for the most part if it says "they" or "you", it's referring to MC.

A Butterfly's Death

Synopsis: Younger Sibling MC goes out alone and gets hurt and Platonic Yan turtles go a tiny bit crazy and panic a lot.

Tw: blood, injury, murder, degradation, decapitation, mildly(?) explicit horror, manipulation, fear, implied panic attacks (I didn't write it that descriptive), I can't think of anymore-

Word Count: 2.1K

You walk through the stone brick paths of the Hidden City, observing the numerous yokai and the questionably-shaped buildings. When you look up, the sky's endless walls of minerals and the earth's rocks greet you, creating a vast colour of brown and grey. The glowing sign lights and the vivid colours of mystic powers thrown around everywhere blind your eyes a small bit, but you don't mind at all. Being able to walk through the streets on your own was exhilarating for you enough.

After leaving the tangles of your brothers' firm rules, you managed to slip out to the Hidden City on your own; with April being the slick butter needed to slide out from their harsh grip. You are forever grateful she was willing to make a cover-up for your disappearance, a genius she was at people. You knew you only had an hour or perhaps another half more at best, so you needed to explore briefly; otherwise, your brothers might come for you and lock you down again. You didn't even want to imagine the consequences Donnie would give with his undying protectiveness: he could be even worse than Raph at times. You wondered when it'll be your turn to have permission to leave alone since Mikey already got his 6 months ago.

While roaming the marketplace, you notice a red glowing spectre behind another yokai. Oddly allured to it, you approach it subtly without causing any suspicion and see a vibrant vermillion-coloured butterfly fluttering slowly through the bustling street. Out of everything that was going on, it was the only thing you could keep your eyes on. How its crystallized wings flap elegantly through such a diminished place is fascinating. You can't help but pursue the butterfly, your feet automatically shuffling toward it. The creature's shine was nothing compared to Donnie's monitors or the neon signs that cover New York City.

After following it through a few streets, you step close enough to it to graze your fingers upon its rouge wings. You reached out your arm slowly to feel the butterfly, your eyes slightly widened in glistening wonder. But right then, you feel a choking pressure on your chest, pain pulsing through your upper body every second. You realize your arms are pinned by some rose-coloured elastic tape binds. With a yelp, you're swished upwards into the air, restrained with only your legs to kick around in a fruitless struggle.

"H-Hey wha- what's going on?!" They stammer in panic, looking around wildly in panic. But then they hear a harsh shrill laugh, loud enough to make you wince from the volume.

"Ah...Look at the stupid little turtle who fell into my trap! I knew I could effortlessly fool a dumb youngling like you!" The villain declared with raging pride. It smiled with a devilish smirk, seemingly finding itself ingenious.

The mutant stares at the yokai in cold fear, their breathing shallow and uneven. Tears welled in their eyes, on the verge of bursting into a stream of terror and helplessness. They were so idiotic to think they could go out alone: in a city full of powerful yokai. They would eventually end up in danger; they should have complied with their brothers' rules. They regret even trying, as look where they ended up: trapped and no means of escape. They knew this villain wasn't an easy douchebag; they could see it was an imaginative mind filled with strategy and max concentration.

While the young one meddled in their guilt, the tape slowly tightened around them, applying more pressure. They immediately winced with the increase of pain, squinting their eyes slightly as if it would block the torture. But the tightening only grew, and soon it was excruciating. As their cries of pain got more voluminous, the villain only laughed with more insanity: enjoying their pain.

But then the turtle started to feel a slow cracking of their leg, bringing more pain with every fracture, and that's when they screamed: their leg had broken into two. Their scream pierced the whole vicinity, startling Yokai from nearby streets, and a small crowd formed. Some tried to save the mutant, but the villain was too powerful. The people ended up getting smacked by the elastic tape.

The villain cackled sadistically before yelling at its captive, "You're nothing but a silly little weakling! Look at you, screaming like a pitiful child!"

Their demonic giggling continued until a distant scream came from above, "YOU DIRTY WATERED MONSTER BETTER GET YOUR NASTY BUBBLEGUM TAPE OFF MY SIBLING, YOU DEMON!" It was Mikey, one of their brothers, and he did not look pleased by any means. Within a few seconds their siblings: Raph, Mikey and Donnie, fire attacks at the villain. From fire to crushing the villain with a mighty fist: it was pure warfare. Meanwhile, the elastic band that restrained them was sliced, and they fell into a pair of stable arms: Leo.

"I got you. Now, let me see your injuries." He softly muttered, his eyes with a look of concern, but they could see the dark fury swirling in his eyes. Leo carried them to a more secure place. Surprisingly the elastic tape didn't follow the pair, as it was too distracted fighting off the others. Once Y/n felt safer about their environment, they clung to Leo, trembling in horror. Leo hugged them, rubbing their back, "Hey, hey, what happened?"

Their voice was shaky and practically silent as they whispered, "I think my leg is broken..." They glance at their right calf, noticing it's visibly swollen and bruised; it was obviously distended in some places. A few tears drip from their eyes, as the pain fully sets in after leaving the danger zone. They glance back at their brother once more and notice his fury, and for a moment, they were terrified of his expression. His face was in a gritted frown, his eyes wide with absolute hatred. Leo rarely revealed his anger, but the times he did: it was a true menace. "L-Leo?" They mumbled, wondering why he didn't say anything.

Suddenly, in a flash, Leo created a portal and cut the now-weakened villain's head clean off, blood gushing and splattering everywhere. "Burn in hell, bastard." He advised quietly; you would almost think he was calm about the situation, but he wasn't. With the fact the villain was slain, all of your brothers rush back to you, surrounding you with worried looks.

"Can you walk?"

"How bad did it hurt you?"

"We're here now ok? You're safe!"

You didn't answer their questions, as you were processing what happened within the last hour. But there was one thing that was putting you through the most shock: you could have died. If it weren't for your brothers arriving in time, you could have been crushed or maybe even worse. You were grateful that you at the very least screamed, as who knows what more could have the villain done to you if you hadn't? In amidst processing all of the events, you burst out into tears, your breathing off the charts.

At the sight of this, your three brothers tried to calm you down. Mikey was hugging you, Raph was patting your hand, and Donnie was scanning your body with his goggles for all the injuries.

"Hey, hey! We're here, we're right here, no need to be scared anymore. You're out from that hellhole now!"

"Yeah, you got your big bros right here to save you. You're gonna be ok."

"Signs of bruises and swelling, increased blood pressure, a broken fibula along with some fractures on the tibula..."

Then Leo pushed himself between Raph and Donnie, holding a small, straight plank of wood along with some gauze and medicinal tape. He kneeled down and wrapped your calf into a makeshift splint. His anger had melted away from his expression, and now replaced with a concentrated face. He hummed a small tune as he worked, the tune sounding grim. When he was done he sighed, before standing up. "There. Now let's go home, where it's safe."

You're then heaved up into Raph's ginormous arms and carried off, as Mikey and Donnie wait for Leo to swiftly form a portal. Right before you leave through the turquoise-coloured glowing gateway, you stare back at the scene. Blood covers the ground and body of the villain; the colours of the elastic tape have dimmed. It's as if a horror scene the main character would stumble upon in a horror movie. You notice the butterfly you chased earlier landed right on the neck of the corpse: right where the head used to be attached. The wisp then slowly faded away into dust, as if it was never there.

——————————————————

Back at the lair, inside the med-bay, you lay on the bed as Leo gives more proper treatment to your injuries. While Donnie and Raph sit next to your bed. Raph held your hand and Donnie typed on his phone, seemingly writing down something important. The sound of an occasional machine beeping is the only noise in the room. Then Raph breaks the silence, "Why did you go out to the Hidden City alone?"

You froze. You knew the time to confess your doings was to come eventually. You felt intense stares at you, and you hated the thick, silent atmosphere. You didn't wish to utter a single sound; just keep your mouth shut and let Leo do his work. But you knew there was no choice, they wouldn't let you sleep for the night unless you confessed. So with all your courage you stated, "Because I hate having to constantly be with someone to go out alone. I...I felt smothered."

"But out of all the places you could have picked to sneak out to, you picked the Hidden City?" Raph interrogated, his tone sad and disappointed. His grip tightened slightly on your hand as he spoke.

"Well there's tons of cool stuff to do there, plus I didn't have to worry about people seeing me." You explained, hoping they would understand at least a small bit of your justifications.

"You know how dangerous it can be. Not only is it Big Mama's domain, but there's yokai who can do far worse things than a human could ever possibly fathom doing." Donnie added, glancing up from his phone. He frowned more, just a slight change.

You knew there was no point in arguing when Donnie's explanation is factual. "I guess you're right about that."

While placing a cast upon your broken calf, Leo chides, "I know you felt like you were smothered, but you really should stick with us when you go out. We can protect you and still let you have fun. We're your brothers, after all, we know your position better than anyone else, right?" He has a slightly humorous tone to his words, slowly returning to his usual self.

"I mean...I guess." You mumble, disappointed you're still not allowed to leave alone.

"I agree. We've lived with you our entire lives; we know what you like best. As well as our older age making us have more experience in combat and being in the public in general." Donnie confirmed, typing on his phone with purpose. Unknown to others, he was typing notes to upgrade the defences and surveillance of the lair.

You then felt gentle but firm arms around your shoulder blades and the feeling of scales slightly nuzzled against your cheek. "You worried me so much! I thought something was gonna happen to you!" Raph whimpered, embracing you close as he was on the verge of tears. "Maybe next year you can go out on your own..." never

After Leo finished up and a few more questions, Mikey walked in, holding in a freshly cooked dish of some sort: your favourite. He sauntered up to you, and carefully put the dish into your lap. "You've gone through a lot today, so I made you your favourite. Bon appétit!" He chirped, attempting to lighten up the silent gloomy atmosphere.

"Oh, thanks a lot, Mikey." You accept the food and started to eat it, hungry from not eating for quite a bit. It was delicious, as expected. Mikey is an excellent chef after all.

"So...I think we can all agree that you shouldn't go out on your own until you can prove to us you'll be safe. Agreed?" Raph proposed, looking around at all the other brothers who nodded in response. "Great. Now you just rest up and heal." He started to caress your head, smiling softly. You felt like a little kid in this situation. You felt like a little kid.

Maybe they were right: you shouldn't go out on your own. Not after what had happened to you in the Hidden City. You were just a little kid, who couldn't fend for themselves. Just a little kid.

And just like the butterfly who dwindled away into dust, so did your urge to rebel.

——————————————————

YAY FINALLY- I GOT ONE OF MY 500 SPECIAL DONE- @lilajjs for the winner-

I think it was like idk January/Febuary when I hit 500 help omg=

Well I hope you enjoyed this random bs-

- Celina

[deepdrownlamentt]

gaspard de la nuit.

content warnings: mentions of oripathy-related death, brief mentions of injuries (just a bit at the start)

note: PHANTOM BIRTHDAAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!! it's january 19th in my timezone and i wanted to do something for him since i wasn't able to finish what i started drawing last year...!!! here's to another two? three? years on my homescreen honey darling sweetheart love of my life ........ also looking at it now the content warnings seem a little too serious for a birthday drabble... but we ball. here we go. i hope you enjoy <3

PHANTOM watches the way your lips shape his name — his real name — each syllable carefully pronounced, lovingly enunciated. lu-ci-an.

your hands ghost over his skin, cotton balls soaked in antiseptics brushing against open skin, and you call his name again, gently, sweetly, "lucian."

his eyes flutter upwards to meet yours. his fingertips trace over the shape of your jawline, the black crystals dotting your flesh turning your skin iridescent. together you were doomed, you had said once, tracing over long-healed scars on his skin while he cradled the back of your head — the feeling of your delicate pulse beneath his fingertips seemed, to him, to be more compelling a melody than anything he had once sang upon his crimson stage.

"...yes, love? i'm here." phantom watches how the furrow of your brow eases as your attention shifts to him, and he feels a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. your hand pulls away from the angry, red gash on his arm — he watches the movement, all but enraptured by you.

you smile, beginning to wrap his forearm in bandages. "lost in the clouds again? you looked deep in thought."

he hums in reply, but that note doesn't become melody, and the hold of your hand on his arm remains firm and steady. "perhaps i was," he says. "did i worry you?"

the bandages are sealed neat and snug. your hand trails up his arm to cup his cheek, leaving his skin prickly and warm in your wake. "not at all," you reply. "what were you thinking about, lucian?"

lucian. his name falls from your lips again — ever so slightly, he leans into your touch like a sunflower to the sun, closes his eyes to savour the sound. he contemplates telling you it's nothing. he contemplates telling you, i think i was not born to be an artist or a killer but to be held in your arms like this. he contemplates —

"...you," he says simply, softly, candidly.

— but no level of contemplation could ever come close to the way you say his name, lu-ci-an, so carefully pronounced and lovingly enunciated.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Starlet au first time?

It's a few weeks after their first kiss (did I mention these two moved at a glacial pace???)

But they wait and they take their time because this really isn't something either wants to just... fall into. They've spent over a year denying their feelings and pushing each other away and pretending that they're fine with just being friends, and now everything just feels so big between them. The feelings and the love that is founded in more than just attraction, and the reality of actually getting to act on it.

They go on dates, initially. And by dates I mean having dinner at Lexa's house, just the two of them. Usually Lexa cooks, because the extent of Clarke's prowess in the kitchen is reserved to slightly burnt grilled cheeses and cold salad, but Clarke finds her own ways of helping out. Making it feel more domestic. More romantic. She brings wine and flowers and kisses the chef between offers to stir things, and gets handsy during one particular pasta making lesson that leaves Lexa with palm shaped flour prints on her once-expensive slacks.

It's not that they're putting off having sex or running from it, they're just not trying to force it. They enjoy the phase of getting to be close without overthinking everything. Getting to flirt and touch and learn each other, without expectation.

It'll happen when it's supposed to happen, just like everything else between them.

Which is why when a summer heat wave storms through LA and Lexa invites Clarke over to swim in her very luxurious, very private pool, neither really thinks much of it.

Except Lexa likes the kind of bikinis that that look like too tight and too small boyshorts. The kind that ride low on her hips and show off her thighs and hug her ass like they were painted on. And the fact that it comes with this stringy little top that barely covers her small, rounded breasts just really isn't fair in Clarke's professional opinion.

Not that she has a n y room to say anything, because the halter number she chooses that barely wrangles her own cleavage, paired with bottoms that are little more than a handkerchief tied with twine leave Lexa choking on her own tongue.

But it's fine, because they're adult women who can absolutely behave themselves in the company of scantily clad leading ladies, so it's fine and also! It's fine.

And it is fine as they sun bathe and it is fine when they slip into the water and it is fine as they relax in the cool that washes over them.

It's all fine right up until Clarke gets a little too comfortable in how good it feels to just be together, laughing at some sassy remark Lexa's said that earns her a splash right to the face. A battle of splashes ensues - a war of blood must have blood in the form of water right to the eyes - which is still fine... right up until Clarke finds herself pinned to the edge of the pool.

With a very firm thigh pressed right between her legs.

And honestly Lexa doesn't quite know what she was thinking other than that she would not be ceding this battle. She hadn't started it, but she was going to finish it, and Clarke could be stubborn when it comes to admitting defeat.

But her carefully constructed battle strategy goes right out the window at the sound of Clarke's gasp. At the sight of crystal blue eyes dilating and the warm feel her center pressed tight against her thigh.

She didn't realize she'd grown so serious until she notices just how serious Clarke looks too. The way her swallow matches Lexa's swallow. The way her breathing feels heavy where she's pinned to Lexa's chest. It's not even a conscious thought when she slides her thigh forward and feels Clarke's warmth slip against her skin as Lexa rocks into her.

She'd just wanted to hear Clarke gasp like that again...

But Clarke feels so good, and her wide eyes so wonderfully blue. She bites her lip when Lexa pushes into her again, fighting a flutter of her lashes as she sways into the movement too. Lexa feels herself shaking and her heart hammering against the feeble walls of its cage, but she can't do anything other than keep pressing, keep pulling, feeling Clarke get slicker against her thigh.

She feels like she she could pass out in that moment. With Clarke so close as they share each breath and neither daring to move; to look away. They stare and shiver and work calm their shallow panting, even as Lexa feels Clarke begin to roll her hips in an answering rhythm. Her heart nearly stops when Clarke reaches for her hands and lifts them off her shoulders, only to move them to the pool's edge for better leverage and moans a breathy,

"Harder..."

And there's not much she can do but kiss Clarke like her life depends on it, because with the way her body reacts to the command, it probably does. She nearly comes when a thigh slips in and presses firmly against the mess between her own legs because out of all the ways she'd imagined having Clarke, this surprisingly was never one of them. But it feels so right to feel this desperate, to whimper needy high pitched moans with every massage of her clit. It feels right to match Clarke's rhythm and suck her tongue in time the pounding in her core, to nearly growl when a particularly good grind lets her feel Clarke shudder and clench.

It's fast race to the finish, all clutching hands and searching lips that suck in needy, watery kisses. It's bites to collarbones and finger shaped bruises across her hips until Clarke spills over her thigh in a hot rush of pleasure, with Lexa joining shortly after.

It's amazing, and surreal for how unplanned it all was, despite Clarke's panted accusation,

"I see... You lured me here to seduce me... Well played, Alexandria. Well played."

Any guffawing Lexa does in response is quickly silenced when she's crowded out of the christened pool and stripped out of her ruined bathing suit. And when she's hoisted up to wrap her legs around Clarke's hips, she knows this was how it was supposed to be. Because while she hadn't imagined the first time getting her girlfriend(!!!) off would go anything like it had, Clarke carrying her to her room while whispering softly against her lips, "Let me take you to bed, baby"....

Now that she had definitely envisioned.

[officialbruciewayne]

Is there any company that you find sus? (One that isn't owned by Lex Luthor.)

Black Rock's potential for financial destruction is shocking, 9 trillion dollars of barely constrained capitalism. Whilst we're talking private equity, Apollo bought hospitals and nursing homes, rapidly decreased quality of care whilst secretly purchasing life insurance on the patients they were actively neglecting and killing.

Bayer is really living up to its origin as IG Farben. Monsato is one of their subsidiaries just to give you a nice taster on what they do. The apple barely rolled out of the tree.

Never use a Huawei phone. They sell the most phones of any company in the world and their cyber security is deliberately waffle shaped.

Swarovski Crystals started making rifle scopes for exactly who you think - willingly - and historians aren't allowed to release their findings. Love that. They're still making those gun parts by the way.

Kodak (who previously made key components for C4, triggers, fuses, detonators and hand grenades all through WWII using forced labor, selling to both sides through Switzerland) still have weapons grade uranium. For some reason. Don't ask. Nothing to do with their previous work on the Manhattan Project.

You probably know about Nestlé killing babies and targeting water ownership in drought-stricken regions of both the US and abroad. This didn't look so good, so they sold it to private equity firm... BlueTriton... formerly Nestlé.

I personally find it a bit suspicious that the Libyan-Chad war is also called the Toyota War. Seems like the anti-paramilitary regulations didn't really work, huh.

Purdue Pharma... the US Government... Sodexo... Exxon, Chiquita...

But for legal reasons, this is a joke :)

[vonpharma]

w[h]ip wednesdaaaay

sorry for the hiatus! i finally just bit the bullet and set an alarm on my phone so i won't forget to post lol. here's a small preview from day 5 of sicktember~

Hoisting his unconscious sister out of the office stairwell was not exactly how Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth pictured his day going.

In his time alive he’d seen quite a few strange things go down in that stairwell. It was practically a second home to him, after all—twelve flights up, twelve flights down, it made nearly everyone cringe when he’d tell them how much of his day was spent hiking to and from his high-rise office. He probably could’ve benefitted from relocating, but it was honestly very convenient, getting all his cardio in before even his morning cup of tea. 

Yes, he’d seen a lot of things going on in that stairwell. Highly dramatic personal phone calls. Potentially shady dealings involving discontinued snacks from the vending machine. Overworked interns sneaking away for naps. Larry, once. 

One thing Miles had never seen upon these stairs, though, was Franziska. 

When they were children, it was a tradition, of sorts. They’d arrive in front of the foggy elevator doors—it didn’t matter where they were—and Miles would instinctively clench his fists, making the best attempts to muster all his courage. Back then, he was small, and he felt even smaller standing poised before the massive shape of them, his murky reflection refusing to crystallize in tandem with his nerve. Franziska, ever the little empath, would grab his hand tight in hers and drag him to the stairs. After tapping her foot performatively for a few seconds and complaining of how long the elevator took to arrive, we might as well use them with the foolishly slow descent of that foolishly inferior contraption.

Of course, children grow up. Miles never had a childhood to grow out of, but Franziska always did the most to sprint leaps and bounds ahead of him. At some point in their adolescence, she had stopped taking the stairs with him. There were no hard feelings, of course—but she had places to be and was more often than not in stilettos and pencil skirts. I’ll meet you at the top, she’d always say, and then grimace at him with her face all red when he (always, effortlessly, without breaking a sweat) arrived at their destination first.

The red on her face is a different shade, this time. A far less fortunate one, it would seem. Despite everything, Franziska is there in the stairwell with him once more. Only this time, she is not dragging him lovingly up the incline, but holding white-knuckle onto the railing as she makes her best attempt to climb, knees wobbling with the effort, drenched in sweat. Miles can see her forearms through the now-transparent sheen of her blouse, and despite how she’s perspiring, the poor girl is shaking like a leaf.

He stops there, at the top of the grouping of stairs that she’s making her best attempt to scale. Rigid, brow furrowed in concern, mouth firm. 

“Franziska?” says Miles. “Are you… quite alright?”

Her head, previously dipped toward the floor—watching her feet, nervous that they might fail her—snaps up to face him. The way she bears her teeth is somewhere halfway between a warning and a plea for help, pained and angry all the same. For a moment his blood runs cold as he remembers the last time he’d seen that look—blood coagulating on his car upholstery, a horrible scream echoing in his ears, tear-tracks refusing to dry on his cheeks. 

Curiously, her whip is unholstered, coiled in her free hand. As if she were announcing to the world that her guard is up, don’t come near. Despite the acid-drenched sheen of her glassy eyes, she maintains her hesitation in cracking it at Miles—instead just pointing, with the leather shaking haphazardly in her hand.

“You… don’t you—don’t you dare—!”

It’s all Miles can do not to visibly cringe when he hears her voice. A truly miserable-sounding affair, like bogie wheels struggling on miscut gravel. Come to think of it, Franziska had sounded a little croaky yesterday morning when she joined him for tea, and she had taken a little more honey than usual. But she didn’t seem ill otherwise, certainly not to this extent…

Miles isn’t really sure what to do, so he just kind of stands there awkwardly, lordly above her all the same. She manages to get herself up one single step before her knees buckle entirely, and Miles is already shuffling down to meet her, his body seemingly moving all on its own. 

Franziska’s a small fire in his arms as he catches her. Every square inch of her skin is scorching hot, singing Miles’ grip even through layers upon layers of perfectly pressed ruffles. In sleep, still, the tremors take her, and she’s breathing heavy and hard through her mouth. As he’s arranging her to something resembling bridal style in his arms, he thanks his lucky stars that his sister is such a small thing, hopes she will forgive him even for thinking so. Like this, especially, she looks so much smaller than usual.

[nightofmiracles]

i almost reblogged the anon confession blog but no i'll just write this on my own space

in theory i agree (re: people not actually caring about Clover as its own character and only in relation to Qrow) but i'm also not really sure people like Qrow either. he's generally seen as a prop in his nieces' lives or as the only S/TRQ member in the main cast they can drag info out of re: Summer (and now that Raven seems to be part of the crew for Vacuo, he's even losing that spot) & when Clover was around him, the interest was in them as a couple but when half of it died then it went back to ignoring him again. yeah he fought against his alcoholism and (seems to be) in a better shape mentally but that's enough reason for most to park him out of sight & out of mind

i always felt/feel great disappointment over how Clover gets completely ignored when talking about James' descent in v8 (like man, if only the general was grieving a friend on top of everything else and didn't have anybody to share that with, so he'd just press on and make everything even worse. not like we saw that specifically with Ren and the AOs' emotions. not like Ir/onwood would be having that whole ordeal by himself as well, mirrored by Qrow in his jail cell. wouldn't that be nuts. anyway) or taking Harriet's words, a grieving colleague, as 100% accurate and not biased over how Clover would have handled the order to bomb a whole town

imo there's a lot of shit one could think through when it comes to Clover, but, like Summer, we mostly know him through what others saw in him (a loyal soldier, a lucky Huntsman) and very little is told about what he truly believes in, except in a few flashes he let slip out in some moments

like the last time the AOs saw him alive, it was when he was giving a speech to the main teams that the main focus of their mission was the evacuation of the civillians over the killing of Grimm. he took the time to make that crystal clear. & when talking privately to Qrow in the truck scene a few chapters earlier, he brings up how he believes it's their duty to leave a better world to the next generations. so how do you associate him with being fine over the threat of killing tons of people as a bargaining chip to guilt trip Penny into opening the vault to get the Staff, except by completely ignoring the clues the show gave where, in fact, this would sound like the absolute nonsense it actually is?

so people just don't even bother giving him any grace, which then just goes back to either ignoring him for shipping reasons (like if he is "in the way" of Qrow with someone else) or propping him up also for shipping reasons, thus cutting him off from the rest of the cast

in v9 he was there as a "ghost" that haunted Ruby. in AF he was a firm and kind guide for the main team as a whole. he's a good man that let himself be a cog in the machine that was Atlas and turned his back to his own feelings, for loyalty, not being able to escape the chains that tethered him until it was too late. main problem is seeing his death as the ultimate end of his arc. because that's really, really, really not the case

a character like him has a lot that he can do, a lot that he can learn, a lot that he can teach. connections he can establish again, and new people he can confront and interact with to make the world a better place. because to think that the betterment of Remnant rests only on the shoulders of four (eight, if you count the second team) teens is madness & unattainable. the old guard has to change too. and he's a very good example of how a small drop can cause ripples, that grow into bigger waves, and so on

[lohstandfound]

royal pains week royal pains week royal pains week royal pains week

Day 1: Party

Jake & Chloe: Party Planner Extraordinaires

In which Jake and Chloe set up for a party at Jake's house, a time when things were good (even if it was just for a short moment).

“Jake! Your playlist sucks, I’m changing it!”

Jake rolled his eyes, dragging a table into place. He stood up and looked over his shoulder to see Chloe leaning against the wall with his phone.

Jake: “It’s, like, the exact same playlist from last time. The one you already changed.”

Chloe: “And I’m changing it again because there are better songs.”

Jake: “Whatever you say, babe.”

It led to an odd soundtrack when Chloe meddled with his party playlists, but nobody seemed to care. Chloe was in the firm belief that someone needed to show Jake what good music was, and she was going to be that person.

Despite the fact very few songs seemed to migrate to his own playlists.

Jake let Chloe meddle with the music and set up the speakers while he began to arrange the food and drinks on the table.

What kind of hosts would they be if the food and beverages weren’t appropriately displayed?

Perhaps they had spent too much time at their parents’ stuffy gatherings. Fancy top-shelf bottles of wine or scotch or champagne or whisky or rum. The finest crystal glasses and chutes that looked like they had never been used before. Crisp and white napkins folded in elegant shapes. White tablecloth with a coloured table runner of whatever colour was ‘in’ at the time. Platters almost overflowing with the smallest portions of fancy foods Jake had never bothered to remember the names of. Shiny silver cutlery wrapped tightly with serviettes. Quiet jazz and people in fancy dresses and suits standing and mingling. Two twelve-year-olds sneaking away to avoid the judgemental gazes of their parents’ acquaintances.

Their parties never looked like that.

Chloe was the one to suggest it when they attended their first-ever party. It was very different to what they were used to, but Chloe was enamoured with the idea after seeing parties in all those movies about high school.

It was Chloe’s idea to plan their first-ever party, hosting it at Jake’s since his parents were always out late nowadays, or sometimes away for a couple of days.

(Leaving their son with no idea when his parents would walk back through the door. They always did. Or they used to. This had been their longest absence yet. They left no indication that they were ever coming back. But one would still hope they would).

Now, their drinks and snack table was full of beer and vodka and sodas and spirits and juice and whatever alcohol they could get their hands on ass they slowly worked through Jake’s father’s liquor cabinet. Red solo cups and a few Sharpies to label. A stack or two of serviettes in whatever colour was available at the store. If they were lucky, there was some plastic tablecloth. Bowls of chips and dip and chocolate and sweets and garlic bread and pizza and whatever they decided to splurge on. Pop and rock and indie and dance-pop and whatever amalgamation their playlists became. People show up in whatever they want and talking and dancing and making out and drinking and smoking and having fun.

That was certainly more their pace. It was fast, exciting, ever-changing, unpredictable.

And it was a very well-known fact that Jake Dillinger and Chloe Valentine threw the best parties in all of Middleborough and beyond.

Jake smiled when he felt Chloe’s arms snaking around his waist. “Done with the music?”

Chloe hummed and pressed a kiss to Jake’s shoulder. “Mm… Maybe. I think you should test it out with me.”

Jake turned around and wrapped his arms around Chloe. “Test it how?”

Chloe leaned up to press a sweet kiss to Jake’s lips, smiling into the kiss as she felt Jake kiss her back. She moved a hand up, running her fingers through Jake’s hair to mess it up. Jake had spent what felt like hours trying to style his hair perfectly. But Chloe thought it looked nice when it was a little messy.

She pulled away. “I want to get in at least one dance with you tonight. No interruptions.”

Jake let out a breathy laugh. “Well, if you insist. We have time before people will arrive.”

“Mm… You always forget Brooke and Rich show up early.” “Then we better get a dance in, doll.”

[dansconcepts]

In a Snowy Haze

I'm in my fantasy/magic/fairy tale/mystical mood (I'm reading "The Night Circus" by Erin Morgenstern right now and it's really enchanting so far), so have a sudden off the cuff drabble with the goal being "dream-like" (with a hint of Komahina):>.

The clouds are like marshmallow puffs, blanched confections with small white crystals in the form of snow inside. It pours itself down in hopes of decorating the ground in its same hue. He tentatively walks atop it. It's at the earliest stages, where the grass underneath his feet still peek out, as if relishing its ability to do so before it's completely covered.

Not that he's thinking too much about grass being smothered. Instead, his thoughts are focused higher, eyeing his destination beyond thick trunks of trees blocking his path, their own green leaves falling around him and disappearing into the white mass below. With each step, the snow becomes less powder-like, and more like a blanket that sweeps through the whole area.

And yet he marches onward. Lying somewhere in this forest is the person he is looking for.

"You should be careful." She says, a pout on her lips, ruby hair glistening while doves coo around her. Clocks of various different shapes tick and tock, an onslaught of colours that are so cacophonous they're harmonious from the finite range they're allowed to be. They both are sat at a rounded, ornate table, dainty teacups in front of them despite neither moving to touch them. A teapot pours the dark liquid anyway into the girl's cup, and she shoos it away. "Alright, that's enough, thanks. Anyway, I'm pretty good, nyeh, but that guy is on a whole other level..."

He nods. This was what he prepared for for a long time, and at the behest of his mentor, he'll do his best to see through the illusions. "I'll do what I can." He affirms, and she grins, pleased.

"Remember what I taught you, 'kay?"

The hands of clocks stop moving suddenly, but the clocks themselves become a flurry of movement off the wall. Rectangular teal, another red, one a cube of violet, a burst of what looks like a circle yellow- it enters his sight and leaves just as fast, disrupting him with their presence. Amidst it all, he knows dusty mauve watches him.

A familiar test. He snaps. They freeze. The haphazardly arranged rainbow starts to slot themselves back into the wall.

The younger girl gives a firm nod, before she yawns. "Ah, you'll be fine. I've gotta recharge my mana after that one..."

The forest is a complete winter wonderland. He awaits for a sign, some glimmer of strangeness somewhere in the non-spilling clouds. A faint tremor in the branches, perhaps, or snow piling onto itself to make a snowman. Perhaps his opponent would manifest something like a tiger, or a rhino, to chase him through this snowy abyss. Perhaps the clouds itself would become a little darker and pour rain.

It is none of these things. Instead, he finds a figure in the snow, head jutted upward to the clouds. A hazy aura from the snow's reflection of the sun makes him look like an ethereal being, delicate white hair somehow beautifully unruly and blending with the environment around him.

"Komaeda." He realizes. This indeed is a strange occurrence. He isn't sure why he thinks that, but he knows it. "Enjoying the weather?"

"Oh no, it's too cold for me." His soft voice replies, yet he isn't wearing a thicker jacket. Instead he has his usual ratty green, and he doesn't bring it closer to him either. He would've expected him to be hugging it tightly, even if the warmth it would provide is minimal. It's funny that this is what makes him realize he isn't wearing a jacket of his own, but he feels only slightly chilly. There's something off about that too, yet he doesn't dwell on it.

"Then what are you doing out here?"

He turns, white crystals gently coating his eyelashes. He serenely grins. "You tell me Hinata."

His eyebrows furrow. What kind of question is that? But of course Komaeda wouldn't tell him a straightforward answer. "Tell you?" He repeats, but the other only continues to smile.

A pale hand extends outwards, before moving back and forth sideways into a wave. "Well, maybe I'm just here to say hello." The motion twists into a flourish, the wind picking up in the direction of his movements as if summoned by them. His hand raises, and random spots of snow around him lift into balls before transforming into rabbits before his very eyes. They hop downward easily, scurrying away. "Or maybe I'm the one you're looking for."

Huh?

How strange. Is Komaeda the one he should be wary of?

How can he face him? Against Komaeda's luck, that'd be a disaster. Besides, Komaeda wouldn't hurt him. Even now, he hasn't done anything worrisome.

And what of himself? Isn't he just a normal guy? Sure he has magic, but- wait, actually, where did he get magic from?

Before he can ask anything, a strong wind bellows from the North, sending a flurry of snowflakes into his eyes. Of course. He shuts his eyelids as the wind nips at his cheeks.

When the air stills and his vision clears, the man is gone.

Myriads of pinks, purples, and light blues twinkle above him in the form of basic stars.

His body lays flat atop a soft, sturdy surface. His mattress. His bed.

He breathes.

"Maybe I'm the one you're looking for."

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Right. That was an odd dream.

[kisuminight]

Hello! I've been reading through your DSMP Blade System AU posts and am curious about how many shards/Blades DreamXD's Blade got separated into and what other characters are one of the resulting Blades?

Considering the Blades you mentioned (c!Dream, Mamacita, Drista and Cornelius) its characters played by cc!Dream or his sister. Im guessing NotDream123 might be another one then if he exists in this AU. Also Hubert which could be fun as the most c!Karl got about him was a mention when he was at the Masquerade.

I was thinking that the core crystal broke into 5 pieces. Here is an idea of what I'm going for, please excuse the roughness:

c!Dream is made from the bit in the center, which is shaped like a diamond or a rhombus. The other 4 Blades have the rectangular shaped parts, set at an angle. Core crystals are generally one color; the contrast here is to differentiate the sections.

The original core crystal was the same as the others, roughly palm sized. The shards actually grew a bit when they became Blades of their own.

Current Blades are Dream, Drista, Cornelius, and GirlDream/Mamacita. I'm still undecided on who the last piece will be.

Unfortunately, I'm not too familiar with NotDream123. I'm probably going to end up skipping him? I checked and he dies several times, and a key part of this AU is that c!Tommy, c!Tubbo, and c!Ranboo don't really know all that much about the Blade System and how it works for regular Blades.

It probably will be Hubert. In this, Hubert was a Blade. The Egg can corrupt Blades by reaching through their bond with their Driver. Through Hubert, the Egg realizes that the corruption only lasts 1 life; if the Blade is killed, reverts to core crystal, and reAwakened the corruption is gone.

Actually, I really like this idea. So the Egg decides to try corrupting the core crystal of the Blade, and has Hubert killed again (by Billiam) shortly before the Masquerade. The core crystal is left in the Egg's room, and c!Karl accidentally grabs it when he is being murdered at the end.

This is part of the reason why the Inbetween grabbed Karl at this point. XD was manipulating it so Karl could keep Hubert's core crystal in his inventory when he died and then XD could retrieve the core crystal when Karl arrived in the Inbetween.

~

XD has a weird relationship with the Aegis pieces. As much as he wants his original Blade back, he does get less focused on his goal as the story goes on. Part of it is that DreamXD is Drista's Driver (why she has Creative) and he starts to like her. Part of it is that he is getting more interaction with other people and not stewing in his own loneliness.

GirlDream/Mamacita is the 2nd fragment recovered. I want to say that her Driver was Mexican Dream and she returned to a core crystal with his first canon death? The problem is that they're kind of joke/humor characters, and... So, humor is an important part of tension. But again, c!Tommy is not supposed to get enough info about the Blade System to read into the undercurrents of what is going on before Staged Finale. The entire situation needs a bit of workshoping. I'd need to re-watch the streams before I make a firm decision. XD grabs her after Mexican Dream's Third Canon Death.

Cornelius gets recovered because XD retrieves him. As the 3rd fragment recovered, he also gets put on a shelf.

Hubert is the 4th fragment recovered. XD pickpockets him out of Karl's Inventory in the Inbetween. Hubert does not go on the shelf because XD is too busy worrying about the damage the Egg did to the core crystal during the attempt to corrupt the core crystal. Since the Egg is an offshoot of the being that originally shattered the Aegis Blade, XD thinks it might be lingering damage for that instance, though he starts getting suspicious as he picks up more details from George and Foolish.

XD's attachment to Hubert and worrying about the damage also makes XD look at Mamacita and Cornelius in a different light. Around that point, XD stops leaving them on the shelf and starts carrying them with him.

XD is drawn to George in part because George was Dream's Driver. Part of their friendship is a shared grief for their Blades. XD does not meet Dream until the very end, when he has been mostly convinced that murdering 5 people to bring his friend back (an act that will upset all his current friends and destroy Drista, who he is fond of) is not the best plan.

~

DSMP is about humanity, about how even bad people are still people. This AU also adds a hunt for identity. When does a person stop being the same person. For a Blade, does the memory loss make them a different person in their next life? For DreamXD, the five fragments are explicitly different people, and he has to grapple with that fact as well as the driving force of his own grief and the knowledge that he can resurrect his friend--but it'll have consequences.

Editor's note from the future:

DreamXD's Aegis will be named "Reverie."

[pipermca]

Last week I took a picture while out on a walk. Last night while sitting on the couch, I wrote a little story on my phone using that picture as the prompt.

Two things... First, how do people write whole longfics on their phones? It *did* make me a bit more thoughtful about word choice while writing, since I didn't want to write more than I needed. XD And second, I would like to do more of these prompt exercises. This was a nice little break from the longer stories I've been working on lately. :3

This will get posted to AO3 eventually.

****

The tiny dot in the air grew in size as it approached, until Megatron's optics were able to resolve it into the shape of a Seeker. He waited, arms crossed and unflinching, as the mech dove towards him. The Seeker pulled upwards at the last second, and then transformed in mid-air, landing in front of him with a thud that made the shards scattered on the ground shiver together with a crystalline sound.

Show off.

As Starscream straightened up from his landing, Megatron took a step forward out of the shadow of a large crystal. "I take it you are interested in my proposal?"

"Let's just say your message intrigued me. But what exactly are you planning?" Starscream gestured around the clearing. "I presume you did not summon me all the way out here to discuss mere political maneuverings."

"Astute. No, I am proposing a radical solution to a radical problem: purging the Senate by force."

Megatron was pleased when Starscream did not seem to balk at his suggestion. Instead, he looked thoughtful. "That would present a whole new set of problems, you realize."

"I realize that. But my patience with the inner workings of that institution is at an end," Megatron said. He kicked at the root stump of a crystal, sending tiny shards skittering across the ground. "The Senate is rotten at its core, just like this crystal used to be. The old guard of the Senate have coalesced power for themselves, making it impossible to remove them."

Starscream nudged the stump with the tip of his pede. "Except, as you suggest, by force." He gave the stump a firm kick, scattering more crystal shards. He looked back up at Megatron. "And why are you telling me this? Aren't you afraid I'll turn you in? Aren't you worried I'll report your treason to Security?"

"No," said Megatron, "because I know you think the same things I do."

Starscream narrowed his optics. "What do you need from me?"

"The air force of Vos, to support the people I'll have on the ground during the operation."

"You realize that this... coup could very easily tip over into war."

"I believe that once we show our strength, the rest of the planet will fall in line. The popularity of the Senate is at an all-time low. We can leverage that anger, and help the people see that what we're doing is for the greater good."

Starscream crossed his arms. "And if I agree to this, what's in it for me?" His voice slipped into a wheeling tone. "After all, you are asking me to take a huge risk on your little idea."

"If you support me in this, and provide the air support I'll need to pull off this purge, you will stand beside me as my second-in-command." Megatron suppressed a smile as he saw Starscream's optics brighten. "I've heard your ideas in the Senate chamber. You'll be able to put some of those ideas into action once we are in control."

"Hmm." Starscream rocked back on his thrusters for a moment before nodding. "Let me consider your proposal. I'll give you my answer before the chamber bell rings tomorrow."

"Very well. I look forward to your response." Megatron watched as Starscream launched himself into the air and transformed, flying off in the opposite direction that he'd come from.

Smart.

From behind Megatron a shape emerged from the shadow of a different crystal. "Starscream: not wholly trustworthy."

"Oh, I'm very aware of that, Soundwave," Megatron said. "Which is why I'd rather him be somewhere that I can keep a close optic on him." He started walking towards where their sky sleds were hidden. "Keep close surveillance on him. I want to know the instant he does anything even remotely suspicious."

"Soundwave: obeys."

Megatron finally turned his head and smiled at the host mech. "If only I could have five more of you, Soundwave. Then I'd be truly unstoppable."

Soundwave said nothing, which was exactly how Megatron liked it.