#maybe the corner of a tower dug in?

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

Oh I am an idiot sandwich

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Rapunzel, Rapunzel.

Pairing: Yandere!Vil x Reader x Yandere!Rook (TWST).

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Loose Tangled AU, Prolonged Captivity, Violence (Magic and Physical) and Blood, Dehumanization, Imbalanced Power Dynamics, Vil and Rook Are Making Out In The Corner While Reader's Having The Worst Day Of Their Life, and Manipulation.

The arrows hurt more than the fall.

The fall, you’d been expecting. Rook might’ve been able to scale the tower with little more than a dagger, a few footholds chipped into the weathered stone, and a burning curiosity, but you weren’t so graceful, didn't have the luxury of the physique you might've, had you not spent the last eighteen months restrained to a handful of rooms. You knew that you wouldn’t have the time to be as careful as you needed to be, that you’d be fortunate to make it off of your windowsill before losing your grip, and when the time came to let go and pray you broke an arm rather than a leg, you were ready. You could brace yourself. You could see the threat looming ahead of you, and as Vil called your name in the distance, you were able to fall into its open arms of your own volition.

The arrows weren’t something you’d thought to ready yourself for. Vil’s poison, maybe, the weight of his newest curses being etched into the fabric of your being, but not a weapon, not the sting of piercing metal burrowing into the back of your shoulder, then the plush of your side. Even then, you did what you could to keep running, to move forward through the dense forest despite the jagged rocks and winding brambles cutting through the flesh of your bare feet. You didn’t know where you were going, let alone what to do when you reached your nebulous destination, but you didn’t have to. You needed to get away from Vil’s tower – that was it. You could figure out what to do next after you’d escaped him.

With that in mind, you pushed yourself to run faster, to ignore the pain racing through your upper body as you put a few more steps between yourself and the ever-shrinking tower that sat above the treetops, but even that was an effort cut short. There was a bolt of searing pain, a white flash playing across your vision. Your left leg was buckled underneath you, leaving you crumbling to the ground with a broken, ragged scream. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to swallow the sound back before it could force its way out of your chest, but whether or not someone heard you didn’t really matter. You’d seen him shoot hawks out of the sky mid-flight, thread darts through the eye of needles sitting yards away. Rook wouldn’t fire unless he had his target in sight. He’d known exactly where you were the moment drew his bow. This was just his way of letting you believe you’d ever stood a chance.

This was just his way of letting you believe he’d ever been on your side. 

You pulled your injured leg into your chest, fighting to hold back the pained tears welling in the corners of your eyes. You were tempted to stop restraining yourself altogether and cry until the agony subsided, but your hunter emerged from the foliage before you could start to truly wallow if your self-pity. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve approached you silently, been on top of your fallen body before you so much as noticed he was within arm’s length, but Rook made no effort to conceal his presence. If anything, he seemed to want you to know exactly where he was. There was a deep laugh, the muffled sound of a longbow being swung over his shoulder, the feeling of his body blocking out what little light the setting sun still hard to offer, and then, he was crouching in front of you. A gloved hand cupped your chin as he looked down on you with the same adoring, love-stricken expression he always seemed to wear. You’d always done what you could to return it, in the past, to think of it as a glimpse of sunlight in the darkness that was your life with Vil, but now, it was all you could do to glare and look away.

“Merveilleux.” He wasn’t out of breath, but his voice was airy – barely more than a whisper. His leather-wrapped knuckles ran over your cheek, just as slowly and just as adoring as they had on the day you met – the day you’d woken up to the first stranger you’d seen in weeks kneeling at your bedside, idly stroking your hair and complimenting your lovely (albeit, quite difficult to reach) home. You’d tried to warn him away, to tell him what Vil had done to all the other adventurers and heroes who’d so much as approached his tower, but he refused to listen. If Vil hadn’t taken such a liking to him, he’d be little more than a pile of ash you’d have to sweep up the next day, or better yet – another withering rose left in your windowsill to warn away the next intruder. Vil always did have a flair for the romantic, but he and Rook seemed to have that in common.

He'd changed, since that day. When you first met him, he’d been rough around the edges, his hair uncombed and his skin as calloused as it was burnt. His clothes had been nothing short of a travesty – threadbare and ill-fitting, repaired a thousand times over by someone clearly not used to mending. Now, he was just as much of an embodiment of Vil’s ideals as you were: his hair grown out long and restrained by a violet ribbon, his freckles faded and framed by neatly cut bangs, his clothes of all the same dark silks and pristine furs as Vil would’ve chosen for himself. He was as much of a pet as you were, really. The only difference was how enthusiastically Rook embraced his role and how desperately you tried to escape yours.

“In fact,” he went on, his eyes drifting to the arrows still lodged in your back, your thigh. “I don’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful. A damsel pulled from the pages of the most wonderful sort of fairytale, truly.”

“Go fuck yourself.” And then, with a half-choked snarl, “You were supposed to— I thought you were trying to help me—”

“Ah, the searing heat of rage! It shades the color of your eyes with such life.” Rook clicked his tongue, his grin taking on a wry lull. His hand fell from your chin to the collar of your blouse, toying with the mangled fabric as he spoke. “A poor dove, fallen from its nest. Don’t worry, petit oiseau – I’ll make sure you get home before the wolves find you.”

He moved to take you in his arms, but you did what you could to shamble away from him despite your limited mobility. It was difficult to speak, your ribs having taken the brunt of your initial fall and endured further abuse during his first volley of arrows. It was difficult to meet his eyes, knowing what he’d taken away from you, but you forced yourself to do both. You tried to remind yourself that it was still Rook, that you were still facing down the man who’d held you in his arms as you cried, who told you stories of heroes and villains and happy endings when you began to think you might die in captivity, but fond memories were difficult to recall when his arrows were still embedded in your flesh. “You said that— You said that the prince would distract the witch as her captive escaped,” you spat, already aware of how juvenile you sounded, trying your best to stumble through the same story he’d told you a thousand times. You’d taken it as a code, treated it as if you were both colluders in the same scheme, but an ever-growing part of you was starting to think that his stories had only ever been that – stories. “Why didn’t you distract him?” When Rook failed to answer, you bared your teeth. “Were you ever trying to help me escape?”

There was a beat of silence, of stillness. A rabbit rustled somewhere in the underbrush, a robin called out to its mate, and Rook sighed, shaking his head with the kind of humored exasperation a parent might show to a child who just asked about something very, very silly.

He didn’t just toy with your ragged collar, now, but caught it – taking it in his fist and pulling you upright. With his free hand, he took the shaft of the arrow embedded in your shoulder and pulled it free, the head catching under your skin and rendering everything it touched a bloody mess of gore and viscera. The same process was carried out with the arrow embedded in your side, this one accompanied by a searing burn, another second taken to twist the arrowhead free of your skin. You weren’t able to hold back your tears by the end of it, no matter how tightly you clenched your eyes shut, no matter how much it hurt to dig your teeth into the side of your cheek and will yourself not to break down in front of him, not to lose the last semblance of control you had, under Vil’s care.

“I never lied to you,” he said, as he took up the shaft of the third arrow – the one plungest deepest into your thigh. “You know what Vil would do if you didn’t return. I promised you a happy ending, and this is how I intend to give you one.”

With no hesitation, no effort to clot the blood flowing in thick streams from your gaping wounds, he pulled the last arrow free. You let out a fractured wail, doubling over and attempting to curl into yourself, but Rook was already there, already pulling you into his chest as you sobbed openly, freely. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him pull a hunting knife from his belt, the silver of the blade tinted a deep, shimmering violet. You went stiff, but there was little you could do. There was a flash of light caught on steel, a nick of pain in the side of your neck, and then, you were limp in Rook’s arms, quickly losing consciousness as he pulled you against his chest and started towards the tower.

~

You felt velvet against your cheek, first.

Crushed, cool, deceptively soothing – you recognized it immediately, an image of one of Vil’s favored robes surfacing in your mind against your will. Next were the bandages wrapped around your shoulder, your waist, your thigh, then the fur rug underneath you, that of some great beast a would-be hero had once brought to try and rescue you. Vil had wanted to mount the prince’s head on a pike at the base of the tower, but you’d begged him not to, and he’d taken the monstrous stead’s pelt as a trophy, instead.

You took a long, quiet moment to collect yourself, to bask in the last peaceful moment you were likely to have, but your tranquility was quickly interrupted by the feeling of a wooden comb raking through your hair and over your scalp, the teeth dulled by use and the shape familiar enough to make you shudder involuntarily. Vil’s airy laugh played in response, paired with the last traces of Rook’s muttering voice. A new addition, one that left the taste of bile rising up from the back of your throat. One you never wanted to acknowledge again. “I know you’re awake, little one. Might as well face the light now.”

He said that, but when you finally forced yourself to open your eyes, you found that was no light to face aside from the flame of a low-burning candle sitting on a nearby table and the silver-tinted glow emanating from your hair. Clearly, your unconsciousness hadn’t been a good enough reason for Vil not to refresh his eternal youth, tonight.

He’d positioned you as he always did – at his feet, on your knees, with your head resting in his lap. Despite how close you’d come to getting away from him, his expression betrayed no panic, only confident serenity and the slightest trace of smugness. As was to be expected of him. Vil found joy in very little, but somehow, he always seemed to take a certain amount of pride in your defeat.

Your defeat, and your horror. He’d calmed over the course of your captivity, but you could still remember how he’d lorded over you during your first days in his tower, how open he’d been about just how long he’d spent peering your lonely little life in your lonely little cottage, content in the knowledge that no company meant there’d be no one to exploit your magic. Vil hadn’t just ruined that, he’d done it with zeal.

“Raise your head.” It was a command, because Vil didn’t make requests. Reluctantly, you obeyed, and Vil took you by the jaw with one hand, brushing your hair away from your face with the other. Your hair was damp, your ruined clothes exchanged for a black nightdress, simple in design but impeccably crafted. You couldn’t bring yourself to be surprised. Vil’s standards for you were only second to only those he held for himself. It was more than likely that you hadn’t made it more than a step into the tower’s walls before Vil deemed you in need of one of his ice-cold baths and something more presentable to wear. “No cuts,” he went on, turning your head to either side. “But more bruises than I care for. Couldn’t you have been more gentle?”

You opened your mouth, but Rook answered on your behalf. You could remember, only days ago, being thankful beyond words to have a buffer between yourself and Vil, but now, you couldn’t say you felt anything beyond resentment. “The lasting evidence of a struggle can add a rugged undertone to one’s charm. And oh, if only you could’ve seen the way they struggled!” He was behind you, holding you up, on arm wrapped around your waist and his legs spread around you. He leaned forward as he spoke, his chest slotting loosely against your back, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “It was fantastic, like watching a songbird with a broken wing struggle to fly. The relentlessness of desperation paired with the inevitability of its downfall - truly magnifique!”

That earned another laugh, a row of jewel-tipped fingers raked through Rook’s hair. “I’d prefer to keep my songbird in one piece.” And then, after a slight pause, “In spite of that songbird’s best efforts to snap its own neck, of course.”

You shrunk into yourself. You’d tried to escape before, to pick the lock on your bedroom or poison his tea or, on one memorable occasion, to steal the spell book he always seemed to keep at his waist, and there’d always been a punishment to accompany your misbehavior – a crop taken to your back or one of your few privileges revoked. You couldn’t imagine what he’d do to you, this time. You couldn’t imagine that anything could’ve been worse than finally getting out of his tower only to be dragged back and deposited into his arms. “I’m sorry,” you managed, eventually, with only the intent of lessening whatever rage he must’ve held for you. “I… Rook is right. It was futile. I shouldn’t have tried to run.”

“And?”

And? There’d never been an and, before. When you could bring yourself to offer an apology, he’d always either accepted it ouright, ignored you completely, or clicked his tongue and promised that hollow words wouldn’t be enough to prove your remorse. You pursed your lips, but made yourself force something out. Silence would be seen as disobedience, and further disobedience would only make things worse for you. “And, it was short-sighted. I wouldn’t have gotten very far, and even if Rook hadn’t found me, I don’t know where we are. I wouldn’t know how to fend for myself. I—” Your voice cracked, your vision starting to blur once more. “I shouldn’t have gotten carried away by stories and fairy tales. I’m sorry.”

Vil let out a labored, languid sigh. There was one more squeeze to your cheeks, and finally, he let you go, setting down his comb in the same fluid movement. There was a small smile, a tap to his thigh, and Rook drew back just far enough to let you push yourself to your feet. Your legs immediately gave out, but Rook was fast enough to catch you, close enough to lower you into Vil’s lap himself and drink in the appreciative hum Vil offered, by way of reward.

“That’s very sweet,” he started, once you’d settled against him. Rook continued to hover above you, but you did your best to ignore him. “But I want you to apologize to our dear hunter, too.”

Something bitter leeched up from the back of your throat. You opened your mouth as you turned to face Rook, but closed it as soon as you saw him, as soon as you caught a glimpse of that careless grin, those half-lidded eyes. For as hesitant as you were to approach him, you snapped toward Vil reflexively, unable to stifle your reactions. “But, he doesn’t use my—”

“He went through so much to bring you home.” He’d shot three arrows. He’d tracked you like a wild animal. He’d brought you back to Vil after promising that he’d help you get away from Vil – after promising that he’d make sure you got your happy ending. “And he’s been so patient with you, since he joined us. Not just anyone can bear your sulking.”

You tried to protest, but your voice caught in your throat. It was more disbelief, than anything – another variable you hadn’t thought would hurt quite as much as it did. Vil scoffed, and Rook gave you a sympathetic smile, and you sat there, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“He lied to me,” you managed, finally. “He said he would help me escape.”

Vil’s lips quirked downward. You saw his fingers twitch, his spell book pulse with a sickly emerald light, but rather than summon a poison-coated dagger or turn you into some chirping, cage-bound bird for the next day or so, he looked towards Rook, more trust in his eyes than he’d ever afforded you.

You felt sick.

“I said that our ending would be a happy one. The poor dove must’ve misinterpreted what I meant by that.” It would’ve been a mercy if the affection dripping from his tone turned out to be ingenuine. It would’ve been a mercy, to find out he was only ever trying to hurt you. “I hoped that I might be to stay with the two of you – at least for a time. If you think I might be a bad influence,” A flash of a grin, a length of blonde hair allowed to fall over one of his eyes, “Then I only ask that you allow me the time I’ll need to savor a death by your hands properly.”

There was a bark of a laugh, a sharp snap of Vil’s fingers. Your eyes dropped to the floor as Vil caught Rook’s tunic in his chest and pulled him closer, as he’d done with you a thousand times. Fabric rustled against fabric, mouths crashed into mouths, but you willed yourself to ignore it, to just bite your tongue and be thankful that Vil’s attention wasn’t centered on you. To be grateful that you weren’t the only one stuck in this cage, anymore. You tried to be grateful. You wanted to be grateful.

And yet, you couldn’t seem to convince yourself that Rook was a prisoner, rather than yet another lock hanging from the bars of your cage.

[thisisourlovestory]

Safe and Sound

Finnick Odair x reader soulmate AU

Summary: you are a victor from district 4. The Quarter Quell has just been announced. How will you cope with the turn of events coming your way.

Word count- 2.8k

Notes: Happy New Year! Hope you enjoy this one. My phone deleted half of it so I had to rewrite it but that worked in my favour and I think it’s better than it was

Chapter 3

The next morning I was awoken by knocking at my door. Assuming it to be Lysander I ignored it and took my sweet time getting ready, taking a long shower under burning water, brushing my teeth vigorously, loosely clipping back the front strands of my hair and slipping on a pale blue dress from the wardrobe in the wall before making my way to the dining area. I followed the smell of freshly cooked bacon and pancakes, my mouth watering as I sat down and took a few pancakes, stacking them up, cutting a slab of butter that melted as soon as I dropped it on top, drizzling sticky sweet syrup over them and layering bacon on top. I grabbed a fork and dug into my towering pillar of food, the salty bacon contrasting with the sugary syrup. I polished it off in no time at all and reached for the piles of jewel like fruits, stacked in tiny ceramic bowls in the centre of the table. I had just bit into a slice of watermelon, pink juice dripping down the corner of my mouth, when Mags walked in with Lysander who flaunted a garish purple and gold striped suit and he began to speak as loudly as ever as I quickly wiped my chin.

“Good morning!” My head hit the table.

“Goodness Y/N, did you not get enough sleep last night?” He asked, looking at me with slight concern.

“I'm fine thank you for asking,” I answered, “Just woke up a bit too early.” I rubbed my head, smiling sheepishly and his gaze softened.

“That simply won't do!” He exclaimed, “We need you to be on top form for when you’re in the arena.”

“Lysander.” I called out softly, interrupting what was sure to be a long tirade. “I… I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for my outburst yesterday. I don't know what I was thinking. I suppose, well I suppose I was just a little overwhelmed by all this. I hope you can forgive me. “ I twisted a strand of my hair in my fingers and he took the bait immediately. I could almost see what he was thinking. Such a kind girl, she must be terrified, very sweet of her to apologise. His eyes gained a look of sympathy as he raised a hand to his heart and walked over to me.

“It's quite alright dear, no need for apologies. I completely understand you must be feeling absolutely terrified of all this. You did such a kind thing volunteering for Miss Cresta, so selfless, dear and I’m sure she appreciates it very much.” I nodded, going back to my food, and he clapped. “Now that's all sorted out, we need a plan for you.” He looked me up and down, assessing me as Mags grinned into her bowl at the look on my face. “I'm thinking we play the innocent card, the fact you were so young when you won will help with that a lot. You are one of the youngest in the games this year after all. We simply must also use the fact that you are a true performer and ballet is such a beautiful art form indeed so,” he turned to Mags, “I propose we paint her as an angel.”

I choked on a piece of watermelon, the apprehension on my face giving way to horror. Mags patted me gently on the back and I straightened in my seat, sending a grateful smile her way as Lysander continued, lost in his own world.

“Of course only your stylist can decide this but I’m fairly certain I can put in a word and if they didn't already have the same idea after watching the reaping then I'll eat my hat.” I eyed the purple monstrosity on his head and imagined it being stuffed into his mouth, wondering if maybe that would be the thing that would finally shut him up. I wanted to scream at him, tell him that I was no angel and he was a monster for finding some kind of pleasure in this, deciding what part I should play as I die. Instead I just smiled slightly and lowered my head to stop him from seeing the tears in my eyes. At that second Finnick walked in and Lysander's attention was immediately drawn to him. I sat silently as he practically interrogated him, asking how he was feeling, if he thought he could win. The answers were short, not letting anything interesting slip but giving enough to satisfy Lysander and fool him into thinking he was basically his new best friend. I zoned out part way through Lysanders rant about what the Gamemakers would throw at us this year- as if we hadn't all been thinking about it since they were announced. Suddenly, I was brought back to reality by the sound of my name.

“Y/N, Y/N.” I blinked and my gaze shifted to Lysander.

“Sorry.” I muttered

“Quite alright dear, you must be tired if you didn't get enough sleep. We're going to watch the games you were both in, for reference.” My mind didn't register the words and I simply nodded before I realised what he had said and my eyes widened in shock.

We watched Finnicks first, since he won before me. From the reaping all the way through to the crowning ceremony. He was confident in the interviews, dressed in the most impeccable suit and tie, clearly designed to show off his beauty, laughing at Caesar Flickerman's comments and responding with his own witty quips, not just a pretty face at all. Then utterly deadly in the arena. For the first few days he had lain low, not much excitement but enough to keep sponsors interested. Then he got the trident, the most expensive gift ever seen, and it was over. District 4 was fishing after all, and it seemed Finnick Odair was born to wield the trident. He captured tribute after tribute in a net and killed them all, offering no mercy. And finally the last cannon went off announcing him the winner. Fourteen years old and he had won, the youngest victor, the most handsome victor, the Capitol darling. Finnick Odair. If he was that good back then, I had no doubt he would be extraordinary now. He had it all as well, the looks which first made the Capitol love him, he was intelligent, and undoubtedly one of the best fighters that would be going into the arena. Mags and I sat there speechless as Lysander congratulated Finnick endlessly.

“And how you used that trident, extraordinary! I don't believe you'll struggle in these games now that you've had ten years to practise.” I could only think of how young he'd been, how he'd been forced to grow up so quickly after, how he'd won- but what was the cost?

Then my games were switched on; I saw myself going through it all over again. The walk up to the stage after my name was called, all eyes on me. The chariot ride where they had dressed me up as a mermaid, all shimmering fabrics and a golden crown. The interview, where Caesar asked me questions about my life back home and I answered quietly, barely audible, playing the sweet little girl as I danced for them momentarily. The arena, my frightened face as the boy from 10 died in front of me, running and hiding. Then a cut to as I made my first kills, I saw the light leave their eyes as the blood left their bodies. Another cut, to the chase and confrontation with Arion, the second the knife left my hand I closed my eyes and the thud as it hit him echoed in my ears.

They showed the crowning ceremony last, I stood calmly on the dais with my hands clasped in front of my body. I had been made to wear a white dress that fell to my knees and had a red bow tied around it. The same red adorned the pins in my hair, shaped like roses, and the single gem hanging from a silver chain around my neck. The significance was not lost on me, young as I was. I had killed three people in the arena so I wore three pieces of red. One for each of them, the crimson colour their blood on my hands. President Snow walked up slowly and placed the golden laurels on my head. He looked down at me, a small smile on his face as I gazed up at him, he whispered something that only I could hear. Words that left me pale and confused, words that could have been good but in the circumstances only sounded like the promise of a life of pain. His mouth moved on the screen and I read his lips.

“The Capitol will love you.” He stepped away and proclaimed me their victor. And it struck me how I looked so tiny compared to him and everyone around me, as the Capitol roared with applause and my big eyes stared out over them, disbelieving and uncertain before the tape ended leaving the compartment in silence.

I shoved my seat back, the legs screeching on the floor, and stood up quickly. Everyone turned to face me as I stayed still for a second.

“Y/N.” Lysander began but I cut him off.

“No, I just, I need to, I can't.” My brain was jumbled, old memories being dragged to the surface unwillingly. So I turned and I ran.

I sprinted along the train, pushing doors open as I ran through the compartments. Avoxes jumped out of my way as I barreled past them, looking at me in curiosity. I came to the end of the train and held my hands in front of me to push through the doors. I crashed through them and fell into the railing. I gripped onto the cold metal as if it was the only thing keeping me in reality, the wind rushed past me and my hair floated in front of me, strands whipping in the cold air. I could barely see, tears blurring my vision and hair covering my face. I took a shuddering breath, letting the cold air flood my lungs, and I broke. I cried and cried and cried. Letting out everything that I had kept bottled up for seven years. I had cried before, that day on the cliffs, that was for the games, for the fact that it was happening all over again for so many people across Panem. But this. This was for me. For every pain I had endured since I won, the evenings spent dancing and singing under lights focused solely on me, the fear of making a mistake stopping me from enjoying it fully, the nights spent alone, unable to sleep because of the nightmares, the days spent wandering around like a lost soul, wondering if it would ever be better than what it was.

So I cried for myself, in one selfish moment I allowed myself to only care about myself. Tears dripped down my face, droplets falling on the railing for what felt like forever. Eventually my throat grew raw and my eyes seemed to run out of tears to cry. I dropped my head forwards into my hands and my eyes glazed over with the memories I had suppressed.

I was no longer on the train headed to the Capitol. I was in the arena. Perched on an icy tree branch, pressed against the tree trunk to keep from slipping off. Hidden by the frozen leaves in the white fluffy clothing they had given us to wear. A tribute ran underneath my hiding spot, running away from something, two others followed chasing him. I immediately recognised them as career tributes, this was all just a game of cat and mouse to them. And they caught him. I shoved a piece of cloth in my mouth to stop myself from letting out any noise that would give myself away and clapped my hands over my ears to block out the noise of his screaming in pain and crying out for help from someone as they ripped into him, their laughter echoing in the otherwise silent forest. A warning that they were on the hunt and if you valued your life you would get out of there as soon as possible.

I had stayed in that tree for the first few days until I was eventually forced to move when the gamemakers released mutts into the arena. Great big slobbering beasts that lumbered along harmlessly until someone tried to kill one. Then all hell had broken loose as they chased tributes up trees and then hurled themselves unrelentingly at them, bringing them down and mauling them beyond recognition. They brought about the deaths of five tributes before they just disappeared, presumably called back out after doing their job.

I snapped out of my daze as I felt someone standing next to me. My gaze cleared as I pushed the memories back into a locked box in my mind. I didn’t need to look to know who it was, the mark on my wrist burning and on instinct I pulled my sleeve down and took a small step to the side to lessen the sting. It eased immediately from the small distance between us and faded to a dull throbbing. Finnick said nothing at my movement and we just looked out over the passing countryside, rolling green fields, trees that touched the sky and vast lakes stretching beyond the horizon. We stayed like that, peaceful, just taking it all in until he finally broke the silence.

“You were so young.”

I smiled bitterly, resting my chin on my open palm propped up on the railing.

“We all were but we had no choice. They just want to watch their games. And they don’t care if innocent children die so they can have them.” I laughed slightly. “Then they get the one that lives.” I shook my head, my fingers tightening on the rail, the cold metal biting into my skin. “They get to kill us then they get to keep us.” I turned around, leaning backwards onto the railing and looked up, watching the clouds move slowly away in the blue sea of the sky. Then the Capitol came into view, towering buildings taking up the skyline, marring it with grey,

“I'm going to go back in,” Finnick said, following my line of vision, “You should as well.” With that he stepped back into the train, not sparing a second glance as I watched him walk through a set of doors and out of sight. I relaxed as he left and stayed in my position, head tilted skywards, eyes closed until I felt tiny drops of water on my face. I opened my eyes to see rain falling, a light drizzle but enough to dampen my clothes and hair, I laughed slightly and walked inside, the warmth hitting me in a blast. I hadn't realised how cold I'd been before but the heat warmed me and my clothes quickly dried off. I looked over my shoulder as I walked through the doors that slid open, the rain pattering on the windows lightly, a last glimpse of normality.

I quickly made my way through the train, hearing Lysander screeching at unfortunate avoxes to find me as if I was missing and he had no idea where to find me. I stepped into the compartment to see him looking frazzled, he immediately caught sight of me standing unsurely at the edge of the room and gave a dramatic sigh of relief.

“Not to worry everyone she's here.” The train jolted to a stop. “We have arrived.” Lysander practically squealed and eyed me.” Dear, you should just fluff out your hair a bit, and try to look happy for the cameras.” I nod my head once and plaster a smile on my face. He nodded in approval.

We made our way to the doors. Finnick and I stood either side of Lysander and Mags was just behind us. I can see people through the windows already, screaming and shouting with excitement.

“Now everyone, remember this is the first time they will see you so make sure to leave a good impression. That means smile and wave, blow a few kisses if you have to.” Lysander told us, focusing his words mostly on me. A bell rang and he quickly turned around to me, perfecting everything he could see wrong, the tiniest hair out of place, my sleeves at different lengths and pushing my cheeks into a smile. Facing forward just in time as the doors slid open and we stepped out into the masses.

Taglist:

@nekee-lilac02 @hinata7346 @bambikitten @the-lonely-abyss @mxacegrey @m-maxie-ie @not-aya @camatchoum @maw1dk @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @somdreamy @thehairington86 @millzluvrs @val-writesstuff @erindiggory @reader-bookling123 @elisa20beth @maxinehufflepuffprincess @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @mystargirl-interlude @ponkaniee @missunicorn @purplelavin @user123453226780536 @littleanubis21

[majesty-madness]

"Skin to Skin" - Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader (sfw)

Summary: There’s something about him that makes her think that perhaps he needs to know she’s real. 

Word Count: 2000+

Warnings: slight angst, nudity, cuddling, kissing, pillow talk, mentions of past trauma, fluff all around

a/n: not proofread. I had problems with writing this, almost like I couldn't "get mind in the game" so I apologize if it feels ooc or anything like that. I did try to keep it the way I had envisioned it but I don't know, maybe I didn't. Oh well, it's whatever I guess.

Btw Commissions are open for anyone whose interested.

Main Masterlist

As a member of 141, danger is one of the things she had become accustomed to and with that comes predictability. Yes every situation was different but somehow those different situations would end with the same conclusion so in that respect, Y/N supposes she may have accidentally grown complacent. 

Most missions were: research the target, then locate the target, infiltrate, and so on. It was second nature at this point, no need to even contemplate her actions as she would carry out her orders. 

However this time, the situation got a little dicey. 

It really wasn’t anyone's fault, in fact Y/N blamed herself for not noticing the guard that had managed to seek right into her blindspot and before she knew she was aggressively tussling with the man. No surprise he was stronger than her, so when he wrapped his arms around her waist in the middle of their fight and tossed her like a ragdoll, it was almost to be expected. What she didn’t account for was his speed for as soon as she picked herself up off the ground, he was already charging her. 

Reacting quickly, Y/N brought her legs up and pushed the man back with all her might right as the man closed the distance. 

He fell back with a thud on the concrete floor, uttering what Y/N assumed to be a curse in a language she didn’t understand. They’re fight continued for several more seconds, Y/N landing several blows to his face and she nearly dodging each attack, and in his growing frustration, the man got in close once more. Y/N didn’t see it but she felt it, the white hot searing pain resonating in her thigh. She let out a pain filled scream, echoing through the enemy compound. 

Ghost had been clearing another part of the building when he’d heard her causing his blood to run cold, the image of her lifeless body flashing in his mind. He rushed out of the room, pushing himself to sprint as fast as he was capable of. 

It took less than a minute for him to turn the corner to where she was, and his eyes were quick to adjust to what he was seeing; Y/N straddling the man, her knife dug deep into his throat. He could tell that she was breathing heavily, her torso expanding in and out as her lungs attempted to gain as much air as possible.  

“Sergeant.” Was all Ghost could think of to say. That seemed to grab Y/N’s attention anyhow because she whipped her head around to see his towering figure. Her eyes were manic from the adrenaline of fighting against someone twice her size. 

Ghost took a breath then took two giant steps forward, hands finding her shoulders to guide her away from the body. In the middle of pulling Y/N to her feet, she let out a strained whimper causing Ghost to freeze. 

“What is it?” He asked, voice hushed and gravelly low. 

She gestured to her right thigh, “My leg…” 

He glanced down, keeping an arm pressed to her back. Easily he was able to see the blood seeping from the wound; from his upright angle alone he saw the wound wasn’t too deep but it still needed medical attention. 

“Here, hold onto my shoulder; I’m gonna wrap this up.” Ghost didn’t give her a moment to respond as he already leaned down to tie a bandage around her bleeding leg. 

She let out a closed mouthed moan when Ghost tightened the bandage though otherwise was okay. He stood back up to his full height and helped Y/N out of the building. 

Luckily, the rest of the mission was completed without any more incidents. Y/N had initially been worried that her scuffle with the guard made the situation more precarious, however Price reassured that nobody else in the facility had been alarmed. After that they left; the team huddled up in their helicopter. 

Things seemed normal until they got back to the compound; Ghost had escorted Y/N to the medical bay to treat her injury but shortly after arriving, he curtly excused himself. Y/N was a bit surprised that he just left. She thought he might’ve stayed to hear how critical her injury may have been. It really wasn’t that bad, of course the initial stab was what hurt the most, other than that the almost burning ache is what remained.

From that day forward, Ghost had been acting strange. Stranger than normal. 

It was no secret that the soldier known as Ghost was an eccentric person to say the least, but this seemed different. For one Ghost kept his distance from Y/N, not ignoring her but definitely avoidant of certain interactions with her. One day she asked about this sudden change, seeing as how they were in a relationship. 

“What’s wrong?” She’d asked, sitting in front of him on her bed. 

It took a few minutes before he came up with the right words. “For just a moment I thought you…” He didn’t need to finish that sentence for her to know what he meant. 

I thought you were dead.

Y/N made sure to give him his space, let him process what happened and deal with the fear that he could very well have entered the room only to see her dead body. And this went on for days, weeks and eventually she started to wonder if he’d gotten lost in his head. 

Her leg was well healed now and nothing changed. She missed him. 

“Ghost?” Y/N said, hand barely tapping his shoulder for his attention. He turned, dark, expressive eyes visible from the underneath skull mask. “Can you meet me in my room later tonight? When you have the time, of course.” 

She watched his eyes dart away from her for a second, clearly thinking it over before he looked back to her, a subtle nod being his answer. 

“Thank you.” She gently whispered to him as if she were attempting to sooth him from an unseen turmoil. 

Around 9 that night Y/N heard a knock at her door, and knowing it was Ghost she called for him to come in. He was still decked out in his full tactical gear with his mask while Y/N had long taken off her vest and weapons, leaving her in her standard uniform pants and t-shirt. 

“Did you want to talk?” Ghost asked lowly as he closed the door behind him. 

She shook her head. “No, I just wanted to see you. And I thought maybe we could lay down for a while, seeing as how we won’t be up and at’em for a while.” 

He stood silent, again, contemplating the best decision when Y/N broke the quiet air. “If you want to, I’m not gonna force it on you. I thought maybe we could spend some time together is all.”

“That sounds nice.” Ghost replied, already beginning to take off his tactical gear and setting it off to the side. 

Y/N began to take off her boots, placing them neatly off to the side then stood at full height to pull back the blanket from the not so big bed. In the middle of doing so, Y/N paused, the fabric of the blanket crinkled in her palm as she stared at a random place on the bed. 

At that moment, she came up with an idea; an idea that might break the distance Ghost had been building between as of late. 

“Simon, can I ask you something?” She spoke, raising her eyes to look up from the bed. 

Now he had taken off all his gear including his mask, leaving him in the same uniform as Y/N not to mention the black like dust circling his eyes. She had to take a second to admire him as he was always wearing his mask. He didn't like to admit it nor would he ever but she thought he was absolutely handsome; a pillar of a man who had suffered in his life that still knew how to extend gentleness and kindness to others just as he’d done for her. 

She loved him so much. 

Ghost simply stared at her, promptly Y/N to continue on with her question. 

“Uh…this might sound a bit odd, but would you be okay with undressing before we lay down?” 

The moment the words left her mouth, Ghost’s muscles immediately tensed. 

Y/N knew what he was thinking so she made the quick decision to ease his concern. “I don’t mean anything sexual by it, please understand that.”

She paused, to give Ghost time to take in what she was saying. “I’ve noticed that you’ve kind of been lost in your head, distancing yourself, and I let you have your space since I don’t want to overwhelm you or pressure you to talk to me. But I miss you.” 

“I’m…sorry. I didn’t mean to-” Ghost started, however Y/N shook her head, taking several quick steps to him to gently grasp his ungloved hands in her smaller ones. 

“No, don’t apologize, let’s just lay down okay? Relax for a bit.” She suggested, gaining enough courage to smile. 

He gave her a semi smile, flashing so fast one would barely notice he even smiled in the first place. 

With that, Y/N stepped back almost to where she was standing previously and lifted her shirt over her head to toss to the floor. Then she unbuckled the belt wrapped around her waist, removed it from the pants loops and took her pants over quickly after that. She spared a glance to Ghost who had mirrored her actions to undress himself. He already took off his boots and shirt, and now worked on getting his belt off. Soon Y/N stripped down to only her underwear and crawled under the blanket, looking up at Ghost as he finished undressing. Much like Y/N, Ghost stripped down to everything except his boxers, the moment he did Y/N extended her arms out to him to join her. 

Ghost took a steadying breath before leaning down and slipped under Y/N’s blanket, instantly feeling her hands caress the skin of his shoulders as she brought him to lay against her chest. She adjusted herself until they had complete skin to skin contact, a comforting warmth transferring from one patch of skin to the other and soon a contented sigh leaving her lips. And when Ghost laid his head fully onto her chest, feeling her fingers massaging the base of his skull, her other hand tracing invisible patterns against his back, he too felt content. 

“How do you feel?” Y/N probed while continuing to tread her fingers through his short locks. 

“Good.” He simply answered, eyes staring off into nothing in particular. 

Y/N couldn’t help but to smile. “I’m glad. Though if you get uncomfortable, tell me and we can stop this.” 

She felt him nod. “Thank you, sweetheart, but I don’t think I’ll want to go anywhere any time soon.”

“I think we’re on the same page with that. Love feeling you so close.” She cooed, pressing herself as close as humanly possible. 

Ghost began to rub his hands along the skin of the side up to her shoulder, enjoying the softness. “Me too, I’m not…used to this.” 

Y/N pulled back enough to peer down at the entirety of his face. “I know, but if you want we could make this a regular thing?” 

“That sounds good to me.” 

Y/N leaned down to plant a soft kiss to his lips and he reciprocated in kind, nothing too fast or rough; it was perfect. Their lips moved in sync, burning from the heat of each other intertwining together in an intimate dance. When necessary, the separated; lips creating a wet smacking sound as they did so. 

The two stared into the other’s eyes, taking in every detail their face had to offer like they’d never see it again. 

“I was scared.” Ghost suddenly admitted, his voice hushed. 

Y/N nodded. “I know, and it’s okay. I’m here now, and hell will freeze over before I leave you.” 

This time, Ghost scoffed in amusement. “I don’t doubt that. You’re more stubborn than anyone else I know.”

“Oh yeah? Well I suppose I learn from the best.” She joked with a laugh.

Ghost dipped his face back to rest between Y/N’s chest and neck, taking a deep inhale of her sweet, natural scent. They remained in comfortable silence, listening quietly to the sound of the nightly crickets and each other’s hearts beating steadily. 

“I love you.” He uttered into the quiet room, noticing Y/N kiss the side of his temple. 

“I know, and I love you too.”

[akunya]

"sour mood."

pairings: floyd leech x m!reader

summary: you should know better by now - avoiding floyd always ends in punishment!

tw: CHOKING, asphyxiation, breathplay, exhibitionism. noncon/dubcon (not sure tbh), slight nsfw, groping. degradation, humiliation, etc. yandere!floyd?

notes: i wanted to write for twst for a long time, so here we are! of course i will still be writing for njsj and other things. please be kind. your hands feebly tried to grab at floyds wrists, choking as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. the rough bark of the tree felt as if it was stabbing your back, adding onto the discomfort of the mans hands wrapped around your neck like a collar. his knee forcefully spread your legs open.

when floyd had threatened to squeeze you, this was not what you expected.

“floyd, please, let go!” your voice wavered, panic settling when he would press a bit harder. it was all a game to him, the sadistic smile on his face reminding you just how different you two really were. he didn’t seem to care that you were struggling to breathe, giggling as he made a routine of squeezing tightly and letting you catch your breath.

“eh, but why, shrimpy? this is fun!” his laugh sent shivers down your spine. while jade had longer nails than floyd, the blunt ends of his fingertips digging into your throat hurt even more. he choked you out again, watching as you sniffled on the ground, having no choice. he seemed to stop just as you were about to become unconscious, your body becoming limp from the abuse and lack of oxygen. “look, now shrimpy’s neck is turning purple!” the eel seemed to find joy in your panic, your own hands grazing on your abused neck when he let go. you were terrified to look into a mirror later.

“i like playing with you, shrimpy. so why did you avoid me? it made me reaaaally sad, yknow!” he huffed, body towering over yours as he leaned in to speak. you took the chance to calm yourself down a bit, as much as you could anyways, sniffling. it didn’t matter if he kept his voice down or not. if a student even dared to look in your direction right now, you weren’t certain they’d make it out alive. you gulped, stuttering as floyd stared into your eyes for some sort of answer. voice dropping low, his pupils fixated on your own, glaring as he warned you. his hands hovered near your throat again.“tell meeee, before i make you hurt again.”

you weren’t stupid. you valued your life, so you quickly tried to stutter out a reply. that was, until floyds knee had dug into your crotch, cutting off your explanation into a pitiful whine.

the eels body shook with laughter, still towering over you as you covered your mouth. his knee didn’t move either, rubbing painfully against your cock as you tried to squirm away. if you weren't feeling shameful before, you were definitely feeling it now, wishing that you could become invisible. it was too embarrassing. “y/n, did you seriously get hard from me squeezing you? didn’t you want me to stop? shrimpy is a liar!” you shook your head, trying to deny his allegations as he pushed his knee further, groaning again from the feeling.

your head was dizzy enough from floyds punishment squeeze — his teasing aimed at your crotch only made your head spin even more. you weren't getting off to this.. right? maybe floyd is just messing with your head. your voice meekly protested, making him grin widely. "floyd, cut it out.." your voice was rough. “stop? i can’t stop now, shrimpy! what if i let you leave? then everyone will see how hard you are and laugh at you!” he was, in a twisted sense, sort of correct. whether you stayed or not, leaving would result in desperately failing at trying to hide the tent in your pants. if you stayed, however..

“shrimpy hasn’t been coming to see me lately, i should just leave you like this. it makes me really mad when i can’t bully you, yknow.” the mans voice dipped lowly, his smile dropping as he stared into your eyes. his gaze was intense. he didn’t have to explain further, you were reminded that he was upset and you wouldn’t make the same mistake of avoiding him again. the unspoken promise of your punishment being worse if you tried to think about leaving him was in the air, zipping your mouth shut. floyd had a habit of not being able to show his emotions properly, except for when he was angry. if his mood was sour, the entire campus knew.

and right now, his mood was definitely sour, no matter how much he would laugh and smile at your misery.

the only choice you had at this point was to give in. your throat felt dry, silent for a moment before finally speaking up. "im sorry, floyd. its my fault. i wont do it again, okay? please, let's at least go back to your room?" you tried to sound as gentle and calm as you could, masking your annoyance with the eel as he stared into your eyes. the bright gold in his pupils was unsettling to the say the least, however, you couldn't tear your gaze away from them. his face was neutral for a minute or two before he smiled again, his sharp teeth peeking out.

"no." floyd's hands went back to squeezing your throat. panic seeped into your bones, making your stomach drop. you coughed, voice struggling to come out as he laughed at you. "i don't believe you're sorry, shrimpy! you cant just ignore me for this long and pretend you feel bad when i caught you. im not dumb." his blunt nails dug into your precious skin, leaving crescent marks on top of the bruises starting to form. he had loosened his grip to let you breathe, heaving and gasping for air.

"besides, i don't think you want me to stop, y/n. you're really hard over this! haha, it's so gross!" the eel didn't bother to keep his voice down, laughing as you tried to close your legs to no avail. floyd was naturally bigger and stronger than you. avoiding him so much lately made you forget how easily he overpowered you in nearly every way, making you tremble in fear. unexpectedly, the man coo'ed at you, holding your face in his hands and forcing you to look up towards him.

"dont worry shrimpy! it wont hurt too much, okay? just stay still and take it aaaaall in."

[sweetiebean00]

Of Dueling Debates

This is a lil fluffy continuation of Of Nifflers and Magic, just a bit of Ominis roasting his best buddy with MC lol

Celia dug her teeth into her bottom lip, fighting to keep the laughter from bubbling out of her chest. A snicker escaped when she chanced a glance at Sebastian's face, his cheeks reddened as he leaned back on his hands and sulked from another of Ominis' sharp remarks. Hiding her face in one of the tombs gathered about them, she bit her lip harder at the look of betrayal Sebastian sent her way. She didn't know how long Sebastian was trying to argue his reasoning, to explain the logic behind teaching her transfiguration magic through dueling. 

"In my defense-" Sebastian tried again, speaking loudly over Ominis' dry commentary. "It worked didn't it?"

"If by worked, you mean you worked yourself into being transfigured twice..." Ominis raised an unamused brow, his voice thick with sarcasm as Celia snickered. "Then yes, it certainly worked... to prove you should never teach anyone again."

Of all the ways to teach something, Celia had to agree with Ominis. It was not one of Sebastian's greater ideas, although she had hoped he would have a better idea when it came to trying to drown himself in her potions. Godric's heart, she almost forgot. She still had to brew some wiggenweld, and at the very least see if she can salvage the ones Sebastian swam in.

"Excuse you!" Sebastian cried indignantly. "I'm an excellent teacher!"

"At curses, maybe."

Celia snorted, stepping through the mess of parchment and books. She had intended to study before Sebastian had found her on the way up the Astronomy tower, their impromptu study session interrupted when he saw how utterly useless she was with transfiguration magic. Still, she had to wonder. He watched her fail at turning a goblet into an animal, yet decided the best idea was to duel her into a corner where she turned him into an animal.

"Actually," Celia spoke up, flicking her wand to clear out the potions inside the cauldron. It's not that she didn't trust Sebastian with her potions, more that she didn't trust where he had been. Besides, he had been covered in fur and she really didn't need to gag on a health potion when she used it. "It was more like, five times?"

Refilling the pot, she let the water simmer. Grinding the materials together like Professor Sharp reiterated on the daily. An even, smooth motion. No irregularities. She loved making potions, the easy rhythm. The requirement of enough attention to not butcher the potion, but not too much to be able to think as she followed the recipe step by step. She could almost imagine Sebastian teasing her for still using the recipe, she just preferred accuracy over memory. Better safe than sorry, Sicilian always said. 

"What."

Celia jumped, the sharp tone nearly sending her elbow into the bottle of horklump juice. With the amount of health potions she went through on a daily basis, she couldn't afford to waste even a drop of wiggenweld. Especially with her stash having been gone through in the last week, between the poachers, ashwinders, bandits, and spiders. She needed to make the most of everything she had.

"If you're counting the first time -when he was turned into a chicken, the times I tried turning him back before and after I got you?" As she spoke, she glanced over her shoulder. Letting the cauldron simmer and tugging her braid into a bun, as Sebastian shook his head furiously. "Then it was closer to five times, maybe six?"

Sebastian grimaced, sending Ominis a sheepish grin as his hands raised in defense against his best friend's scowl. Ominis huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. She shook her head, it wasn't like it was a secret. She had admitted to trying to turn him back on her own before she sought out the help of Ominis. Although, now that she's thinking about it...

"Does the time he was turned into a barrel count?" 

Celia’s question was answered with silence. With a frown, she looked to find Sebastian sending her another look of absolute betrayal. Ominis had his face in his hand, if it weren't for the near silence she was sure she wouldn't have been able to tell he was muttering under his breath. Sebastian huffed, running a hand through his curls as she turned back to her cauldron. Holding her breath as she added a pinch of dittany.

"You know what, Sebastian?" 

Ominis broke the silence, and Celia found herself glancing from the corner of her eye as she waited for the snarky comment she knew was coming. 

"You are right, you were successful. Celia, please, be a dear and turn him back into a barrel - I am in some desperate need of peace and quiet."

Celia snorted, shaking the bottle of horklump juice as Sebastian's whine cut through the room. She had just enough dittany and horklump juice for one last batch, maybe a handful of vials if she could stretch it but the potency wouldn't be as strong as a concentrated brew. Adding the drops, she would just have to go gather more when she had the time. She could do with the minimum. She'd just... prefer having more, especially since Ranrok’s loyalists are becoming more of a thorn in her side. She would have had more, had a certain someone not tried to drown himself in them.

"Ya know Ominis," She flashed a sharp smile over her shoulder, a sick sense of delight warming her chest at the way Sebastian paled from where he had frozen mid-argument with Ominis. "You did promise me proper transfiguration lessons, and turning him into a barrel could provide ample practice! Maybe then he'll learn to leave my potions alone."

Sebastian's cry of protest was drowned out by the sound of Ominis laughing. It was cool, as clear and crisp as his speaking tone. And yet... there was a warmth to it that was missing when he spoke in class. It was like stepping out on a hot summer day to feel the cool relief of rain, not the sharp jarring cold that sent you coiling back. But the softer kind, the one you longed for and could smell in the air. She smiled, chancing a glance at the blonde. His head was tipped back, eyes squeezed shut as he laughed from deep inside his belly. 

Her cheeks burned, no one had the right to look like that. Completely unfair to her and the other normal people in a world of magic. The hair on the back of her neck stood and Ceila looked to meet Sebastian’s eyes. He smirked, brows wiggling as he glanced between her and Ominis knowingly. The heat in her cheeks increased and she jerked her attention back to the potion she was supposed to be stirring in a clean and even motion. 

Thankfully the night Ominis had confronted her outside the Undercroft had Sebastian sworn to the utmost secrecy. Not that it’s stopped him, Poppy, and Natty from planning when they can. He still didn’t let her live it down, reminding her of the time he had taken off through the entire castle in search of the sweet Hufflepuff who had just received a threat from someone that left many shaking in their shoes just from a sharp look in their direction. Only he didn’t find her scared, oh no, why would she be scared? No, he just happened to find her cursing Ominis’ “beautiful stupid face!” as she casted confringo after confringo at the dummy the room had set in front of her. 

Releasing a sigh, as she carefully poured the potion into as many of the vials as she could squeeze. She was never more thankful the blonde was blind and couldn't see her interest. Poppy and Natty still hadn't stopped teasing, hadn't stopped trying to "help" by lumping her with the blonde as a partner in the classes they all shared. Sebastian interfering made it so much worse. 

Tucking her potions away, Celia paled. Eyes widening as she took in the sight of the boys gathered about the floor with their school work scattered near and far. Tugging the wand from the bun she had haphazardly thrown it into, she flicked it until a couch was spouting beneath the both of them. Tables collecting their parchment and books and a rug stretched across the center tiles beneath it all.

"Oh my Merlin! I'm so sorry-!" With another flick of her wand, the mess of potions was cleared away before she was shoving it back into her bun. "Forgive me, I didn't even think to-!"

"You know conjuration?!" Celia nodded, ducking her head as Sebastian laughed. "That's amazing! Can you teach me? I want to-"

"Please, there's no need for an apology, dove." Ominis kicked Sebastian beneath the table, earning a pained grunt as Celia dug her teeth into her lip to keep from smiling or Merlin forbid, snickering with the way Sebastian was rubbing at his shin with a pout. "It's not like you intended for us to overstay your welcome after his grand idea of teaching."

"Thought we went over this," Sebastian grumbled. “I'm an excellent teacher, Ominis.”

“Your opinion is not fact, Sebastian.” 

Celia smiled, her heart doing a funny little dance in her chest at the smirk that graced Ominis' lips as Sebastian huffed and crossed his arms. She shook her head at his antics, using her wand to conjure an overly large ottoman. With a huff, Celia flung herself into the soft fabric. Bouncing lightly as she hummed.

 "Yes, because pouting will further your point Sebastian."

The laugh that escaped her chest was bright and full, overpowering any other quips and comebacks they exchanged as she cackled into the ottoman until her stomach hurt.

[konigsrose]

🌸🌿🪴🌹Well, I’ve started a little slow burn for Gardener König! 🌹🌿🪴🌸

Unsure whether I’ll keep going with it, it’s very much going to be a side piece to my current WIPs but we shall see…

A snippet below 👇

“Can I help you?” A soft, nervous voice, spoken with a heavy accent - German, perhaps? - came from behind Esme’s shoulder. She whirled around, feeling embarrassed. The voice had come from a man, probably around her age. He was huge. Esme was only five foot two, but this man towered over her, well over a foot taller, and with huge, broad shoulders and thick muscular arms, almost bursting from the shop’s uniform polo-shirt he wore. Despite his size, he looked sheepish and a little afraid. He also looked handsome, not just because of his muscles, but his piercing blue eyes, and dark hair which was cropped close on the sides, but flopped into his face a little at his forehead.

“I um…” Esme hesitated, wondering how honest to be; she didn’t want to sound like a fool, but at the same time, this man surely would have some answers for her. “I’ve just bought my first house, got my first garden and… Well, I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing. How hard is it to kill a lavender plant?” She smiled as the man huffed a soft little laugh at her question.

“That depends. They are quite low maintenance, if you’ve got sunlight and soil that drains well, and is not too acidic,” he smiled, as if in reassurance.

“There’s definitely sunlight,” she said, her brow furrowing a little in concentration. “How would I know if the soil drains well? Or isn’t acidic?”

“What kind of plants are there at the moment? That might help work it out.”

“None,” Esme rolled her eyes, “it was all fake grass and paving slabs, but I’ve ripped it all out and dug down to actual soil again.”

“You did this yourself?” The man’s eyes briefly roamed over Esme’s body. She was short, yes, but plump, too, and didn’t exactly look the type for hard manual labour.

“Couldn’t afford to pay for someone else to do it,” she shrugged. “Most exercise I’ve done in years, I was aching in places I didn’t know I could ache!” Esme grinned, and saw the man’s cheeks go ever so slightly pink as he grinned back.

“Impressive.” He glanced around nervously, before pulling a little card out of his pocket. “I am not supposed to advertise at work, but if you need anything else, I do landscaping and things when I am not working here. If you would like, I could come and help you make a plan, free of charge. You would only need to pay if you want me to labour for you, or for materials.”

Esme read the card. It was simple, a little Austrian flag in the corner and the words “König - Gardens fit for a King” followed by a phone number. She smiled.

“Is König your name, or…?”

“It is a nickname, but everybody calls me it. When I first came to England my colleagues used to call me the King of Austria, and it stuck,” he shrugged and gave Esme a shy little smile. “Of course, you do not have to call, but if it would help…” he trailed off, nervously.

“Thanks König, I think I might. For now, maybe I’ll just have some herbs in pots to grow on the windowsill,” she grinned. “Until you’ve assessed the garden and given me your expert opinions, anyway.”

[fandomsallthetime94]

"Take A Break" - Gale Dekarios

Word Count: 594

OC Used: None

Warning: sexual explicit implied.

I walked into Gale’s home in Waterdeep after going into the city to get a few new herbs for my medical magic. I hung up my cloak by the door and was greeted by Tara who was sitting in the window.

 "Has he locked himself in his tower again, Tara?” I asked the tressym as I gave her a quick pat on the head.

“I’m afraid so, mistress. He’s discovered some new magic, so as you know he has to now lock himself away for days on end until he has studied every last subject about it.” Tara replied, stretching out before lying down on the window ceil.

I rolled my eyes and sighed before nodding.

“I’ll go check on him.”

Tara gave me a quiet meow before relaxing for her afternoon nap. I smiled at her before heading towards the stairs that led to Gale’s tower and library. When I reached the top of the stairs, I could see that his door was slightly ajar, mostly likely due to Tara checking in on him. I softly knocked on the door before pushing it open.

Gale turned in his seat a little to look at the door and smiled when he saw me.

“My love, I didn’t expect you back so soon.” He said, before turning his attention back to the book he was reading.

I walked into his library and over to him before wrapping my arms around his shoulders from behind.

“Tara says that you have been locking yourself away again.” I whispered, placing gentle kiss on his temple.

“Darling, I’ve discovered this new magic and there are so many interesting subjects on this magic that it’s a lot of reading.” Gale replied, as he flipped the page of his book.

“I understand that, my love, but you need to also spend time with your loved ones.” I said, my hands rubbing his chest lightly.

Gale sighed and bit his bottom lip as my hands rubbed his chest. He tilted his head back to rest against my shoulder as his eyes closed.

“You’re a great distraction, my love.” He whispered, as he looked at me from the corner of his eye.

I smiled and removed my arms from around his shoulders before walking around his chair and straddling his lap, placing my hands on his chest. His hands immediately went to my hips, pulling me a little bit closer.

“You need to take a break.” I whispered, looking at him with a loving smile.

“There’s so much that I have to do yet.” Gale replied, looking back at me.

I pouted at him before grinding my hips against his a little bit, a satisfying smirk coming to my face as I felt him getting excited.

“Are you sure?” I asked, placing a kiss on his chest.

A soft moan left Gale’s lips as his fingers dug into my hips.

“Maybe I do need a little bit of a break.” He said, bringing one hand up to grab my jaw and force me to look at him.

I smirked and pulled him into a passionate kiss, his hand moving from my jaw to my neck and squeezing lightly. Gale stood up quickly, his arm going under my butt to keep me up as I wrapped my legs around his waist. He pulled away from the kiss and kissed my cheek.

“I think we should move this party to the bedroom.” He said, his voice raspy and deep.            

“I could not agree more, my love.” I said with a chuckle before kissing him again

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

(Never) Satisfied, Part 1

Chapters 1-5!

Masterlist is here

Chapter 1

Never does life truly feel complete.

Stories are allowed to feel complete. Are supposed to in most cases. You’re supposed to turn that final page or watch the credits roll or watch the stage lights dim… and you’re supposed to be content with how the story ended. Whether the ending is happy or sad, it’s supposed to be an ending. All of the arcs, all of the themes, should be tied up with a nice little bow.

And Marinette… well, she would admit that she had expected something similar. She watched as Gabriel Agreste was stuffed into a cop car – the tall fucker hit his head on the top of the door – and, even from a distance, she could hear the fervor with which the cop slammed the door. And she waited. For that single sigh of relief, for the tension to drain from her shoulders, for that complete feeling that was supposed to come with a job well done. The door had closed with a ringing sense of finality. She could finally rest.

The tips of the butterfly pin dug into her palm.

Chat Noir ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, and he gave her a hesitant smile. “It’s over,” he said, and she could tell he meant it.

She bit her lip. “Not quite.”

His eyebrows knit together.

“It’s… his son, Adrien Agreste. We don’t know if he was in on it.”

It was a surprisingly good point despite the fact that she had made up on the spot. Maybe they should have taken that into account before they had arrested Gabriel. If Adrien was involved in this, then he was definitely going to be more cautious from now on. It would take ages for him to drop his guard, they would have to continue working for what could be months – decades, even.

She tried to ignore the way the thought made something that might have been elation bubble in her chest.

But humor tugged at the corners of Chat Noir’s lips. “Oh. No. That won’t be a problem.”

It was her turn to frown at him, but he waved her off.

“I’ll explain when the reporters get here,” he said.

He bumped his shoulder against hers, and she gave him the best smile she could.

“I can’t believe you’re making me wait,” she huffed, giving up on trying to smile in favor of an overexaggerated pout. It was much easier to do that, anyway. “Aren’t I your best friend?”

He laughed and ruffled her hair, pushing her head down slightly with the force of his half-noogie. “Oh, hush.”

She did not, in fact, hush. She batted at his hands and continued to complain about how he had messed up her hair until the reporters came.

(And maybe for a bit longer than that.)

~

She sighed as the pair of them leaned over the railing of the Eiffel Tower.

Detransformed in front of each other for the first time. But not strangers.

Marinette’s eyes scanned over the skyline, looking for akumas (habitually or hopefully, even she didn't know).

“You know that you can’t keep the ring anymore,” she said carefully. “Now that you’ve broadcasted your identity to the public.”

He winced. The pleasant smile that had come over his face as he watched the parades, the fireworks, the people of Paris finally getting their conclusion… it faded slowly. He cast his gaze upwards. “I know,” he said, and his voice came out shaky. “But…”

“It’s dangerous for you to have it,” she reminded him.

Part of her wondered if she was punishing him. For revealing his identity, for being a coward when it came to helping her out while Lila isolated her from all of her friends but brave for the sake of the city and his own ego, for ruining her chances of continuing on with this life with a simple detransformation. She certainly had reason to, and she would never deny that she could be petty.

But whether she was doing it to punish him or not, she still had a point.

Still, her eyes landed on her partner, on the person that had once been her friend, the person that still was in some ways, and he had tears spilling down his face, and that part of her ached.

She pulled him into a hug. He slotted himself against her perfectly, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“It wasn’t healthy for you, anyways,” she mumbled, absently playing with the tiny curls on the back of his neck. “And you’re free, now, you don’t need Him anymore. You can be yourself, as yourself.”

He sobbed harder. His nails dug into the back of her shirt, but she paid it no mind. Neither of them had been allowed to cry in years, it was no surprise that he was pent up. It had been inevitable, really.

She rested her chin atop his head and closed her eyes.

They stayed like that for a long time.

~

Marinette blinked out of her stupor when she felt a hand tap her on the shoulder.

She craned her neck to look at her mom, still absently working the dough in her hands. It wasn’t quite the right texture yet, but it was close.

“Head up front,” her mother said, swatting at her arm lightly to get her to move so she could take over.

Marinette yelped and backed up, grinning as she evaded the hits, her hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, okay mom, I’m going!” She dusted her hands on her apron. “Is there someone I need to scare off?”

Her mother rolled her eyes with a fond smile. “For the last time, Marinette, you don’t need to get rid of every person you deem a ‘Karen’.”

“But I wanna!” She huffed. “They’re evildoers! I must vanquish them!”

“So dramatic,” Sabine chided lightly, and swatted Marinette again. Marinette gave an offended screech that went completely ignored. “Someone’s waiting for you at the counter.”

Her eyebrows knit together, the playfulness disappearing from her expression in favor of pure, unadulterated confusion. Adrien was in therapy at the moment – he wasn’t stupid enough to skip, and he was definitely not stupid enough to let her find out he was skipping this easily – but it couldn’t be anyone else.

She poked her head around, and only ended up more confused when her eyes landed on the only person in the store. Audrey Bourgeois stood at the counter in clothes that were far too warm for late summer, with a white trench coat to compliment her signature large sunglasses and even larger hat. She probably didn’t want to get infected by the ‘poor’ness of the bakery… though that begged the question of why she was visiting her parents’ bakery at all. Surely, she could get food catered to her by her private chefs back home in America?

She slowly made her way over to the counter. “Mme. Bourgeois,” she said, tipping her head forward respectfully. “What brings you here?”

The woman crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re MDC,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

Her eyes widened and she backed up a half step. “What? How do you –?”

“If you have money, you can find out anything,” Audrey said shortly.

Marinette gave her a flat look. “Jagged let it slip, huh?”

It seemed the woman had spontaneously gone deaf. She continued on with her point: “I like what you have made so far, and I would like to buy you.”

Marinette opened and closed her mouth several times without managing to say a word. What could you even say to that?

Oh, right.

“I’m not for sale?” She said slowly, sounding more unsure than she probably should have. But give her a break, she was very confused.

She tilted her sunglasses downward so she could peer directly into her eyes. “Aren’t you? You’re not going to get far in this industry on your own – your designs are amazing, but fashion design is an industry that even I will admit is heavily affected by nepotism. You need backing. I can help you.”

“And if I don’t care about being ‘world famous’ or whatever?”

She scoffed. “Don’t you get tired of standing around here, baking all day? Will you really feel happy when you inevitably take over for your parents after they retire? Do you not have any dreams of your own? Don’t you want more?”

Marinette’s mouth went dry.

Because she did want more. Desperately. She had been puttering along after Hawkmoth’s defeat, unable to find anything that gave her anything more than momentary happiness. But the thing she missed so much was no longer an option, not really.

She bit the inside of her cheek, quietly considering.

“What would change if I did this?”

Audrey’s lips curled into a victorious little smile. “I would like to relocate you to America, to be closer to me.”

She nodded slowly. But something poked at her mentally, and she ran over the words a few times in her head until she figured out what exactly had thrown her off.

“Where in America, exactly?”

Audrey’s smile lessened just slightly. Clearly, she had been hoping that that wouldn’t come up. She sighed. “Gotham,” she admitted.

Marinette’s eyes widened.

Gotham?

Something sharp flickered over her expression but she was quick to tamp it down. She reached a hand across the counter, the grin on her face just barely off. “I think I can handle living in the most crime-ridden city in the world if it means I get to take advantage of this incredible opportunity you’re offering.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

The flight was far shorter than she thought it would be, all because her thoughts were on one thing – or, rather, one person: Chloe Bourgeois.

She wasn’t sure where they stood. Back during their school days, they’d had a kind of truce, if only because they both hated Lila (admittedly, for different reasons). It was nice to bitch about her over lunch. But they didn’t have much connecting them beyond that, and Lila was no longer around, which meant that the nature of their relationship was up in the air.

Maybe things would be better?

Her hopes were dashed the moment she saw Chloe.

She stood there, in practically the exact same outfit she had worn to school every day, leaning against a conveyor belt. She was on her phone, doomscrolling from the looks of it, her other hand just barely holding onto a piece of cardstock with Marinette’s name on it.

Well, actually, upon closer inspection, it said ‘Marinete’.

Great.

Well, if Chloe was going to be petty, then why shouldn’t she?

“Interesting that you were sent to get me,” Marinette said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is your mom’s company doing so poorly that you can’t even afford a butler or whatever to come and help? Because I would have preferred if she’d disclosed that before hiring me.”

“Mom said you’d want to see a familiar face,” Chloe shrugged. “I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how she is.”

She sighed. Yeah, she certainly did. “Well, let’s get this over with, then.”

Chloe hummed her agreement.

~

Marinette managed to open and sort out a single box before she flopped onto her bare mattress, groaning. “Tikkiiiiiiiiiii…”

Tikki poked her head out of her purse. “What?”

“Can you magic all of the moving and stuff to be done?”

“‘Can you magic all of the moving and stuff to be done?’” Tikki repeated, and Marinette could hear the laughter in her voice even without looking over.

“You got what I meant, didn’t you?”

Tikki snickered to herself. “I suppose that’s true. No, Marinette, I can’t.”

“... maybe I’ll ask Stompp,” she sighed, glaring at the ceiling as if it had personally offended her. It had. It was blank, without her usual fairy lights, but she didn’t want to unpack. She hadn’t come to Gotham to be normal, hadn’t even come here for the job opportunities (she would go to work, obviously, she rather liked not starving to death), but she needed to do all of that other stuff before she could go out and do any superhero-ing.

Tikki sighed fondly. “Honestly, that would probably be better, but I don’t think you should skimp out on things like this. It builds character, and it’s not as if these normal, everyday things are bad .”

Marinette made a face of mild disgust to convey just what she thought of that particular opinion.

And then she frowned, the first part of the sentence registering a little bit late. “Why would it be better?”

Tikki’s amusement bled out of her. She hesitated, glancing to the side.

“Tikki,” she said, sitting up properly. “What aren’t you telling me?”

The kwami looked sheepish. The exact expression she made when she got caught sneaking bites out of the cookie dough back at the bakery.

 “Remember how Master Fu mentioned how Plagg and I are two halves of the same whole?”

“Yeeees?”

“When Plagg isn’t active, I get weaker.”

Marinette frowned to herself, mulling this over. It had been a little over three years since Hawkmoth’s defeat, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t noticed the kwami getting quieter, but she had assumed that she was just winding down during peacetimes. After all, she loved to preach that Marinette should enjoy her ‘retirement’, why wouldn’t Marinette assume that she was simply trying to prove that she was right by leading by example?

But that certainly put a damper on her plans to be Ladybug again…

Unless, of course, she found a new person to play the part of the Cat.

She… didn’t want someone else to play her Cat. She loved Adrien, replacing him felt wrong. Like a betrayal, even if she knew that he could not – should not – be a holder again.

And, even if she had been interested in another Cat, it wasn’t as if she could go grab someone off the street. Ethics and sentimentality aside, miraculi only truly bind to people with specific personalities. As Guardian, she could tell when people met the general criteria, but the cat miraculous was tricky. People who held the cat miraculous were to be chaotic, and if they were too chaotic they had a tendency to become corrupted.

She sighed and toyed with her own miraculous, spinning the earrings around and around in her ear. She couldn’t properly bond with any others, so she was either to give up her own for a while so she could find a new partner or she would have to limit her use of the miraculous until then.

Damn it.

She bit her lip, thinking hard.

Okay. She needed to find someone to be her Cat, then.

She was stubborn, she would admit that this was one of her more unsavory traits (it was good during a fight, but outside of that it led to problems), but she wasn’t intent on hurting Tikki just because she was a little bit bored.

She had lived with her boredom for three years now, she could handle another few months.

Unfortunately, that left her with nothing to do.

She looked around at her bare apartment, at the boxes piled high in one corner. It was a small place, a one-roomer, because getting too nice of a place would make her a prime target for getting robbed, and she could not let that happen when there was a box full of all-powerful jewelry hidden in her closet. She should really get to work decorating the place because, at the moment, she didn’t think it would be all that good at providing inspiration for her job, and she would only get so long to settle in before she would be expected to start coming up with designs…

Nah.

She looked at her friend, her eyes gleaming. “Want to explore the city?”

Tikki sighed.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3

She checked to make sure that her door was locked about five times before she left.

And then doubled back to check just one more time before she’d even gotten ten paces away.

She narrowed her eyes at the lock. Most locks are relatively easy to pick given the right tools and even a base understanding of how they work. And that's if someone didn't just break the door down entirely. She didn’t like the idea of leaving the miraculous box behind one flimsy piece of wood, not when she was in the most dangerous city in the world, but she couldn’t exactly take it with her either, it wasn't the most inconspicuous thing to carry around.

She slipped back into her apartment and made her way over to her closet, where her miraculous box lay hidden behind all of the other boxes that she hadn’t wanted to unpack yet. She squinted at it. It was certainly flashy, a bright red ball with the occasional compartment tucked inside. She took the ‘box’ (she supposed it was a ball, actually, if you wanted to be exact about it) into her hands and tilted it this way and that, examining it for a moment.

And then she closed her eyes, envisioning it as a sewing kit instead, filled with different textiles and threads and a pincushion, all so she could hide the miraculi in the false lining at the top…

The feeling of it molding itself to her whims was strange, almost as if she was playing with some particularly warm playdough. It was the complete opposite of her Lucky Charms, which were often strangely plastic-like no matter what the things they were modeled after were ‘supposed’ to be made of. She wasn't sure she liked it, but at least she would only have to do it once before...

She peeked an eye open, and brightened up immediately upon seeing that it had worked.

She's still got it.

She hugged the miraculous box to her chest, relishing in her not-so-stellar accomplishment for just a few moments longer.

Then, as always, it was back to it.

Marinette put it on her desk. Pulled her sketchbook out of her backpack and set it on the table as well. Tossed a couple of pencils onto it. Skewed the angle of the sketchbook just slightly.

She stepped back to admire her work.

There. She looked like a frazzled artist who had been desperately trying to jot down her ideas before they disappeared. It wasn’t out of character, and wouldn’t draw any eyes.

Secure in that her Guardian duties had been taken care of for the time being, she finally left.

(After checking the lock another seven times. It never hurt to be careful, did it?)

It was just starting to get dark. People were still out, though, walking with a kind of hurriedness that suggested that they were just as aware of the time as she was. Huddled in small groups, craving safety in numbers.

When the group nearest her passed, they slowed down just slightly, as if inviting her to join, and she did so, because she wasn't really sure what else there was to do.

She pulled out her phone for directions, as any good Gen Z person should, deciding that the thing to prioritize during her first expedition through Gotham was food. She hadn’t gone to get groceries yet, and she really wasn’t intending on doing it right then, either, she wasn’t even sure her fridge was cool enough… so… she looked up local bakeries. There was one decently close by, but in the opposite direction, she would have to settle for walking an extra ten minutes…

But as the sharp-eyed reader might notice, she had made a fatal mistake: she was on her phone, visibly lost, while walking through Gotham.

It wasn’t long before her skin started to crawl. If there was one thing that she could always sense, it was when there were eyes on her. One might think that her time as a famous superhero would dull that sense, eyes were always on her, it should be no big deal after a while, but instead it had been heightened. There wasn’t a moment while she’d been wearing the suit that she wasn’t aware of the fact that people were watching her, depending on her.

This person wasn’t quite as innocent as the other people she had saved, though. Whoever was watching her had so much evil intent that she was starting to feel a little sick to her stomach on their behalf. She bit the inside of her cheek, the purse on her hip warm even through her clothes.

Okay.

Okay okay.

She broke off from the group suddenly, turning down an alley, and wasn’t that surprised when the teen who never seemed to take his hands out of the pockets of his jacket followed after her.

She checked herself in her phone screen. Out of an abundance of caution, she had headed out in a dark hoodie pulled low over her hair and a face mask to try and block out some of the pollution that hung heavy in the air. It was a pretty common outfit in Gotham, anyway, she might as well assimilate. And, as a secret plus, her identity was decently well-hidden. She could go all out without it being traced back to ‘Marinette’.

But she really didn’t want to face the other end of whatever weapon that lay in the teen’s pocket without any kind of magical protection.

So, as the teen stepped into the alley behind her, she mumbled the words that had been on the tip of her tongue for what felt like a lifetime:

“Tikki, spots on!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4

The first thing that she noticed was that her Ladybug outfit was different. Over the years, as she’d become a stronger holder, her outfit had gained more and more intricacies and details, until it was basically unrecognizable – save for the signature red and black color scheme. Now, though, she was back in her original jumpsuit. Now, she was getting more and more tired by the second, as if the suit had recognized that Tikki didn’t have as much magical reserves as usual and had started pulling from Marinette to compensate. She tried not to think of what that could mean.

This was relatively easy to do, because the teen had snapped out of his shock. And he had a gun! Joy!

“What the fuck?” said the teen, pointing his gun at her. The mask he had been about to pull over his mouth and nose was askew, only serving to make his head look lopsided, as if he was looking at her in confusion.

Which he was also doing, his eyes were practically popping out of his head.

Okay, not entirely past his shock, then.

Marinette flashed a peace sign. “Well, since I’ve done my super cool magical girl transformation, how about you say you’ve learned your lesson and won’t try to rob ‘weak’, unsuspecting people –?”

He tried to shoot her, but his hands were shaking, and the bullet whizzed past her ear.

She didn’t give him the chance to try again. Her yoyo shot out and looped itself around the barrel of his gun, and one quick tug sliced the end right off.

He gave a quiet hiss of frustration and retaliated by throwing the weapon aside.

She had to admit, she was not expecting that. Her eyes traced the motion absently, surprised that he had managed to toss it perfectly into a nearby dumpster despite the fact that they were in a fight, only to remember that they were in a fight, just in time for a fist to connect with the side of her head, throwing her back a bit.

Right, this wasn’t an akuma. You can’t just destroy their weapon and watch their will to fight dissolve into nothing, for it had never been their will in the first place. But this teen? This person who was probably just in dire need of money? He had nothing but willpower and a healthy dose of adrenaline. He wasn’t going to go down unless she made him.

But this wasn’t an akuma. If she hit him too hard, he would die. People were surprisingly fragile.

Damn, she really hadn’t thought this through at all.

She latched her yoyo to her 'belt' to make sure she couldn’t feel tempted to use her Lucky Charm.

A kick towards her stomach was thrown in hopes that he would her off guard while she was considering what to do.

Amateur, she thought vaguely. Don’t throw a kick unless you know it’s going to land. You really are just a kid.

She grabbed his foot and pulled him off-balance, her free hand coming up to sock him.

There was a whirl of silver.

The teen was yanked from her grip. He hit the wall behind him.

For a moment she almost didn’t process it, her fist just barely missing his nose, instead sailing past him to crack the brick by his head.

The teen shrieked and tried to scramble away, but he was unable to. And not because of her.

He hadn’t just hit the wall, he’d been pinned.

Was that a shuriken?

The teen struggled to pull out the shuriken for a second but, with a few more flashes of silver, all of his limbs were successfully taken out of commission.

She managed to track the trajectory on the last one, following it back up to where someone was crouching on the roof. She didn’t need to wait long to get a good look at him, though, because he dropped to the floor beside her.

“That was my arrest,” she said, her nose scrunching up in distaste (both at the fact that he had stolen her win and the bright greens, reds, and yellows of his outfit).

Robin walked right past her, to the teen, and gave him a quick hit to the head. The kid stopped moving. He nodded once, to himself, as if confirming that he had done a good job, and then turned back to face her. "I don’t see why you care.”

“Because I’m the one who went through the effort to fight him! You don’t just go and steal someone’s win at the last second!”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you have a point to this?”

“My point, is that you can’t just rush in and get the last hit! I worked hard for it!”

Robin sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “You can have the arrest, I don’t mind giving it to you.”

“Giving it to me?”

“Sure. I’ll let you take him in.”

She clenched her fists. “Let me?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Would you prefer I say this in French?”

Her hand flew to her mouth. In her anger, she hadn’t realized she’d been speaking with her actual accent.

She had wanted to try and fake one for a while, at least until she’d managed to get her way to an American one, so she’d be able to claim it was a coincidence that she’d had similar a look and theme as the Ladybug that had once protected Paris. She could shift to something else, but it would only be more suspicious now.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Ultimately, it wasn’t about the arrest or even the last hit. It was

about the fact that he was being an absolute prick about it. Acting like it was some honor that he

wasn’t going to prevent her from getting an arrest she would have rightfully earned if he had just given her the chance.

But, as mad as that made her, she wasn’t going to argue further. He knew what her actual voice

sounded like, she couldn’t really risk making him too angry.

“I’m an American,” she told him.

He looked unimpressed. “Are you now?”

“Yup,” she said, pulling out the shuriken and shoving them into his hands.

She pulled out her yoyo, all too aware that he was staring at her, and bound the teen as tightly as she could without hurting him further.

“You have a weird weapon.”

“Thanks,” she muttered sarcastically, throwing the teen over her shoulder.

She sent Robin a mocking salute as she set off toward the police station.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5

Marinette leaned against the wall of the police station, exhaustion threatening to tug her down. She swiped a hand over her eyes, but her mask prevented her from getting any kind of relief from the action.

Apparently, choosing to drop the teen off inside the station instead of out front like a pet cat bringing a mouse to its owner had immediately given her away as being unaffiliated with the bats. Which meant she got a surprisingly warm welcome. Or maybe it was because she was polite and wasn’t, quote, ‘disappearing in the middle of conversations’. It might have been funny if she wasn’t so appalled. Were all of the bats really so rude that they would only respond in vague grunts of affirmation and denial? Should she be more or less offended that Robin actually took the time to sound out syllables while arguing with her?

Anyways.

Yeah, it had taken a lot out of her. Especially because, the entire time she’d been trying to find a way to politely decline being interrogated and wriggle her way around small talk with leading answers (because, happy or not, cops are still cops), she had also been dealing with the miraculous eating away at her stamina. She found herself wishing that teen hadn’t chosen to try and rob her – not because of the attempted mugging itself, that was whatever, but because she really could have used that restaurant trip right about then.

She would deal, she supposed, since there wasn’t any other option.

She walked down a couple of blocks to detransform, waiting just long enough for Tikki to drop into her purse, and then started heading home. She tugged her hood lower over her head, trying to avoid eye contact even as she rushed through the streets. She was fucking starving, but she would rather go hungry for the night than be stabbed.

Something told her that she wouldn’t be able to call Tikki for a Hail Mary again, at least not that night.

And wasn’t that a strange thought to have? That she was back to having proper limitations on how she used the miraculous? After all these years?

She bit the inside of her cheek, nerves quite literally gnawing away at her. It wasn’t helping that she was currently walking in the dark in Gotham and there were people eyeing her and she was fucked –.

She tasted blood when someone dropped down in front of her. She shrieked, stumbling back a few steps, only for a hand to grab her by the wrist, catching her before she could hit the ground.

She looked up at Red Robin, who was smiling sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to scare you that bad,” he mumbled, apologetic but distinctly not apologizing.

Which, after her experience with Robin, wasn’t all that surprising, if she was going to be honest.

Still annoying, though.

She narrowed her eyes at him, if only slightly. She righted herself, running her tongue over the torn skin of her cheek, checking the damage, and wasn’t particularly pleased to find that that hurt.

“Saying ‘that bad’ implies that you were intending to scare me a little,” she said.

He stared at her for a moment, processing this, before snickering. His expression split into a cheeky grin that was no less real than his previous apologetic look, but certainly more natural on his face. “I have a reputation to keep up, you know. Bats have to be spooky bitches, those are the requirements to apply.”

“Maybe don’t say ‘spooky bitches’, that doesn’t really help,” she advised.

“I’ve already gotten the job,” he waved off her concerns. “They’re stuck with me, now.”

She knew, somewhere, that he was just trying to help her relax. She had done this before as Ladybug, joking around with someone she knew was stressed out – it was practically her go-to move, seeing as emotions weren’t really her forte – so it shouldn’t work, but… it did.

“Sorry about scaring you,” he said, his grin softening once again, into a smile.

She nodded, however hesitantly. She could hold a grudge, she wanted to hold a grudge, but he genuinely did seem guilty about the whole ordeal, since he had gone to the effort to soothe her.

And, besides, she needed to know why he had decided to drop down in front of her.

“How did you…?” she said, tugging on the strings of her hoodie, trying to force herself to relax and look nonchalant when all she could think about was how she stood out and how bad that was for a Guardian …

“Know that you’re new here and could use a hand? You’re… both too nervous and not nervous enough.”

She paused, if only momentarily, to give him an odd look. “That doesn’t make sense.”

He huffed. “It does, you just don’t have enough experience here to get it yet.”

“I think you might just be bad at explaining things.”

He gave her a sour expression. “I’m not, I’m not! Look, okay –.” He pointed at a random man. Said random man did not seem particularly happy about this, immediately turning to disappear down the first alley he could find. “He wasn’t paying enough attention to our conversation to know that we mean him no harm. So, he’s less anxious than you. But. If you look around, you’ll see everyone is looking up for bats –...” he trailed off. Everyone was looking at him, actually, not up. This both proved and disproved his point. His face flushed beneath his mask. “Er, I guess, not right now, since they already know where I am… but! If they hadn’t! They would be looking up to make sure they weren’t about to get dropped on.”

Marinette thought she might have understood what he was getting at.

However, was she going to admit that? No.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re terrible at this.”

She loved lying.

He groaned, but there was something amused tugging at the corner of his lips. “You suck. And here I was, coming down to help walk you where you needed to go, but if I’m terrible…”

Uh oh. Consequences.

“Haha noooooo no no,” she said hastily. “I said you’re terrible at explaining things, I’m sure you’re great at this whole vigilante thing! And, as long as your day job doesn’t have anything to do with explaining things, I think you’re set!”

Red Robin made a pained expression.

“Oh… I think I might be the first person to say this, but man, you’ve got to quit your day job.”

He stepped back a half-step, clutching his heart, as if he were wounded.

She looped her arm through the crook in his elbow, and only took a moment to snicker at his stunned expression before she started dragging him along. “C’mon, you’re my hostage now, and my ransom demand is cookies.”

“Oh, there’s a bakery back that way,” he said, pointing behind them. “I think it’s pretty good.”

She spun them around sharply and ignored his bemused grin as she started off in the general direction that he had pointed.

Getting a snack was a quick, almost normal affair. If it were not for the fact that Marinette was buying an entire baker's dozen of cookies ‘for herself’ and Red Robin dropping a hundred dollar bill into the tip jar as an apology for freaking out the workers by simply existing within their vicinity.

“Damn,” she breathed, looking at the tip jar. “I take it back. Do not quit your day job .”

He gave an abrupt puff of laughter, tipping his head back, and she couldn’t help but smile a little in return.

It was fun, she didn’t mind the company.

Not until she reached her apartment building.

“Uh, how about you drop me off here?” she said.

The lenses of his domino narrowed, if only slightly. “Yeah? Why not?”

“Because of the drugs I’m hiding,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes. She elbowed him in the side, hard , not bothering to hold back when he was wearing as much armor as he was. “I’m still unpacking, the place is a mess.”

His suspicious expression softened back into a smile. “That… makes sense. Sorry. Too used to people being shady here.”

“Someone needs a better work-life balance,” she teased, as if she had any leg up in this kind of conversation.

Of course, he couldn’t know this, so he only smiled and nodded.

“I’ll work on it,” he said, giving her a two-finger salute. “You should sleep before your work-life balance is affected, too.”

“Too late,” she sing-songed, lifting her hand in a lazy kind of wave behind herself as she started up to her apartment.

Weird guy, she thought as she took the stairs. At least he’s better than Robin.

At least he didn’t disappear in the middle of the conversation like the policemen lamented. Maybe this is why you shouldn’t trust cops.

She gave an amused little huff at the thought, glancing towards the street absently, and found that Red Robin had disappeared into the ether.

Okay, maybe there was some truth to it, then.

She stepped into her apartment, toeing off her shoes and taking only a moment to make sure she locked the door behind herself…

And then dropped into bed, groaning. She should probably get out her snack but, now that she didn’t have someone to riff off of to distract herself, she was so… drained.

Perhaps in a literal sense, thanks to the miraculous.

She felt something poke her cheek, and lifted a bleary eye to see Tikki, holding out a cookie for her.

Marinette smiled, however strained it might have been. She lifted her head, propping it on her hand, and took the cookie with her other. Tikki beamed, grabbing the rest of the container and promptly emptying it over her own head. Marinette didn’t really see the cookies get eaten, it was more like they simply dematerialized the moment they got within an inch of the kwami’s mouth, but whatever.

She nibbled at the cookie. It didn’t quite bring her up to par again, not in the way it did for Tikki, but it was still nice to have a bit of sugar to wake herself up.

“Is this how you felt after fights?” Marinette asked.

Because it wasn’t like she hadn’t been tired after her encounters with akumas, don’t get her wrong, she wasn’t a superhuman (not technically, at least), but the tiredness she had felt had been akin to the way one might feel right after a particularly good workout. In desperate need of a rest, perhaps, but satisfied with a job well done.

This was just…

Exhaustion.

It probably didn’t help that it was late, but she had pulled plenty of all-nighters in her day, and this was something more. A bone-deep kind of tiredness, as if she had put her very soul through a wringer, and now she desperately needed to lay down before her will to live withered away into nothing.

Tikki nodded.

Guilt was quick to bubble up like bile in the back of her throat, and Tikki was quick to try and soothe her worries:

“Usually it’s not this bad, though. With no Plagg…”

Emphasis on ‘try’, for she felt no less terrible. Marinette grimaced. “I’m sorry, Tikki, I didn’t want –.”

“Please don’t say sorry if you intend on doing it again.”

She… didn’t have much of a response for that.

“I – I’m not planning on it,” she said, eventually, awkwardly. “I just – if it comes up again –.”

Tikki cut her off with a sigh. She reached out and patted Marinette on the arm. “Don’t worry, I know… why you came here, I know you’re eager to get back into things. But, if you choose to keep doing this, it will likely have ramifications for both of us.”

She nodded slowly.

Tikki smiled. “Now, there is a way to fix all of this. You can get a partner.”

Marinette blinked. She nodded. She knew this, they’d already gone over this.

But Tikki was looking at her like she was supposed to be realizing something, so Marinette was forced to put some thought into it.

Unfortunately, she came up blank.

Tikki sighed, again, though this was more fond than sheerly exasperated. “Robin. I’m saying Robin could be a good fit for the Cat. Did you really not notice all of the Chaos radiating from him?”

Marinette thought back to the conversation they’d had. Nothing about him had particularly jumped out at her, and all of the things that had caught her attention hadn’t been exactly good qualities worthy of a miraculous.

Not that Tikki seemed to agree:

“And, oh, he’s already a hero, so we know he’s not going to get corrupted. It’s perfect –!”

“I didn’t really care enough to check for something like that over all the yelling,” Marinette cut her off, her tone utterly flat, even if she felt like a dick for doing so. It was best not to get the kwami’s hopes up, after all. “But I don’t think we’d be good as partners – because of the aforementioned yelling, you know.”

Tikki crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe you could talk it out with him –.”

The doorbell rang, cutting her off from whatever she was going to say. Marinette sprang up, glad for the excuse, and waved for Tikki to hide.

She gave the kwami three seconds before flinging the door open. “Hey!”

Chloe stood there, leaning in the doorframe, breathing heavily. Marinette would think Chloe had run there, but she distinctly remembered Chloe’s constant insistence that she would never run even if her life depended on it. Besides, there was red rimming her eyes, and that suggested that the Chloe Bourgeois was on the verge of a breakdown.

But, surely, she was misreading things. Even if Chloe was emotional (already doubtful, really), why would she go to Marinette –?

“You – you’re Ladybug!”

She should have just let Tikki lecture her.

[ghostoffuturespast]

Manuscript Word Search Tag

Buckle up because I have four of these saved... Sorry, for being so verbose and for it erroneously being like two or three months getting back to some of you. I kept putting it off and then forgot.

Grabbing all of these from the behemoth, So It Goes.

Also, there's a link to everyone's OG posts with their word searches, so go read their stuff too!

@fly-amanitaa gave me night, breeze, jealous, & collide - here

Night

V took the long way to the metro station. She wasn’t ready to sit still yet. Basking in the glow of neon and the anonymity of the crowded streets, night was when the city came alive. It had been years since she’d let herself get lost among the streets, the time she’d spent at Arasaka hadn’t allowed for aimless wandering. Her feet led her to the waterfront edge of Kabuki, the lights of Japantown across the way, gleaming towers brilliant in the night sky. The neon and LEDS outshone the stars. A breeze from the water made her dark purple hair dance on her shoulders. Maybe that’s why most people found it so hard to quit Night City. The artificial lights cut through the dark and offered the allure of promises. The sweetness of dreams. The hope of carving something for yourself out of the darkness. Hope was the raft people clung to and the ocean they drowned in.

Breeze

The ride back to the Heywood precinct was the quietest part of her evening. After, was always when her nerves settled down. Past the point of fraying, when there was nothing left to hold together and the tiredness would settle in. V cracked the windows, relishing the breeze that filtered off the canals and cooled her skin.

Jealous

A few kept their distance but the majority of the hens flocked to the edge of the fence, bobbing and tilting their heads with the expectation of being fed. Black and amber eyes stared up at them, a few of the birds cooing and clucking as they waited. Feathers ruffled as they vied for space in front of River in particular, who was taunting them with the handful of greens in his hand.V ran her tongue over her teeth. After a terse pause, she looked out the corner of her eye. “Should’ve mentioned you were a mom.” “Mm.” He hummed. “Hope you’re not too disappointed.” Tapping her boot, she muttered. “Could’ve said something about them being birds though.” “Sorry, wanted it to be a surprise. Plus, I thought it was funny and, uh, you’re kind of cute when you’re riled up.” River flashed a wide grin. “Were you really that worried?” “I– I don’t know. Maybe a little.” “My, you really are the jealous type.” He teased.

Collide

Rain thrummed against the metal railings and pattered on the cars parked in the lot below. Dawn was breaking gray through the clouds. V watched water droplets collide into puddles, ripples spread out and interlaced with each other. Every breath she took hurt, the expansion of her lungs straining against her injuries. She took a sharp breath in and exhaled letting her breath condense in the cool air. Even with the pain, it was somehow easier to breathe when it rained. V was sheltered under the slim metal awning of a fire escape, twirling Evelyn’s cigarette case in between her palms.

@setaflow gave me retort, sun, length, & knuckle - here

Retort

V ran her tongue over her teeth, scoffed, and decided the time for going along quietly was over. She shouted so the whole room could hear. “I’m not in the business of owing people favors, particularly not to pigs who try to solicit the people they’ve arrested.” Heads swiveled in their direction. It was a bad idea, she was in the middle of a precinct full of badges, but she was cold, tired, cranky, and had enough of whatever this shit was. She needed to buy a couple more seconds though. “You’re barking up the wrong tree if you think you’re going to get ‘favors’ from me just because you dropped whatever charges you cooked up.” V sneered at him. “You want favors? Phone a friend. Pay a joytoy. Get Jimenez to suck your dick for you.” Dupres’ fingers dug into her arm. “You n–” He didn’t get the chance to finish his retort. V slid to the side, catching Dupres off guard and off balance. She hooked her upper arm into the crook of his elbow and shit-whipped him into the group of cops and gutter-punks that was passing behind them. They toppled over like bowling pins.

Sun

The sun was making it’s descent in the sky, shades of blue turning to hues of orange and pink. Wind picked up dust, swirling and tossing it through the empty streets. V sat next to the switchgear box, head resting against the railing, eyes closed. She traced circles on her palms with her fingers while sweat trickled down her back. Waiting during an op was always the worst part, it gave one far too much time to think. About the things that could go wrong and the things that did go wrong.

Length

It was late in the morning when V woke up. The lack of light had let her sleep in. A giant bank of fog had rolled in from the ocean and engulfed the entire city, wisps of moisture clinging to every conceivable surface before droplets coalesced and drug themselves down. Water running it’s hands down the length and breadth of Night City. V rolled over and buried herself even further underneath her covers, in an attempt to warm herself up. She’d only bothered to put a t-shirt and underwear on after she’d washed away the blood and patched up all the bullet holes with BioSkin. The muscles on her torso and legs were stiff and bruised where the bullets had ricocheted off. She tried to shut her eyes and go back to sleep, but Nibbles poked his wet nose in her ear before biting it.

Knuckle

Hands and lips pressed back on each other with a renewed fervor, nakedness fostering their explorations even further. Touches alternating between soft and something rougher. V delighted in the taste of River on the edge of her tongue, drowning in the scent of him. Leather, soap, salt damp skin, and something ancient. Something of the earth that she’d long forgotten. River’s fingers wove their way into her hair and cradled the shaved fuzz at her nape, hunting for more of her. Roaming to all the places he hadn't been yet. The knuckles of his other hand traced up her leg and over the curve of her hip. Feet fumbled over one another as they made a clumsy back-pedal toward the bed.

(Not a single singular use of the word knuckle. Also, cutting it off before it gets too spicy)

@morganlefaye79 gave me cake, occupied, outside, staring, & heart - here

Cake

“Great. More stairs and limited exits, my favorite.” Jackie waved his hand. “Quit worrying, V. Our choom watching the stairs isn’t even paying attention. They’re probably napping off their hangovers and coming down from their glitter highs, while we’re bright eyed and bushy tailed. Should be a piece of cake.” “Not getting too over confident are we?” V asked.“ Eh, first gig in two weeks just missed the rush, chica .”

Occupied

V walked around to Vik’s comp and pulled out her link and plugged in. An upload notification appeared in her optics. V’s eyes wandered around the clinic while she waited, before they ended up settling on River. He was wearing a black t-shirt, his silver necklace standing out against the dark material, along with a worn out but well fitting pair of jeans. V watched the corded muscles of his arms move as he shrugged his coat back on. The upload bar disappeared. Vik swiped through the readouts on his screen. He only talked loud enough for V to hear. “Looks like your mineral and cortisol levels have stabilized. That’s good.” He frowned slightly. “Some of your other vitals are elevated though…” V jerked her head around too quickly towards Vik. He noticed. V felt her cheeks heat up. Both of Vik’s eyebrows quirked over his shades as he comprehended what, or who, V had been looking at. “Vitals are elevated but within normal range. You’re all set to go.” V yanked her link out and blew on her bangs. Vik silently laughed next to her. River was still occupied making sure his optic was fully functional. V hoped he had missed that entire exchange.

Outside

Given the weather, there weren’t many pedestrians outside. The people that did brave the heat dodged quickly into the shade or glacial refuges of buildings or cars. Even the street vendors had decided to keep their carts and stalls closed. Mirages shimmered off the concrete in the spots that were fully exposed to the sun and the smell of exhaust and ozone saturated the air. V was dripping sweat by the time she made it to the Esoterica.

Staring

It was hours before call time, but Johnny had insisted they arrive early, eager for mischief. V stood staring at a giant garish samurai mask emblazoned on the front gate. The polished estate sat greedily on the other side of the fence, complete with manicured lawn, rows of palm trees, pristine drive way, glimmering windows, and a few security bots patrolling the perimeter. Kerry Eurodyne’s mansion a sleek modern testament to architecture, wealth, and success. So of course, Johnny hated it.

Heart

“Spent a lifetime curating those. Y’know, on principle, still can’t excuse you for bein’ a cop, but I’ll admit you’re a decent uncle.” If Johnny had had the guidance, maybe he wouldn’t have done half the shit he did. Maybe. He spun the empty shot glass on the counter and stared at the new heart inked on the inside of his borrowed forearm. “Gonna have to look after her when I’m not around anymore.” River tilted his head fully, brown organic eye exposed. “What’s with the sudden change in tune?”

@luvwich gave me spice, question, fury, paint, & gentle - here

Spice

Taking a heaping forkful of rice and chile slathered in cheese, V groaned. “Lord, I missed this. Think you might actually be the best cook in NC.” “You’re welcome over anytime, V. You just need to remember that.” Mama Welles pointed with her fork. V shoveled another forkful of food into her mouth and got up. “Do you need something to drink?” “Ah, water, por favor … How is it, Misty?” “I-it’s really delicious, Mama Welles.” V came back with three cans of water, setting one in front of each of them. Across from her Misty was sweating and trying to drown out the spice with her beer. Misty threw V a grateful look as she opened the can of water and downed half of it. V scarfed her first plate of food.

Question

“... Okay. That does sound like an emergency.” There were a few snips as Vik started removing the sutures. “Was that the Peter Pan case that was all over the feeds a couple days ago?” “Yeah.” “You keep makin’ the front page, kid.” V pursed her lips. “Not really a fan to be honest. Starting to see why you didn’t want to stay in the limelight.” The tugging sensation on her skin changed as Vik moved on to the staples.“Who stitched you up?” Turning her head away, V stumbled on the question. “River.” Vik decided not to kick her while she was down. “Did a neat job. Maybe he should've been a doctor instead.”

Fury

“Hmm. Well, if he’s one of our suppliers, you might be off the hook. But then again…” V roughly pinched one of Black’s cheeks. She slapped him, Black’s head whipping hard to the side. “I’ll have to see what Jotaro says, mull it over. In the meantime, don’t go anywhere.” V briskly marched back to the office and slammed the door. River glared out the window at Officer Black, his face colored with an undercurrent of fury and all grim lines. He was leaning with his hands on the desk and cut the holo line when V walked in. She crossed her arms, her eyes flitting between River and Black squirming in his chair. “A confession and two more names isn’t bad. Still don’t know where Shobo’s hiding out though.” River scoffed. “Tch. Yeah, except this shit keeps getting deeper.”

Paint

It was standing room only in the train, packed with the last of the evening's corporate commuters and the early rush of nighttime pleasure seekers. The car rattled along on the rails and the smell of sweat and paint saturated the interior. Someone was swatching the back of the car with graffiti. A bright neon pink. The train doors opened up twenty minutes later and people spilled out into the metro tunnel, V shouldered her way through the crowd and darted up the escalator that spat her out in The Glen.

Gentle

River held her gaze and confessed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but… can’t seem to stay away from trouble.” “Don’t know why.” V whispered. “Because she’s beautiful and won’t admit it.” V shut her eyes, the warmth unbearable. “Doubt that. I’m a walking piece of garbage.” “That’s not what I see.” “You’re too good, River.” Stray tears escaped down her cheeks. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.” He gave her a soft smile. His organic hand coming up to cup her face, thumb swiping tears away. Calloused. Warm. Gentle. "It's not. It's just… I don't understand how you're so fucking… kind. And kind to me. When this place is such a fucking hellhole and when it's done nothing but take from you." River searched V's face. "For better or worse, I suppose I still find things to be hopeful for." And looked through her. “All I see is a fierce woman who has the courage to care despite all the pain that’s happened to her.”

Phew, made it. Hopefully no one fell asleep.

Tagging in no particular order and with no pressure: @fly-amanitaa @setaflow @morganlefaye79 @luvwich (Yes, I'm tagging you all back) @seeker-of-truth @neon-pink-witch @vox-monstera @civilization-illstayrighthere @merge-conflict @another-corpo-rat @wanderingaldecaldo @shimmer-like-agirl

Your words, should you choose to accept, are: blossom, scent, rust, dream, & rain.

[keffirinne]

Please do post the rest of what you wrote for please not him!

I think you wrapped up the story in a really nice way, so you could even post these as a separate thick, like a companion piece or separate one shot. But please do post them! I want to read everything you’ve written for him.

Hi anon!

Sorry it took me so long to reply, wanted to wrap it up in a finished, short oneshot for you!

So happy you're still interested in my Roman's fics :3

It takes some pressure off me when I have the whole piece completed and can just post something whenever I feel like it, like this.

I mean, I can do it all the time, but my project management skills turn on, when I have unfinished stuff, waiting to be ended xD

Maybe not everything I have in my drafts I find suitable for posting, definitely not in the form I have it there right now, but your comment really motivetes me to go back to these ideas, rethink and rewrite them.

So here you have it!

Bad dream

Roman Sionis x Reader

#Reader's traumatic experiences from the past #Roman's shitty attempts to comfort the reader #he has no empathy so it is a golden star for him anyway #based on true story when I had a bad dream and started screaming in the middle of the night, waking up myself and my boyfriend (now fiancée). He reacted way better than Roman did

The musty smell of mold settled on your clothes, eating into the fabric. The walls of the cramped room with torn, faded wallpaper were like a prison, surrounding you on all sides, unabling the escape. 

In your throat you felt a bitter, iron-like taste of terror.

You were suffocating.

Your lungs constricted in burning pain from lack of oxygen and every desperate attempt to take a breath ended in nothing. You were opening your mouth wide open till your jaw hurt but it was as if there was no air at all.

And you needed air to scream. 

You needed to make a sound to cry out for help. This thought like a slithery, cold worm crawled up your back, making you realize that no one knew where you were. And no one would come here to help you.

And there he was, coming right at you. His face blur, yet you knew he had this filthy smirk on his face. His approaching figure, like a walking nightmare that you couldn't withstand.

Again, in a hopeless attempt to save yourself, you opened your mouth with all your strength, but no sound came in.

He was only a few steps away from you. Curled up on the floor, you hid in a corner of the room, dug your nails into the rotten wood leaving red marks on the floor.

If only you could scream, call for someone to stop this. To stop him.

You knew what was going to happen, you saw it too many times before, yet every time you wanted to believe that maybe, now, it would be different. And despite it, you were never prepared for the inevitable culmination. 

Every time it felt like the first time.

Your tormentor was towering over you, doing nothing about your vulnerability. You knew that on one hand he had this disgusting salamander tattoo. A design that will be forever remembered. As he was strangling you, the amphibian stared straight into your eyes without any act of mercy. Cold, rough hands were clamping down on your neck, and all you could feel was that burning pain and fear. The body that still wanted to fight was being forced to give up.

Suddenly you heard someone calling your name. The voice was quiet, like coming from afar. It was so indistinct that at first you weren't sure if it didn't just was in your head. But the longer you began to focus on it and listen into it, the image of your tormentor began to blur. The death grip on your neck eased and the room began to disappear. The voice was getting closer. It was calling you. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop screaming, woman!"

You woke up still screaming when someone strongly tugged on your shoulder. 

Your whole body was covered with sweat and the heart was pounding like it was about to pop out of your chest.

It was still dark, but you weren’t any longer in that room, your tormentor was gone. You bluntly looked around to recognise that it was Roman's bedroom. The memory from a few years ago was still alive in your subconscious, unlike the man who caused you so much harm. In the shapes in the darkness, you recognized the silhouette of Roman sitting next to you with an expression of angry concern on his face. He was clenching his fingers tightly on your shoulder, staring at your apparently confused face. 

It was just a dream.

The images, as real as the bed you were lying in and the window through which the moonlight was now casting, laying in long, white stripes on the floor. 

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." you hid your face in your hands as the wave of embarrassment started to take over the overpowering feeling of terror from which your heart was still pounding. 

"Fucking finally." Roman grunted and let go of your arm.

He rubbed his face with his hand and leaned against the headboard. He was looking sleepy and tired, which was understandable when he had just woken up in such a violent way in the middle of the night. Crossing arms on his chest, waited for a good explanation why you decided to interrupt his eight hour beauty sleep. 

"You probably think I'm nut." you started, trying to calm down your heartbeat.

"What the hell happened? You just started screaming like a total kook."

"I had a bad dream. A memory actually. Sorry."

Your breathing slowly began to calm down, absorbing the reality that surrounded you. The traumatic experiences from the past began to retreat, hiding in that  corner of your mind where it was probably destined to stay forever.

"I thought someone was murdering you or something." he said reproachfully. 

He wasn't far from the truth. 

"I know, it felt very real. I'm sorry."

"You said sorry already three times."

Not knowing what to answer, you lay down on the pillow. To reclaim the composure you started studying the furniture in front of the bed. It was a trick to focus on a few objects that you learned to calm yourself down. Roman wasn’t saying anything, you thought that he got offended, like he often did for no reason or just went back to sleep and you were embarrassed enough to not speak up first. So when you heard his voice again, not so angry as before, it surprised you. 

"What was the dream about?"

There was something extremely intimate about this question and somehow reassuring. Yet the last thing you wanted now is him to feel pity for you. 

“Old memory. The not-so-good ones.”

He muttered in response as if he understood what you meant by that, but he didn’t insist on more details.

“And FYI, I don't usually act like this.” you added in an attempt to deflect the topic.

“You don't usually scream in the middle of the night as if you were fighting for your life? Good to know.” his sarcasm was back.

Roman settled down on the pillow next to you.

“Next time you want to wake me up with your mouth, there is a better way.”

Not sure if this was his attempt to defuse the situation or was he actually asking for a blowjob, which was also highly likely, you appreciated the humor.

“Very funny.”

Covering yourself tighter with the sheets you lay yourself down to sleep. You closed your eyes, but after a while you opened them again. Staring at the ceiling you started to contemplate the situation. It's not like you expected any sort of compassion from Roman, it actually surprised you that he didn’t kick you off his bed. You turned on your side, so that you were now looking at his face in profile. His eyes were closed and his chest was rising steadily under the thin silk.

“Roman?” you asked quietly.

He grunted without opening his eyes.

“Good night.”

In response, he muttered something that sounded similar to "good night." 

You closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep.

@thegreatwicked @daenerys-skywalker @supernatural-lover @hereticpriest @creativelyquestioninglife

In case you want/don't want to be tagged, let me know! No pressure ☀️

[detectiveconnor]

"Don't touch him." - from Jane or Van Pelt, I'm not particular. They both love him.

Jesus CHRIST.

Connor was on the ground. For a split second his vision disappeared altogether, visualisation hardware offline; it rebooted with lines of white code mixed in a heads-up-display flooded with red, reports of errors in his left arm - thirium pump regulator resetting - severe burn to synthskin at the back of his neck, just over where the port would have been if he'd retracted it (the skin was burned away, now, so the plastic casing of the port was fully visible).

His knees dug into the gravel. He found the heel of his palm, the left, was on the ground in front of him, a base-level code that helped to catch his balance. He was dizzy. Gyroscope not fully aligned with the world around him. He had lost two, three whole seconds. Someone was yelling.

Move.

Move move move move - something was coming towards him, he caught a flash from the corner of his eye and rose to meet it with force, still dizzy and sick and in more pain than he could recall having been in since leaving Cyberlife tower. He caught a hand, a wrist, and twisted it as hard as physically possible; it was human. He heard the bone snap.

A cattle prod dropped to the ground beside him, the man he'd grabbed cursing loudly (Connor had not released the man's wrist; he had in fact kept on twisting, and continued now, using the pain twisting the limb afforded him as leverage, to drive his assailant toward the ground).

His mouth tasted ('tasted') of ... something. Thirium. Burnt metal. It was bad, whatever it tasted like. A mix of chemicals and burnt metal that made up something rancid.

There was a gun, he realised, belatedly (his LED still had not come back online, completely empty from the bright red it had been when the prod had caught him). Someone had a gun on him. Connor rolled, responding to the threat by pulling the - ugh, Cale - pulling Cale full in front of him, Cale's bad hand yanked at an unforgiving angle behind his back (Connor might have dislocated his shoulder; he did not know and did not care) -- a human shield. Connor collected his own weapon, had it leveled and aimed at the threat, square on, before he assessed who it was who had their weapon drawn.

Cale was still spewing something vile in Connor's direction. Connor realised, stuck there looking at Grace Van Pelt, that maybe he just wasn't hearing (processing language?) very well at all. Systems lagging to keep up. English was not, in fact, the first language he'd "learnt", as it were. He'd started out with French.

Van Pelt was rapidly reholstering her weapon, anyway. She did not seem to mind Connor had his trained on her. Cale made a grasping attempt for the cattle prod beside him and Connor more or less threw him away from it, gun moving to land on Cale instead, trained, steady.

Connor did not know that his breaths were shaky. He did not have a way of knowing it. He did not lift off the ground or off of his knees, as he watched Van Pelt trade her gun for the cuffs she had on her, and when Cale made to Do Something, Connor said, "Don't," only it came out three times: "Don't, Don't, Don't," as a warning he did not mean in triplicate.

OK.

OK, so he wasn't in perfect working order. He did not take his gun off Cale Erendreich, even to turn the prod off.

Jesus c h r i s t.

@copadjacent / @erendreich

[cr-amber]

for the @wolfstarmicrofic prompt steal

Sirius hadn’t been back to the dorm since dinner, and Remus knew why.  The tension was palpable between them at this point, and Remus needed to do something about it.  Searching the map, he quickly spotted the name he was looking for.

"Hey Prongs," Remus called, leaning out past the curtains of his bed towards James.

"Yeah Moony, what's up?"

"Can I steal the invisibility cloak for a bit?"

"Not really stealing if you're asking, is it?"  Remus rolled his eyes, even as the corner of his mouth ticked up into a smile.

“Can I take it or not?” he asked, shooting for exasperated but landing somewhere closer to fond.

“Sure, why?”

“I figured out where Sirius is.”

“Oh, should I come?”

“No!” Remus blurted, maybe a little too quickly, “No, I’ve got him,” he amended.

James raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and dug out the cloak, handing it over.  Remus was out of the room in seconds.

See, Sirius was alone in the astronomy tower, and the invisibility cloak wasn't the only thing Remus planned to steal tonight.

[muses-morii]

@bloodbondcd asked: FOG . a starter in which one or both muses are tired. ( @ vanitas from aqua )

~ Vanitas ~

It was some early hour of the day. That soft, grey time before dawn when everything is still.

The tower was mostly quiet; the brooms were bustling about doing their work and keeping the tower clean and aside their little movement, the tower was silent. Padding softly down the halls, Vanitas walked with bare feet, his expression neutral, his gaze settled ahead as he walked, but not really seeing things. His thoughts were elsewhere; back in the graveyard and with the empty, wind whipped nights. There'd never been any quiet there.

No stillness, no refuge from the constant storms. He'd gotten used to it and now...

Now the soft quiet was eerie. It was hard to sleep with silence. Give him sound; give him noise; give him motion. He couldn't sleep with all this peace. All this damned peace and quiet.

It was too much.

Lights flickered on, powered by magic as he stepped into the kitchen. There was a broom in the corner, sweeping around, and Aqua was leaning against the counter, holding a bowl and a spoon in her slender hands. The hell was she doing in the dark? For a moment, Vanitas stood in the doorway, looking in at the room and briefly wondering what he was doing there.

Aqua looked at him and he glared back at her, his defences rising. She hated him so much. He saw it every time she looked at him. He heard it when she spoke to him. He saw it when she showed him things; he knew she believed he was irredeemable.

Hell, they all believed it. Except Ventus, the fool was the only one who thought there was something worth saving in him. He knew they distrusted him. He knew they talked about him when he wasn't there. He knew they were waiting for him to turn on them. And maybe he would.

Aqua was glaring at him. Which was normal, she was always looking at him with hate in her eyes. He wondered what it was for this time. Was it about the fridge? Was it about the number he'd done on Roxas? That seemed more likely than the fridge. They'd woken up the whole damn tower that morning. Depriving them of their precious beauty sleep. He'd nearly killed the Nobody. It had been a frosty week in the tower after that, with everyone looking at him with vitriol and disappointment. What the hell had they expected though? Did they think he was just gonna, roll the fuck over and be a good little boy? Did they think a change of clothes was enough to change who he was? He'd nearly killed Roxas and Aqua leaning against the counter in the kitchen, bowl of... whatever held in her hands. And Vanitas dug his fingers into the door frame, his other hand curling into a shaking fist. She was thinking of all the ways she could end him. He just knew it. She was thinking of how best to grind him into black paste and smear in the dirt of the Graveyard. What was he doing here? He should just leave Aqua to her bowl of mush. She didn't want him there! She didn't want to be near him! She... Was lifting an eyebrow and looking at him expectantly. He was still standing in the doorway and staring at her. Vanitas looked away first, making an annoyed sound and yawning as he finally walked into the kitchen. He hadn't seen Roxas, since that morning. He knew the Nobody was still about the Tower, but he hadn't seen him.

Vanitas paused, his hand on a cupboard handle. Aqua yawned off to his right, her spoon clinking in her bowl. Something churned and burned hot in his stomach and eyes narrowing, he glared down at the counter top, chewing the inside of his cheek. What was that feeling? That awful gnawing that was hot and roiling and chewing on his insides. He didn't know what it was. He hadn't been sleeping much. Laying awake, staring at the ceiling and looking into the bleak and poisonous corners of his own black soul. His hand tightened on the cupboard handle and he slowly pulled it open. He was tired. He was tired and that awful, hot, burn within him hadn't gone away in days. He hadn't seen Roxas in over a week. Aqua ate her cereal. Vanitas opened his mouth and nothing came out. Swallowing, he ran his tongue over his dry lips and tried again. “Have you...” God was that his voice? Exhausted and sleep deprived and so damn weak. “Seen Roxas?”

Vanitas was tired. Yellow eyes narrowed and he looked sharply at her. “I don't care.” He spat acidly. “But...” He looked away again, hand still on the cupboard handle, door hanging open. “How... Tch-!” Cutting himself with a bite to his tongue, he grabbed a glass out of the cupboard, slammed the door shut and shoved the glass under the faucet, pouring himself a drink of water. Walking over to the table, he threw himself into a heavy chair and gripped the glass tightly. His eyes burned. His throat was tight. God, he needed sleep. But, he hadn't seen Roxas in over a week.

Vanitas was tired.

[fundeadasylum]

How Many You Carry

In a hypothetical world, where things go right, and everyone gets a happy ending, there are still some open wounds. And they will take a long time to heal.

Peachy and Zone talk about things left behind, things that can never be lost, and the things that still remain.

-------------------------------------------------

Zone was floating quietly by the dock when Peachy made her way down the steps to the shore.

The house in Anarchy Bay was farther up the hill, away from the waterline and any threat of higher tides. But it had a lovely view of the sea and the dock that clung to the rocky shoreline, and it had been important to Peachy to have a place near open water. She had friends who deserved to live in the sun, she’d said.

It was the middle of the night; the bay was quiet save for the waves lapping at the rocks, the water looked black and bottomless in the light of the moon and yellow glow of the dock lamp, and the salty smell of brine rolled in with the cool breeze. Their dock stretched a couple yards out from where it met the shoreline, a sturdy and wide cement and wooden thing, raised a good foot or so from the surface of the water. There was no boat, but a couple of lawn chairs sat at the end, facing the bay.

Peachy tucked her blanket tighter around her shoulders and sank into one. It creaked beneath her, plastic bending as it settled. Zone watched her out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t been sleeping, just floating, his long tail coiled around one of the legs of the dock to keep himself from floating away. Only the curve of his shell, his bandana, and the tip of his snout showed above the water. Every so often he would breathe out in a huff, clearing his nose of seawater.

No one said anything for a long time.

Then Peachy shifted in her seat, drawing her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her voice was soft when she spoke,

“It’s a bad night.”

Zone stretched the lethargy from his limbs and reoriented himself. His claws dug into the rocks and silt at the bottom and he straightened up, shedding sheets of seawater as he did. In the warm dock lamp, it gave his scales of golden shine. He towered over the dock for a moment, majestic in the low light, terrifying and magnificent in his own way. Then he lowered himself down, crouching in the water so he was submerged up to his shoulders and more level with Peachy.

“Bad?” He echoed and even speaking in his quietest voice, he was still a distant rumble of thunder that vibrated in Peachy’s chest, “It’s a good night for hunting.”

“No thanks,” Peachy murmured, tucking her chin into her knees, “I’m tired.”

“Then go back to bed, little squid.”

“Can’t sleep.”

Zone snorted, “What is keeping you awake? I’ll kill it.”

He saw the corner of her mouth quirked in a tiny smile and she let out a breathy little laugh. Small victories.

“I don’t think you could kill this thing, Zone.”

“I can kill anything!” He said proudly, a challenge to the world, “Tell me!”

Peachy didn’t answer at first. Zone watched her, thought maybe he could see the gears turning in her head. He didn’t understand how such a tiny creature could be so clever, so brave, so strong. Peachy was so much, she was full of everything. He wondered where she put it all.

“The...hurt,” She said eventually, the word tripping out of her mouth like she wasn’t certain it was the right one.

“Who hurt you?” He growled, bristling at the notion.

“No, no, not, like, the physical hurt,” Peachy said quickly, raising a hand to stop him from working himself into a temper. When he settled back down, she curled in on herself, pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders, and looked at the black water,

“The hurt on the inside. The...fear. Being afraid of...yourself. And of other people.” Her fingers twisted into the fabric of the blanket, pulled it taut, “The...I don’t know how to say it except that it hurts. It hurts a lot. And sometimes it just hurts so much I can’t…” She pressed a hand over her mouth then, her eyes bright and shiny, stinging.

Zone frowned, turning the words over in his head. He looked away from Peachy because he could see she was in pain, but it wasn’t a pain he could tend to. The distant beacons marking the Salmonid Swim Zone winked back at him. He thought about Peachy’s hurt, about his own hurt, about the things he had fought and the places he had seen. He thought about fear and sleepless paranoia, thought about Kell’s company in the dark tunnels, thought about things that could never be escaped from, no matter how far you ran.

A heavy sigh left him and he found that his chest ached. It had done that before.

“It...does not stop hurting,” He said into the night, carefully navigating his way around trying to explain something even he did not fully understand, “It feels like...an open wound, one that won’t heal. And sometimes it hurts a lot. More than it should. And it’s stupid that I can’t fight it.” He could feel her eyes on him and he glanced at her, meeting her gaze. She was listening with the patient intensity he had grown familiar with, appreciated, even. Few people ever really, truly listened to him.

He shuffled around in the water, lifting his hands and letting them drip in the air as he hesitated. She watched him. He eyed her. She didn’t push, just watched and waited. She was still curled on the lawn chair—a tiny little creature, barely a mouthful, looking so fragile. He knew she was not. She was like him; a survivor.

Before he could convince himself not to, Zone reached up and undid his bandana. He pulled it away from his head, dropping it onto the dock and easing down even lower in the water so Peachy could get a good look. He sat on the bottom of the ocean and rested his chin on the dock, giving Peachy a clear view in the dock lamp’s gleam.

Scars lanced across Zone’s head. They were old scars, pale and faded, but still stark against his rich red scales.

A neat line ran around the circumference of his skull, surgically precise and horrific in its implications. Another line traced from the top of his head all the way down to the base of his skull. Clean lines, made with purpose. The other scars were jagged, tearing through the purposeful lines with fury and terror. They clawed over Zone’s head like remnants of a dreadful battle. Their shape matched the same frantic tears that broke the neat little lines of the barcode on his shoulder.

Peachy reached out, hesitating when she saw his eye on her. But he didn’t say anything, just blinked his second eyelid in a brief film of cloudy white, and looked away.

She scooted forward in her seat and ran her hand along one of the surgical scars. It was smoother than his scales, softer somehow. The thought of where it came from, what it represented, made her fingertips tingle. She leaned forward even more, rested both hands on Zone’s head, fingers spread, his scales warming beneath her palms. Zone made a low rumbling sound, a quiet churr that still made the dock vibrate a little bit.

“Why do you hide them?” Peachy asked, standing up all the way from her chair and stepping closer, leaning against the side of Zone’s head. She rested her cheek against one of the ragged scars slashed through the clean, surgical lines. The cold water still clinging to Zone’s scales dampened her clothes but she didn’t seem to mind.

Zone let out a heavy sigh that made the other lawn chair skid across the dock a bit,

“Because I hate them and I do not like to look at them. They make me…” He paused, brow furrowing for a moment, tugging at the scars under Peachy’s hands, “Angry. Anger that’s not...anger.”

“Afraid?” Peachy offered and Zone grunted. It was not a denial, but it was as close as he would ever get to admitting he felt fear. He was a massive and powerful creature, one of the strongest beings in the waters. He did not fear anything.

And if he kept telling himself that, then maybe it would be true.

“I do not understand you,” He grumbled aloud, his scales scraping along the dock. A boat horn called from somewhere out in the bay, its lights distant stars in the water, “How are you not enraged by what happened to you? Why don’t you want to tear apart your enemies? Why won’t you let me do it?”

As if she could stop him had he truly wanted to go. But old fear kept him close. He hadn’t seen exactly what was done to her, only the aftermath. He hadn’t asked either. He knew by the scars on her body and the haunted look on her face what she had been through. And he would rather stay far away from those people, far away from the ones who could catch and subdue Peachy. Brilliant, strong, stubborn, wonderful Peachy.

“I could destroy your enemies,” He ground the words between his fangs, an ache in them that said more than he did, “I could destroy everyone who would ever try to hurt you.”

“Being angry is exhausting…” Peachy closed her eyes, leaning more of her weight against Zone. He didn’t protest, “Vengeance...just thinking about it makes me tired. She felt the ridges of his scars and the edges of his scales beneath her as she ran her hands over him, curious, yes, but trying to comfort too, “Things need to change but...we don’t have to do it alone. I don’t want to do it alone. And I don’t want you to do it alone either. You don’t need anymore of these.”

She pressed her hand along one of his scars, trailing it down to the side of his head until it petered off and she was only stroking along his unblemished scales. Her hand dipped suddenly, the hard scales giving way to a softer, skin-like texture, and Zone twitched his head to the side, sending her stumbling back a bit to sit down hard on the edge of the lawn chair.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

Zone grumbled in response, shifting around to face her more directly. Water slopped against the sides of the dock and the salt stung against Peachy’s bare legs for a second.

“Ear,” He grunted heavily, “You poked my ear.”

Peachy blinked, “That was your ear?” She titled her head, peering at the side of his face, looking for the membrane she had touched before. If there was a visual difference between it and his usual scales, it wasn’t one that was visible in the low lighting.

“Yes, my ear. I don’t have ridiculous things pointing out the side of my head like you, little squid,” Zone raised a claw to prod gently at the tip of Peachy’s ear and she grabbed his finger to stop herself from toppling over, “You look silly. And if you could swim, the water would go right into your ear hole and fill your stupid brain with slosh. And you would be stupider than ever!” He tugged his finger away from her and she let him go with a small smile, “I hear better underwater this way. I can find my prey easily, hear them splashing about, know when they change direction. They cannot hide from me.”

“I bet I could hide from you,” Peachy pushed herself to stand from the lawn chair again, smiling a little.

Zone eyed her and then leaned forward, scraping across the dock until he bumped his snout into her,

“If you hid, I would find you again. I would find you before any of your enemies. You can’t hide from me, Peachy. I will always come for you.”

To anyone else, it might have sounded like a threat. To Peachy, she heard the promise in his words and the tightness in his throat. Saw the way his eyes squeezed shut as he pressed his nose against her. She draped herself over him, wrapped her arms around as much of his snout as she could, tried to show him how much she understood and how much she cared.

Zone was not a creature of words and he often misunderstood what was being said. For him, actions meant more and said more than any speech. So Peachy held onto him the only way she knew how and smiled when he churred against her.

The moment was interrupted by a yawn that she tried to stifle.

“You should sleep,” Zone said and he nearly lifted her off the ground when he spoke because she was still holding onto his snout, “You are a tiny little thing and you are still healing. You need to sleep. Besides, if you get caught down here, the white coat one will be mad at both of us and I don’t want to listen to her yelling again.”

“You can call her Ira, you know,” Peachy mumbled, stepping back and patting Zone on the end of his nose. She shivered as the cool night air touched her damp sleep clothes and picked up her blanket to wrap it around herself.

“I will call her by her name when she has earned it,” Zone replied snootily, huffing with an air of haughty arrogance that was all bluster. He watched Peachy yawn again and rub the sleep from her eyes. With a snort, he heaved himself from the water, sending waves crashing into the shower and threatening to overtake the dock, and then deftly scooped Peachy up in his hands. She curled up in his palms without protest, leaning back against his fingers as he lumbered out of the ocean and headed up the hill towards the house. She looked up at him, watching quietly as he ducked under tree branches, and sat up with a gasp,

“Wait! Zone, your bandana! You left it on the dock!”

He froze and Peachy could see him swallow, his neon pupils narrowing into nervous slits in the dark. She patted his palm, “We can go back for it, it’s okay. Let’s go get it.”

Zone didn’t say anything but the tension eased from his shoulders and he breathed out a long stream of air that made the trees sway a little. It was a bit of a to-do getting him turned around, making sure he didn’t destroy any of the trees with his size and his lengthy tail as he trundled back down to the beach. Stones cracked under his feet as he shifted to deposit Peachy on the edge of the shore and then reached out to pick up his bandana. It dropped sea water as he lifted it to tie it around his head again and Peachy wondered at how he managed to tie it off without snagging his claws. Practice, she supposed.

He looked down at her when he finished and lowered his hand to rest it on the ground. He never asked usually, he just picked up whomever he pleased and moved them wherever he wanted. He’d left Mars on the roof of the house for an hour once in a fit of petty revenge for Mars getting on his nerves.

But now...this was asking. It was a gentleness he rarely showed.

Peachy beamed at him and clambered into his hand, settling down as he lifted her and set off back towards the house. He kept her tucked close to his chest, shielding her from the branches of the trees that scraped along his shoulders. She glanced up at him, saw the single-minded focus on his face, and gently brushed her fingers over one of the cracks in the armor of his chest. It didn’t look deep, the edges worn a bit smooth by age. She wondered if it had hurt when it happened.

Zone growled, that thundercloud sound threatening a storm, and Peachy twisted around to peer through his fingers. Ira was standing on the front steps, the porch light on, a flashlight in her hand and a coat pulled on hastily over her sleep clothes. She had stopped in her tracks as Zone crested the hill and his reflective eyes locked onto her.

Peachy waved a hand in the air with a sleepy smile, “Hey Ira…”

Ira sighed in exasperation, clicking her flashlight off and putting her hands on her hips, “What’d I tell you about midnight strolls?”

“To not do them,” Peachy hummed and had the gall to look smug about it. Zone’s grin was more of a sneer in Ira’s direction, but he didn’t say anything as he lowered his hand and allowed Peachy to climb off. She patted the side of his hand before she trotted over to Ira, who immediately began to fuss and lecture her about going out at night when she was still vulnerable, look at her, she’s soaking wet, this is bad for the scabs that are still trying to heal, is this sea water, are you trying to give yourself an infection—

Peachy just smiled and let Ira ramble. She only turned when the sound of Zone shifting caught her attention. He was making the effort of turning around to head back to the water.

“Zone,” Her call made him stop and he turned his head enough to peer over his shoulder. The light catching his eye made it seem to glow neon in the night, “Stay  by the house tonight?”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at her (Ira threw her hands in the air with a loudly whispered, “By the house!? Where’s he supposed to sleep, Lu!? Up a tree!?”). Then he sighed as if it were a great inconvenience to him and lumbered around to the side of the house. He sniffed at the grass and dirt, peered at the side of the house, eyeing the windows and layered siding. Then he eased himself to the ground, made himself comfortable, gave Ira a smug look, and pulled into his shell. His tail coiled around him, spines pointing outward, and a huff came inside the shell, ruffling the grass. There was a faint gleam of his eyes watching them from the shadows.

Peachy giggled and Ira rolled her eyes, “Great, now he’s gonna be there to scare the ink outta Django in the morning.”

“Leave him be, Ira,” Peachy patted her friend on the shoulder, brushing past her to go back into the house, “He just...needs some time. And a little bit of space.”

Ira grumbled something about Zone having plenty of space but the rest was lost as she closed the door behind both of them. Zone listened to the night, heard the faint boat horn from somewhere far out to sea, and wondered why he stayed in Anarchy Bay, with these little inkfish and their little problems.

He thought about Peachy’s warm hands on his scars, the scars he had never shown to anyone, and how she trusted him enough to climb into his claws and hang onto his beak like he wasn’t a dangerous predator. Sweet, kind, patient, and unstoppable Peachy.

Zone closed his eyes.

He knew why he stayed.

[thsc-stuffs]

You know what? I'm making a post about him. TW for death and mentions of alcoholism

Robert Kensington, he/they! He joined the Toppats in his early 20s after spending his teenage years running with a small crew of thieves. The five of them were offered places in the clan for their skills and decided to join together. One, unfortunately, betrayed the Toppats and fled, but the other four took their places in the clan with stride. Robert got injured in a raid, however, leaving him temporarily bedridden and unsure if he'd ever have full use of his right leg again. He took up drinking to pass the time and was quickly losing hope for his place in the clan.

Dusty, the leader at the time, took pity on his plight and offered him a high position at a remote vault base- however, said vault would have minimal contact with the rest of the clan. They were uncertain, but ultimately decided that being moved from the frontlines was for the best; they said goodbye to their friends and left for the vault.

Now, this vault base was small, with only five other members and just enough space for seven. Robert was initially distant from his basemates but considering how cut off they all were from the outside world, it was only a matter of time. The six of them became fairly close, passing the time with stories when they weren't busy unloading and inventorying treasures.

One fateful drop-off contained what appeared to be a large, polished gemstone, a deep blue with countless gleaming flecks of gold. It'd beauty scored it a place on one of the pedestals set up in the vault, warmed under a lamp. He'd gone to admire it quite a few times, running a gentle hand over its strange surface.

It was for that purpose that he was entering the vault when he saw it shattered, and a small dragon sitting atop their pile of gold and gemstones. That dragon would grow to become Jaques Kensington. Initially, the freshly hatched dragonette kind of hated everyone on the base, but it didn't take long (or much more than some food and warm hands) for them to warm up to the people of the base.

Even then, Jaques always favored Robert- maybe it was the man's loud personality, maybe it was all that time spent stroking his egg, maybe it was just chance. The base called him all sorts of things- Dragon, Gemstone, Nighty- but Jaques was Robert's name for them. Though, they didn't consider him a father persay until one specific night.

Jaques knew they weren't supposed to go out after dark without supervision, but he was a cocky young dragonette and believed he could hold their own against anything. A dragon hunter had been chasing down traces of dragons in the area, and, well, she found them. They ran for their life, blindly fumbling through the forest, but she cornered him. The hunter towered over them, decorated with dragon horns and claws, a dragon skin cape swishing around her shoulders, ready to take the kill.

And then Robert saved them. She'd been too wrapped up in her victory to hear the tires, or the sound of him running towards her. Robert dropped his bloodied bat- his favorite bat- and scooped Jaques up into his arms. They didn't let go of the child until hours later, gently shushing their violent sobs and not minding what form they took. Jaques was inseparable from him from that night on, until the day Robert was shot and killed in a government raid. Jaques dug his grave with his own talons and spent countless hours making the area perfect for their father.

Even decades later, after the base has been abandoned, the area around Robert's grave teams with life and the grave itself is just as perfect as the day they were buried. Jaques' magic still holds in the soil, in the plants, in the very air of that base- it will remain just as it stands for a very, very long time.

Jaques was 18 when Robert died, and as such was eligible to join the main force of the clan. In their grief, they made a decision they would regret far into the future, locked within the portrait;

They chose to have their memories, their magic, their very nature, locked behind a spell. They chose to have false memories filled into their head, to be trapped within a human form until the day they died. The portrait broke that spell, leaving them to grieve all over again- this time alone, locked in a personal hell.