#if ur growing out of it fine but at least have the balls to say that instead of dismissing it as a whole

[red-dyed-sarumane]

if i have to see one more "vocaloid is dying theres no producers but deco anymore" post im GOING to BITE people. we live in an age of accessibility theres more vocaloid producers than u could ever feasibly take count of. every vocaloid event - vocaloid collection, mushoku toumeisai, proseka next to name the biggest ones but theres even more out there- gets THOUSANDS of uploads. vocaloid isnt dying you're just too used to getting fed by the algorithms to bother actually looking for things u like. either that or no one taught u how to interact with vocalo beyond idolizing the characters. take my hand. i can show you the way.

[purple-babygirl]

request?🥺🐺 Just when you can, Maybe one with Sam and Bucky fighting/argument maybe one almost could’ve gotten killed and the other was being too reckless and scaring Little reader thinking they might break their whole relationship apart saying such things (ya know when ur angry) and She intervening but say something like “Daddy’s are talking right now!” And arguments heated and then it’s comforting telling reader they’re not going anywhere showing little that they still love each other -🐺

Pairing: SamBucky x little!f!reader

Warnings: ddlg dynamics, polyamory, yelling and a couple of curses.

Word Count: 1,950

A/N: White wolf nonnie love, even your request is cute😭 you're the best nonnie in the world and I hope you like this one🥺💜💜 I'm sorry it took me a while, love, I didn't mean to keep you waiting so long. Please enjoy xx.

misunderstanding

Aside from the laughs Sam might pull from her and Bucky, their house was mostly quiet. It was always peaceful and serene. But that wasn’t the case that night. Sam and Bucky have been arguing for a while now, their voices only growing louder, and the glares on their faces deeper. She wanted it to be over; she just wanted her calm, understanding and loving daddies back.

“Dada,” she called, her voice hushed as she tried holding Bucky’s hand. She knew she shouldn’t interfere but they wouldn’t stop.

“Daddy and papa are talking, doll. Go to your room.” Bucky took his hand out of hers, waving her away before he shouted something in reply to an equally loud Sam.

She jumped but neither man noticed before she was running to her bed, hiding herself under the covers. She could still hear their loud voices and it made her heart beat so fast. Papa and Daddy barely got so mad at each other and it frightened her little self to no extent. They were yelling and even using bad words; that was how angry they were.

“But it's okay when you do it?!!” Bucky shouted, the veins on his neck prominent.

“I can fucking fly! You were on the ground right before them, begging for them to shoot your ass!” Sam reasonably argued, a frown inhabiting his fine features as his sharp voice echoed through the house.

“Well, that didn't fucking happen so why are we even having this stupid conversation again!”

“Because you never seem to actually listen no matter how many times we have this stupid conversation!”

“That's because I know what I'm doing!” Bucky barked, his finger poking his chest.

“If you're not gonna listen maybe we shouldn't be together then!” when fighting bad guys, Sam should’ve added.

But he didn’t and it made her slowly pull her head out of her blanket, concern bubbling around her heart. Daddy wasn’t going to agree to this, was he? Papa and Daddy loved each other. They could never not be together.

“Maybe we shouldn't!” Bucky yelled back, his stare intense as he looked at a similarly livid Sam.

Her heart sank to her stomach at Daddy’s reply and tears pricked her eyes.

“Fine!” Sam threw his arms in the air, giving Bucky his back and that was Bucky's cue to leave.

He walked out of the door, noisily slamming it behind him without looking back.

“Papa.” Sam heard her choked voice behind him and knew he was going to be met with her tears when he turned around.

“Sugar, go wait in bed.” Sam sighed, fingers pressing to his closed eyes as he tried to calm down, “papa will be there in a minute.”

He needed to get it together for her. She had no hand in their fight and it wasn't fair that she gets sent to bed without a bedtime story just because Bucky thought it was a good night to practice stubbornness.

~

“What would you like papa to read for you tonight, baby?” Sam asked, showing her the stories they had that she knew and loved all too well.

“When’s daddy comin’ back?” she asked instead, innocently speaking Sam’s thoughts.

“Soon, baby.” Sam avoided eye contact, flipping through the books.

“How soon, papa?” she pressed.

“Just soo-”

“In ten minutes?” Her big, anxious eyes stared at Sam, wanting a satisfying answer.

“Sugar.” The man sighed, not knowing what to tell her. He was already exhausted enough and it was just becoming too much.

“An hour?”

“Baby, here, pick a story,” Sam tried again.

“'S dada comin’ back tonight?” she asked, tears swimming in her eyes.

“What? Yes, sugar. Of course he is!” Sam didn’t really know that, but it was what he was hoping would happen.

“Are you lyin’ to me, papa?” she sniveled, twiddling her thumbs.

“No, baby. Daddy’s coming ba-”

“Did daddy leave forever?”

“Suga-”

“A-Are you gonna leave me too?”

“Baby.” Sam shook his head, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder “no, sugar, no. No one is leaving.”

“You promise?” she sniffed, the back of her hand swiping under her nose.

“I promise, baby.” Sam nodded, helping her with a tissue.

“Dada’s not leavin' us?”

“No, baby. He’s not leaving. He just got a little angry with me is all. That happens sometimes.” Sam explained, putting the stories back in place. She was no longer going to require one.

“But he never left before.” She cried more.

“I know, sugar.” Sam held her to his side and rubbed her back, “but he’s coming back.” He kissed her hair.

“Can I stay up 'n wait for him?”

“No, baby, come on now. You need to go to bed in time like the good girl you are,” Sam told her gently, hugging her tighter so she’d calm down.

“Please, papa.” She held onto Sam’s hand.

“Sugar.” Sam gave her one look, supposedly stern, but she could see how drained he looked. He had no more argument in him.

“Yes, papa,” she sighed, laying on her back and letting Sam wipe her tears and tuck her in.

“Good girl, baby.” Sam gratefully kissed her forehead with half a smile, “night, sugar.”

~

It was at least 2 hours later and Sam was still awake. He huffed, turning on his side again, his hand reluctantly reaching for the phone on the bedside table before quickly retracting for the millionth time. Bucky was going to come back soon. There was no need for him to call and bother him. He probably left looking for some space; probably gathering his thoughts, and Sam wanted to give him that. He was worried but he would do it if it meant Bucky would have a clear mind again; if it meant he was going to come back faster-

“Papa.” She stood by the door, balled fist rubbing her eye.

“Hey, sugar.” Sam sat up and opened his arms. “What is it, baby? Did you have a nightmare?”

“No, can’t sleep.” She shook her head, taking slow steps to Daddy and Papa’s bed.

“You wanna try cuddling with papa?” Sam offered and she quickly nodded.

“Come here, sugar.” Sam pulled the covers open for her so she could slip underneath with him.

She gave Sam a big hug, holding him tighter than she usually would in such a heavy-eyed state and he could instantly sense her anxiety and worry.

“You’re okay, sugar. I got you,” Sam assured her, patting her back gently before she pulled back.

She waited until Papa was comfortable on his back then moved herself on top of his chest, humming at the warmth radiating off his body and buzzing through hers.

“I’m scared dada won’t come back,” she whispered in Sam’s neck, her fingers clutching his shirt.

“He will, sugar. I promise. Daddy will be here before you wake up tomorrow,” Sam comforted her, his concerned eyes glancing at the clock again. It was way past midnight already, where on earth was Bucky?

“How do you know, papa?” her knuckles rubbed her eye again as she yawned, snuggling more into Sam.

“He loves us too much not to come back, baby.” Sam’s big hand stroked her back calmingly, “Bucky will always come back.” He whispered, more to himself than to her, before he half-heartedly let his eyes close.

~

“Sam, I said I was sorry!”

She quickly spitted the toothpaste and washed her mouth when she heard Daddy’s voice downstairs. He didn’t sound too happy, but at least he was back. He wasn’t there when she woke up like Papa said he would be, but this was good too. He was there and that was all that mattered.

“Sorry? Sorry?!! I was worried sick about you and that’s all you have to say?!” Sam shouted, frustrated, and Bucky scoffed.

“Worried sick, right. Is that why I have no missed calls from you?! Not one! You didn’t even care to see where the hell I stormed off to or if I was okay!” He argued, his face following Sam’s when the man turned away.

“Dada,” her voice momentarily interrupted their fight as she collided with Bucky, her arms wrapping around his middle.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky greeted much softer, swallowing when he saw tears already gathered in her eyes.

“I thought you left papa and me forever,” she told him, hugging him even closer, pressing her forehead to his chest.

“What?” Bucky looked at Sam, panic in his eyes, and Sam gestured to her with a shrug saying ‘see what you did to us?’

Bucky exhaled, pulling her closer to him, his chin on her head, “I could never leave you, love. You’re my life,” Bucky said, his eyes on Sam’s.

Sam reluctantly broke eye contact, shaking his head and leaving the kitchen.

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing as regret enveloped him. His thumb caressed her cheek before he lifted her up, her thighs finding their way around his waist.

“Papa was really worried, stayed up all night,” she whispered to Bucky when her face was on level with his, “and- I thought you were leavin' papa,” her lips trembled as tears overwhelmed her, “and I thought you and papa were leavin' me.”

“Oh, doll, no, no,” Bucky shook his head as her tears triggered his own, “none of that is happening, love.”

“Promise?” she hiccupped.

“Promise. No one is leaving, love. Not me, not papa and definitely not you. I love you and papa too much to ever be without you, doll.” Bucky poured his heart out, unknowingly repeating Sam’s words.

She brushed the tear he let slip away, making him chuckle fondly.

“Jus��� like papa said,” she mumbled, her heart finally fully reassured, as she nuzzled Bucky’s neck, hugging him closely again.

Bucky’s feeling of regret grew even more when he caught her words.

Sam never doubted him for a second, not even when he walked out on him to rudely end a discussion he was the reason got heated. He trusted Bucky’s love for them and relied on it to bring him back sooner than later, but Bucky only kept him worried.

“I love you too, dada. Please don’t ever leave everrr again.”

“I won’t, doll. I’m not going anywhere.”

~

“Sam-”

“I didn’t call because I thought I was giving you space. Of course I cared where you stormed off to and if you were okay; I love you,” Sam admitted, finally looking Bucky in the eyes.

Bucky could see how sad he actually was; how distressed this whole fight has left him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice dripping with sincere remorse this time, “I’m so sorry, Sam. About everything. I just- I guess I didn’t know how to react. I’m not used to people looking out for me or caring about my wellbeing-”

“Yeah, well, you better start getting used to it because I’m not planning on stopping,” Sam replied, trying his best to keep the glare in his eyes present, yet miserably failing, his eyes softening for his one and only James.

“I love you, and I’m sorry,” Bucky repeated, walking closer to where Sam stood, “I’m sorry.”

“Give your cyborg brain a break; you’re forgiven.” Sam grinned, pulling Bucky in by the waist for a sweet kiss.

“I love you so much it’s uncountable,” Bucky whispered, making Sam smile even bigger as he kissed him again.

“I love you more.”

Feeling sound again as she watched from a distance, her big smile was back to lighting up her eyes. Peace and calmness filled the air again and her heart was content. Papa and Daddy didn’t lie to her; no one was leaving. They were solid; she was safe.

~~~~

Tags: @harrysthiccthighss @tinystudentfirepurse @lavendercitizen

[officialscaramouche]

HOLAA 🕴 COOULD I ASK OF A READER THATS THE YOUNGEST HABRINGER (like teenager) AND LIKE THE HARBINGERS BECOME LIKE A FAM TO THEM AND OLDER SIBLINGS AND PLATONIC FLUFF? JUST IMAGINE MEAN SCARA LOOKING ALL INTIMIDATING AND THE READER NEXT TO HIM WITH THEIR PYRO VISION AND SOME FIREWORKS LIKE A CHAOTIC CHILD-

I didn’t explicitly say that they’re in ur little circle but I mean it’s pretty obvious ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

pairing: platonic Tartaglia x reader, platonic Scaramouche x reader

tw: there are two fucks

wc: 1,019

It was incredible how you could hold a ball of fire and not get burned by it. You wiggled your fingers as the flames warmed your hand, staring into the brightly colored fire intently, before crushing it between your fist. The dreadful feeling of embarrassment and shame washed over you as you recalled your recent assignment.

You were recruited by the Fatui not long ago. Apparently someone had died and you took their place. You were young, but you weren’t ignorant to battle. Growing up in Natlan taught you how to survive with only your fists. But the Fatui was more than you imagined on the day of your recruitment. “You’ll be acting as a representative of our organization,” the recruiter explained. “You are the full stop when things don’t go our way. And you will be face to face with strong opponents.”

“I can handle that.” You said simply, not truly knowing what was in store for you.

Your first assignment was given to you by the Tsaritsa herself. Her beauty and kindness fueled you with pride and excitement. The people around you warned you not to celebrate too early, but your fellow Harbingers told you otherwise. “You’ll do great,” one of them said.

“Something like this is easy.” A pair of twins said. “It’s difficult to fuck up reconnaissance.”

But somehow you did manage to fuck up reconnaissance anyway, giving away your team’s position to the enemy camp. You were overwhelmed and unprepared, as reconnaissance assignments don't require on-field battle equipment. At most, everyone was given a flare gun for MIA soldiers.

Needless to say, you were pretty embarrassed to meet with the Tsaritsa for an informal report. You were practically shaking in your boots while waiting for the Tsaritsa’s call, when one of your fellow Harbingers took the seat beside you. “What happened out there?” He asked, his hair matted and filthy from being in the field for two weeks. “You were deployed, like, three days ago.”

You buried your face in your hands and shrunk. You pulled your knees up to your chest and hid behind them so as to avoid making eye contact with him. “I messed up!” You cried, your voice muffled against your thighs. “It was all my fault! I slipped on some weak stonewall and fell right into their camp! My team was right behind me, with nowhere to go and no directions to follow!”

The harbinger put his hand on your back and pulled you in. He was the friendliest of them all, you thought, as he was always talkative and cheerful. “Ahh, it’s okay comrade! We all make mistakes!”

“Not like this,” you grumbled, peeking over to look at his blue eyes and vibrant orange hair. “I pushed all further assignments back by at least two months!” The man laughed at your worries and nearly keeled over in his chair. “It’s not funny, Tartaglia!”

“Don’t worry, I said! I promise you everyone is delighted about having their assignments pushed back. Except for maybe the ones on the field.”

“Huh?” You tilted your head. “I thought I was the only one out there? Who else was on the field?”

“Me.” You hear a hoarse voice behind you. You spin in your seat in shock, hoping to dear Archons that it wasn’t who you thought it was.

“The B-Balladeer!” You cry out anxiously. “I’m so sorry!!”

Scaramouche looked as cool as ever, despite not donning his mushi no tareginu. He had swapped his shoes for the building’s clean ones and was nearly in an entirely new outfit. The only exception was that he still wore his Harbinger badge and held his insignia, that is normally on his chest, in his hand. “It’s fine,” he kind of sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I was out there with the twins. However, everyone was recalled.” Scaramouche took the other seat next to you, sandwiching you between the two Harbingers.

Tartaglia reached across you and pointed at Scaramouche. “What did you do about the equipment?” He chuckled as he spoke.

Scaramouche slapped the hand away from him and snarled. “What else do you think we did?! You think the recovery team will come out on such short notice?!” Tartaglia erupted into laughter, clutching his abdomen and throwing his head back. Scaramouche rose to his feet and grabbed Tartaglia’s grimey collar. “I really hate you, you know! You’re so annoying!”

Before you realized, you had a little smile on your face. It was relaxing having them bicker and make fun of each other, and made you forget all about your upcoming informal report. But when you did remember it, you weren’t the only one there to give one. They were here for that too.

Tartaglia raised his hands in defeat as his eyes swirled with dizziness. Scaramouche continued to shake the man by his collar with a nasty scowl on his face. “Thank you, guys,” you giggled, catching their attention. “I’m feeling much better now.”

Still in the Balladeer’s hold, Tartaglia sobered up and gave you a charming grin. “Everybody makes mistakes, [Y/N]. I’ll always be here to cheer you up and help you train.”

Throwing the man back into his chair, Scaramouche dusted his hands off of the dirt and sweat from Tartaglia’s clothes and coughed into a fist. “Yeah, me too or whatever. But I won’t be able to help you if you get written up.”

Tartaglia scratched his chin. “Oh yeah, we can’t do anything about that, sorry.”

You clap your hands together proudly. “That’s okay. I’ll give her my best pathetic performance and hopefully I can convince her to let me off with a warning!”

The men kind of chuckle at your comment before your name was called from the Tsaritsa’s room by her assistant. “[Y/N]!”

You feel the sweat running down your temple but there was nothing you could do about it now. “Kick some ass, [Y/N].” Tartaglia cheered, extending out a closed fist to encourage a fist bump. You lightly tap the backs of your fingers against his and steady your resolve as you stand.

[hrina]

1923, Pt. I - The Day

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: PG (for now) WORD COUNT: 7k REQUESTED: nope

hi everyone! here is PART 1 of my historical AU featuring harry as a groundskeeper/farmhand (i know that those two professions are slightly different but just let me have this ok snfjsjfnsdsf)

warning: parts of this fic will contain mature language and nsfw content. if it makes you uncomfortable, you absolutely do not have to read! take care of urselves <3

this series will be composed of three parts altogether, so i hope u all enjoy this first one! as always, please reblog the fics that you like! and don’t hesitate to send in feedback, i promise that we, as writers, always love to witness your reactions :) anywayyyy now that we’ve covered all the bases, go stupid with 1920s harry! can’t wait to hear ur thoughts 💌💌💌

~*~

    July 5th, 1923

“What if he comes back with a beard that goes all the way down to his knees?”

You snort and shake your head. “He’s only been gone for a few months, Dee. I don’t think it’s possible for one’s whiskers to grow that quickly.”

Lydia shrugs, toying with the hem of her pale blue dress. “What if he met an evil witch in New York who cast a spell on him? And now he’s doomed to live out the rest of his life with horrifying facial hair!”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. I don’t think that there are any witches in New York, you want to say, but you keep your mouth shut. Believing in magic is an integral part of childhood—you don’t want to be the one who takes that away from her. Soon enough, she’ll figure it out for herself.

You wind an elastic around your fingers, securing the end of her braid so that it doesn’t unravel. “That’s one,” you say, sighing quietly. “Turn to the side so that I can start on the other.”

She obeys, angling her head to the left. You gather her dark curls in a loose fist, skimming your nails against her scalp to collect every last strand.

Her hair has grown hot, absorbing the heat of the sun. It’s a beautiful day—there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. The two of you are sitting on the front steps of your home, looking out over the paved circular driveway and waiting excitedly for Andrew’s car to pull up to the iron gate. Realistically, you know that he won’t be here for at least another few hours, but Lydia insisted that you unwind outside to pass the time.

Somehow, she persuaded you to fashion her hair into twin braids. And though you had groaned at the initial request, here you are.

“He’s bringing a friend, you know,” your sister suddenly pipes up. “He told me in his letter.”

“Oh, really,” you say wryly. “And who exactly is this friend of his?”

“Martin Russell,” Lydia says, as though she’s reciting lines for a play. “He graduated from Harvard and then built his own company with nothing but a nickel to his name. Drew says that they’re trying to merge and become an empire.”

“An empire,” you echo, humouring her. “That sounds awfully intimidating, don’t you think?”

“Not to me,” she boasts, lacing her fingers together in her lap and squaring her shoulders. “Drew told me that I’m a businesswoman in the making.”

“That, you are,” you agree. You tie your remaining elastic around her second braid, fastening it in place. “All done.”

Lydia jumps to her feet, tugging down the material of her dress and turning to face you. She strikes a pose, placing one hand on her waist and lifting the other above her head. “How do I look?”

“Stunning,” you say, smiling up at her softly. “You’re the prettiest little girl I’ve ever seen.”

At that, she frowns.

“I’m not little!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m thirteen and a half!”

“That’s little,” you say, laughing quietly. “Trust me. Once you get to my age, you’ll understand.”

“I’d rather be little than ancient,” she shoots back, sticking her tongue out good-naturedly. You scoff, bringing your fingers up to your forehead so that you can shield your eyes from the sun.

“Twenty-three is not ancient!” you say, baffled.

Lydia just giggles, twirling around a few times and watching the skirt of her dress fan out handsomely. Once she looks up, however, she freezes in her tracks. Your eyebrows knit together as she extends her arm in a frantic wave.

“Hi, Harry!”

You stiffen, reflexively following her gaze.

Harry is about thirty feet from the steps, crossing the driveway with a heavy bag of soil slung over his shoulder. In his other hand, he’s carrying a bucket filled with rusted gardening tools. You had been so caught up in your conversation with your sister that you failed to notice him. He’s making his way toward the pretty garden that separates the entry and exit of the driveway, tucked between the two strips of road and outlined with smooth grey stones.

You swallow forcefully when he pauses at the sound of Lydia’s voice. He turns, and you get a full view of his broad chest, tanned skin peeking out from underneath his white shirt. Brown trousers cover his legs, held up by matching suspenders. His black boots are speckled with dried mud—you guess that he’s just come from the stables in the back.

Upon catching sight of your sister, he smiles and begins to walk over. You shift quickly, trying to focus on something—anything—else.

“Good afternoon, little bug.” Harry’s tone is deep, slow, rough. It sends a shiver down your spine. “You alright?”

“Very much so,” Lydia replies, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Harry, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” he replies.

Your sister glances over at you, her brows arched high on her forehead. “He’s practically primeval.”

“Dee!” Her name leaves your lips as an admonishment, but you can’t stifle your laugh.

She just giggles and turns back to Harry; he’s smirking slightly, watching your interaction unfold. “Are you going to be planting more roses?” Lydia asks, changing the subject.

“Yes.” He nods. He sets the bucket down and uses his free hand to realign the bag of soil on his shoulder. “Would you like to help?”

Lydia spins around to face you, her eyes wide and pleading. “Can I? Pretty please?”

“You’re supposed to take Artemis out for a ride,” you tell her, pursing your lips. “You know how antsy she gets when she’s cooped up all day.”

“Can’t you take her out?” Lydia asks, clasping her fingers together and bringing them up to her chest.

“Dee,” you start, shaking your head, “you know I don’t—I couldn’t possibly—”

“Harry,” she says suddenly, glancing down at him from over her shoulder. “Have you been in the stables today? Did you see Artemis?”

Harry hums dutifully. His eyes fall to you—you look away.

“And did she seem anxious at all?” Lydia presses expectantly, placing her hands on her hips.

He hesitates. “Well…no. But if you need to take her out, please do. I’m perfectly capable of planting by myself.”

“Nonsense,” she says, waving away his words. She turns back to you, jutting her bottom lip out into an imploring pout. “Can’t you ask someone else to do it? What about Penelope? Or Beth?”

“Beth’s preparing lunch,” you say, scoffing quietly. “Besides, she refuses to work in a messy environment. What makes you think that she’ll willingly go down to the stables, of all places?”

Lydia frowns, blowing out an annoyed sigh.

“Fine,” she acquiesces at last, rolling her eyes. She spins around, hopping down the remaining steps and fixing Harry with an accusatory glare. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes! Don’t you dare start without me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, little bug,” he replies, his lips twitching. You watch as Lydia takes off, her braids whipping in the wind as she sprints toward the side of the house. Once she disappears around the corner and out of your sight, you press your palms to your face, sighing loudly.

“She’s too much,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Harry chuckles quietly from the bottom of the stairs; you freeze suddenly, remembering that he’s still there.

“I should—” You clear your throat, climbing to your feet. The light material of your dress tickles the skin just below your knees. “I should probably go. There’s still so much to do before Drew returns.”

You’re lying, of course. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m sure there is.” Harry nods, running his fingers through his hair. The dark strands curl beautifully behind his ears. You allow yourself to study them for only a moment before diverting your gaze up to the sky.

“It’s hot—are you thirsty?” you ask, squinted eyes trained on miles of cerulean blue. “I can get Beth to bring you some water, if you’d like.”

“That’d be lovely,” he says. “Thank you.”

You simply hum in response. Your hands are abnormally clammy when you wipe them across the thin petticoat covering your thighs.

“Right,” you say, chancing a glance back down at him. “Well…have a nice day.”

“You too, miss.”

You pause, fiddling with the satin bow tied at the small of your back. “You—you don’t have to call me that, Harry,” you remind him, shaking your head. “How many times must I tell you?”

“My apologies,” he says, shrugging. “Force of habit.”

“It’s alright,” you say, intent on avoiding his gaze. “It just—it makes me feel as though I’m your—your—”

You break off, uncertain of how to proceed. Thankfully, though, Harry seems to understand. He chuckles softly, bowing his chin in agreement. “I know.”

Embarrassment festers in your chest, creeping up your neck and settling into your cheeks. You straighten, swallowing down the hard lump in your throat and retreating toward the door. “Lydia will be back soon, I’m sure. Good day.”

When Harry lifts his head again, his green eyes teem with an emotion that is somehow unrecognizable yet familiar all at once. The gruff timbre of his response makes your stomach churn nervously, flipping your breakfast of fresh fruits and toast. You hate it more than anything else in the world.

You don’t hate him, though.

No…you could never hate him.

“Good day, miss. Ah, I mean—” His face collapses into a grimace. He grunts at the thoughtless error, shaking his head. “—good day.”

~*~

It’s just past three in the afternoon when a car horn honks from outside. Lydia’s shrill squeal of excitement follows soon thereafter.

“Drew!” she cries. She rushes into the front foyer, white shoes squeaking against the polished floor. The bottom of her dress is dotted with faded spots of mud, a testament to her time spent in the garden earlier today.

“Dee,” you scold her, frowning. “I told you to change once you had finished planting.”

“Sorry!” she says, though her tone suggests that she isn’t sorry at all—not in the slightest. “Got distracted!”

She grabs your hand, and you yelp when she gives a mighty tug, towing you outside. You dust off the skirt of your dress, tucking your hair behind your ears and staring at the iron gate in the distance—it’s closing back up, metal spines glinting alluringly in the sunlight. On one side of the driveway, a bright red car rolls along the pavement, tires bumping merrily against the ground. Two silhouettes sit in the front; the man behind the wheel honks the horn again and extends his arm through the window, sweeping it upward in a triumphant greeting.

“Drew!” Lydia repeats. She charges down the front steps, her hands outstretched.

“Be careful!” you call after her, gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip.

The sun is still high in the sky. You crane your neck, surveying your surroundings. Heat rises from the driveway in murky waves, blurring the scenery. The large portico that spans nearly the entire width of your home is lined with bushels of potted plants—roses and peonies and daffodils. The lawn is bright and healthy, spearmint-green grass trimmed to perfection.

Something shifts in the periphery of your vision. Your head snaps to the left.

Harry is there, leaning against the corner of the house. He’s still sporting the same outfit as before, except it’s even more sullied, now. You’re not surprised. Gardening is grubby work, but gardening with Lydia…it’s a miracle that he’s not caked in mud, soiled from head to toe.

On cue, Harry reaches for a dirty rag dangling over his shoulder. He grasps the material with strong fingers, lifting it to his face and wiping down his forehead and his cheeks. You watch him closely, fascinated by the thin sheen of sweat sparkling on his skin.

As though sensing your stare, his eyes dart over, locking squarely with yours.

A soft gasp falls from your lips. You clench your jaw, incontrovertibly caught, and quickly look away.

As soon as Andrew steps out of the car, Lydia launches herself into his arms. He laughs gleefully, catching her with ease and spinning her around. He’s dressed in a cream-coloured suit, the collar of his periwinkle button-up peeking out beneath the lapels. His loafers are shiny and brown; a matching hat is perched atop his head, hiding his dark hair from view. The cap makes his ears stick out even more than usual—upon realising this, you smile.

“Look at how much you’ve grown!” Andrew grunts, setting Lydia back down on the ground. He puts his hand next to her shoulder, as though measuring her against an invisible wall. “The last time I saw you, I could’ve sworn you were only this tall.”

She beams before standing on her tiptoes and poking at his chest. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be gone for so long next time!”

“Touché,” he chuckles, nodding in assent. His fingers find the ends of her braids, fiddling with them absentmindedly. “And who’s responsible for these pretty things, hm?”

“I think we both know the answer to that question,” you interject, making your way down the steps.

Andrew looks up at you and grins widely. You hold out your arms as you approach, and he accepts your invitation with a happy call of your name. He’s tall—a few inches over six feet, if you had to guess. You hug him tightly, burying your face into his shoulder and flattening your palms against his back.

“You look very handsome,” you tell him when you break apart. “I like this colour on you.”

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the nape of his neck. “Do you? I was on the fence about it, truthfully.”

“You shouldn’t have been—it looks good,” you assure him, smoothing your knuckles over his collar. “What took you so long? You’re late.”

“Stopped off at the cemetery to visit mum and dad,” he explains. “Changed their flowers, too—calla lilies, this time.”

You nod grimly, pursing your lips. “Mum’s favourite. Excellent choice.”

One of the car’s doors slams shut; the noise pulls your attention away from your brother. You peer past him, eyes landing on the man who has just exited the passenger side of the vehicle. His skin is a fair shade of olive, complimented beautifully by the beige jacket slung over his shoulders. Checkered brown pants cover his legs, and he’s clutching a sturdy briefcase in one hand. Andrew retreats, keeping a palm on the small of your back as he leads you over to his companion.

“Girls,” he says, tipping his cap, “this is my business partner, Martin Russell. Martin, these are my sisters.”

Martin bows his head. “Lovely to meet you both.”

“Are you tired, Mister Russell?” you ask. “It’s been a long journey, I’m sure.”

“I’m quite alright, miss, thank you,” he replies.

You don’t miss the way his amber eyes trail along your figure as he straightens up. You step back before you even have the chance to register what you’re doing.

“Hello!” Lydia—much to your relief—butts in, grabbing Martin’s hand and shaking it frantically. “I’m Lydia. Say, how would you describe your time at Harvard? Did you enjoy it? Was it a lot of work?”

Martin chuckles nervously, taken aback by your sister’s blathering. “Er,” he starts, “I—”

“Dee,” Andrew says, snickering quietly. “At least let the man get settled in before you begin interrogating him.”

“Sorry,” Lydia mumbles, shrinking away.

“That’s alright,” Andrew says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’ll have plenty of time to chat with him over dinner tonight, won’t you? Is it true that Beth is preparing my favourite?”

Your sister beams and nods. “I asked her to!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Andrew smiles. He looks up at the house, his forlorn gaze running over the plethora of pale bricks and clear windows. Abruptly, he pauses, squinting and lifting his fingers to shield his face from the sun. “Is that…?”

Your blood runs cold.

Andrew raises an arm high above his head. “Harry!”

And suddenly, staring down at the ground becomes your most pressing concern of the day. Harry makes his way over, a mountain of handsome grime. It’s unfair, really, you think. How does he manage to look so fetching, even beneath a thin layer of soot?

“How have you been?” Andrew asks, surging forward and shaking his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” Harry replies, grinning. “I’ve been alright. Keeping the garden tame, keeping the stables clean.” He tosses a pointed look in Lydia’s direction. “Keeping this little bug out of trouble.”

“Hey!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest.

Harry just chuckles.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Andrew says, nodding in satisfaction. “It’s nice knowing that there’s still a man around the house to take care of these two.”

You bristle at his words, scowling in mock-offense. “We are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves, thank you very much.”

“I know.” Your brother shoots you a mischievous wink, and only then do you realise that he’s merely trying to get a rise out of you. You roll your eyes, though you can’t quell the fond smile that creeps onto your face.

“Let’s go in,” you suggest. “You can say hello to the rest of the staff, and then we can all wash up before dinner.”

Andrew hums in agreement. He tilts his head to the side, attention fixed almost exclusively on Harry. “You should come, H,” he says swiftly. “It’s been too long; we need to catch up.”

“Drew—” Your shoulders tense, and your nostrils flare. “I don’t think—”

“I’d love to,” Harry interrupts. He hooks his thumbs beneath the straps of his suspenders. “Thank you for the invite, Drew.”

“Of course.” Your brother nods before turning back to Lydia and Martin. “Shall we, then?”

The three of them push between you and Harry, climbing up the steps and disappearing through the front door. Inside, your sister unleashes a stream of fleeting questions: What’s it like in New York? Are the people nice? How was the food? Did you see the Statue of Liberty?

Gradually, her inquiries fade away. You stand there, chest inflated with a held breath and fingers fidgeting anxiously with the skirt of your dress. The sun beats down against the crown of your head, triggering a mild fit of dizziness.

Or maybe that’s just Harry.

“So…,” he begins, blowing out an awkward sigh. “What shall we be eating tonight?”

You scoff, unable to help yourself. “You accepted the offer without knowing exactly what it was?”

“Should I know?”

You swallow heavily, pinning your gaze on the scarlet vehicle still parked only a few feet away. “Minestrone,” you say. The word is clipped. “Drew loves it.”

“I’ve had it,” he tells you. “Beth always saves me a bit if there’s some left over.”

You nod wordlessly.

“Are you upset with me?” Harry asks, digging his hands into his pockets. You’re so taken aback by his question that your head snaps toward him, brows cinched together in confusion.

“What?” The question falls from your lips before you can blink. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You won’t even look at me,” he hums, shrugging casually.

“I’m looking at you right now.”

“Not before, you weren’t.”

“I—” you break off, pursing your lips and squeezing your eyes shut. You pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers, trying to keep yourself composed. “I have to go.”

“As do I.”

“Right.” You avoid his gaze. “Goodbye, then.” You whip around, hurrying up the steps.

“Goodbye,” Harry replies from behind you. The smile in his voice is painfully conspicuous. “See you at dinner.”

~*~

You’ve just pinned a final clip into your hair when Lydia comes barrelling through your bedroom door with no warning whatsoever. You’ve long since given up on reprimanding her for it. She always forgets to knock.

“Can you button me up?” she requests, spinning around and exposing her bare back.

“Did you run down the hall like that?” you ask, laughing at her eccentricity.

“Yes,” she says matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry—I made sure that the coast was clear.”

“Brilliant. Your reconnaissance skills are truly a sight to behold.”

She scoffs, smiling at you from over her shoulder. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

“Patience, Dee,” you say. You turn back to your own reflection, twirling your finger through a loose strand of hair and letting it fall picturesquely against your temple. “There.”

Her feet scuffle absentmindedly against the floor as you approach her. She’s wearing a pastel pink dress with short, puffy sleeves that cinch at her skinny biceps. The bottom hem of her petticoat tickles her knees, which strain against transparent white tights. You remember wearing something nearly identical when you were her age. The outfit isn’t a hand-me-down, though. The stitching is brand-new, and the fabric is crisp and fresh, like it’s never once seen the inside of a washtub.

“It’s nice having Drew back home, wouldn’t you agree?” you ask your sister. She squeals when the nail of your index finger ghosts playfully up her spine.

“It is,” she concurs as you begin to fasten the clasps at the small of her back. “I’ve missed him terribly.”

“So have I,” you hum, pressing your mouth into a thin line. “There are some things that I could do without, though. Like that comment he made about us not being able to take care of ourselves.”

“He was only teasing,” Lydia says. “You know that. Besides—” She shrugs, puckering her lips idly. “—he was right. Harry does take care of us, even though we may not always need it.”

At that, you pause.

“‘Harry takes care of us’?” you parrot, your brows knitting together. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” she starts, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Who trims the lawn and tends to the flowers early in the morning? And who cleans out the stables when they get messy?”

“We pay him to do those things, Dee,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “It’s his job.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she agrees. “But he does so much more, don’t you think?”

You say nothing. She takes your silence as an invitation to elaborate.

“For example,” she says—declares, “he never gets irritated with me whenever I prattle on about my day.”

“Oh.” You smirk. “So you are aware of your tendency to talk too much.”

“Not funny,” she deadpans. You giggle.

“He always lets me follow him around whenever I get bored,” she adds, her eyes glazing over. “And he likes to make sure that you’re alright, too.”

Your fingers fumble with the last button at the top of her dress. You pray that she doesn’t detect the sudden blunder. “How so?” you probe, trying to keep your voice level.

“You know,” she indicates, even though you most certainly do not. “Like today, as we were planting the roses. He asked me how you were doing—if you were eating well, if you were getting enough sleep. Those are fairly standard inquiries regarding one’s wellbeing, I’d say. Do you disagree?”

“No,” you murmur, gnawing on your painted bottom lip. “I don’t.”

You finish your task, fastening the final clasp on her dress and smoothing your fingers down her sides. “There you go,” you say softly, your throat dry. “All done.”

“Thank you,” she singsongs, twirling around to face you. She studies you closely, soaking in the black floor-length gown cascading down your figure. “You look beautiful,” she says, her tone sincere. “Martin’s going to be utterly speechless when he sees you!”

A weak chuckle falls from your mouth. “Shall we go down?” you suggest, wrapping a loose arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the door.

“Yes, please,” she replies. She places a palm over her stomach, features crumpling into a theatrical scowl. “I’m famished.”

You smile.

And as you exit your bedroom with your sister in tow, you realise that she may have been wrong about which man you’re hoping to impress.

~*~

Dinner is full of surprises, many of which present themselves in the form of Martin Russell. It’s astonishing, you think, because the man who had barely spoken ten words upon first meeting you is now commanding the table at which you’re sat. Andrew is perched at the head, with Martin just off to his right. Lydia is next to him, and you’re directly across from him. And that means that Harry…

Harry is right next to you.

You do everything in your power to avoid looking in his direction. Thankfully, it proves to be easier than expected, considering the fact that Martin has been droning on about his company for the past fifteen minutes. You don’t believe that anyone else has managed to squeeze in a single word.

There’s wine, candles, and the finest china your family owns. But all of that pales in comparison to the man sitting beside you.

Harry cleans up exquisitely. Upon first entering the dining room, you were shocked to find him in a black tuxedo with a white bowtie resting just below his throat. It appears that he even combed and gelled his hair, though some strands have fallen free from the style and now hang down over his forehead. You don’t mind it, though—if anything, it’s a hint of the man you know peeking through. And the man you know is handsome—alarmingly so.

Drew had whistled as you descended the stairs. He then offered you his arm, patting your hand and telling you that you looked wonderful. Martin hadn’t been able to control his reaction, his eyes raking up and down your figure like you were a lavish meal on a silver platter. It had taken everything in you to hide your distaste.

But Harry…

Harry hadn’t said a word. He’d fixed his face perfectly, showing no sign of emotion whatsoever. You’d been hoping for something—anything—indicative of his opinion toward your outfit, but you observed no such consequence. He’d only acknowledged you with a curt nod before settling into his chair and pointedly looking away.

And now, here you are—a bowl of minestrone in front of you, a wineglass inches away from your lips, and an irritated groan simmering on the back of your tongue. Martin’s voice is growing more and more irksome by the minute.

“And then, it was as though they couldn’t get enough—”

“I had assured them that I would bring in at least twice the revenue—”

“It was incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it—”

You polish off the rest of your wine, reaching across the table for the half-empty bottle. No one notices as you pour a bit more of the alcohol into your glass, sneakily surpassing what would be considered appropriate for a lady to consume. You set the bottle back down with a silent huff, lifting the goblet to your lips and letting your attention wander.

You freeze when you catch Harry staring at you out of the corner of his eye. The edges of his mouth are curled up ever-so-slightly, nearly imperceptible. Heat rushes to your cheeks; you gulp down a large sip of wine, averting your gaze.

You deposit your drink onto the pristine white tablecloth, glaring intently at your food. You can feel Harry’s playful stare burning a hole into the side of your head; you suspect that he’s trying his hardest not to laugh.

Your soup has cooled substantially. You shovel a spoonful past your lips, swallowing it with a considerable amount of difficulty. Everyone else has nearly finished their dinner, save for Martin. You want to thrust his face into his bowl—maybe then, he’ll finally shut up.

You lift your wine back up to your mouth. The action draws Martin’s focus. His eyes flit down to your minestrone, and then jump to the other empty dishes around the table. At last, he seems to realise the disparity between your meals,  because a small, sheepish smile creeps onto his face.

“Lord,” he chuckles, settling into the cushion of his chair. “You all must’ve been ravenous. I’ve hardly touched my food.”

“It’s hard to eat whilst boasting, I’d imagine,” you mutter into your glass.

A loud, hacking cough breaks you out of your little bubble. Your head snaps to the left. Harry is choking on his own wine, chiseled cheeks growing red with exertion. He curls his fingers into a firm fist, pounding a few times on his chest to dislodge the liquid stuck in his windpipe. Reflexively, you place a hand on his arm, your forehead wrinkling in concern.

“You alright, H?” Andrew asks, leaning forward over his plate.

“Fine!” Harry croaks. He makes an indiscernible gesture with his hand, waving your brother’s worries away. “I’m fine, thanks. Just went down the wrong way, that’s all.”

He coughs again, burying the sound into the crook of his elbow.

You watch him with troubled eyes. When your gazes lock, only then do you realise that your palm is still splayed out over his bicep. You pull away quickly, recoiling as though you’ve just passed your knuckles through an open flame. Harry’s body rumbles as he clears his throat. He hooks two fingers into the collar of his button-up, loosening it from where it’s secured tightly around his neck.

Lydia is talking, now, but her declarations fade into the background. You wish that you could concentrate on them—you really do—but you have more far more pressing matters at hand.

Like Harry shooting you a swift, secretive smile, and every piece of the puzzle clicking perfectly into place.

His unassuming sip…your quiet quip…

He’d heard you.

You sit back in your seat, your ears ringing. Harry places one of his hands on the wooden arm of his chair; his knuckles flex painstakingly. Across the table, Andrew and Lydia have resumed their lively conversation. Martin scarfs down the rest of his soup, trying to catch up. The candlesticks perched between your plates melt slowly, a mess of waxy dribbles and drops.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, you become aware that—for the first time tonight—no one is paying you any attention. The realisation makes you feel giddy, drunk on power and anonymity.

Or maybe that’s just the wine.

You peer down at Harry’s nails, studying them absentmindedly—they’ve been scrubbed clean.

And before you can even begin to register what on earth you’re doing, you reach out, tracing the veins on the back of his hand with one finger. Harry tenses; his concentration immediately falls to where you’re touching him. When you finally muster enough confidence to meet his gaze, you find him watching you with wide, awestruck eyes.

A small part of you is smug—that’s the reaction you’d been searching for at the beginning of the evening.  That’s how you’d wanted him to look at you when you made your entrance, wrapped up in a pretty black gown and layers of opaque red lipstick.

You cease your movements and retract your arm, tucking it back against your side as you turn your interest elsewhere. In the periphery of your vision, Harry has pinned you with an unwavering, stunned expression, his body rooted in place. Despite the rapid thumping of your heart, you keep your gaze trained ahead and your chin held high, pride swelling in your abdomen like a hot-air balloon.  

Lydia laughs at something that Andrew says. Martin tugs haughtily at the lapels of his suit. You release a heavy exhale and nudge your bowl a few inches away from your chest, completely sated.

~*~

Once everyone retires to their rooms for the evening, you wait approximately an hour before slipping out. You’re light on your feet, sneaking past Lydia’s quarters and the guestroom that was given to Martin for the duration of his stay. He snores—quite loudly, too. You can hear him as though he’s right next to you, even from where you’re hovering out in the hall.

You make your way down the spiral staircase, heading toward the large double doors leading to the backyard. You quickly tug on a delicate pair of slippers before sneaking out into darkness’ cool embrace. Midnight is only a few minutes away.

You pull your wool cardigan a bit tighter around your torso. The hem of your silk nightgown is shorter than that of a standard dress. The wind nips teasingly at your knees, making you shiver. Blades of grass tickle your ankles as you march toward the stables. There’s a single light hanging above the entrance, bathing the wooden panes in a faint yellow glow. Green grass gives way to dry soil and the odd piece of straw littered across the dirt.

Inside the stables, only two of the six pens are occupied. The first one houses Apollo, Andrew’s stallion. His skin is like chestnuts, his mane the colour of the sun. You’re sure that your brother will take him out early tomorrow morning—you doubt that he was able to find many docile steeds in the bustling streets of New York.

You bypass Apollo completely, stopping in front of your horse—Artemis.

She’s a sight to behold, white skin and jet-black hair. She reminds you of the first snowfall of the season: crisp and pure, untainted by footprints and pollution and everything else in between. She’s been your partner in crime for the past decade, even though you’ve spent the last few years simply guiding her along with your feet on the ground and a hand tangled in her reins.

Somewhere beneath the rational layer of your brain, you like to think that she sympathizes with your hesitation to get back on the saddle.

“Psst!” you hiss, leaning against the wooden gate of her pen. “Artemis! Come here, my love.”

She lifts her head up from the floor, chewing on a handful of hay. You dig your fingers into the material of your cardigan, producing a sugar cube from the depths of your left pocket. Artemis’ nostrils flare as you hold it out in your palm; she trots over happily, drawn to the sweet treat.

“Haven’t come to visit you in a few days,” you murmur as she dips her mouth against your hand. You stroke your knuckles down the side of her neck, petting her softly. “I’m sorry about that. Things have been so chaotic back at the house. I’ve barely gotten a moment to breathe.”

She whinnies quietly.

“Did you miss me?” you ask. When she nuzzles her nose into your arm, you smile. “I missed you, too. I thought that maybe you were developing a preference for Lydia. But that’s not possible, is it? I’m your favourite.”

Someone clears their throat from behind you. You gasp and whip around, hands flying to your chest. Your gaze locks onto an amused smirk and a pair of impish green eyes, and your stomach lurches uneasily.

“Hello,” you stammer, air caught in your lungs.

“Hello,” Harry replies.

He’s still dressed in his attire from dinner, though his appearance is significantly more relaxed. He’s abandoned the white bowtie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, allowing his collarbones to peek out from beneath the pallid fabric. The cuffs of his suit have been rolled up, and his hair has completely fallen from its acute coif. Glossy strands tumble down around his temples, curling in a way that makes you want to reach out and touch them.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. You hope that he doesn’t hear the twinge of embarrassment in your voice. He caught you in the middle of a one-sided conversation with your horse, after all.

Harry holds up his hand. There’s a pale pink envelope clutched between his fingers.

“Post,” he says, like it’s the only reasonable explanation. It is, you suppose. “I was on my way home when I spotted you.”

Home. The little cottage just down the trail—the groundskeeper’s residence. It was built years ago, only a few acres away from the main house. You pass it sometimes when you take Artemis out for a walk. More often than not, you’ve found yourself studying its red bricks and white windowsills, yearning for a peek inside.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, wrenching you from your thoughts.

“Yes.” You nod, blinking twice. “Your letter—,” you say, desperate to change the subject. “—who is it from?”

And you immediately want to sink into the earth, because it’s none of your bloody business, is it? You have no right to be poking around and questioning him about his personal life. A slight grimace tugs at the corners of your lips, smearing a pained expression across your features.

But Harry just hums, unperturbed by your inquiry.

“My sister,” he tells you, shrugging. “She writes to me from Paris.”

He has a sister?

“Paris,” you echo dumbly. “France?”

His lips twitch. You want to set yourself on fire.

“Does she like it?”

“I think so,” he says, watching you with twinkling eyes. “She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m—” He hesitates, looking away. “Well, I won’t bore you with the details.”

And though he hadn’t let the words slip out, you know exactly what he meant to say.

She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m stuck here.

A pang of guilt ricochets through your chest. Blood thunders in your ears as you direct your attention to the ground, kicking at the dirt below your slippers. You suddenly realise that whilst Harry is fully clothed, you’re dressed in nothing but a flimsy silk nightgown. You wrap your arms around your torso, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your knuckles.

“Er—”

You glance up at Harry when the awkward noise falls from his mouth. “Yes?”

He lifts his chin and gestures toward Artemis, who has returned to her tasty pile of hay. “She belongs to Lydia, does she not?”

“No, actually,” you reply. “Lydia takes her out, typically, but…she’s mine.”

“I see.” His face renders an innocent type of curiosity, one eyebrow cocked high on his forehead. “Do you ride?”

You balk, nearly choking on your own saliva. “I beg your pardon?”

And just like that, the innocence is gone. Harry’s features melt into a portrait of wicked mirth. His irises glint roguishly as he fixes you with a shrewd, crafty smirk.

“The horse,” he says slowly, his tone ripe with amusement. “Do you ride?”

“Oh,” you croak. “Sorry, I—”

Your nostrils flare as you avert your eyes, too humiliated to meet his gaze. He’s aware of the way in which you interpreted his question. He understands why you were so appalled. He knows exactly where your mind went.

“No,” you answer quickly. “I don’t. Not anymore, at least.”

Harry tilts his head to the side, confused.

“How long has it been?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mount.”

“I stopped a few months before you came to work for us,” you say, playing with a loose thread hanging from your cardigan. After a beat of silence, you add, “There was…an incident. I fell.”

“Oh.” He recoils slightly, taken aback by your revelation. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright.” Your feet scuffle against the dusty ground. “Sometimes, I catch myself longing for it, but I just—” You shrug. “I can never seem to get back on.”

“I understand.” His response is excruciatingly sincere.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye. He takes an experimental step forward, gauging your reaction. When you don’t make a move to retreat, he does it again. You chew on the inside of your cheek as he draws nearer, and your heart stutters beneath your ribs when he angles his body to the side, offering you his arm.

“May I walk you back?”

Is there a hint of fondness in his voice, or is it merely your imagination?

“You may,” you concede weakly.

You slide your hand into the crook of his elbow and bid Artemis goodnight. The two of you stroll back up to the estate in silence, enjoying the tranquility of the evening. The wind whistles through the thicket of trees lining the edge of the property. Crickets chirp loudly, seeking shelter between blades of grass. Harry’s body is unbelievably warm, radiating heat despite the slight chill carried by nightfall.

You release his arm once you reach the steps of the back porch. He studies you carefully as you climb the first two stairs, a divot digging into the space between his brows.

All of a sudden, you pause, brought to a standstill by an invisible string. You spin back around, looking down and finding a pair of bright jade eyes in the dark.

“Goodnight, Harry,” you say softly, hands dropping to your sides.

Quicker than a bolt of lightning, he seizes your fingers between his. A faint gasp leaves your mouth when he bows forward and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Harry peers up at you innocuously, pulling his lips away from your skin after a long moment of stillness.

“Goodnight, miss,” he says. The words flow over you like molasses, viscous and warm and inconceivably sweet. “Sleep tight.”

~*~

PART II: The Week

PART III: The Month

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[gunclemarkrb]

******* The new campus assistant football coach arrived today. He will just be watching practices this week and meeting the team. But first he wanted to see me.

We met in my office. He came in and immediately began taking his clothes off. He goes commando too!

Can i help u with something immediately.? "Yeah, I think i pulled a groin muscle or two. Can u look at it now.? It's really sore."

Tell u what, I can look at it as soon as I shower. Say 30 minutes. Everyone will be gone then, and I can inspect ur situation without an eruption, I mean without any interruptions.

(I actually thought of SUCKING his COCK so he could "ERUPT" HIS CUMM LOAD IN MY WARM WET MOUTH") which he obviously knew what i meant as his COCK started GROWING. We were on the same wave length, I thought.

"GREAT DOC. THANK YOU. I'LL SHOWER WITH YOU"

He is UNCUT and THICK. He has the HOTTEST ABS and an EXQUISITE NAKED BODY.

But I'm 99% SURE he IS STR8. HE'S an ALPHA MALE, too, at least I think so. Sometimes, it's difficult to tell. I BETTER BE on MY BEST BEHAVIOR, or I might lose my cushy career. I figured he was just teasing me as it's common knowledge I'm Gay.

After all, it's an ALL BOY COLLEGE. Not even female faculty, as this is known as the "ALL GAY MALE PRIVATE COLLEGE" the only campus like it in the country.

I go to shower, and there he is. An AWESOME TIGHT BUTT, and SHREDDED ABS, and BULGING BICEPS AND PECS. And he's STROKING his THICK COCK.!! A HUGE 🍄🍆HEADwith a VERY THICK RIM. Can't tell he's UNCUT NOW. !!

"Hey DOC, I JUST GOTTA RUB ONE OUT.! .... NO.! YOU COULD DO MORE DAMAGE THAN GOOD.!! (-I speak loudly.) Even tho I would've enjoyed watching. OR maybe I was also afraid my mouth would go right to SUCKING his THICK approx. 8 inch SHAFT.

His HUGE 🍄🍆HEAD is twice the width as mine. OH HOW I'D ENJOY HIM POPPING MY BUTTHOLE MUSCLE. Or stroking him as my grip goes over his SUPER THICK 🍄 RIM, using his warm sticky PRECUMM as lube.

Now we're both showering with erections. "U like it DOC.?" he asks. WELL OF COURSE, I reply. "I like the size of URS too, DOC."

Sorry for my erection. I hope it doesn't make u uncomfortable. "Nah, I need to CUMM often, and I do it in the showers. I'm used to guys admiring my body and ERECT COCK. Admire away. I've also seen many STR8 guys CUMM in the shower while watching me stroke myself. It's a normal guy thing.

So u would be ok if I jerked off to u jerking off too? "Absofuckinglutely" he said. Well, maybe another time. Right now, we gotta take care of ur groin. "EXACTLY what I was hoping for DOC." Let's dry off as we walk to my office.

Just stand there as I take a closer look. I'm gonna have to feel around, ok. "DO what u gotta do, DOC, but I really need to rub one out. Don't let my IMPRESSIVE COCK poke ur eye out !!" I will be fine. Let me check this out.

I begin feeling his groin as his HARD COCK BOUNCES AROUND, ONLY an inch from my face. A few times he jumps and his BIG THICK COCK hits my face. I feel wet on my forehead as his GINORMOUS 🍄🍆HEAD RUBS my forehead again.

"Sorry, DOC" NO problem, I said. He jumps again as I fondle his smooth ball sack and press on his smooth taint. I then massage the base of his THICK SHAFT, purposely making his ERECT COCK hit my lips.

"Almost shoved my COCK in ur mouth DOC. Man, be careful." Does that hurt.? I asked. "Yeah, a bit. But I'm also concentrating on NOT CUMMING."

I then ask him to turn around so I can inspect his prostate. So as I LICK MY FINGERS, he bends over and IMMEDIATELY SPREADS HIS MUSCULAR CHEEKS OPEN, to expose his TIGHT ROSEBUD. IT'S ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL.

A little pressure my friend. "TOM, u can call me TOM" he replied. Sorry, TOM. I continue to massage his TIGHT SPHINCTER with my fingers, trying to stretch his HOLE a bit. My COCK GETS HARD AGAIN.

" DOC, ur fingers feel awesome. Ur so gentle." As I push 2 fingers inside, I rub his prostate. Does that hurt TOM.? "NO DOC"

What about this, (as I rub his sex organ more, trying to get him to ask me to SUCK HIS COCK), TOM let's out some pleasurable moans. How does that feel TOM? "VERY PLEASURABLE DOC. NO PAIN OR DISCOMFORT THERE" he tells me.

Yup, you definitely pulled some groin muscles. U still feel the need to CUMM.? "YES DOC" Well, the safest way to SHOOT UR LOAD, is if I rub ur prostate, as that doesn't seem to hurt u.

TOM turns around, his THICK ERECT SHAFT GLISTENING from being covered in WET PRECUMM, smacks me in the face and rubs against my mouth, getting his precumm all over my face and lips, as I lick my lips clean of his MAN JUICE.

SHIT TOM, ur RICK HARD COCK is covered in PRECUMM. "I told u, DOC - I NEED TO RUB ONE OUT. MAYBE TWO NOW."

Well, will u let me help u shoot a load, safely. "UR GONNA HAVE TO DOC, but I'd rather u stroke ur firm grip over my THICK 🍄🍆HEAD RIM, Cause I'm gonna CUMM FAST.

OK TOM, I'LL do it ur way. I will keep a firm grip on ur THICK ERECT COCK SHAFT, stroking it from the base of Ur SHAFT and up over ur VERY THICK RIM of ur GINORMOUS 🍄 COCK HEAD, but slowly.

"Don't u want to SWALLOW MY TASTY HUGE LOAD, DOC.? I mean, u certainly will have deserved it."

I think we should keep this professional, don't U, TOM. "AT THIS POINT I JUST WANNA CUMM, and if when I was about to shoot, u SUCKED on my GINORMOUS 🍄🍆HEAD, I'd appreciate it more than u know DOC" "PLEASE DOC"

OK, U've been teasing me for the past 2 hours. I DO WANNA SUCK UR COCK AS U FEED ME UR LOAD. I ADMIT IT.

But this never leaves my office.! "OF course not, DOC. I have a reputation to keep, as do U DOC"

Well, maybe it's better if I just SUCK UR COCK SLOWLY, AND DEEPTHROAT U, BALLS DEEP UNTIL U FEED ME.

"That's will be great, DOC" OK, HERE GOES....

TOM lasted about 3 minutes. Then he begged me to massage his prostate while I SUCKED him off a 2nd time. OF COURSE I AGREED.

DAMN HE’S HOT!

Follow for multiple daily pics of nothing but hot men:

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[threecrowsinatrenchcoat]

Plant Your Hope With Good Seeds

Dukeceit Week Day 3: Snakes/Bugs

Remus and Janus break up. But literally everyone knows that's not what they want. Everyone, including their plants.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 4337

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

-

Unknown Number

hey so i kno i said i wouldnt text u but rupert isnt doin good. can i bring him back? he misses u

Janus stared at the text for several minutes. Rupert was, of course, the Monstera Variegata that he and Remus had raised together all the way from propagation. It had been one of the pride and joys of their plant collection. Losing Rupert in the split had hurt almost as much as losing Remus.

...Almost. 

Janus

Is it getting enough light? Remember it needed the grow light even next to the window. 

Janus texted back against his better judgement. He and Remus were broken up. They’d agreed not to text for a while. They’d agreed to give each other space, get used to being apart. 

It sucked, though. The apartment felt empty without Remus and half their plant collection.

Unknown Number

ya i kno. but i don’t have any south facign windows here. our place is better

Unknown Number

i mean ur place

Janus sighed morosely. Well, if it was for Rupert…

Janus

Fine. Rupert can come back.

Unknown Number

yay! ill be in town this weekend. ill bring him ok?

Janus

Ok.

And then Janus promptly threw his phone across the room.

Because here’s the thing. Janus and Remus were broken up. Remus had moved eight hours away and everything. He’d been accepted into the Nuclear Engineering graduate program a state away, and they had both heard too many horror stories about long-distance relationships to brother trying. So they’d had a very civil and mutual split. Janus kept the apartment. Remus took the TV. And they’d divided their plant family between them: they each kept their favorites, and Remus had taken the hardier plants, while Janus kept the ones that were likely not to survive an interstate move.

And then… Remus left.

And Janus had not immediately wanted him back. Not at all.

(And, of course, Janus was lying to himself.)

Remus texted him Saturday morning that he was on his way, and Janus spent the first few hours of the wait stress-cleaning. He then checked on every single plant in the apartment. Watered the ones that needed it. Rotated some of the more vivacious growers so that they wouldn’t lean full-body toward their light source. Moved his small army of Sansevierias out to the apartment balcony for some extra sun.   

Then, when all that still failed to fill up the entire eight hours of waiting, he started stress-cooking. So by the time Remus texted that he’d just gotten off the highway, Janus had himself a pot of minestrone soup simmering on the stove, a tray of made-from-scratch lasagna in the oven, and was mixing up a batch of double chocolate chip cookies. 

There was no way he was going to eat all this food himself, he realized. He was so used to booking big meals like this, because Remus ate like he was three people. And lasagna was his favorite.

“Oh, Jake, what am I doing?” he groaned to the N’Joy Pothos that cascaded down the side of the refrigerator. And then his doorbell rang. 

Janus opened the door to find Remus, dancing awkwardly from foot to foot, with his face half-hidden behind the green-and-white leaves of Rupert. 

“...Hey,” Remus said, sounding sheepish. Janus’ heart clenched.

“Hi,” he said. They stood there in the doorway for a full minute before Janus stepped back and motioned for Remus to follow. Remus hesitated, but obeyed. 

“Uh… I’ll just…” Remus looked around. Janus hated how uncomfortable he looked. Until about two weeks ago, this had been Remus’ apartment, too. “Can I put him in his old spot?”

“Sure,” Janus replied with a nod. Rupert’s old spot had been in the bedroom, where the big, beautiful south-facing window let in a ton of light. He’d moved Venus de Milos, his Marble Queen Pothos, and La Hoya Jackson, the finicky Hoya Carnosa that Remus had wanted but didn’t expect to make the 8-hour drive without going into shock, to free up Rupert’s spot. Remus hesitated again, before he nodded awkwardly and wandered off to the bedroom, all three feet of plant and two gallons of soil in tow. Janus went to the oven and took out the lasagna. 

“Howl looks good,” Remus said when he came back into the kitchen. Janus glanced up from where he was laying balls of cookie dough out onto baking sheets. 

“Thank you,” he replied. Howl was their dramatic fiddle leaf fig tree, which had decided to throw a fit just before Remus left. “I switched it to a terracotta pot with peat moss and pearlite, and doubled its water intake. It seems to be tolerating it well.”

“Good.” There was a long pause. Then,” How are you?”

Janus looked back to the cookies. “I’m doing well,” he lied. “And you? Do you start class soon?”

“Next week,” Remus answered. “And, uh. Yeah, I’m doin’ good.” Another long pause. “Uh… I’ll just. Head out, I guess.”

“You could stay,” Janus blurted out. Shit. “For dinner, I mean.” He gestured to the tray of lasagna, fresh from the oven. “If you want.”

Remus gave him an uncharacteristically shy smile, then nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything, though, so Janus just gestured for him to take a seat at the table. And then he joined him, a plate of lasagna for each of them.

“So tell me, how’s living with Roman again?” Janus asked, a few bites into the meal, because he could not take the awkward silence a moment longer.

“It’s ok,” Remus answered. He shoveled another forkful of lasagna into his mouth. “This is really good, Jan.”

Janus smiled softly. “Thank you.” A pause. “Roman doesn’t mind all the plants?”

“Nah, he’s dating this guy Patton who apparently loves plants, so the apartment being full of houseplants is a huge plus to him now.”

“Good for him.” The oven timer went off, startling him slightly. He started to get up, but Remus waved him off.

“I got ‘em, you did all the cooking.”

Janus didn’t protest. Remus got up and took the cookies out of the oven. And he even moved them to a cooling rack like Janus had taught him to do. He came back to the table. 

“How’s work?”

Janus sighed. “Oh, terrible as always,” he answered. “I really must start looking for a new job.”

“Finally getting fed up?” Remus teased. Janus rolled his eyes. More seriously, Remus continued, “You deserve better, Jan. You gotta find some place that treats you right and pays you what you’re worth.”

“Thank you, Remus.”

“And hey, just sayin’, I still think you’d make an excellent stripper.”

Janus snorted at that. “I haven’t fully ruled out that particular career change.”

They fell easily back into their usual banter, lingering late into the night over a dessert of milk and cookies. It was pushing 10pm when Remus glanced at his phone and cursed softly. Janus glanced at his phone as well.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so late,” he said. Remus shrugged.

“Nah, it’s cool. Thanks for dinner, Jan. It was real good, as always.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Uh… well, the plan was to stay with Logan, but I guess he had some kind of family emergency, so I don’t wanna trouble him. I’ll probably see if I can find a hotel room.”

Janus’ brow furrowed at that. “Why don’t you just stay here?”

“Oh, uh. I don’t wanna trouble you. I kinda feel like I already overstayed my welcome a bit?”

“Nonsense. A hotel room will cost you at least $100 for the night, and that’s simply ridiculous,” Janus insisted. “You should just stay here.”

Remus worried at his lip, which Janus knew meant he was mulling over his options. Then, he nodded. “If it’s not a bother?”

“Of course not. You’re not a bother, Remus.”

Remus’ eyes softened, and he smiled. “Ok. Thank you. Oh… lemmie go get my overnight back outta my truck.”

When Remus came back inside, Janus had just about finished making up the couch. 

“Hey, you don’t gotta get all fancy,” Remus teased. “You know I can sleep basically anywhere.”

“This is for me,” Janus replied. He fluffed up one of the pillows a bit more. “You take the bed.”

An odd look flashed across Remus’ face. “No way, Jan. I’m good on the couch.”

“Remus, you just drove eight hours, and you’re doing it again tomorrow. I am not letting you fuck up your back.”

‘I don’t-”

“Yes you do, no matter how often you say you can sleep anywhere,” Janus scoffed. “You can’t lie to me.”

Remus’ eyes softened, and after a moment, he sighed. “Ok, Jan. But what about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You hate sleeping on couches.”

“It’s only one night-”

“And don’t you work tomorrow?”

“Yes, but-”

“You’re going to be so grumpy at work without a proper night’s sleep.”

“I’m usually grumpy at work anyway,” Janus pointed out. Remus snorted.

“Ok, that’s true. But I don’t want you to be even grumpier,” he said. “Let’s just share the bed.”

Janus eyed him for a moment. This was a terrible idea. They should not do this.

“Ok,” Janus said anyway.

They got ready for bed in awkward silence, which just made Janus miss Remus’ long, rambling chatter that much more. When Janus finished in the bathroom, he found Remus sitting gingerly on what used to be his side of the bed. Janus came over and sat down on the other side.

“Hey, uh… thanks,” Remus said. “For lettin’ me stay.”

“Of course,” Janus answered. “I… I still think of you as a friend, Remus.”

At that. Remus grimaced slightly. He didn’t say anything, seeming unable to find the right words. Before he could, Janus pulled back the top blankets on the bed and laid down. After a moment, Remus did the same.

“Good night, Remus,” Janus said quietly.

“...Good night, Janus,” Remus answered. Then he reached over and shut off the light.

-

Remus played that night over and over in his head in the days after he got home, and each and every time, he was just as stumped. 

He knew, in his brain, why he and Janus had broken up. It had been the only thing that made sense at the time, when the facts were just that Remus was moving away to pursue a lifelong dream, and Janus would never ever try to stop him from doing so. So they broke up. It made sense… right? 

But… That morning, he’d woken up to Janus curled up in his arms, face smushed against Remus’ neck, and… Remus had completely forgotten why they had even broken up in the first place.

Remus was back at Roman’s apartment, now. Eight hours away in his own cold bed, arms empty of the man he loved, just staring at the ceiling. A sharp knock on his door snapped him out of his daze.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” Roman called. “Don’t you have class in like an hour?”

“Fuck!” Remus scrambled to get up, but succeeded only in rolling out of the bed.

“Don’t forget to lock the door when you leave,” Roman added. Clearly he was unconcerned by the loud “thump” of a body hitting the floor. 

“Yup, got it,” Remus groaned in reply. He staggered, successfully this time, to his feet. 

Getting dressed was a rushed affair of ‘grab whatever’s closest,’ and soon he emerged from the bedroom with one shoe on, the other in his hand, and his backpack slung over one shoulder. He rushed into the kitchen to grab the travel mug of coffee Janus always set out for him in the mornings. And then the realization hit: Janus didn’t live here.

Remus dropped his shoe. 

The rest of the day went about as well as it could have gone without any coffee- that is to say, terribly. He got lost trying to get to campus, then he got lost again trying to get to class. Then he got stuck in traffic on the way back to Roman’s apartment. And then, to top it all off, the grocery store had been out of his favorite chips. 

So here he was, mopey and chip-less, and fucking exhausted. He dumped his backpack and collapsed face-first onto the couch. Roman, who happened to be sitting on said couch, made a noise of protest.

“Move, I need to sulk,” Remus mumbled, though his voice was thoroughly muffled by Roman’s thigh, since that was where his face had landed. 

“What on earth do you need to sulk for?” Roman asked incredulously. He moved to shove Remus off of him, but Remus went full ragdoll, and Roman couldn’t do a damn thing. “You are a grown man, you know.”

Remus turned his head just enough to stick his tongue out at Roman. Roman stuck his tongue out back.

“I had a terrible day, I earned a good sulk.”

“Didn’t like your classes?”

“Nah, they were great.”

“Professors?”

“Great.”

“Classmates?”

“Great.”

“Then Zeus Almighty, what are you so mopey-dopey about?” Roman remanded.

Remus squirmed around so he was laying on his back, head still in Roman’s lap, to look up at his brother. “So… uh… you promise not to get all, like. I told you so and shit?” 

“You miss Janus!”

“No! I-”

“You do!” Roman crowed triumphantly. Remus rolled onto his side so he didn’t have to look at his brother’s dumb gloaty face.

“...Maybe,” he groaned. Abruptly, he clamored to his feet and started for the stairs. “I gotta go build a chair.”

“Carpentry won’t solve your relationship problems,” Roman called after him.

“I know,” Remus called back. “Wrong type of wood.” If Roman had a response to that, Remus was already out the door and didn’t have to hear it. 

Patton found him out in front of the apartment building some time later, a jigsaw in hand, and a pile of cut wooden dowels at his feet.

“Hey, kiddo, what are you up to?”

Remus looked up from where he was balancing a plank of wood precariously across a milk crate, because his work table was one of the things he’d had to leave behind at Janus’ place.

“Oh, hey. Ro-bro’s upstairs.”

Patton gave him the sort of smile teachers gave to the kid they caught eating glue for the fourth time. “That doesn’t look super safe. Do you want any help?”

Remus took in Patton’s soft blue sweater and the dad-jeans from the nicer end of his closet, as well as the reusable grocery store bag that smelled suspiciously like some kind of lovely home-cooked meal; he shook his head. “You look dressed for a date night,” he said. “I don’t wanna fuck up two relationships this week.”

Patton’s eyes, impossibly, got even bigger and softer than they normally were, which honestly was quite the feat. He walked over to the stairs but, instead of making his way up to Roman’s apartment, he plopped down on the third step, facing Remus. Remus stared, bewildered.

“Uh, what’chu doin’ there, pops?”

“Well, it just sounded like you needed to talk,” Patton replied cheerfully. “So here I am.”

Remus stared a moment longer, somehow even more bewildered than before. “Uh…”

“I know I haven’t known you very long,” Patton continued. “But something tells me you’re the type of person who busts out the power tools when you’re upset.”

“How the hell can you tell that?”

Patton glanced over his shoulder, then leaned forward slightly. “Because,” he said, voice lowered conspiratorially. “I’m like that too.”

Remus blinked. “You?”

“Yup! I replaced all the tables and chairs in my house with ones I made myself after my last breakup,” Patton giggled. “Only two of them collapsed when I sat in them, too!”

Remus glanced down at the jigsaw in his hands, and then he sighed. He set it down, and went to sit next to Patton on the steps. 

“Ok, well. Yeah, maybe I’m kinda upset.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah? No? Maybe?”

“Yup, those are your three options!” Patton teased. Remus rolled his eyes.

“Ok, fine. You win, daddy-o. I’m upset because I miss my boyfriend. Or, well, my ex-boyfriend. I want him to be my boyfriend again.”

“Have you told him that?”

“Of course not,” Remus whined.

“Why not?”

“Because… I mean. It wouldn’t change anything. I still moved away. And I don’t even know if he’d want to be my boyfriend again either. Maybe he’s happier now.”

“You don’t know that,” Patton said gently. “Sure, maybe the circumstances aren’t the best right now, but if you both want it, things have a funny way of working out. But you have to talk to him.”

“I…” Remus paused. And then he sighed deeply. “I guess you’re right. Hey thanks, that did actually sorta help.”

Patton offered him a gentle smile. “Of course, Remus! Any time!”

“Hey!”

They both turned to see Roman standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed.

“My own brother, hogging my boyfriend like this! The betrayal-”

“Relax, Ro, he’s not my type,” Remus shot back. “I prefer sarcastic little menaces.”

Patton giggled at that. He stood up and patted Remus on the shoulder. “I hope things work out,” he said. Remus smiled back.

“Yeah, I hope so too.”

Really, he just wanted Janus to be happy. Ideally with him, but if Janus was happier without him, well… so be it. 

- - -

Janus was miserable. 

“Dude, c’mon,” Virgil grumbled, immediately upon seeing the state of the apartment. “You’ve been watering your plants and filling the humidifiers, but you can’t be bothered to throw out your gross pizza boxes?” A pause. “Wait, you don’t even like pizza, what the hell.”

Janus just shrugged. After letting Virgil and Logan into the apartment, he’d gone straight back into blanket-burrito-on-the-couch mode. And really, he’d only bothered to get up and let them inside in the first place because Virgil had threatened to axe down the door- and Janus knew for a fact that Virgil owned multiple axes. 

“I believe he is engaging in what is described as ‘emotional eating,’ or using food as a coping mechanism in a time of stress and emotional turmoil,” Logan said helpfully. Virgil just huffed.

“That’s fine and all, but Jesus Christ, dude.” He gestured around the livingroom where… ok, yeah, it was a mess.

“Did you two come here just to insult me?” Janus grumbled. His face was half-mashed into a pillow, though, so who knows how much of that was actually discernible.

“We came to make sure you were still alive,” Virgil snapped, indicating that at least most of what Janus had said was discernible. “You weren’t answering any texts.”

“Yes, and you called out of work three days in a row,” Logan added. “We are concerned for you, Janus.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Janus lied from the comfort of his depression blanket burrito. He was not particularly surprised when neither Virgil or Logan looked even remotely convinced.

“Alright, drastic measure time,” Virgil growled. He walked over to the window, and picked up the young Burgundy Rubber Tree Janus had yet to name. Janus sat bolt upright. 

“Virgil? Don’t you dare-”

Virgil walked past him and vanished down the hall. When he came back, his hands were empty, and he had a smirk on his face.

“Oh, fuck you,” Janus hissed. He dragged himself up off the couch to go rescue the poor thing, finding it stashed in the dark, windowless bathroom. When he came back to the livingroom, Virgil and Logan were sprawled across the couch.

“Ha ha, very funny.” Janus set the rubber tree back on the windowsill alongside the Snake Plant Army. “Ok, I’m up. Are you heathens happy now?”

“I take offense to that,” Logan muttered, while Virgil just crossed his arms and said, curtly, “Spill it.”

“Spill what?”

“Why are you so upset?”

“I’m not upset-”

“Falsehood,” Logan interrupted. “I have known you since high school, Janus, and I have never seen you like this before. It is highly alarming.”

“Is this about Remus?” Virgil asked.

“No,” Janus said immediately. “Of course not.”

Virgil and Logan exchanged a Look. Janus groaned.

“Fuck. Ok, fine. Maybe it is.”

“Was that so hard?” Virgil asked. 

“Yes.”

“You-”

“Janus,” Logan interrupted Virgil’s retort. “It is my understanding that emotional distress is often alleviated through, as they say, ‘talking it out.’ It is clear you are not handling the break-up as well as you initially believed-”

“Of course I’m not!” Janus snapped. He took a deep breath, and turned back to the plants on his windowsill. Kaa, the Sansevieria Moonshine Remus had gotten for Janus as an anniversary present last year, was already leaning slightly toward the window again. He rotated it, and a few of the other snake plants on the sill. And then he realized the others had been quiet for far too long. He turned to find them both watching him with sympathetic expressions. “What?”

“Keep going,” Virgil prompted. Janus sighed. He felt exhausted.

“Of course I’m not,” he said again. “Because I love Remus.”

“And?” Virgil prompted.

“...And I didn’t want us to break up,” he finished, feeling glum. Wordlessly, Virgil stood up, and approached Janus, arms out. Janus stepped into the embrace. Nobody said anything; Janus didn’t cry, but he stood there for a long time. Then, he stepped back.

“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. Virgil gave him a small smile. Logan cocked his head, seeming confused.

“I don’t understand. You just… needed a hug?”

“Hugs are great, Logan,” Virgil replied. “You should try them sometime- hey, where are you going?”

Janus strode past them both, beelining for his bedroom to find his laptop. Over his shoulder, he answered, “To fill out some job applications.”

- - -

Remus was outside building a new bookshelf- because Patton was moving in, and Roman's teenie-tiny sad little excuse for a bookshelf, which held only Disney DVDs and no actual books, wouldn’t suffice for all of Patton’s cookbooks- when his phone rang. Which was weird, because nobody ever called him, because he never fucking answered.

“Not interested, Mr. Spam Man,” he crooned over the sound of the generic iPhone ringtone. He was learning how to do kerf bending for this bookcase, and goddamn it he wasn’t going to be distracted by-

His phone started ringing again. He swore and ripped off his gloves to silence his phone. But as he did so, he realized the number flashing across his screen was a familiar one. 

“Janus? Are you ok?” he answered the call, half panicked, because Janus hated phone calls almost as much as he did.

“Hi. Yes, everything’s fine.” Janus sounded slightly hysterical, which made Remus feel even more frantic. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Roman’s. Are you sure you’re ok-”

“Great, don’t leave. I’ll be right there.”

“What does that mean-” Remus demanded, but the line was already dead. Remus swore again. He briefly considered calling him back, because what the actual fuck was that all about, but he was only about 30 seconds into that brief consideration before a familiar car tearing through the apartment complex parking lot caught his attention. He quickly brushed as much of the sawdust off his clothes as he could because holy shit Janus had just parked right there in front of Roman’s apartment.

Remus watched, dumbfounded, as Janus scrambled out of his car- dressed in his very nice black suit and pale yellow button-up- and came running across the lawn toward where Remus was working. He had a tiny plant clutched to his chest.

“Uh, Jan, you good?” Remus asked. Janus stopped in front of him and doubled over, breathless, for a few moments. Then, he straightened up, and fixed Remus with a look of sheer determination.

“Remus. I want to get back together.”

Remus’ heart, the traitorous bastard, leaped up into his throat and blocked all his words from coming out. 

“It’s… it’s ok if you don’t want that,” Janus continued. His look of determination faltered slightly. “It’s ok. But I needed to tell you. Because I love you, so much. And I… I didn’t want you to think I didn’t, even if you don't-”

Remus found his words abruptly. “Jan, fuck! I do! I do love you. I never stopped loving you. All I want is to be with you.”

Janus’ eyes softened. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Good, because I’ve just been offered a job here.”

Remus choked. Janus was eyeing him smugly. “You. Just like that, you got a job here?”

“Just like that,” Janus grinned. “I just came from the interview. They offered me a position on the spot.”

Remus couldn't help himself any longer. He lurched forward and pulled Janus tightly into his arms.

“Hey, be careful,” Janus said, though he made absolutely no effort to get out of Remus’ embrace. “You’ll crush our new son.”

Remus pulled back just enough to look at the small plant Janus held in his hands, and only then did his brain register what it was. 

“Is! Is that-”

“Yes,” Janus replied, holding up the tiny Drosera Capensis seedling. Remus had wanted one of these for ages.

“For me?”

“Well, for us, ideally,” Janus answered, with a shy smile. “But, mostly for you, yes.”

Remus gently plucked the baby octopus plant- their new son!- from Janus’ hands, and placed it carefully on top of the milk crate that was serving as his carpentry workbench. Then, he hoisted Janus up off the ground and spun him around.

“Oh- Re-” Janus exclaimed, though he was laughing. “Put me down!”

“No!” Remus trilled. He spun Janus around once more. Then he just stood there, holding Janus, gazing up at him. Janus’ eyes grew soft. Slowly, he carded his fingers through Remus’ hair.

“Hey,” Janus said.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Remus set Janus down, but kept his arms still wrapped tightly around him. His heart felt warm.

“Hey.”

Janus looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“I love you, too.” 

[yanderenightmare]

Hieeeee, just read ur last post and loved it, but it got me thinking how would BNHA Yanderes react to a darling who FAKES Stockholm syndrome?

HEADCANNONS!

FAKE STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere-themes, DUBCON/NONCON elements, abuse, profanity, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, manipulation, mind control

YANDERE ! BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

Let’s start with our Bakuboy. He’ll know what she’s doing from the get-go, and tease her for it. He’ll applaud her efforts, however dishonesty is not something he’s aiming for and will therefor refrain from taking advantage of her seemingly bendable mood. And mockery is such a good way to make the wolf come back out from under its sheep’s clothing, especially with how vulgar and descriptive and clever his quips are. He can’t blame her for how she’s unable to hide the flickering flames rising behind her eyes as they grow slimmer, narrowing until she’s fully scowling at him in such an adorable fuming stance. How could he possibly desire fake affection over this display? Of her balling her fists by her sides, fighting with every nerve set on fire to keep her outburst at bay, but he can see it building and bubbling until she explodes in feral viscous and useless wrath. Curled fingers coming to rake and claw and rip the skin from off his face, and it’s so very satisfying to hold her down and laugh at her futile struggles beneath him. Bloody hell, of course it’s way better than any forced affection.

YANDERE ! DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

Dabi won’t be suspicious, because the Stockholm syndrome is most likely a real display and if it isn’t it soon will be. He just has that effect, that good cop bad cop vibe, whereas on the one hand he’ll make his darling sob and quake in pure unrelenting uncontrollable fear, however on the other hand, whence he’s scared her good enough, he’ll coo and stroke loving pets over her hair, calming her down. It’s a good strategy. She’ll become rigid without him, unstable, sporadic. He won’t take her reliance as affection, not yet, he knows better. But dependence is not too far away from love. At least not in his mind. Besides, feeling her crawl up beside him in bed, limbs shaking as small smooth hands wrap around and touch ever so softly on his scarred flesh, feeling needed can almost feel better than feeling loved.

YANDERE ! SHIGARAKI TOMURA

Tomura knows his darling is a survivor and he doesn’t mind when that survival instinct shifts from being all claws and fangs and growling to playing dead. Whatever’s easiest for him to deal with is just fine with him, and perhaps if she’s not always screaming and fighting and complaining and just all over tiring both herself and him out, she’ll realize how it’s not all that bad. He’ll definitely take advantage and make her play videogames with him, before doing anything nasty, not wanting to break the shell he knows is too thin to handle him and his hands and tongue on her body. The door is locked so he doesn’t have to keep his guard up and when she asks all cute in what she thinks doesn’t sound like the epitome of suspicious of whether or not they can’t leave his room, he’ll happily show her around the base, watching as the veil fractures upon her understanding of how well hidden and secure her imprisonment with him truly is, he’ll watch in somewhat sadistic glee as she crumbles into a defeated little thing, stuck someplace between knowing how fighting and escape is useless and not wanting to do give in entirely, gradually moving on to becoming used to her new life with him, pleasing him, loving him, just the way he wants it.

YANDERE ! SHINSO HITOSHI

Hitoshi doesn’t like it. It makes him feel bad. Makes him feel as though his darling is trying her best to please him even though he wants nothing more than her in all her honesty. He’s got a clear grasp on the human psyche to see dishonesty from miles away and he never welcomes it, he’ll endure it for the most part when it comes to others but never enjoy it. When it comes to his darling, it is definitely not something he’ll encourage. He’ll call her out, nearly tell her to quit, maybe even use his quirk and demand full honesty. However, him telling her to act is entirely different. If he’s initiating the game, he’ll enjoy himself thoroughly. Make her say things, do things, feel things she’d never do on her own. But it’s a game, not reality, and the pleasure is very much real on both sides in the end. She can’t lie to him.

YANDERE ! TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Keigo knows. It’s not real, and he knows that. He’s encouraged pretending on those days where he’s been desperate enough for a mere counterfeit shred of her affection, but his darling is feral, it’s her nature and it’s not easily contained. So, deep down he knows, and therefor has his guard up, yet not refraining from enjoying the, what he knows to be temporary, peace. Silence is not something to be taken for granted when coming from his darling, neither is soft heavenly touches or smiles or anything but scowls for that matter. It feels so impossibly good to hear her laugh at one of his awful jokes, despite knowing it to be utter bullshit. He’s become very good at pretending, it’s only fair for her to do so too. He knows it won’t last forever, she’ll crack at some point upon the realization that there is no way for her to escape and he’s preparing for it, but he stills humors and hold onto the hope that perhaps she’s tired too, that she sees it’s not the most awful situation ever, that it can be, if she wants it, a good life, despite it being chosen for her.

YANDERE ! MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Izukiu thinks it’s cute. He doesn’t really view It as lying, yet behaving, finally behaving like the good little girl he knew she was deep down behind the death glare and foul words. Behavior is such an important thing, something that he’s taken his good time in cultivating in his darling. Virtues and morals and rules, must be followed. She’s become so good at biting her tongue and rendering her outbursts to mere trembles, but what more she’s become good at going out of her way to please him. Dressing herself in Pro Hero Deku merch, large hoodies that seem to drape her like a tent. She’s so cute, even as she flinches when he brings her hand up to her face only to stroke away the betrayal of a stray tear running down her cheek, the only crack in her composure. She’ll smile and he’ll realize what a great teacher he is, seeing those eyes sparkle like plastic preforming as diamonds. He knows she’ll grow to like it for real someday, but settling for her growing into her role is satisfying enough for now.

YANDERE ! CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

Kai hates lies. Dishonesty is a foul and disgusting sin plaguing the earth that has now taken home with its vile boils festering inside his darling. It will not be tolerated. He demands full candidness, anything less is unacceptable, impure, revolting. Even if she has nothing nice to say, he would still prefer it over what vile treacherous words she can force out from between her teeth, words laced with atrocious intent. The fact that she’s so terrible at hiding it helps, words spoken as though they’re stillborn, the sick having taken them before leaving her mouth, lacking everything and anything sept for nerves when dropped in the air. It all proves to him how she’s too pure to ever pull off the ghastliness that lying craves. Too innocent. She’s not like him. He will keep it that way.

YANDERE ! TODOROKI SHOTO

Shoto enjoys the performance. It’s an artform. The lies, the forced smiles, the fake laughs, the willful touches holding back the desire to fight. He’s seen theatrics but never this up close, never as both audience and partaking member. He always thought dancing could be done in more ways than one, turns out she thinks so too. First: they fought and it was a brutal form of dance, then they made love and it would vary from being just as brutish as the battle leading up to it or a soft type of dancing. But now she’s the one asking for his hand, she’s the one initiating the dance. Who would he be to refuse? When he constantly makes her participate in his games, only fair, only right, to humor her antics too.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Jane Foster’s child

Jane Foster x child!reader

Thor Odinson x Foster!child!reader

warnings:

a/n: no not a foster child, jane foster’s child 😌 also im so super glad you liked those!!! hope these are just as good!!! and im genuinely so sorry these took so long

prompt: anonymous: “Hey! I just read the Tony Stark x Potts!child!reader HC and I loved it! Would you do the same but with Thor and Jane? ❤️”

no babysitter = go to work with mom

dr. selvig gave you a rubik’s cube to keep you entertained

“fuck that! here, y/n, you can play my DS” -darcy

“can you not swear in front of my child?” -jane

you thought tonight would be boring, but then your mom and darcy collectively hit a homeless guy with a car!

“holy crap, we’re all going to jail!” -you

“don’t say ‘crap,’ y/n! we need to get him to a hospital!” -jane

ngl this dude was kinda funky

darcy used her taser and your mom covered your eyes, but you still peaked ;)

ride to the hospital

“don’t touch him, y/n”

“sorry, doc”

and the very next day you guys stole him 💕

“mr. thor, where are you from?”

“i am from asgard! it is much different from this realm, but your’s is adequate, i suppose”

“thanks?”

you could see the way your mom looked at him, though

he ate all the pop tarts >:(

she gave thor her ex boyfriends clothes

“yeah, donald was a real ass—” -you

“don’t say ‘ass.’ darcy curses too much” -jane

“sorry, mom...anyways, donald forgot to pick me up from soccer practice like, a dozen times. he sucked” -you

“this ‘donald’ doesn’t seem like a very good man...also, what is ‘soccer?’” -thor

you grabbed a soccer ball and tried to show him how to play but there was some other stuff the *scientists* had to take care of

you were a regular at izzy’s diner (well, mom was) and they always made you cute pancakes in different shapes!!

“ah, it’s a smiley face! that’s adorable!” -thor

“yeah! they like to surprise me whenever i come in. they’re pretty awesome” -you

*your mom literally beaming at how good thor is with you already*

you and thor were drawing on paper placemats

and then he broke a glass and you started giggling hdhshshs

but he had to leave

“no, thor, please don’t go!”

“i hope to meet you again one day, little one. hopefully fate sees it through”

:((((

no time to be sad bc ur mom’s lab got hijacked by the government

“hey, no fair! that’s my diary!” -you

“sorry, kid. there are constellation drawings we have to observe” -coulson

“aw, you draw constellations? wait, not now. you can’t just take all our stuff. especially that! that belongs to a child!” -jane

“sic ‘em, y/n!” -darcy

“don’t listen to darcy, y/n” -selvig

chilling in the trailer and missing thor bc he was the most interesting thing to happen to you and your mom in a while

and you wanted her to be happy even tho he was kind of crazy

“hey, mom? do you want to watch the stars tonight like we used to do? we could make s’mores?”

“that sounds like a great idea, baby! i’ve gotta go take care of some science stuff, so i’ll pick up some s’mores stuff while i’m out. love you!”

yeah she went to go see thor and he kinda got arrested but your mom came back home so you could watch the stars!

“so, do you like thor?” -you

“what? what makes you say that?” -jane

“it’s cool if you do, i think he’s awesome. a little weird, but at least he’s nice”

then thor and selvig came home and selvig was drunk as a skunk

*poking him while he giggles and tells you about thor*

“i wish your grandfather could have met that guy! he would have loved him...i wish you met your grandfather, too” -selvig

thor inviting you back outside

“i’d like you to teach me more about this ‘soccer’”

by the time you guys were done, it was 3am and you were too pumped to go to sleep

so thor told you stories of his home and battle and family

you didn’t want him to stop, you were fascinated by it all

and uhhhh yeah then earth kinda had some vikings show up

they told you that you’d “make a fine warrior one day”

and then yall got attacked by a ????? a what??? a destroyer???????

“get y/n out of here now! they shouldn’t have to see this!” -thor

you were still nearby and saw thor become thor again

after he was done fighting the destroyer, you ran to give him a hug

“that was awesome! can i hold your hammer?”

“maybe someday, little one”

then you didn’t see him for 2 years

which upset your mom a good bit, you had to help her through that episode. lots of sitting on the couch and eating ice cream together talking about how he wasn’t worth her time even tho you missed him too

but he came back! and then your mom sent everything flying bc she had an “infinity stone” inside her and thor took you two to asgard

“y/n! you’ve grown so much, i almost didn’t recognize you!” -thor

tbh you really digged the outfit they gave you, but also you were on another planet? thor insisted on giving you a tour (by flying you around)

“i do hope you’re having fun, little one!”

worrying about your mom simultaneously bc you overheard she was sick

but asgard got attacked and you and jane were confined to a room in the palace, which sucked because you wanted to see it all

but thor sent guards to bring you anything to keep you entertained

“maybe we’ll skip the mace for now, thank you” -jane

after several events that count as child endangerment, this chapter came to an end and your mom and thor finally made it official

loki called you a rodent and then saved your life so you were kinda iffy about him

about a year or two later, your mom had to travel a great deal in order to get some work done, so you were left in the care of thor, who took you to avengers tower

“oh, my girlfriend’s child is an angel! and they’re so intelligent, just like their mother!” -thor gushing to other partygoers

“yeah, thor, your ‘angel’ is sneaking drinks from the elderly” -tony

*sipping his beer* “they’re a growing teenager”

you did have an amazing time interacting with the avengers

and once they tried grabbing the hammer, you knew you had to get in on it (but you failed like the rest)

“don’t worry, my y/n, you have to be eighteen years of age to be able to lift mjölnir!” -thor

“oh, that makes sense!” -you, while thor aggressively shakes his head at the other avengers. he just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel bad you weren’t worthy yet :(

more child endangerment but really what did you expect?

thor went off world and your mom split it off w him but you did have his email so you were still in contact with him

swearing you saw odin on the street once or twice (fast forward)

and then your mom dusted and thor found you as soon as he possibly could, it was so good to see him

he took you in since you were alone now, you moved to new asgard and became prince(ss) of the new land by relation?? makes sense right

basically you and valkyrie made all the calls while thor grieved for years

but he still took care of you

“y/n, would you like to play video games with me? i think it may be a good bonding experience, what do you say?” -thor

“duh!”

uncle korg made you help him with fortnite while thor was asleep

you wished to wield stormbreaker one day

showing thor earth media! his favorite star wars character is r2-d2 dont ask why

he taught you asgardian recipes and you taught him...earth recipes?

when he was drunk he’d ramble on about his childhood and battle and enemies and jane and loki and hela and frigga and literally anything that came to mind

“y/n, could you please get me a beer? and get one for yourself, too” -thor

valkyrie most definitely gave you some battle training so you you blow off some steam, you were glad she taught you how to fight like a true warrior

thor wanted to teach you battle tactics so you could fight alongside him, but he never got around to it

a raccoon and bruce banner visited later on, proposing a way to get your family back, thor was an emotional wreck

his debriefing on the reality stone was tense when he started crying about your mom and everyone stared at you

“hey, don’t look at me. i don’t control the god, i just keep him company”

ending up waiting 1 second for the avengers to come back from their mission, resulting in you being stuck in the middle of a very heavy battle

“y/n, get out of here!” -thor

“don’t worry, thor! valkyrie taught me a few moves!”

“you make me incredibly proud, little one!”

“i’m not so little anymore, am i?”

“you will always be my little one, y/n. blood or not, that will not change!”

victory, but at what cost? it was a rough ride, you needed to get patched up, but your mom was finally home and thor...he decided it was time to leave earth again

“don’t worry, my y/n. i will see you again.” *tearing up* “i’m so glad i got the pleasure of raising you these past few years. i love you dearly, now go be with your mother”

you straight up wanted to bawl your eyes out right there

“well, y/n, you’re next in line for the throne of new asgard. what is your first command?” -valkyrie

“actually, i think you’d make a much better ruler than me. i’ve got to spend some time with my mother now that she’s home”

“you’re so much like him, you know that?”

staying with your mother, who was diagnosed with cancer not long after returning from the soul stone (a/n: jane getting cancer is canon in the comics and confirmed for thor 4)

“i missed five years of your life and now i’m sick, that’s just our luck, isn’t it?” -jane

she was understandably upset, but she also felt guilty

“mom, don’t beat yourself up. everything is okay, we’re still together right now. i won’t be going anywhere, i promise”

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedgiantfavs // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck //

[love-amihan]

Hie! Congratulations on your milestone!! 💖 we'll keep growing it!!!!

As for the event (I love these events 😭) the character -Eren JEAGEA-

Lately I've been really into balls (the formal banquet type stuff from the Victorian era 💀), and I really wanna attend one😍😩!!!!! Apparently they are still held every year in some countries. And that's it. That's my dream date.

I hope it's not too much-

Please thank you and Bless your soul🤚🏻😩💞

hey babes! thank u <3 AHHH stopppp, u r making me blush >,< glad to be at ur service, bless ur soul too! 😚💕 wishing all good luck comes ur way mwah 💛 but like hear me out? eren in a corset?!?!!

NOW PLAYING...

kingston by faye webster

eren knows how you've been dreaming of coming to a ball, the victorian era type of ball to exact. with all the effort and the sources he can find, he finally found the perfect place to bring you. he's spent months just for this one day, most importantly to spend with you, the day where you two would dress up like people would way back in time.

eren relentlessly taps his foot against the floor, he honestly doesn't know how to describe this feeling, is he anxious? tense? excited? is this how those people from the movies feel? "eren," you call out for him at the top of the stairs. ah yes, the classic walking down the stairs yet the two of you feel like this moment is made only for the both of you.

as you walk down the stairs, eren unknowingly holds his breath, eyes taking in your whole appearance. you're stunning, you've always been. you stand in front of him smiling fondly, "how do i look?" you gesture to your whole appearance.

"dashing, i can't believe i'm your date," he breathlessly says, not taking his eyes off of you ever since you've come out. "who else would it be other than my amazing boyfriend?" you giggle and intertwine your hand with his.

arriving at the location, all of eren's hard work is worth it. the two of you are experiencing the best ball you've ever been, "may i have this dance?" you look up at eren who's offering a hand for you, his stance polish and alike with the gentlemen at victorian era. to say the least, he prepared for everything that's happening today, "such a fine young man," you jokingly replied in a british accent while taking his hand.

as you two sway around the ballroom, you look into his eyes, "thank you," your tone full of sincerity. eren shakes his head, "if anything, i should be the one thanking you," he leans in and kisses your forehead.

"thank you for always choosing me," he continues, "i love you," you utter out while resting your forehead against his chest, "i love you more," he mumbles kissing the top of your head.

mini-event masterlist

copyright © 2021 by love-amihan all rights reserved. do not repost in other platforms. reblogs are welcome and highly appreciated! <33

[minalblood]

Ok this isnt my usual way of doing things cuz... Well, tbh i dont really care enough to actually make a post bout most things, id just rather reblog shit, but I've now seen several posts comparing the Loki finale with spn's and just... Where?

Spn ended as a show with one of the most hopelessness inducing shit I've ever seen, taking a character thats been consistently seen as at the very least depressed and killing him off with a 'that's what his happy ending looks like' plastered on it, another character who's whole ark was reconciling with himself about who he is only to make him essentially cut half of himself out for a kid and also still be unhappy, and a third who's whole thing was learning what free will is and that he too deserves free will only to have him go back to obeying orders in heaven. It was absolutely against everything the show had portrayed for 15 years, including in the actual season this finale was a part of.

Loki is an on going show (s 2 confirmed), but even if it hadn't been, the shows main narrative themes remained true to the end, Loki did in fact grow as a character, the shows ultimate plot is about free will, tackling also the fact that free will means shit will also happen, its not only roses and happiness and Sylvie stuck to her actual goal and achieved it, aka killing whoever was behing the TVA. Loki's goal throughtout the show wasn't killing the Time keepers, it was having the free will to write his own life story and he's done and doing exactly that, sometimes that means shit happens, no characters died needlessly in my opinion and as I've said, in no way did it go against its own themes that it established initially. Not to mention the fact again that it's ongoing!

Finally to touch on what people are really complaining about (the more vocal post I've seen circulating, I've no doubt some people just genuinely didn't like it and thats fine) which is the Sylvie/Loki thing. Ok lets discuss. Firstly, if it's not ur thing that's entirely fine, its not mine either, but to claim it's a problem for u cuz it's, as Ive seen multiole people say, heteronormative is hella problematic to me since it seems to erase the fact that both characters by their own words are bi/pan. That's shitty. Number 2: 'if Sylvie was male presenting they wouldn't have gone there'... Now while I do think Marvel/Disney wouldnt likely have the balls, I still find issue with this statement since it feels very... Sexist to me. I dunno what exactly about it, but it very much reads like y'all would not complain bout the pairing if Sylvie was male presenting more so than a dig at Marvel/Disney and that is not cool with me. And finally, C the selfcest thing as incest stand-in. Ok so I get that selfcest aint for everyone, which again, fair point if u just dont vibe at all, but the actual issues people seem to have is less with it being selfcest and more that its not mlm, which is highly hypocritical. Now to the people who do just dislike it for being basically incest, ur perogative, ur view , but I'd've hoped that the whole multivers aspect of this show could've made it clearer that while they are variants of each other they are not actually the same person. Also also since the spn parallel is what began this, to the spn fans I ask, how tf can y'all not see this, the multuple versions of Sam and Dean alone should have you realize it's someones history, experience, surroundings, accuaintances that mould a person. We don't even know for sure if they share parents! Its a dif universe they've been born in, oddly enough that means they couldn't be more physically different, even if they may share some personality traits or some history between them. Again, i dont ship it, it feels awkward to me based on their interactions, but that doesnt mean imma say some bullshit bout incest just cuz I dont like the idea. Fact is they're not actually related and, as an aside, the would u fuck ur clone talk has been around for ages with little issues about incest because its already covered in the meme as is the pollar opposite.

Ok this was rambly and well, hopefully some of my points have been made clear. To end I just wanna say I do look forward to season 2, I can't wait to see Mobius and Loki reacquaint now that we have a Mobius that doesnt remember/know Loki it'll be a nice juxtapose to their relation this season (yes i ship it, whatever) and also also wanna see what's gonna happen with Kang overall and with Sylvie. She wasn't having a good time there.

Edited below:

So quick add, I just realised why the comparison fucks with me so much more than other shit and it's cuz it reduces both finales to shipping, thats why it annoys me, it essentially undermines Loki's whole arc and reduces it to shipping and it also undermines just how bad spn ended and why its bad since it also reduces it to a ship. Neither are bad or good because of a ship being canon or not on its own and seeing this comparison makes it seem very much like thats the reason spn ended bad and equally makes Loki ending bad because of course it would if the ship didnt go the way you wanted it. But thats not the way to measure a show like Loki or Spn, or at least def not the only measurement to apply for the end conclusion.

[zeeroweenies]

“ur so rude to ur followers…especially if they just don’t agree with u or want to unfollow.”

why did i just completely burst out laughing?!

first, why are some of these people literally gaslighting you into believing you’ve done something wrong when you’re just like any other person, using a blog, defending yourself AFTER you were attacked first? it doesn’t make it any better that the people who are “attacking” you, hide behind a screen, choosing to remain anonymous. like cmon. grow up & at least have the fucking balls to reveal yourself or simply don’t say anything at all.

second, if your followers don’t agree with you, fine whatever. but don’t start something out of nothing?! it’s completely normal to not see eye to eye with others, it happens all the time. but if an author has said something that upsets you, come to them about it maturely or just unfollow them all together. you also don’t need to announce your leave, just unfollow. i promise you we do not care, babe. it’s like begging for attention. like hey look at me, your blog sucks, i’m unfollowing haha. okay?! on top of that most of the people saying your blog sucks, i guarantee you, still read your fics. they do. they like starting drama & the fact that they’re literally on your blog still sending asks, proves that. i promise you once you drop something, they’re one of the first people to read it. because they don’t hate you or your blog, they love it 😊. fans & their fan behavior.

Ugh thank you this is what I’ve been trying to say😭 I’m getting made out to be a bad person when I’ve been getting harassed by coward anons for like two weeks at this point and when I stick up for myself I’m wrong💀 ‘my writing is trash’ but you’re quoting shit from it word for word, do you not feel a little dumb? And being racist and a whole bunch of other shit that I’m not gonna bring up but it’s okay tho cause I haven’t heard a peep from nan hoe ever since I turned off anon🥴

[kbstories]

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Domestic Fluff, Bakusquad, An Extended Scene About The Joys And Pains of Dyeing Hair

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. No additional content warnings apply. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

⚡💖⛰️🎸📼

You have added Best Bakubro 💣💥!

You have changed the name from “⚡💖⛰️🎸📼” to “⚡💖💣⛰️🎸📼”!

hehehe we’re all set (sent 12:10)

welcome baku!! 💪🏻 (sent 12:10)

- 

God 💡: 👀 (received 12:11)

Simply Mina: 👀👀 (received 12:11)

MT Tape: 👀 (received 12:11)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: shitty hair (received 12:13)

- 

you promised!!! (sent 12:13)

no take backs 👀 (sent 12:13)

- 

Best Bakubro 💣💥: fuck (received 12:13)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: okay two things (received 12:13)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: one i’m muting this so @ me or fuck off (received 12:14)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: two give me your names (received 12:14)

God 💡: wait srsly?? (received 12:15)

God 💡: c’mon bro it’s been months :( (received 12:15)

Simply Mina: yea wth blasty that’s so cold :(( (received 12:15)

MT Tape: answer the people explosion man @Best Bakubro 💣💥 (received 12:17)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: fine you’re staying random numbers then (received 12:18)

God 💡: OH (received 12:18)

God 💡: kaminari denki here!! (received 12:18)

MT Tape: this is sero 🙏🏻 (received 12:18)

Simply Mina: mina!!! (received 12:19)

Simply Mina: @Guitar Hero is kyoka 💖 (received 12:19)

* 

Best Bakubro 💣💥

who? (received 12:19)

-

jirou!! (sent 12:19)

-

? (received 12:19)

-

🔌 (sent 12:20)

-

ah (received 12:20)

* 

⚡💖💣⛰️🎸📼

Best Bakubro 💣💥: k (received 12:20)

God 💡: anyways (received 12:22)

God 💡: this is the best day of my life (received 12:22)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: shut it jolteon (received 12:22)

God 💡: dude i didn’t even @ u asdfkjsfk (received 12:22)

God 💡: wait omg is that an upgrade?? (received 12:23)

God 💡: did i get upgraded from pikachu to jolteon omg omg (received 12:23)

MT Tape: DIBS ON UMBREON (received 12:23)

MT Tape: we’re picking eeveelutions right? (received 12:23)

-

!!!! pls pls flareon pls!!! (sent 12:24)

-

Simply Mina: espeon or sylveon (received 12:24)

Simply Mina: espeon or sylveon??? (received 12:25)

Simply Mina: GUYS (received 12:25)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: this is a nightmare (received 12:25)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: and wtf espeon of course (received 12:26)

Best Bakubro ���💥: better stats and none of that affection shit (received 12:26)

Simply Mina: the council has spoken (received 12:26)

-

what about flareon??? (sent 12:27)

plsplspls (sent 12:27)

-

Best Bakubro 💣💥: kirishima (received 12:27)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: it’s red. (received 12:28)

-

HELL YEAH ❤️ (sent 12:28)

-

Guitar Hero: hi what the HELL are you guys spamming about (received 12:30)

Guitar Hero: oh hey bakugou (received 12:30)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: plugs you’re glaceon (received 12:31)

Guitar Hero: i’m cool with that (received 12:31)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: good (received 12:31)

MT Tape: ok kiri i think i get it now (received 12:34)

MT Tape: putting every decision thru the baku filter is so much more fun (received 12:34)

- 

right??? (sent 12:34)

-

Best Bakubro 💣💥: don’t fucking start (received 12:35)

Simply Mina: too late <3 (received 12:35)

God 💡: our trap card activated the moment you stepped into this chat man (received 12:36)

MT Tape: Bakugou Katsuki has been designated Chief Executive Brain (CEB) of the squad, effective immediately. (received 12:36)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: i’m leaving (received 12:37)

-

:( (sent 12:37)

-

MT Tape: … 👀 (received 12:40)

MT Tape: he ain’t leaving huh? (received 12:44)

God 💡: kiri’s puppy eyes once again confirmed as world’s strongest force (received 12:45)

Simply Mina: it’s kiri so we’re all safe tho <3 (received 12:45)

-

<3 (sent 12:45)

-

Best Bakubro 💣💥: for the record i hate all of you (received 12:46)

*

⚡💖💣⛰️🎸📼

Simply Mina: hey hey blasty (received 14:48)

Simply Mina: which eeveelution are you? (received 14:48)

Simply Mina: @Best Bakubro 💣💥 (received 14:50)

God 💡: 👀👀 (received 14:50)

- 

👀 (sent 14:50)

-

MT Tape: 👀 (received 14:51)

Guitar Hero: ^ what they said (received 14:53)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: eevee, duh (received 14:56)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: i don’t need a type advantage to win (received 14:56)

-

😭 bro so manly (sent 14:56)

also (sent 14:57)

You have changed the name from “⚡💖💣⛰️🎸📼” to “🦊 Eevee Squad 🦊”!

-

Best Bakubro 💣💥: fucking fantastic. can we shut up now? (received 15:00)

*

Best Bakubro 💣💥

see? told u it’s fun 💪🏻 (sent 15:01)

-

i guess (received 15:02)

-

like i said u can just ignore the chat if ur not feeling it (sent 15:10)

they’re cool, they won’t mind (sent 15:10)

+ i’ll text u stuff directly if it’s important (sent 15:12)

-

kiri (received 15:12)

-

ok ok hhh just saying (sent 15:12)

- 

i know (received 15:13)

you got that shit for ectoplasm yet? (received 15:17)

-

ummm (sent 15:17)

-

fucking knew it (received 15:17)

you coming or what? (received 15:22)

-

!!! o7 (sent 15:22)

*

Bakugou is staring.

Eyes on the page, Kirishima tries to focus on the function he’s been struggling to get for fifteen minutes now. Something about tangents and right angles? No, cotangents, which is different from a non-cotangent tangent because–

Bakugou has stopped writing a while ago, the fabric-covered pen resting loosely in his hand, his head propped up on a fist.

–the cosine does… something with the sine of X. Division? Maybe? X pops up in a bunch of places, actually, and Kirishima longs for the days math still featured numbers and not whatever nonsense this cos-sin-tan stuff is–

Bakugou is staring right at him, has been for ages now and Kirishima can’t help it. He looks up, only to catch Bakugou looking away, and huffs a nervous chuckle.

“Bro, c’mon. What’s up? Is there something on my face ‘cause you’ve been–”

“It’s black.” There’s a pensive twist to Bakugou’s brow. He breezes through the part of the problem Kirishima’s stuck on like it’s nothing, scribbled down in permanent ink like the monster he is. “Your natural haircolor. It’s black, right?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Kirishima picks his head up from where he’s slumped across Bakugou’s desk, the bean bag he’s sitting on shifting under his butt. Since when does Bakugou care about his hair? It hasn’t been black for over a year, anyways, so what does that have to do with…

“Wait, why do you–”

Bakugou’s eyes wander back to him, landing on Kirishima’s hair for barely a second but it’s enough. With a mortified noise, Kirishima slaps both his hands over his forehead – or more specifically, his roots.

Because Kirishima completely forgot he’s overdue on a redye for a good week and styled his hair as he usually does: gel evenly spread into carefully towel-dried strands, quirk on until it dries, done. He hadn’t looked into a mirror before heading to class or he would’ve seen his tips straying from cherry red to berry pink.

And that jet-black line where it’s growing back out. The roots that are the bane of Kirishima’s existence and that Bakugou saw.

Kirishima groans, curling into himself until his head hits wood with a dull donk. “How bad is it? Don’t spare me, bro, I need to know.”

That rhymes, the part of his brain not burning in the hellfire of shame chimes in. Kirishima firmly tells it to shut up.

“Your hair?”, Bakugou asks from an unknown realm beyond the bit of desk Kirishima’s staring at, a beat late. Probably to treat him to a glare he can’t see.

Kirishima rubs his forehead across his math homework in a miserable nod.

“It’s not more or less shitty than usual, Shitty Hair.” Bakugou scoffs. “What’s the big deal?”

“Oh, nothing”, Kirishima shrugs, his voice a fake-cheerful mumble, “Just that I’ve been walking around like this all day. A whole ass day. Kill me, now.”

“Nah. Wasn’t the idea to ‘die like a man in chivalrous battle’?”

Kirishima shoots him a dirty look. Bakugou doesn’t even bat an eye; he flashes his teeth in a bright smile and knocks his fists against each other, whispering “manly” under his breath and okay, why does Bakugou have to be good at everything, including impersonating Kirishima?

“I hate you”, grumbles Kirishima. Bakugou breaks character to cackle, only stopping after Kirishima balls up his pitiful attempt at math to throw it at his head. Bull’s eye, right on the forehead.

“Oi! That’s your homework, moron.”

“You started it”, Kirishima points at him with his pencil. His notepad is pulled closer with a deep, long sigh. “Now I gotta do this stuff again and stress about my hair. Amazing.”

Ah, the God-help-me eyeroll. It’s been a while. “Just go fucking dye it and come back if it bothers you so much. Can’t be that hard.”

“Says the blond guy”, Kirishima huffs. “Dude, do you even know how long getting rid of this” – a gesture to his roots – “takes? Black hair is a pain to bleach. Literally.”

Bakugou considers his hair with a frown. “…How long are we talking here? Like, an hour?”

A laugh, louder than Kirishima intends. “Try three. Sometimes more, it depends.”

“Three hours?!”

“Or more.”

A little smug, Kirishima watches disbelief bloom on Bakugou’s face. When it comes to this, destroying the innocence of the uninitiated is the only joy he’s got. There’s really nothing fun about sitting through those hours every six weeks, give or take – just plain, boring routine. At least he isn’t anxious about making mistakes anymore, not like his first few times.

It’s definitely worth it, though. Kirishima loves his red hair.

“And it, what. It hurts?”

Bakugou is still processing it seems, a hand going to his own hair. (It looks so soft, that even light color Kirishima has envied since the beginning of time. Such a nice base for any type of dye, especially bright ones or pastels.)

Kirishima scrunches his nose. “The developer does, yeah. Anything over 9% makes your scalp burn like crazy so I stick to 9% and do multiple rounds. I can’t go light enough for the red I want, otherwise.”

“And then the dye?”

“Then you dye it, yeah. Roots first, then the lengths in small strands, let it sit for twenty more minutes or so, rinse it out and then you’re done.”

It’s weird to explain things that have become totally obvious to him step by step, but Bakugou looks strangely fascinated by what he’s hearing. He does likes things to be more complicated than simple in basically any regard, Kirishima muses with a private snicker. Perhaps it’s not that surprising, after all.

“I use pure red on everything but you can mix colors, too, there’s a whole science behind that. And if you decide ‘Hey, I haven’t suffered enough!’, you can do individual highlights as well. But that’s a production all in itself! Ask Kami, he does some wild things to get that lightning bolt just right.”

Bakugou slowly shakes his head. “You people are crazy. That can’t be worth it.” He squints at Kirishima, hums to himself and starts nodding, instead. Vaguely terrified of what’s brewing in that brain of his, Kirishima waits for him to finish thinking.

“Let’s do it.”

There it is, a suitably terrible idea. Also: What?

“Color or highlights?” Kirishima sputters. “Wait, you or me? Bro, I can live with my own mistakes but dyeing your hair is too much pressure. Like, I’ll do it if you really want me to but, um–”

“Color. And you, obviously. Who of us is freaking out about hair, huh? Sure as fuck ain’t me.”

I’m not freaking out about it, Kirishima wants to say. Okay, he had been freaking out a little. Maybe. Not anymore, not with the mental image of Bakugou with Riot-red hair sort of making his braincells implode.

It’s impossible to imagine. Kirishima tries to anyways, fails, shakes his head. Focus!

“But…”

He draws a blank. Actually, Bakugou helping him with his hair does sound kind of fun. Until his patience inevitably runs out and he explodes the pot of dye, or something. Which could be hilarious, too.

“…Homework?”

(Not that he particularly wants to go back to puzzling over non-tangent cotangents – Ectoplasm always seems to know when he didn’t do the thing, though, and Kirishima hates disappointing his teachers more than he does the variable X.)

Bakugou sparks off in his direction. “We got three hours. 'nuff said.” He snatches up the math book they were sharing, Kirishima’s notepad and even the pencil out of his hand, and is out the room before Kirishima has fully registered they’re doing this.

“Shitty Hair!”

Kirishima jumps to his feet.

“Coming!”

*

“This is so damn messy. How’s your bathroom not stained to hell already?”

Coming up on their third round over his bathroom sink, Kirishima feels little sleepy as he blinks up at Bakugou. That expression of intense concentration hasn’t budged all three rounds, Bakugou’s hands steady yet gentle where they’re starting to dab red dye over freshly bleached roots.

There’s a dot of crimson on his cheek already. After forcing gloves on Bakugou and explaining to him how red pigment is the hardest to wash out – on clothes, skin, hair, wherever it lands – Kirishima isn’t inclined to point it out to him just yet.

“I asked admin about it. They said everything in our rooms is practically indestructible, including the sinks.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, right? They thought of everything, it seems.”

Bakugou continues. Kirishima dozes.

“Your hair is dry as fuck, by the way.”

Kirishima shrugs with his eyes closed, following the nudge to turn his head so Bakugou can get to the back. This is so much more comfortable than doing it by himself.

“Can’t be helped, man. The dye by itself is fine, actually, it’s the bleach that’s causes most of the damage. Oh well, with the gel it’s hard as concrete, anyways.”

“Mhmm. You’ll go bald by the time we’re outta here.”

“Hey!”

“Bald Hero: Red Riot”, Bakugou muses out loud, easily evading the kick Kirishima blindly aims at his shin. “Stop it, you’re gonna fuck up my hard work here.”

He’s smiling though, Kirishima can tell. It’s all in his voice, roughness replaced by warmth when it’s the two of them in Kirishima’s tiny bathroom.

“Stop dissing my hair, then. Besides, I know your secret.”

This Kirishima wants to see. He opens one eye and yup, Bakugou’s brows are doing the thing where they twitch and pull together. Not exactly a frown, more caught off guard than anything. Bakugou’s lips press shut, stubbornly silent as he brushes dye on every inch of Kirishima's hair.

Then: “I’m done. What am I s’posed to do with this shit?”

Kirishima glances at the pot Bakugou holds out to him. There’s still some of the thick liquid left.

“Just pour it on top. Can’t hurt and it’s better than throwing it away.”

Bakugou does exactly that. He tosses the empty pot and the thoroughly stained brush into the sink. Kirishima helps him wrap his hair in cellophane and a towel to reduce the possible mess, relocating to the closed lid of his toilet so Bakugou can take off the gloves and wash his hands.

“Okay, I’ll fucking bite. What secret?”

Lingering on the tension between them, Kirishima grins with all the confidence in the world. “That you like my hair.”

Bakugou barks a laugh. “After I went all Van Gogh on it? You better believe it’s good.”

“Nope, I mean before that”, Kirishima challenges.

“Proof?”, Bakugou shoots back without hesitation.

“Oh, I can give you proof.” Kirishima’s arms cross over the ratty shirt he always wears for this, its fabric dotted and streaked in interlacing shades of red. “One, it’s the first thing you noticed about me, hence ‘Shitty Hair’. Two, you were distracted by my roots growing in so you pay attention to how it looks–”

“I don’t–”

“–and three, you just spent hours dyeing it for me.”

Bakugou’s mouth snaps shut. He growls in his throat, grabbing an additional towel and drying his hands. Kirishima wasn’t aware those are actions that can be done aggressively but hey, he’s learning something new every day.

“Maybe”, Bakugou finally concedes. The towel is thrown in Kirishima’s face when all he does is smile. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Bakugou’s cheeks are dusted pink. Still, Kirishima shows the guy some mercy: Bakugou spent all afternoon fixing both his hair and his math homework, after all.

“Hey, Baku?”

“… What?”

“Thanks, man. You’re a good friend, you know that?”

Somehow, that makes Bakugou look even more flustered. “Whatever, Shitty Hair.”

Because Bakugou is Bakugou, namely a man who doesn’t know when or how to quit, he sticks around until Kirishima can rinse out the dye. He emerges from the shower feeling fully restored, a towel wrapped around his waist and his shirt draped over his shoulder.

“And that’s how you do it.”

Bakugou throws him a look from his sprawl on Kirishima’s bed, manga in hand. His gaze flicks to his hair immediately; his lips twist upwards, obviously satisfied.

“Told ya, it ain’t hard.”

Kirishima chuckles, shakes his head. “You’re so full of shit, dude.”

Now that the hair situation is under control for a few weeks, he realizes how hungry he is. The evening has barely begun, too, which means there’s time for a movie before Bakugou’s ridiculous sleep schedule comes a-knocking, either taking him out or making him cranky. Each scenario has about a fifty-fifty chance of happening.

“Hey, you wanna–”

Out of nowhere, his door bursts open to reveal one Kaminari Denki, out of breath and clutching a very familiar book to his chest.

“Kiri! Please tell me you guys figured out the–”

His eyes fall first on the splattered shirt on Kirishima’s shoulder, the trails of watery red dripping from his hair to his naked chest – and then on Bakugou, hands stained a faint red despite the gloves, that smear of color on his cheek Kirishima forgot to tell him about still very much there.

“Is that blood? What happened? Oh my–” Kaminari gasps. “Did you kill somebody?! Oh fuck, we have to hide the bo–”

“Kami”, Kirishima tries between bouts of laughter, “No, what the hell!”

A familiar cackle behind him does absolutely nothing to help their case.

>>Chapter 8.

[blueluneacy]

Hi! Can I request a Josuke x reader where the reader has long perfect hair and has so much pride for it (like Josuke) but one day when the two are out alone an enemy stand appears and hurts Josuke really bad so the reader has to protect him. Then the enemy takes her by the hair so she cuts it on the spot so now it’s shoulder length. Then she tries carrying Josuke on her back to escape and he starts saying how he feels for the reader unknowing it’s her since he doesn’t recognize it’s her. Thanks!

Ooooo, this prompt is great! I had a ball writing it!

Warnings: violence, ur boy gets hurt ;-;

You gasped as Josuke fell to the ground in front of you. The enemy stand user was strong, stronger than either of you could’ve imagined. God, why now of all times? You swallowed as you looked back at the enemy. God, he would kill Josuke if he was given the chance, wouldn’t he? But your stand wasn’t nearly as powerful as Josuke’s, how on earth would you be able to protect him? Still.. You swallowed and put yourself between the enemy and Josuke. It was the least you could do. You couldn’t just let someone you love die like this. 

“Really? You? You’re going to try and save him?” He laughed at you, leaving you to swallow and shake. He was so much faster than you, grabbing your hair and pulling you away from Josuke, practically dragging you. You cried out in pain, squirming and kicking at the enemy, pulling out your own stand to try and retaliate, but it was barely any use.

“I don’t have time to deal with you. Why don’t you wait your turn?” He growled, but you had a rather… Quick idea. It was painful, but you pulled the blade out of your pocket, easily flicking it open. He was too preoccupied with moving you out of the way to actually notice. It wasn’t until you grabbed a handful of your hair and swifty chopped it off that he seemed to notice, but it was far too late. You shoved the knife into his leg, leaving him to howl in pain as you ran off, scooping up Josuke and pulling him onto your back. He was heavy, much heavier than you were used to ever carrying, but you had to get out of here. You had to get to the Grand Morioh Hotel. Jotaro would know what to do, he was an adult in this situation.

So, off you went, carrying Josuke on your back as you did your best to get to the other side of town, checking behind yourself every now and then to make sure no one was following you. While you had gotten the enemy good and you were certain you were faster than him, you were also hauling an injured Josuke, and you had no idea how much that was slowing you down. Honestly, you were probably being sustained only by adrenaline at this point. When you felt Josuke shift on your face, you gasped a bit.

“Shh, don’t worry. You’re safe now. I’m taking you to Jotaro. He’ll be able to help.” You cooed as you trudged on, but Josuke tugged at you, almost trying to get up and off of you.

“No… (Y/n)... Is she safe? Where is she…?” Josuke asked, and you gasped a bit. Did he… Not recognise you? You thought of your impromptu haircut, and shuddered. You cared about your hair almost as much as Josuke cared about his, but you hadn’t really had the chance to be depressed about it. You told yourself that you could always just grow it out again. But Josuke… Well, of course he couldn’t see your face. Maybe it was better that he couldn’t recognize you anyway.

“I… She’s fine. She got away safely. Focus on yourself right now.” You told him quietly, focusing on the path ahead. Josuke relaxed a little, as if about to pass out again, but still… He seemed to get a few words out.

“Good… I love her… I have to… Have to protect her…” You felt your face flush as he spoke, swallowing a bit. Love? Of course, you had a crush on Josuke too, but still. You called back to him, but he was out already. This was bad. You were losing him fast. You doubled your efforts. You could think about all that later. Right now, you had to get Josuke to Jotaro. It was the only way.

…

“I swear, an angel saved me! You have to believe me!” Josuke told you and Koichi, leaving Koichi just to scoff. Jotaro knew the truth, but he didn’t ever say anything. Perhaps he knew that you didn’t want Josuke to know what you had done for him. Who knows. You could never read that man anyway.

“I don’t think angels exist. Are you sure you weren’t just dreaming?” Koichi asked, leaving Josuke to just pout as he crossed his arms. He was sentenced to a week of bedrest after the incident. You were already pretty certain he wouldn’t listen.

“Well, you believe me, right (Y/n)?” He asked, leaving you to sigh.“If you say it was an angel, I guess there isn’t another account out there, is there?” You told him, leaving Josuke to grin. 

“See, I knew (Y/n) would agree with me. Koichi is just boring.” He teased a bit, before reaching forward a bit to touch at your hair. You gasped, flinching a bit. 

“You changed it… I like it.” Josuke told you, leaving you to smile and nod a bit.

This would just be your little secret. You would let yourself be Josuke’s angel, even if he didn’t know it was you. 

[ten0rreaper]

Here’s my entry to the @pnatsecretsanta for 2020! @quarktrinity, I hope you enjoy! It’ll be crossposted to ao3, link will be in a reblog. Thank you for your patience!

Isabel: hey so

Isabel: when are u going to get here

Max: wat?

Max: its xmas ev

Isabel: you really need to get a new phone

Isabel: and remember? youre supposed to come to my place tonight, wait it out

Isabel: max?

Isabel: if you were spacing out again im going to kill you

Isabel: you WERE doing the face again now that i think about it

Max: u guys ned 2 mak imprtnt info cler. Y i spcd

Isabel: you need to listen! this time mr spender remembered to tell u and everything. youre not allowed to be mad at us this time

Isabel: in short, get ur butt over here before midnight. sneak out if u need to, thats what isaac does

Isabel: in long, if u dont santas gonna kill u

----

“Let me get this straight.” 11:30 P.M. December 24th, 20XX. Max sat in Ed’s room on a chair hastily drawn up, with a jacket pulled hastily over his pajamas and hat still jammed on his head, massaging his temples. “Santa’s real, he’s a spirit, and he hates all spectrals and is coming to kill us?”

“That’s a bit of an oversimplification, but yeah,” Isaac said, and Max shot him a glare. He could hear that smugness. “So like, there’s a lot of spirits that kinda grow from ideas humans have, right? I don’t know what’s up with Scrapdragon, but like, Muse came from the ideas around ancient Greek muses, like his name. They can be really off base but still have the same ideas- like Lucifer, Mr. Spender’s spirit, is just some lightbulb guy, but Lucifer does mean light and stuff, so they can just be along those lines. But like, a LOT of kids believe in Santa and think about him a lot, so there’ve been a few spirits that manifested around the idea of a guy who can get anywhere to deliver presents to good kids and punishments to bad ones, especially with stories like Krampus too.”

“But most spirits can’t interact with humans, so this guy mostly goes around to other spirits and ghosts and stuff,” Isabel said, distracted by her attempts to spin her umbrella like a top. “So he likes spirits a lot. And we kick a lot of spirit butt,” she punctuated this with a particular spirited spin of the umbrella, “so he hates us and comes to try to kill us every year. And because he can teleport, he can get inside the barrier. So gramps makes us all stay with him until sunrise every year so that all the adults can fight off santa and his reindeer so we don’t get put in a sack and teleported somewhere.”

Max groans and tries to fall backwards in his chair, but the chair doesn’t budge. “Your paint really isn’t good for drama,” Max informed Ed.

“Don’t be so dramatic then,” Ed snickered. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Says you, You just stay at home all night. I have to sneak out! My dad’ll kill me if he finds out!”

“I just put a pillow in my blankets and it’s fine,” Isaac says with a shrug. “If your dad looks harder than that, we probably have a tool lying around that can wipe memories or something.”

“I don’t want to mind wipe my dad,” Max grumbled, but resigned himself to slumping grumpily in his chair to watch Ed play some punching game or whatever. Bad enough that his own baseball bat might want to eat him, and he was trapped in this town with no way out- now Christmas hated him too. 

Isaac caught his eye and smiled sympathetically. “You get used to it,” he whispered.

“I thought I was used to it a month ago.”

Max jumped as a knock on the door sounded, glaring at Isabel’s laughter. The door opened without waiting for a response. Mr. Spender poked his head in through the door with a goofy grin. “Alright, kids! You all ready for this year’s Christmas night?”

Ed didn’t even look away from his video game, waving lazily. “We could use some snacks. That’d be nice.”

“Yeah, where are the snacks, old man? You want us to starve?” Isabel waved her umbrella at him like a grumpy old woman might a cane.

“You’re well fed enough already. I made sure of that.” It spoke wonders to how used to this existence Max had become that Mr. Spender knocking politely had scared him, but Isabel’s grandpa floating through the wall didn’t. The man’s bulk and imperious gaze still caused him some anxiety, though, and he had to consciously remind himself that he’s a punk, he’s cool, and he doesn’t respect anyone’s authority, even a scary ghost’s. Yeah, totally. 

The atmosphere of the room quickly shifted, and Isabel’s eyes dropped. “Yeah, I was just joking. Sorry, Grandpa.”

“Joke or not, this night is too much effort to make light of. My students and I are putting ourselves at risk for you,” Mr. Guerra said, looming over the room, “so only vocalize a need if you need it.”

Isabel glowered at the carpet. “Alright, Grandpa…”

“So. I will ask again. Are you all prepared? Midnight strikes soon.”

“We are, sir,” Isaac said. Max fought not to pull a face at Isaac’s please pay attention to me, authority figure tone, but for once it was helpful, so whatever. He could let it slide. 

Mr. Guerra eyed Isaac. “...good. We’ll get you once the sun begins to rise.” And with that, he turned away and slid down through the floor. Max could already hear him barking at the pupils below.

Mr. Spender grimaced. “Well… good! Everything’s all set then.”

Isabel grumbled, picking at the carpet.

“...trust me,” Mr. Spender said, forcing audibly fake cheer into his voice, “This isn’t a hassle at all. You guys getting stuffed into a sack- now, that would be quite the kerfuffle!”

They all stared as Mr. Spender slowly deflated. “...sure,” Max said. “Uh, we’ll be good, stay up here, it’s fine.”

“Great.” Mr. Spender nodded, stared awkwardly for a moment, and stepped out the door. “Well, Merry Christmas, children!” He shut the door behind him. Max listened with the others as his footsteps hurried down the hall to the stairwell.

Silence reigned for a few minutes, a distinctly uncomfortable experience for Max. It was almost impossible not to ramble, and he was reaching his breaking point and about to open the floodgates of inane and overly verbose chatter when Ed, thankfully, took point.

“That sucked,” he said simply, and Isabel groaned and fell back.

“I hate when he does that!” Isabel laid her umbrella by her side and waved her hands in the air exasperatedly. “It’s like he has no in between and I’m always either The Best And He’s So Disappointed In Me For Not Being Perfect or A Helpless Kid He Needs To Do Everything For! He always gets like this tonight!”

Ed paused his game, and reached around to pat her on the knee. “I mean, we could prove him wrong. We beat up spirits all the time, how hard could this be?”

“Okay, hold up, hand on,” Max said. “No? I- this is a terrible idea, you just got finished telling me about how if I wasn’t here I’d be killed by Santa, and now you want to go out there and fight Santa?”

“Well, not Santa,” Ed said. “Duh. He mostly just sends his reindeer to do everything and hangs out on rooftops.”

“And no offence Max, but uh…” Isaac scratched the back of his head.

“You’d totally get killed if you were on your own.” Isabel flipped herself upright. “All you got is that dinky bat, and magnet powers. You can’t even do a spec shot, dude, you’d get thrown in a sack in no time. We’d be fine.”

Max crossed his arms. “Alright, screw you too.”

“But other than that… that sounds like it could be pretty fun.” Isabel grinned. “Show the old man and his big dumb deer who’s boss. Maybe then he’ll stop coming to Mayview every year.”

“That would be pretty nice actually.” Isaac was clearly thinking hard- he had his broody face on. “I would like to stop having to sneak out every year. Sooner or later my parents will notice.”

Max shuddered. “Actually, yeah, Isaac has a point. I don’t want to die to Rudolph or anything, but if we keep having to do this, I’ll die to my dad, which is way worse honestly.”

“Your dad’s a teddy bear,” Isabel said, and rolled her eyes. “Stop complaining.”

“You haven’t seen him when I fail a test!”

“So are we going or what?” Isabel was already pulling her jacket back on, tucking her umbrella firmly under her arm. Ed bounced on the balls of his feet with a grin, already eyeing up the window and painting himself a rope. 

Max looked at Isaac, who shrugged and got to his feet. Max sighed, and stood up, regretfully leaving his scooter on the floor. “Yeah, alright. We’re going.”

Well, Max was regretting this. He was regretting this so much. He tromped through the snowy woods, eternally grateful for his boots. “Why in the world do we have to fight the spirits of Christmas in the woods? Why can’t we do it in town, or like, on the road at least? The roads we salted. The roads wouldn’t be as cold.”

“Cuz we’d get caught, dummy,” Isabel snorted. Or maybe it was a sniffle. “Either someone from the dojo would hear us and yell at us and get in the way before we can prove anything, or someone in town would yell at us and call the cops or something.”

“Maybe having people nearby to help isn’t a bad thing? You can’t just say that after saying that I’m the most likely person to die!”

“You came out here anyway,” Isaac pointed out, and looked all too unaffected by Max’s glare.

“I hate you. I hate you with everything in my being you- you chump elf.”

Isabel laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, this place looks pretty good, huh?” She stopped, looking around the snowy clearing they’d come into and turning in place. She nodded, satisfied. “There’s room to fight here, and we could come up with some pretty solid traps. Isaac wouldn’t have to worry too much about blasting a bunch of trees.”

“Looks pretty good!” Ed pulled off a mitten with his teeth and dug his paint brush out of his pocket. “What’re you thinkin, Izzy? Tripwire? Net?”

“Let’s go net,” Isaac said. “They can fly.”

“Plus, last time you tripped Isaac, remember?” Isabel elbowed Ed in the side. “Max and I are pretty fast, but Isaac needs some help.”

“Please. I can jump higher than your house is tall.”

“But you still fell just flat on your face,” she cooed. Isaac grumbled, cursing her just loud enough for Isabel to overhear, but she just batted her eyes and paid him no mind. “Okay, so,” she said, looking up at the sky through the hole in the canopy, “we probably only have a few more minutes before one of the reindeer finds us-”

And that’s when a dark shape, faster than cheetah and twice as forceful, barrelled into Max.  And off he went, hanging by the hood of his jacket on a wicked sharp antler prong, into the sky and away to the sound of jingling bells.

----

Things were quiet this year, Richard reflected. It was honestly a relief- maybe the spirit had finally given up. Probably too much to hope for, but, Christmas miracles and all. In any case, there seemed to be plenty of time to get the kids some mugs of hot cocoa and cookies to wait out the night with.

“Need any help balancing those?” Day asked, and Richard felt his mood become momentarily strained.

“Actually, that would be nice, if you think you could.” The tray of mugs and cookies he was balancing was quite the challenge, after all. Day reached up and somehow grabbed the plates of cookies perfectly- Spender could swear he saw her eyes flash for a moment, smart woman- and left him to balance the four mugs. A much easier task now.

“I really thought things would be more eventful, with how much Francisco was fussing over it, but everything’s pretty quiet, isn’t it?” Day smiled and followed Richard’s footsteps to the stairs.

“Well, usually there’s more cause for it, but the spirits seem to be laying low this year. Not an unwelcome reprieve in the slightest, but I do worry about Max… if this isn’t the new status quo, I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

“He’s a- well, he seems like a really smart kid,” Day reassured him. “I think he’ll make sure to be careful next year too!”

“I hope so. He does seem resourceful, but… he can be reckless.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she said, before stopping with a small frown on her face. “They’re being pretty quiet…”

Spender listened for a moment himself. “Hm, they are… mayhaps they went to bed early?”

“That doesn’t sound like them.”

“No,” he said, dread creeping into his heart. “It doesn’t.”

He set the tray of cookies on the floor. He approached Ed’s room. He knocked.

He opened the door.

Richard’s lips thinned into a grim line as he surveyed the dark room. “They’re gone.”

------

Max screamed for his life as he was lifted faster than he could process into the sky. It was a clear, starry night, and they all looked like streaks as his captor circled through the sky, closer and closer to the top of the dome before colliding headfirst into it. Max didn’t have any more air in his lungs to scream as he was jostled loose and began to fall down, down- only to be caught again, this time like a sack of potatoes on the spirit’s back. He was overwhelmed by the sound of silver bells as he caught his breath, eyes screwed tightly shut.

Eventually, his lungs rallied to his call, and he was able to take in an unpleasant few gulps of animal-scented air. Max cracked his eyes open a peek- and immediately shut them again. Too high. He was way, way too high up. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest, and the wind burned his face and the tips of his ears.

Hold on.

“My hat,” he wheezed reaching one hand up to grope the top of his head. “My hat’s gone!”

“Soon that will be of no matter.”

Max screamed- even he was getting fed up with his own screams at this point, but instinct didn’t seem to be on the same page.

“Quiet,” the rumbling voice said, and the spirit turned to look at Max. “Your sounds irritate me.”

The spirit that held Max on its back was by far the biggest deer of any Max had ever seen. It was shaggy and majestic, even as its fur was electric yellow, and its huge rack of knife-like antlers shivered as if they were made of candle flame. Its many eyes blinked, and it beared serrated teeth- a stark contrast to the many silver bells that seemed a part of its pelt. Max looked away, avoiding its cruel gaze, to see three pairs of legs, hooves thundering over empty air. And below him, seven more enormous shapes were blazing their way towards the distant forest clearing, led by an eerie red light. “Oh no, oooooh no, no no no no no no…”

“But yes, child. At last you have been retrieved, and soon your friends will be as well. Then, you can all face your punishment.” The spirit laughed cruelly. “I am Dasher, and I was simply the herald.”

“So you’re just, you’re just Dasher? Like from the poem? One of those things down there is…” Jeez, this was surreal. “...Donner? And, Vixen?”

“Many tremble in fear before those names. It would do you right to show some respect.”

“What? No, nobody does! You guys are like, goofy little stop motion dolls, man, how’d you guys end up looking like this?”

“Our powers are untold by your human poems-”

“Aren’t you guys based on the poems?!”

Dasher snorted and tossed his head in anger. “That is an egregious oversimplification-”

“I thought your name was Dasher, not Dictionary.”

The spirit cried out in frustration, and Max felt something in him settle a bit better. Poking things with words, he could do that. Just don’t look down. “So, uh,” he began, shifting a bit so it was less like he was thrown over Dasher and more like he was riding him, “why am I not in a sack yet?”

“Our pilot is attending to his annual business in Mayview,” Dasher growled. “It is we who have the ability to fight and fly- so it is we who collect naughty children. Once your compatriots have been obtained, then we may return to our stations.”

“Wow,” Max drawled. “I can’t believe Santa needs his reindeer to deal with three preteens.”

“You do have a teenager within your ranks. That does provide some extra challenge.”

“Whoa, wait, really?”

“Yes. He cannot fully be counted as a child by our pilot any longer- he has aged enough to become a teenager. It is not he that we seek.”

“Wow, that’s weirdly arbitrary and nitpicky.” Max was so going to tease Isaac about this later. If he didn’t, well, get thrown into a sack and… baked into a pie? Eaten alive? Thrown into a dungeon? Whatever. Try to be positive.

“If you take issue, you may air your complaints to our pilot.”

“Taking it straight to the manager, alright.” Max stared at his hands, balled in bright yellow fur, and took a deep breath as he relaxed them. He wasn’t going to fall, he was certain Dasher wouldn’t allow him, channel a Karen- and he released the fur, balancing on the spirit’s back with only his legs. Before he could lose his nerve, he swung his backpack off his shoulder and grabbed his bat. Okay, weapon acquired. Just… what to do with it.

Dasher huffed. “Puny weapon. Even with the power of an enslaved spirit, you cannot defeat me. Especially not with a spirit as weak as that one.”

“Ugh, not you too,” Max grumbled. At least this thing wasn’t getting aggressive. “I’m kinda tired of being called the weak one, it’s getting old.”

“It would have been better, then, if you had kept your power to yourself, and not bothered the true denizens of this world, as the other child does.”

“Other child-? You know what, I don’t know what you’re talking about and I do not care. Now let me think.” Max re-gripped Dasher tightly, this time grabbing the reigns, and looked around. Man, of course Max got magnet powers in the place where there’s no tall buildings anywhere- it would be great if they could pass by a skyscraper or two for Max to attach himself to. But alas… then, his eyes caught a gleam, a dark silhouette against the colorful lights of Mayview. 

A transmission tower in the woods. And they were heading right for it. Max shrugged his backpack back on to his shoulder and gripped his bat as tight as he could.

“Thinking will get you nowhere, child.”

“Yeah, but it’ll keep me quiet,” Max mumbled.

“True,” Dasher said. And started to turn back towards the clearing.

“No!” Max yelped, holding his bat out desperately- he knew the tower was too distant still, but he put all his will into the bat, trying to extend its power as far as he can-

Dasher lurched beneath him with a confused cry, the bells jangled, and Max’s focus was broken with a shout. Immediately, Dasher steadied beneath him.

“Child, if you do that again I will throw you off into the ground-”

“What- I don’t even know what I did-” Max’s breath caught as he realized what happened. The bells. They were metal, and he had what was definitely a terrible idea. But it was his only idea.

Quickly, before Dasher could retaliate, Max activated his bat. Dasher howled with rage as all the bells in his body strained in the direction of the magnetic center, and Max laughed with panic. 

“RELEASE ME AT ONCE-”

“No,” Max said, filled with thrill and panic, and directed Dasher back towards the clearing. The spirit barrelled towards it at supernatural speeds, a furious scream echoing through the night as he crashed into the snow like a comet. Max tumbled off of the spirit’s back, and the bat’s angle changed wildly, forcing Dasher in mad circles.

The other seven deer spirits, crowded in the woods, were as thrown into chaos as Isabel, Ed, and Isaac were, but Ed recovered fastest. “Max!” He crowed, head popping out of the snow. “You’re alive!”

“Somehow!” Max laughed, voice squeaky with panic. “For now!” In the corner of his eye, he noticed another spirit- a large one that was on fucking fire, so must be either Comet or Blitzen- and quickly swung his bat around to point at it. Dasher was forced to charge full speed into the other spirit, which dissolved into a wisp with a cry of shock.

Isabel whooped. “I can’t believe it! Magnet powers are good for something!”

“Serves you right!” He felt about to shake apart, and still dizzy from the crash, but spinning Dasher around like a top was easy enough- and the other jingling spirits were drawn in too. It was a glorious explosion of color, sound, and christmas spirits as one by one they melted each other away into whisps. Finally, only Dasher stood in the snow, puffing furious, cloudy breaths into the air.

“You will pay,” Dasher hissed. “Naughty children. You will not escape your punishment, this I swear to you.”

“Whatever you say, bub,” Ed chirped, and raised his scythe above his head.

“Wait!”

Max and the others turned back to look just in time to watch an arrow streak through the night and imbed itself in Dasher’s forehead. “No, no,” he groaned, watching Isabel’s face light up with glee.

Agent Day and Mr. Spender ran into the clearing, both panting and exhausted. “Thank goodness we found you,” Agent Day breathed, hands on her knees. “We were so worried that you were taken…”

“But I saw Dasher fall from the sky!” Spender’s chest heaved, and he swayed with effort, but he somehow managed to stay upright. “I’m so glad you’re all alright, even Dasher alone is quite the challenge to combat…”

“Nah, we got all of them.” Isabel grinned and punched her palm. “Max was able to yank ‘em around by the bells with his bat, and he got em all to poof each other. It was really easy to hit ‘em when they were all clumped up, too.”

“You- you really beat them all? Where are their tools?!”

“Right here, Mr. Spender!” Isaac called, arms full of a few rocks and sticks. “They’re, uh, not much to look at, but…”

“Amazing! Wonderful job, all of you- these will be great for the club’s stores!”

“But you shouldn’t have snuck out. We were so worried about you, and you’re glad we found you! Your grandfather is worried sick!” Agent Day wrung her hands together, cane stuck in the snow.

“Yes, he’s… not happy,” Spender admitted. “But, surely he’ll be proud when he finds out what you’ve accomplished?”

“Probably not,” Isabel sighed, sticking her hands in her pockets.

“...probably not.” Spender came over to put a hand on her shoulder. “But, for what it’s worth, I am.” Isabel looked up at him, then threw her arms around him. Spender smiled softly and hugged her in return.

“This is great,” Max groaned. “But I’m being crushed by a flippin’ reindeer, so can I get some help?”

Oblivious to Max’s irritation, Dasher continued licking Max’s hair life the reindeer he resembled. “You’re not so bad, I suppose. Resourceful child.”

“It always happens to me.”

“The arrow will at least last the night,” Agent Day said thoughtfully. “It should be safe for you to go home, in that case- you too, I think, Isaac! Since all the others are gone, after all… Maybe Dasher can take you home!”

“Nooooo!”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Ms. Day,” Spender said. “You could perhaps take Isaac and Ed back to the dojo, and I can take Isaac back to his home…?”

“Yes sir!” Day smiled. “Merry Christmas, Max, Isaac,” she said. “I hope you get back undetected.”

“Thank you, Ms. Day,” Isaac said. “You too.”

“You guys suck,” Max grumbled.

----

It took a bit for Max to wrangle Dasher into taking him home, but under Day’s spell, the spirit was a fairly easygoing ride. As Max climbed back in through his window to his undisturbed bed, he heard the spirit settle on the roof to keep watch for the sunrise. And, taking comfort in not being discovered and in the knowledge that next year, when he’s a teen, he won’t have to worry about any of this, Max changed back into his pajamas, settled into bed, and slipped into a deep sleep.

[phoebehalliwell]

ok, hopping off the Leo train, how about a Paige&Richard that's more than a little off the wall? Paige and Richard are a brief teen fling that ends up with twins. They don't stay together, because Richard's mother disapproves and Richard won't go against what she wants, he's weird about Paige being around his family, and he won't let the girls in his house, but he's a good dad to their daughters so Paige learns to live with it. Fast forward a few years, and Paige meets her sisters and gets (1/2)

 her powers. After the dust settles and everyone's safe, she immediately goes to Richard, because they're raising kids and he deserves to know that her new powers could affect their kids. Only she arrives at his place to find out his secret in the worst possible way: the feud got out of hand and one of the girls got hurt. After she finishes freaking out, Paige tells Richard he's not seeing the girls until the feud is over, grabs her girls and heads for the Manor all "hey meet your nieces, my ex is a witch, we need a place to stay" and they spend the night And she wakes up in the morning to Richard standing on the front porch with his new girlfriend Olivia and a brand-new marriage certificate from Vegas, begging her as a new Charmed One to be the one to break it to their feuding families that they've eloped... 

oh thank god i don’t think i could weather one more leo ask okay word paige richard past torrid love affair let’s talk. okay so i think paige would be like yeah i’m doing what’s best for my daughters bc i’m like a 20yo orphan working a minimum wage job and i’m 95% sure richard is loaded (even tho he’s never even let me in the fucking house 🙄) but whatever richard has a family he has a stable home he’s clearly the better one to raise our kids oof our kids what a phrase man i have kids oh my god i have kids i have richard’s kids that’s weird. that’s weird that’s a lot. and so she sorta. i mean she doesn’t forget i mean those are her kids she just doesn’t let that fact really occupy a lot of mental real estate she’s definitely convinced herself her kids are better off without her like she’s basically a kid herself her sobriety’s still sorta on shaky ground if she’s gonna enter their lives she wants to like enter their lives as A Mom and she’s definitely not that right now. so yeah. as stated. not a lot of mental real estate. until one day she’s brewing a potion with phoebe and phoebe’s like hey can you pass me [specific potion ingredient] and paige is like making conversation like y’know i never really liked [specific potion ingredient] it smells like my ex boyfriend and phoebe’s like lmao was ur ex boyfriend a witch and paige is like 😶. will u excuse me for a moment and orbs into richard’s driveway banging the door on the montana estate like hey it’s paige matthews i know you remember me u better open up that door and let me in or i’m gonna orb in there myself and richard opens the door like did u say orb? and paige is like yeah i did gathering you know what that means were you ever gonna tell me u were a witch? and richard’s like oh my god..... how did you die? and paige is like what no i’m a witch too a whitelighter witch witchlighter if you will now answer my question and richard’s like was i ever going to tell you i was a witch and paige is like yuhuh and richard’s like no i mean i didn’t plan on it look i don’t like being a witch i don’t practice the craft it’s not something i’m proud of do you wanna go talk about this somewhere else and paige is like what does that mean and richard’s like come with me and they arrive at this cute little loft in idk the presidio and olivia’s there with the kids and richard’s like um paige meet olivia my fiance olivia meet paige my um. ex and viola and sebastian’s mom. and both olivia and paige are sorta registering each other like. oh um. hi. nice 2 meet u. when paige’s kids coming running into the living room well viola coming running and sebastian’s chasing after her in his wheelchair bc well he only has one leg and paige is like richard. correct me if i’m wrong but the last time i saw my son he had both legs right and richards like yeah i mean like you should really get to know him he’s a total trooper really creative and paige is like richard what happened to that kid’s leg and olivia’s like you should probably sit down and paige is like richard what happened and richard’s like it was an energy ball it happened when he was one and paige is like excuse me?!?!??! are you fucking kidding me!?!???!?!?!?!!?!? and richard’s like it’s this fued it’s been going on between our two families that’s why i never wanted you in the house or getting too close because it’s dangerous and paige is like IF IT’S SO DANGEROUS THEN WHY DID YOU KEEP OUR KIDS THERE? and richard just sorta blanches bc like she’s right but he’s like i mean i was worried,, or at least i thought that the twins would be witches and i couldn’t just leave you to deal with that and paige is like huh yeah interesting point tell that to our Son who lost a limb before his first birthday! and paige is like i’m taking the kids with me and richard’s like what no you can’t that’s you can’t and olivia’s like we can drop them off at your place at four where do you live and paige is like the halliwell manor and olivia who’s a history buff is like the charmed one’s house and paige is like yeah i mean that is where the charmed ones live so and olivia’s like you’re a charmed one?? and paige is like yeah and richard’s like wait what and then he’s like hey are you saying the charmed house is a safer place to grow up in than my house don’t you guys have demons attacking all the time and paige is like well richard we’ve clearly established that your house is actually very much not safe for children so uh yeah i’ll see you at the manor 4 o clock and paige orbs home and immediately finds piper like hi you’re motherly right and piper’s like okay interesting observation and paige is like do you know how to mom and piper’s like not sure what you mean by that and paige is like idk i’ve never had to be a mom before i’m not sure what i’m doing wait oh actually FAMILY MEETING and phoebe and leo also show up and paige is like yeah so uhh in high school did kinda get knocked up did kinda have twins but i left them with their dad and phoebe’s like the witch ex boyfriend? and paige is like yeah and piper’s like the what and paige is like yeah well i thought that was a good idea at the time but it very much was not the point i’m trying to make is two second graders are gonna walk through that door in like half an hour and piper’s like paige!! blah blah blah olivia and richard end up dropping off the kids the kids r like hey who are you and paige is like oh well i’m your mom nice to meet you and the kids are like cool why is your hair a different color than mine and paige is like oh because i dyed it and they’re like can i dye my hair and paige is like sure man i don’t see why not and piper’s eavesdropping in the kitchen like paige!! and paige is like what having dyed hair is cool besides we should be teaching kids to express themselves paige initially has to orb sebastian up to his room bc well stairs so like step number one becomes making sure the house is accessible to sebastian and leo gets to go back into handyman mode which he’s hyped about and phoebe frickin loves having kids around the house and like. olivia and richard end up stopping by like A Lot bc they did spent the better part of the past decade raising those kids and the twins don’t like fully get that paige is like their mom olivia’s sorta been like a mom figure to them blah blah blah the trio end up all bonding as paige gets the 411 on the feud and richard’s like i mean not to sound fucked up but and paige is like great way to start a sentence and richard’s like i mean it’s fucked up but ever since mutilating a baby the fighting has really stopped but uhh and paige is like there’s a but! and olivia’s like the fighting has stopped but the hatred still runs deep and paige is like oh is that why you two haven’t gotten married yet and they’re like yeah 😔 our families won’t give us their blessing and paige is like oh wait is that like a magical thing like you need that before you can get married and they’re like no it’s just like a normal thing you know so your family will like be at your wedding and stuff (and pay for it) and paige is like well why don’t you guys just elope and they’re like what and she’s like yeah get married and that’ll force everyone to come to the table and then you can have a real wedding later right and they’re like i don’t think that’s how it works and paige is like yeah but you might as well give it a shot cut to like x amount of time later and olivia and richard are like okay we eloped can we please bring in some charmed back up so our families don’t like incinerate us or whatever and paige is like damn i wish i could laugh at the joke but nope so yeah we’ll be there so a meeting is called at the neutral space of the halliwell manor blah blah blah they break the news blah blah blah it does take some mediation which whitelighter leo and psych major phoebe are glad to helm and you know what it mostly gets resolved blah blah blah paige trusts richard again they end up like splitting time with the kids with probably richard and olivia taking the majority of the time at their apartments away from the estates paige is sort of less of a mom that she is like a really cool aunt but the situation seems to work just fine soon enough there’s cousin wyatt to join the mix blah blah blah and so on and so forth

[jincherie]

happy zee day! || ‘a yk predicament’

hello everyone it’s currently zee day in AU so !! we’re hoppin on that celebrating shit!!! happy birthday miss zee of @cinnaminsvga !!! i’m sorry your actual fic isn’t up, and that I have yet to complete fox rain 4, but I’m trying!!! I hope this makes up for it a little bit xxxx I love u, and I hope karma lets ur asshole rest this birth year!!! 

pairing | nymph!jk x reader x dragon!yg genre | not applicable. this is a fucking mess NBJHFBJHGB warnings| none! words | 3.6k (oops) sidenote -->  this is a pile of shit but I hope it makes u smile! ily! also i didnt proofread this im so sorry

“Min Yoongi, I swear to god if you don’t stop growling at the poor boy—"

In response to your reprimand, the scaly little bastard turns around and spits and growls at you, apparently even possessing enough balls in this moment to hack up an ember and pelt it your way. You stand in disbelief for a moment, blinking.

The little bastard did not just—

“U-um, p-please! You d-don’t have to—” You turn your gaze in the direction the sudden voice had come from, the speaker freezing and stuttering as soon as your eyes land on him. The nymph blushes instantly, soft emerald-tinged skin tinting pink across his face to the tips of his ears. Still, he attempts to continue where he left off, although his voice quickly loses strength after a few words, “Y-You don’t have to… to fight….”

The nature spirit shifts in his spot where he is still partially angled behind a tree from when your little bastard of a companion tried to bite his hand off, eyes flicking from the forest floor to your face. “I’m… it is my fault… I shouldn’t have revealed myself in the… in the first place. I am sorry, I did not mean to wet him either. Well, I did, but…”

He gulps, risking a glance at your visibly bristling companion, who looks very menacing despite his current tiny stature. At the sight of the glare he is no doubt receiving, the nymph recoils, and your hand begins to reach on instinct to whomp Yoongi a good one on the back of the head. Before you can manage, the nymph speaks despite looking very much like he’d rather be doing anything but.

“I thought… I thought he was a water dragon…”

There is a moment of silence as his words slip softly into the air, and another as they cross the space between you to brush your ears. The second they register, the sudden, powerful urge to guffaw begins to bubble within you, and you’re powerless to stop the loud, ringing laughter from leaving you. Yoongi, however, doesn’t seem to have taken the nymph’s comment in such light spirits.

“RrrrrrRAAAAH! RRRRAH!!! GGRRRRRRHRHHRHRRRRRAH GGRRRAH!!!”

Yoongi attempts to launch at the poor boy, claws out, from his spot on the ground, and despite your tear-inducing laughter you manage to snatch him mid-air with your arms around his middle with nothing short of practiced ease. You don’t need to be fluent in dragon to know that Yoongi just cussed this boy the hell out. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem that the nymph is fluent in dragon either, and he continues unaware of the names he has been called.

“I’m sorry!” He cries, dark chestnut curls flopping across his forehead and flopping over his wide, doe eyes as he shakes his head fervently. “I was—I was just excited! I-I’m the only nature spirit in this forest, around this lake, and when I realised you could have been another water spirit…”

The nymph seems mortified by his series of mistakes, the flowers interwoven and seemingly bonded with his hair wilting slightly as his face reddens further. What. How is that possible? Are they sprouting from his head? You can’t help but reel for a moment as your thoughts take you down a path they probably shouldn’t when you have a spitting ball of scaly anger absolutely frothing at the mouth in your arms.

Thankfully, the slightest wriggle from Yoongi brings your attention right back to the present and you tighten your hold on him, the small dragon yowling pitifully at his foiled attempt to escape. Were you anyone else, you know he wouldn’t hesitate to tear your arms to ribbons in order to escape your grip, but you’ve come to realise in your brief but seemingly endless time together that he would rather do literally anything but hurt you. Why? You’re not sure. You don’t even know why he’s still here with you. The bugger attached himself to you like a parasite ever since you left that witch’s store and you haven’t been able to get rid of him since, let alone get him to part from your side for more than five minutes at a time. You’ve not known true privacy in almost a month.

NOT to seem like you’re complaining, because you aren’t. Your travels had been quite lonely before you had the (mis)fortune of meeting the fun-sized little dragon-spawn—the witch had informed you that he is actually just a baby, by dragon standards, but he’s not an infant per se. Actually, she’d had a bit of a funny look in her eye when she told you that and you’ve still to figure out exactly what it means. You suspect it probably had to do with the fact Yoongi isn’t a baby, but has to be a fucking toddler with the way he carries on sometimes. You never knew dragons were so prissy!

You’d think if a baby wanted cuddles, or affection, they’d ask for it, right? Not this one. The little bastard will sit next to you, not too close but just slightly within reach, and will not say anything for the entire time—and yet, when you don’t immediately know what he wants (cuddles) and when he wants them (right then and right there), he resorts to snapping his jaws around your hand like an untrained pup and glaring at you until you take the hint. Oh, but he won’t beg, or ask for it. Clearly, that’s below him. Yoongi the dragon toddler says ‘fuck y/n lives’, apparently.

You almost don’t even realise you’ve zoned out again until the nymph whimpers, and you realise your grip on the growling, coal-spitting menace has begun to slacken slightly. Sending him a reassuring if somewhat sheepish look, you decide to put an end to the situation at last and hopefully ease the soft-spoken nature spirit a little. You’re still curious about him, after all, and you don’t even know his name. How are you going to find it out if he goes running for the hills in the next few minutes because you happen to have a little goblin in dragon form for your companion?

Without even batting a lash, you free an arm and pull it back closer to your body. Yoongi tenses, as though he’s going to take the opportunity to take flight and launch at the poor boy that had accidentally offended him so, but seems to quickly realise your plan as he whips his head back and hits you with a look of complete and utter betrayal. Too late—he should have thought of the possible consequences when he decided to spit one of his weak ass embers at you. With lightning-fast speed that rivals even his own, your hand shoots forward and secures your well-utilised, trusty grip on the back of his neck. Instantly, as your fingers dig gently into his pressure points between hard scales, he stiffens and then grows completely slack in your hold.

The nymph watches, absolutely in awe, as you hitch the dragon under your arm and rest his weight against your hip. He’s still a baby, so still vulnerable to those same baby reactions—it’s kind of similar to the way a mother cat grabbing her kitten by the scruff of the neck paralyses them momentarily. He’ll be out of the count for a little while now at least. The witch told you about the little hack, saying you probably wouldn’t need it (a bold faced LIE, evidently) and in the whole time you’ve known Yoongi you’ve been able to make very good use of it. He was going to bite you later for it, but you don’t really care. He’s too much of a softie to really hurt you, anyway.

“You’ll have to forgive Yoongi, he’s a bit… sensitive,” you say, offering the boy a smile. He seems to brighten at it, the flowers in his hair lifting a little and his cheeks flushing once more. He shuffles out from behind the tree just a little. “He doesn’t really have the colouring of a fire dragon, and I think he’s a little bit, you know, sore about it.”

You pretend to whisper that last bit, but the disgruntled and somewhat-offended huff from beneath your arm tells you that the dragon heard you loud and clear. Well, serves him right for being an ass.

The nymph giggles at your words, however, and takes another small step out from behind the tree. It is like coercing a small forest animal out from the underbrush, you can’t help but think, and immediately the thought endears you. He’s so cute, with the little flower chain bracelet and the little blooms in his hair—his big doe eyes are probably his most powerful weapon, though, and you sincerely hope he doesn’t know how to use them and you’re not currently being tricked out of your money or belongings or something, You’ve just paralysed your guard dragon, for crying out loud! All you have left is your wits and they’re not the sharpest tool in your shed even on the best of days.

Worrying about such a thing is ridiculous, though, and you know this immediately because despite the fact he’d almost just lost his hand to Yoongi’s frothing maw, the nymph comes closer and coos, brushing his hand tentatively over Yoongi’s snout to caress the myriad of soft blue and dusk-coloured scales there. Yoongi growls and you smack his behind, effectively ceasing the sound.

The forest is still bright and alive around you, vibrating and singing with the birds and the wind, seeming to respond to the nymph’s glee as he admires the small dragon now that the threat around him has been… neutralised, for lack of better word.

“But he is so very pretty,” the nature spirit says, earnestly. You think you catch sight of a blush beneath Yoongi’s scales, and decide to file the observation away to tease him with later, in the event he decides to test you again. The nymph has been speaking fine up until now, when he accidentally meets your eyes and is thrown into another blushing, stuttering fit.  ��A-ah, and h-he’s very… very majestic. D-Does he… d-does….ah, nevermind….”

You tilt your head at the shy boy, admiring the way the sun illuminates the silky strands of his hair in a golden halo around his head. You wait until he meets your eyes to talk, offering him another smile. You’d long since introduced yourself when you first spotted him and began trying to coerce him out from behind the tree, but you’ve yet to get him to return the favour.  “What’s your name, oh guardian spirit of this forest and lake?”

The nymph seems to brighten, flowers perking up once more, and he shoots you a large grin that reveals big bunny teeth. You’re about ready to pack him up and take him home, and are simply thankful you’re an evolved being who has the capacity to control such urges.

“I’m J-Jungkook! I-I’m not actually guardian of this forest, or… or the lake. I’m k-kind of… well… To be honest,” he reaches a hand up, ruffling the fluffy curls at the back of his neck. “This forest and th-the lake are under the jurisdiction of the local mountain deity… I’m not needed here. A-Actually, I don’t think I’m really meant to be here…”

A part of you wishes to ask why immediately, but you barely refrain, wishing to allow him to tell you himself. You can tell that even Yoongi is slightly interested now, the mongrel having calmed down in his time spent close to you and now looking up at the nymph as much as he is able with his momentarily crippled mobility.

“I just woke up here a few months ago, without an explanation and without any m-memory of why, or h-how. I c-can’t even… remember anything about before the day I woke up here, besides my name and some other things like that…” There’s a saddened edge to his tone, but he still offers you a smile so sincere it makes his little sprouting flowers glow and preen. “The forest has been kind enough to let me stay here, but I do not want t-to overstay my welcome. I d-don’t belong here, after all. My flowers do not match the ones that sprout from this earth.”

Come to think of it, you hadn’t even noticed that. You direct your gaze around to see if he is right, and when you confirm his words you feel a certain pain of something stab at your chest. Empathy? Sorrow? It’s sad, what he’s telling you. You’re not surprised his story is awakening the maternal instincts inside you that are buried so deep you were convinced your entire life before now that they didn’t exist. Trust the cute, adorable nymph boy your pet dragon almost bit in the forest to bring them out of you.

Well, you’re not one to let anyone be sad for long. You already have one unplanned companion on this trip, why not add another?

“Would you like to come with us, Jungkook?” you ask, deciding not to beat around the bush. “We’re going to the mountain that touches the moon! I need to meet the witch there, I need her help with something. I’m not sure why Yoongi is going, but I’m sure there is a reason. If you want, you can come with us too? There is always room for one more.”

You make sure to send the boy your warmest smile, but still he’s so shocked he almost stumbles back. Of course, it doesn’t help that Yoongi seems to have regained control of his head and attempted to snap his jaws around Jungkook’s poor fingers. “I promise to protect you from my pet dragon.”

You laugh at your own joke, but it’s broken by the cry of pain that jerks from your throat. “HaHAHYOWCH, YOONGI WHAT THE HELL! Don’t make me pinch you again!”

The dragon hatchling, now able to turn his head fully even if he can’t turn the rest of his body, utilises his newly regained range of motion to release your fingers from his mouth and nail you with a heated glare. You know he hates it when you joke about him being your pet (another sore spot you’ve discovered through painful experience), but you couldn’t help yourself when the opportunity was so readily there. You send him a sour look, and he looks away with a huff. If you’re lucky, he might deign to give you the silent treatment later on, and you’ll be treated to an extra few minutes of privacy.

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, smiling at the blushing nymph once more. “What do you say? Would you like to come on an adventure with us? I promise it will be fun!”

You could tell Jungkook had already been very close to saying yes, but when he sees your hand proffered out for him to take, he blushes madly again and it seems to make up his mind. He smiles so big that it overtakes his face and his eyes end up shutting in cute crescents. “Y-yeah! Okay! I’ll come! I don’t really have any b-belongings, I’m ready to go when y-you are!”

You smile at him, absolutely endeared, and grasp his hand in yours to shake. His skin is cool against yours, but incredibly soft and smooth. At your touch his flowers shoot up straight, pollen falling from their centre at the motion, and to your complete and utter surprise two more little flowers sprout, wrestling between his curly strands, and pop to unravel into an immediate bloom. Jungkook looks mortified.

“Sorry,” he whispers, shoulders pinching up slightly as his body curves inwards on itself. “That… that happens when I’m really happy. I don’t know how to stop it.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, reaching up to pinch his cheek with your free hand after releasing his own. “Don’t worry, it’s cute! Please don’t stop it.”

Yoongi lets out a discontented growl, at what you don’t know, and you decide to ignore it in favour of getting on your way once more. You have a lot of ground to cover before you reach the mountain that touches the moon, after all!

It isn’t long into the silent first ten minutes or so of the trip, that you break and decide to probe Jungkook for an answer to something you’ve been wondering. Yoongi is still under your arm, disgruntled as ever. He’s regained access to his front legs but his behind and wings are still temporarily out of commission. Although, he’s been so oddly quiet this whole time that you can’t help but suspect that even if he did regain his butt, legs and wings, the sneaky bastard might not say anything so he gets his daily does of cuddles. You don’t know how such a prickly creature can be so damn needy.

“Jungkook,” you start, waiting until you have his attention before you continue; the nymph had been gazing with fondness over the beauty of the forest as the sun filters down through the foliage, a soft smile on his face. You think his cheeks warm again as he faces you, but you can’t tell. “What was it that you were going to ask before? About Yoongi? Now is the time to ask, while he still can’t use his wings.”

Apparently Jungkook left his fear of the dragon back in the clearing where he’d met you, because he lets out a happy sound and smiles. “I can ask?”

When you nod, he brightens. “He is such a pretty dragon in this form, I was just wondering if he is also this pretty in his human form.”

“He’d like to think so,” you answer in automatic response, before the nymph’s words catch up with you a moment later and you almost trip over the tree root in front of you. Yoongi has stiffened completely under your arm, and if you hadn’t caught yourself from falling you might have hurt the both of you. “Wait—his what?!”

“H-his human form?” Jungkook repeats, somewhat nervous at your reaction. “Dragons have a-ancient, powerful magic. They possess more than-n one f-form. D-did no one?”

“WHAT?” you burst, your brain flatlining for a moment. No way. This little punk is playing a prank on you. Tricking you with his big ol’ eyes and sweet disposition—what a low blow. “H-he’s?? Yoongi has never changed into another form. He’s… just a dragon baby? He’s baby? Dragon baby. Dragon.”

Jungkook seems to swallow some of his nerves, curiosity about the new situation seeming to outweigh them. “Hold on, I’ll show you. When they are young, they can’t change themselves. Their parents usually have to do it for them.”

There’s a moment of stillness as Jungkook takes a step next to you, and then Yoongi lets out a squawk and throws his whole might into trying to suddenly escape your hold. He’s not quick enough, though, and Jungkook manages to grab one of the horns atop his head and hold him still long enough to place his palm against the sky blue scales of his forehead. A growl rips from the dragon, but it’s short-lived and cuts off as the scales beneath Jungkook’s hand begin to glow. You blink—once, twice, and you almost blink a third time but before you can there’s a blinding pink-tinged light that beats you to it. Yoongi’s weight escapes your arms, but you’re too busy covering your eyes to try and stop him.

In the time you have your eyes closed, however short, there is scuffling, rustling of shrubbery and a heavy thump followed by an incriminating groan. Ignoring the slight burn and residual effects from the bright light, you search for the source—and you nearly scream as it comes into sight.

Jungkook is there, standing still and unaffected and cute as ever, grinning brightly at a figure on the ground, a new figure that you have enough sense to know is exactly where your dragon should be. Inky hair, some parts silken and some parts singed, hangs over a tan face, partially covering the soft gold eyes you know belong to the dragon you’ve spent the most recent big chunk of your journey with.  The figure isn’t naked, thankfully, having spawned with a loose pair of inky pants and a similarly styled shirt, but he is barefoot and looking a little affronted at the fact, in between the dazedness. From the grumpy aura, the long horns and big ‘little bastard’ energy emanating from this figure, you know it’s Yoongi for sure before you even have to try and consider it rationally. Conceiving that your magical companion is capable of magically turning into a human form isn’t hard to wrap your head around, and isn’t why you’re standing there absolutely gobsmacked, either.

No, that’s because as far as you knew and had been told, Yoongi was a baby dragon. But the male regaining his senses and apparently the nerve to glare at you from the ground right before you?

He couldn’t have been anything less than a year or so older than you. The baby dragon that you babied and teased and messed around with and teased and cuddled and made fun of, isn’t actually a baby. He’s an adult, and he’s—oh. He’s really glaring at you. A sense of dread makes itself known in your stomach.

“You,” the dragon seethes, steam beginning to dance from the crown of his head. “You’re in trouble.”

Well, that was certainly a promise! You can’t help but gulp—with any luck, you’ll still get to the mountain witch in one piece.

Uh, hopefully. In a last-ditch effort, you attempt a prayer. Noo Karma, don’t do this to me… I’ve been so good lately... you wouldn’t spank me if I was innocent, right?…. Haha... unless...??

Okay, you’re screwed.