#me casually replying this 500 years late :)

[dyaz-stories]

JUJUTSU BOYS + PDA

how the jjk boys are when you're in public with them

including: gojo, nanami, choso, yuuji, megumi, maki

word count: 3.6k (500-600 words for one character)

cw: intended as canon compliant, established relationships, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, public demonstrations of affection, can't think of anything else tbh

a/n: been reading some fics in this format so wanted to try my hand at it again. it's been years since I wrote short pieces like that, so I hope you'll enjoy them!

GOJO

Gojo has no concept of personal space, and that is something you had to get used to since you started dating — if anything, since before you started dating. Even when the two of you were at a more flirtatious stage, he’d always be leaning towards you to talk to you, face inches away from yours, hands on your hips if he needed to move past you, arm casually around you if you were sitting next to each other. It was all the better if it flustered you.

None of this has changed, except that he’s much more extra about it now. Holding your hand while walking? Nah, that’s boring. He’ll have his arm around your shoulders, even if it’s not convenient given the height difference. He’ll also try to put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, pout if you tell him not to do it. If you’re waiting in line with him, he has both of his arms around you, is resting his chin on top of your head, and wants nothing more than for you to lean back into his chest, relaxing into his embrace. You can both be doing totally unrelated things — you’re reading and he’s checking his phone — but you’re slotted against each other, and that’s how it is ideally for you.

You’re waiting for him to show up to your date when you feel yourself surrounded by familiar arms, and then his cheek is pressing against yours as he surveys the book you’re holding in your hands.

“Whatch’ya reading?” he asks, breath warm against your cheek.

“Just doing some research on emerging curses,” you say with a shrug as you close it and put it in your bag. “So, did you want to check out that new bakery?”

He hums in reply, and you wait for him to move so you can start walking.

He doesn’t.

“…do you plan on letting go of me?” you ask after a while, turning your head to look at him.

He pouts at you, inches away from your face.

“I haven’t even gotten a kiss yet…”

“We’re in public, Satoru,” you say, feeling your face heating up.

“So? Let ‘em stare. They might as well, if you ask me.”

You want to roll your eyes — one day, you’ll have to talk about that exhibitionist streak of his — but in the meantime, you just have to crane your neck a little to peck his lips. They’re soft, as always, and he follows greedily when you pull away, his hand coming up to tilt your chin up gently as he presses more kisses on the corner of your lips, then on your cheek.

“You’re impossible,” you say, badly hiding your laughter. “Let’s go, or we won’t make it to closing time. You’re late, by the way.”

He lets out a heartbroken sigh, but finally frees you, keeping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you start walking towards the bakery. He keeps his strides short, so you don’t have to run to keep up with him, instead allowing you to keep a comfortable pace.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m just too good at my job, they can never get enough of me.”

“Aw, poor darling,” you say. You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and bring it to your lips to press a kiss on the back.

He lets out a cough that doesn’t do much to disguise the fact that he’s getting flustered, and you grin, satisfied. Two can play that game.

Fortunately, neither Satoru nor you have any intention of forfeiting any time soon.

NANAMI

Nanami is a private man. There is no reason for the whole world to know his business, and he doesn’t feel the need to put his relationship on display for everyone to see. His softness for you is still plain to see in how gentle his voice gets when he speaks to you, in how carefully he chooses his words, in how fond his eyes are when he listens to you tell him about your day. He knows you like him holding your hand, though, so he’ll indulge you, especially when you’re walking by his side through crowded streets.

That is for practical reasons, of course. First, it just wouldn’t do to lose sight of you. Second, people tend to steer clear of him, his serious expression and his broad frame, and that means they realize quickly to steer clear of you. It has nothing to do with how soft your hand is in his, or how the way you use your thumb to stroke his skin sends shivers down his back.

“That’s a lovely restaurant,” you comment, eyes drinking in the elegant decor while Nanami is examining the menu.

“It had excellent reviews,” he answers, not going into details as to the great lengths he’d gone to in order to ensure that this date was as perfect as humanly possible.

“I’ve been in the neighborhood so many times, and I had no idea this was here,” you say. The place is very small, only a handful of tables, all of them now filled. You’re sharing an alcove with Nanami, creating some distance with other customers.

“There aren’t many tables available, so they don’t advertise much,” he explains as he sets the menu down. “But they’re known for their excellent cuisine.”

You give him a smile, then lean closer to him to kiss him on the cheek. Your lips linger just a little too long, and then you move them close to his ear, which is already turning quite red.

“Thank you for planning all that,” you say sweetly. “It looks wonderful.”

He clears his throat when you pull away, avoiding your eyes.

“Of course,” he answers, voice wavering imperceptibly. “Anything for you.”

And you know he means it, too.

Under the table, his hand finds your leg, large palm easily covering your knee while calloused fingers carefully rub your calf. You bite your lip, welcome the warmth that spreads in your body. You know Kento well enough to be sure that that’s as far as he’ll go, that he wouldn’t dare to do anything more in such a public setting, and that makes you enjoy the intimacy of the gesture all the more.

Later that night, while the two of you are walking out, his jacket is around your shoulder at his insistence — “It’s cold outside” — and he’s getting ready to call a taxi.

“Kento?”

He lowers the phone to look at you, and you push yourself on your tiptoe, hand closing around his tie to pull him down towards you.

It’s late at night, he tells himself. There’s no one around, he tells himself. That’s why he closes his eyes and allows himself to melt into the kiss, regretting it when you pull away too soon and catching himself before he grabs you by the hips to get you closer to him.

“I had a great evening,” you say. “Should we take this to somewhere more private?”

How much more merciless can you get?

“Certainly,” he says. “Just give me a second.”

There is nothing he can deny you.

CHOSO

Choso cannot wrap his head around what he can and cannot do around you. The rules for what is proper, what is acceptable, have shifted so much since he was last around, and he would die before he embarrassed you — or worse, before he did something that would make you push him away. He knows that you wouldn’t, and yet the fear is like a weight that tugs on his heart every time he thinks about it. He walks by your side, glancing at your hand that’s freely hanging between the two of you, and though he brushes his knuckles against yours, he just cannot bring himself to do it. It’s to the point where it’s the only thing he’s thinking about — and he just can’t do it.

Then you see something that catches your eye and you grab his hand and pull him with you in that direction, and he thinks his heart could just fall out of his chest. You make it look so easy, so natural, being with him coming as easy to you as breathing, and he couldn’t possibly ask for more. It takes him many other tries, many other dates, before he can take your hand in his. When he does, you glance down in surprise, then grin at him, and kiss his knuckles softly — and he’s so happy he could die.

“So,” you say, sitting on the park bench, knee pressed against his while you’re leaning into him to show him your phone, your hair tickling his neck, “that’s the movies they have on tonight. Think we should call Yuuji to ask him what to watch?”

“Hm,” Choso says, not really focusing on anything you’re talking about, not when you’re this close to him, “isn’t— isn’t that the one franchise he’s always talking about?”

You burst out laughing, then rest your head on his shoulder.

“No offense, babe, but there is no one in the world I’d go see a Human Earthworm movie for. Even if this one is supposed to have romance in it,” you shudder at the thought, “I’d like to go see something actually. You know. Watchable.”

Choso’s mind is going in overdrive. You’re so close, and he knows he should have gotten used to this by now. He isn’t usually like this, but some passers-by are looking — not necessarily being judgmental, though there was an old lady earlier who scoffed and shook her head, but… looking.

“Then I don’t know if Yuuji is going to be much help,” he manages to say as you keep scrolling on the cinema’s website.

“That’s fair,” you sigh, standing up from the bench, and even if he can now think again, he misses your warmth and your smell right away. “Well, maybe we drop the movie and just go get something to eat, what do you say?

“Sounds good,” he answers, standing up after you.

Hesitantly, almost clumsily, he reaches for your hand, fingertips brushing against your thigh as he does, then tightens his grip around your palm, ensuring that it wouldn’t slip away from you. You give him a fond smile, then take a step to get closer to him, and kiss him gently. His breath hitches, and his eyes dart around the mostly empty park.

“T-there’s people around,” he says quietly, and he hates that you step back to look around.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

He takes your hand to pull you with him, and you follow him through the grass as he finds a more secluded spot, behind a tree.

“There,” he says, and you chuckle at how satisfied with himself he sounds.

“Oh Choso,” you coo, leaning against the tree while you grab his shirt to pull him down towards you. His mouth is warm, eager, and his cheeks remain a fierce shade of red as he kisses you back insistently.

You would have missed the beginning of the movie anyway.

YUUJI

The thing about Yuuji is that any type of public demonstration of affection feels so natural coming from him. It’s almost never meant to be suggestive, it’s not something he thinks through, it’s just something he does. You’ll be sitting with Nobara when he appears, and he just puts his arm around you while talking to her, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You’re walking with him when he lifts his head up like he’s forgotten something, and what he forgot was to hold your hand, silly him.

If you walk by him while he’s sitting, he’ll grab your hips to pull you in his laps, fingers rubbing circles on the skin of your arms, absent-mindedly playing with your fingers as he holds your hand. After all, why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t even realize that it flusters you, and it just feels so natural for him to show his affection like that. He’ll look at you with stars in his eyes while you speak, not seeming to realize that his face is so close to him while you’re sitting in his lap.

No one pays attention to it anymore. You arrive just as Nobara is starting the movie — she’s putting on an action movie, thank you very much, even if Gojo just bought the collector edition of Human Earthworm 4 for Yuuji, with the director’s cut — and with all the students crammed in the room, including Panda, who’s taking most of the space on the couch, there’s nowhere left for you to sit.

“Come here,” Yuuji says cheerfully, waving you towards the armchair where he’s found his spot, “it’s about to start.”

You glance around the room for a reaction, but no one is paying you any mind. You walk over to him, perching yourself on one of the arms, legs over his. He doesn’t seem puzzled by it, just puts an arm around your waist casually.

Of course, you end up still sitting in his lap eventually, just slipping in it at some point in the movie. Can you be blamed? He’s warm and comfortable, and he wraps both arms around you so he can tuck his chin in the crook of your shoulder, nose brushing against your cheek when he turns his head. Not that he seems to notice how it makes your pulse quickens, eyes focused on the movie.

“What are the themes even supposed to be,” he mutters under his breath, eyebrows knitting together in annoyance.

“’Military good’?” you suggest quietly as a guy gets blown up on screen.

“The first half of the movie was about military bad,” he protests. “They can’t just act like that never existed.”

“Would you two shut up,” Nobara shouts from her spot, “or Maki will come beat you up!”

The two of you pipe down, knowing the threat is very serious and not one to take lightly.

When the movie ends, everyone gets up, stretching, but you’ve gotten comfortable against Yuuji’s chest, and you don’t feel like doing that just yet.

“That was terrible,” Yuuji comments, and you let out a brief laugh. Gojo has somehow made a cinephile out of him, and you love how worked up he gets over that stuff.

“Yeah, we should have been watching Human Earthworm 4 instead,” you say.

“Exact— oh, you’re making fun of him.”

You giggle, then tilt your head to kiss him. For a second, he freezes, eyes going wide. Kissing is the one thing he rarely initiates — but when you do, you get to see his gaze soften, before his whole body goes soft. His hold on your waist tightens — and then a pillow thrown with impressive precision hits him, and only him, on the ear.

“Not in public,” Maki shouts from all the way into the kitchen.

“Hey,” your boyfriend protests, “I’m not the one who—”

“You’re such a traitor,” you gasp, struggling to pull yourself free from his arms — but it’s no use against his strength, and he refuses to let go.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Now, where were we?”

You might have been at fault for the first pillow, but that second one is all on him, as far as you’re concerned.

MEGUMI

Megumi is a private guy. He can be affectionate in public, but there is a side of him that he only wants you to see. He especially doesn’t want any of your nosy friends, or worse, his adoptive dad to see how he can be around you. They would never stop teasing him after, and he doesn’t think he could live with that.

Or that they could live with that. Because he’d kill them.

It does annoy him that he’s supposed to deny himself because of them. If it was up to him, he’d spend most of his time alone with you, preferably in a small house in the middle of a forest with no one around, no curses, no sorcerers, no nothing. That, sadly, isn’t an option though, so he has to find his own way to do things.

“Don’t move,” he says sternly. “You have something on your face.”

You roll your eyes, but tilt your head up towards him, as he carefully runs his thumb under your eye, then over your cheek, blowing on it once it’s done.

“What was it?” you ask.

“Just an eyelash,” he says with a shrug. “You’re good now.”

You study him, waiting for him to give something away, but he doesn’t, just staring at you with the same expression he always wears.

“Should we get going?” he asks. “I thought we were supposed to catch a movie.”

“Sure,” you relent. “We should get moving.”

The streets are quite full at this time of the day, and you have to step aside frequently to let people pass, sometimes losing sight of Megumi. Eventually, with a sigh, he grabs your hand, pulling you with him as he walks, sending murderous glares to anyone who stays in his path.

“You’re going to get lost at this rate,” he mutters as he pulls you with him.

“I mean, worst case scenario we meet back at the theater,” you say, and you grin at the offended look he gives you. He notices it, but doesn’t answer, a light pink dusting his cheek as he glances away.

He hates the idea of being away from you on a day that’s supposed to be about the two of you — but since he refuses to say the quiet part out loud, you get to tease him all you want.

To be fair to him, having Megumi as your scary guard dog does make it much easier and much faster to reach the theater. He gives you a pointed look when you get there, and, to your regret, lets go of your hand quickly, though his touch lingers there a second longer than necessary.

“Should we get a couple seat?” you ask innocently as you approach the register.

Megumi glares at you once more while you give him a sweet smile.

“It’s better that way, right?” he says, clearing his throat. “Otherwise strangers might have to share one.”

“Sure,” you nod, not even bothering to hide your grin. “It’s just more practical, right?”

“Right,” he says stiffly.

Even once you are in the couple seat, he keeps a thoroughly appropriate distance from you, one that you might find a little hurtful if, at the end of the commercials, he didn’t fake a yawn to put his arm around you, in the least smooth way known to man.

“You know you can just do it,” you say quietly as the lights turn off, resting your head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to go through all that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.

Reaching for his face, you tilt his head towards you, and push yourself to meet his lips for a sweet, soft kiss. For the first time since you’ve stepped foot outside, his whole body relaxes into yours, and he stops trying to pretend.

“You had something on your lips,” you whisper when you pull away.

He snorts, then quickly goes back in to steal one more kiss from you before the movie starts.

“Liar,” he says.

As if he’s one to talk.

MAKI

Maki isn’t a demonstrative person as a general rule. She does compliment you without hesitation, words falling from her mouth so genuinely that it never fails to fluster you, but physical demonstrations of affection don’t come easy to her, maybe because she received so little of it as a kid. She does it sporadically, and she does very much enjoy teasing you, loves knowing that she can get those reactions out of you.

It’s the more spontaneous gestures that get to you though. She’ll kiss your forehead after a battle that left you bruised, a way of comforting you. She’ll pat your head after you managed to pull an impressive move during training. On one occasion, when you got injured, she carried you in your arms to Shoko, demanding that you be taken care of right this instant. She’d been the one to get flustered after that, hiding her face in her hand in embarrassment when it was brought up later on.

It might not come easy to her, but she does love it when you do it — when you show her your love in that way.

“You’re late,” she scolds you when you reach her for one of your dates, needing to take a second to catch your breath because you’ve been running since getting out of the subway.

“Sorry,” you say between deep breaths, “there was an emergency.”

Worry flashes on her face immediately.

“A curse? Were you hurt?”

She reaches for you, tilting your face towards her as she examines it, then study your body to make sure you weren’t injured. You let her, surprised at first, then endeared.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she frowns once she realizes how soft your gaze has become.

You grin, then push yourself closer to kiss her. You don’t care that you’re in public, and though it wouldn’t have occurred to her to do it, neither does she. The kiss is sweet, gentle. I’m alive, you’re alive, it says. No need for more.

“See?” you ask cheerfully. “All good. Now, I’m pretty sure you were going to buy me dinner…”

She clicks her tongue, but she’s grinning. It’s nice to see her so at ease, so relaxed. It’s a side of her you’d never see within the walls of Jujutsu High, nor on a mission. You’re the only one that can bring it out of her, and man do you love it.

“I’m buying? Again?”

“I did almost just die.”

“Nice try, but you told me you were fine.”

“I’m fine now,” you insist, “but…”

“Well, I was disowned by my family, so I don’t have money. You’re buying.”

The two of you keep bickering, but, as you walk, you reach for her hand. She pulls away at first, years and years of reflexes kicking in instinctively, and once she realizes what you were doing, she’s the one who takes your hand in hers. She holds it delicately, careful not to break it — to be fair, her strength would probably allow her that.

It’s so sweet and light, being out there with you like that. So normal. She hopes it never ends.

You squeeze her hand, and she lets you guide her across the street, content with just following, knowing that she can trust you to fill in her shortcomings in the relationship, like she does it for yours.

The sky is grey, the forecast said it might run later tonight — Maki’s planned an umbrella, she’s sure you didn’t think of it — but as far as she’s concerned, the day is as beautiful as it could possibly be.

this is my first time writing for... pretty much everyone here except gojo lol. i hope you enjoyed it and that the characterization wasn't too off, but any feedback is welcome! if you want to support me and my writing, please reblog/leave a comment or send me an ask, i'd love to chat! i'll see you later for some more jjk writing ^-^

you can find my gojo x reader work here

[forgaeven1]

it- it ain't always that someone takes whatever he's got to say with the level o'... of calmness, he could say.

no, usually, whenever gendry speaks the way he does, which he's sure isn't delivered fancily or anythin', just some bastard shootin' off the first thought that fleets his mind, people would either responded back in disdain. in arya's case, she would've ... she would've called him stupid. not meanly, or maybe not as meanly as other people would've meant it. no, with her, he knows it's almost purposeful; he knows it's their way of keepin' each other in check. he'd called her stupid too, for rushin' in too quick sometimes, for not always mindin' the fact she's a girl in a world where men would hurt little girls like her. especially those whose father was eddard stark.

this m'lady is playful; the kind of playful, gendry imagines, maybe he would've known more of had he been friendlier growing up. had he been more interested in making friends, in maintainin' them. it doesn't go over his head that they might be the same age, or at the very least, that their ages aren't far apart from each other. he couldn't remember spendin' time with someone who could be his peers without the tension of execution hangin' about like some ghosts, without any impendin' war over his head. her response makes her crack a small grin o' his head, which gendry redirects t' the floor of the snow-caked forest.

❛ yeah. ❜ he laughs a little, choked and short, though s' a laugh nevertheless. ❛ why not. not like we 'aven't seen worse comin' from the richmen, we did. ❜

and anyway, hadn't jaime feckin' lannister's hand made out of gold ? so really, the notion of it isn't too far off, he reckons. which gendry thinks is mad, anyways. like, fuck, the fucker probably deserves it, but t' give a former knight some useless heavy hand ? could it 'ven hold a sword ? gendry isn't sure. he didn't care enough to ask before, nor care enough t' have a discussion about it. there was no time, then. no interest. tha' was before the war o' the dead, though. s' startling, rememberin' all over again that he's not another corpse right now, ready for burnin'.

❛ well - you're a lady, aren't ya' ? and yer' da's a lord ? you've got land n' everything, i assume ? ❜ he doesn't know much about the houses, if he's honest. the boys and girls o' fleabottom, they don't learn this growin' up. they learn to scrap by, to find their strengths by fallin' mercy to the adults on their streets. gendry himself only knows the big houses : starks and lannister and tyrell and the like. but the vassals under 'em... that's trickier. he's lucky enough not to 'ave his tongue removed by the way he treated nearly everyone the same.

gods, his temper. davos said once it's so alike robert, the damn fat king.

❛ then yer' a highborn, no ma'er what people call ye'. ❜

the south, the lady speaks. right. they've got to do that. when yer under a banner, you follow your lord liege, ain't it. gendry had sworn himself to jon, to the north really, when he arrived here, but it all seems - pointless now. jon snow's besotted with the foreign dragon queen, and gendry trusts her as much as he trusts any o' the baratheons, had they still live - which isn't much at all. he can't imagine goin' 'ven if jon asks, or arya does. why should he ? he'd done his fight, hadn't he ? and, anyways, he didn't want the throne. other folks could spill blood for it, though. he's seen the devastation, and gendry doesn't think it's worth that much.

although —

❛ isn't- isn't yer da' alive ? then, shouldn't they send only men ? ❜ he asks aloud, confusion marring his questions, as he takes the damp cloth into his own two palms, sighing in relief at the warmth of it.

GENDRY’S OUTBURST MAKES HER GRIN. It’s absurd and rude and Meera quashes it before it can get too big. Not that she delights in his anger. She’s just surprised, is all, at his intensity. All this trouble to make a fire, when really she just had to ask him about home. Meera watches him speak in rapt fascination. After the blandness of the caverns, after the blankness in Bran’s eyes, she’s forgotten what it’s like to witness passion.

She leans in, sheltering close to this new kind of fire. It’s nice.

“Thousands?” Meera repeats. The warmth of the flames seeps into her voice, her smile. She ignores the direction his words were going before he trailed off and spins her own a completely different way. “How could someone even use all that gold? Smelt it down into a golden anvil, maybe?” There’s a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “Or a golden frog-spear? There’s some fish that like the glint of shiny things, you know. Makes them curious. Easier to catch.” A pause; for a moment she seems like she’s genuinely considering this. “Not unlike us, I suppose.”

Meera’s gaze drops to Gendry’s hands, and she thinks she begins to understand. They’re still ash-black from the battle. No wonder it won’t leave him. He’s brought it all the way out to the pond. She reaches under her furs to pull out some of the bandage scraps she got from the healers. For when it’s time to change her dressings, they’d said. This is more important.

She reaches out to press the cloth into perfect, untouched snow. The cold bites at her fingers; she wrinkles her nose. When it’s drenched through and through, she picks it up, gives it a slight shake, then holds it next to the fire. Cradles it, really. Not close enough to burn out the wet, but enough to soak up the ice.

“Greywater Watch,” she says at last. The browns of her eyes begin to melt. “It’s a castle. Nothing so grand as Winterfell, but it’s home. You’re very kind, you know, to call House Reed highborn.” She flips the cloth so the fire can warm the other side. “Most anyone else would say mudmen.” A glance down at her attire. “I suppose I can’t blame them.”

Meera frowns, thinking.

“I — I’d like to go home.” Bran doesn’t need her anymore, it’s true. But. “House Reed is sworn to the Starks. And the Starks are marching south.” She gives Gendry a rueful sort of smile and tries not to think of her bruises. She is a hunter, not a soldier. The battle for the living had been close. If she goes south, she isn’t hopeful she will come back. “Maybe it won’t come to that. King’s Landing will see the dragons and surrender, I’m sure. They have to.” An undercurrent of terror snaps at her throat. Her eyes go distant for a moment. Then she refocuses.

“Here.” Meera tosses another log on the fire, then worms her way around to sit next to Gendry. Out of habit she reaches for his hands, but then she remembers he’s not Hodor, or Bran, or Jojen during a fit. An awkward moment passes; she tries to figure out what to do with herself. She settles for extending the damp cloth instead. “To clean off the dead, if you’d like. Don’t worry. It’s warm.”

[justanotherbirdbrain-blog]

as a volcano guy, I'd love for you to go over what media typically gets wrong about volcanoes (like people outrunning a fucking pyroclastic flow and/or surviving in it for any period of time). I know you sort of talked about eruptions in your natural disasters post, but I still feel like there's a lot to explore about the typical "stratovolcano that somehow has constant rivers of lava" image that most people think of. Some stuff about how karst caves work/different types of them would also be cool!

Apologies for replying so late, but this is so true and frustrating! Media does not really properly convey natural disasters, maybe to make people feel less scared? But what it actually does is give everyone false confidence, or allows people to make uneducated decisions!

So lets talk about it! First lets look at some things in media that upset me:

To be completely clear here, I love Lord of the Rings and so does my advisor, so at LEAST two geologists have managed to get over this scene. However, when I put on my geologist glasses there is a lot to unpack, first, the above volcano is a stratovolcano, which erupts how it is depicted above kind of, which means its letting off mostly ash and giant boulders, and! the lava is not that flowy. Only mafic lavas flow like that (like in Hawaii). Stravovolcanoes get their shape from all the ash that is shed down the sides of the it, that is what the volcano is made of!

Also, even if we want to play devils advocate and say, "ok they got lucky with pyroclastic flows" WHICH GOES ON AVERAGE 60MPH OR 100KM/H. And lets imagine that these rocks just managed to keep them cool enough to sit on that rock, lava releases toxic gases?

Like CO2 which is toxic by itself sure, but also sulfur dioxide, carbon monoxide, and other very very toxic things.

Another thing about pyroclastic flows is they are freaking hot! 200°C and 700°C (390-1300°F) the heat will kill anyone before the ash does.

And now that I have brought up ash lets talk about what it is because people just casually standing in it with no masks?

Those are tiny glass shards you are inhaling, you know how asbestos is super bad for you? This is just as bad for the same reasons.

Dropping media for a minute, volcanoes kill in several different ways, whether it is an incident like Pompeii which was overtaken by pyroclastic flows, whether is be from volcanic gases like the Lake Nios, or from related earthquakes or tsunamis caused by the volcanic activity.

Speaking of Tsunamis!

No, there is not some huge wave, more than likely you will not see a tsunami coming. The most you get is maybe feeling the associated earthquake or volcanic eruption, or you see the ocean receding rapidly.

YOU DO NOT NEED TO BE BY THE EARTHQUAKE OR VOLCANO FOR YOU TO BE AFFECTED BY A TSUNAMI, If something causes a tsunami to happen in Japan, it can also affect Hawaii, and the West Coast of the US, and visa versa. This occurred most recently (to my knowledge) in 2011.

Do you want to know how fast tsunamis travel in open water?

over 500 mph (800 km/h)

Media should have some responsibility in teaching people how to behave in these situations to some degree and natural disaster safety should be taught regardless if you live in Kansas or Washington state, because who knows where you will end up living as an adult or if where you happen to vacation experiences a disaster.

I know there is a lot more to address from a lot of movies, but if I am being completely honest I avoid movies involving natural disasters like a plague because it just leaves me feeling very upset.

Oh wait one last thing to everyone seeing this!

YELLOWSTONE IS NOT GOING TO ERUPT. STOP SAYING THAT. The rhyolite magma chamber beneath Yellowstone is only 5-15% molten (the rest is solidified but still hot). Pick another volcano to start an apocalypse, because she ain't it.

Oh, also you don't need a supervolcano to send the world spiraling, a year without a summer, which was an absolute disaster, was created by the eruption of mount Tambora (in Indonesia) and just in EUROPE over 65,000 died because of the climate changes and resulting famine.

Thank you for your time!

[coffeedepressionsoup]

Somebody does love | MYG - They Meet

Pairing - Yoongi x F!reader

Summary - "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Two people are in love but that is not enough because sometimes loving requires courage.

This is the one where the two meet for the first time. Part 2 of Somebody Does Love.

Series Masterlist

Genre - fluff, strangers to lovers, eventual smut and angst

Word count - 3k+

Warnings - lil swearing, SMOKING IS INJURIOUS TO HEALTH! nothing else I can think of

Ratings - 13+

A/N - Apologies for the late update. But do let me know in the comments what you think of the chapter and what direction you want to see the narrative flow in. Also, this is not proofed, please excuse typos, tense, and grammar errors. And if you liked it, please please please engage with the post. Comment, like, repost. Your engagement is the sole reason I am pushed to write. 

Your flight landed with a two-hour delay at 5 pm at the Incheon airport. After collecting your baggage and going through customs, you shot a text to your friend and waited near one of the cafes inside the airport for the crowd to die down. In about 10 minutes you lugged your bags behind you, pulling your mask further up your nose and pulling the bucket hat to right above your eyes. 

It didn’t take long to spot Sammy. Dressed in all black, he had a casual gait that only he could have. It also helped that he carried a little cat poster. You could see his eyes crinkle with a smile as he saw you walking out, which mirrored your own.

“Oh it’s so good to finally have you here!” he said while hugging and slightly managing to lift you off the ground.

“I know. But I am so hungry and nervous and I have such a bad headache,” you mumbled into his jacket shoulder.

“Let’s get you washed, fed and rested. Come on,” he chuckled patted your back and took one of your bags before starting walking towards his car. Ah! His car. A black 2022 Maserati Ghibli Modena. One that he has been yapping about for months on end. 

You honestly found it ridiculous. The inordinate amount of money people would pay to procure “luxury” items always confounded you. Sure, wealth commands a certain amount of comfort- Your brain stopped as soon as you sat down on the passenger’s seat of the car. Your ass was far more comfortable than it has ever been on any bed or couch that you have ever owned. Maybe you can allow yourself to see why someone would spend hundreds and thousands of dollars on a car. 

Sammy closed the back of the car, with all your bags safely tucked in, and walked over to the driver’s seat. He saw you leaning back onto the seat with your eyes closed. He smirked behind the mask and sat down, swiftly starting the car.

“Still think this was an unnecessary splurge?” his mask had come off and he had that wide eye-crinkling smile.

“Maybe not,” you smiled to yourself. “How far is your place from here?”

“About an hour, with the school and office traffic now, some more.”

“My dead body will enter your residence, Kim Woosung,” you groaned and pulled at the seatbelt in annoyance. Both your mask and hat were now on your lap. Your head felt like the persistent beating of 500 drums all at once.

“Try to take a nap, I will play your sleep playlist,” he suggested. 

You could not move another muscle to bother with a response. His reply was like a command. With your eyes shut, you shifted your shoulders to place your neck relatively comfortably. The last thing you remember is the comforting, low hum of white noise filling up the space around you.

_______________________

You walked out of the SNU campus, your colleague and friend Samairah in tow. She is the reason you are in Seoul in the first place. You met at an academic conference in Edinburgh when you were still PhD researchers. Dr Samairah Nazli is now a full-time professor of Gender Studies at the prestigious Seoul National University. 

“It is just a contract for the coming academic year, Y/N! Come on! You will also get to spend time with Sammy.” You had scoffed back at your friend over the video call last November when she said her department wanted to invite you as a Visiting Professor for their newly-introduced Feminist Economics course and the existing Gender and Media course that a now-retired professor used to handle. 

But a week later when you found yourself in a virtual meeting with the Dean, Department Head and the Vice Chancellor, the opportunity did seem intriguing. They did want to eventually offer you a full-time position. You would be tenured at 32! Also, you can work with Samairah again, after working on your first book together, you knew you would work together again. 

And of course, you get to spend time with Sammy. One of your best friends. Kim Woosung of The Rose. But only Sammy to you. Crazy to think that you only met him about three years ago, at Friar Park of all places on the planet, but lord, did you love that dude to bits.

“Wanna grab a drink?” Samairah asks, as you both head towards the subway station.

“No, meeting the broker again.”

“This will be the 8th place she’s showing you?”

You shook your head as you dug in your pockets for the cigarette case. “No. Ninth.”

You lit a cigarette and said, “I really want to finalise a place and settle down before the semester begins.”

“Tough to do all that in what- 12 days now?” she counted the days mentally and grabbed the smoke you held out for her to counter.

“I wish I were a millionaire at times like these,” you took back the smoke and gave it a long drag as you stopped at the crossing. Samairah would go straight from here to catch her train and you will take a left and meet Hwang Seul-gi. Your realtor. Broker. Currently, the most important person in your life.

You could have opted to stay at the Siheung-Si staff residence for part-time and visiting faculties, but that would mean you would spend half the day in transit. And you hated transit. Motion made you sick. So yes, car trips with you are absolute joyrides for your friends. 

You also wanted time to work on the manuscript of the next book you are planning. And you want enough time to sleep. God, you wish to have a carefree night of sleep soon. Not that Sammy’s guest room is bad, it is comfortable, and luxurious even when you consider the free cuddles from Woolfie, but it still is not a place of your own. 

Although Sammy argued the opposite back when you told him about your year-long relocation to Seoul. He wanted you to live as roommates. Even offered you to pay for house-sitting in mirth, for all the times he would be away on tour. 

Again, you loved the guy. But his social butterfly stages of self are something you could take in small doses. You knew what his schedule was like, how many people dropped by for work at his home studio, and even just because to share drinks. But a whole year of it would drive you mad. So Sammy finally gave up trying to convince you and connected you to Seul-gi.

The lovely Seul-gi who yet again showed you a wonderful place, reasonably near the campus. But the deposit itself would require you to sell both your kidneys, maybe an eye and even a good chunk of your liver.

It was almost 7:30 by the time you left the apartment complex and headed towards Sammy’s place. You could take a cab, but the crisp late February air made a nice weather for a walk. You were passing through a park, almost deserted at the time, when you heard a noise that alerted you.

It sounded like someone was struggling. Some animal. You could hear low grunts, probably a puppy or a kitten, but you looked around and saw nothing immediately. The noise continued so you stopped and tried to follow the direction of the sound. 

You reached a bush at the side of the pathway and were sure that this was the location. But the sun was already down. Dim yellow lights sparsely lit the park pathway, enough for people to look and walk, but not enough to see within the bushes. 

By the noise you could now tell that there was also a metal scraping noise, but barely so. You turned on your phone's flashlight but still saw nothing. You looked around but saw no one. Trying your best to not step on any of the plants, you entered the bush and squatted down with the flashlight.

“Hey, are you okay?” a low but heavy voice from above you startled you and the phone almost dropped from your grip as you stood up to see who it was. A man donning all black with a mask, a cap and a hoodie looked right back at you. Only his eyes were visible and the eyes were filled with concern. In the commotion of your entry into the bush and stomping around, ever so mildly within it had now increased the noise. 

It sounded like a distressed kitten. You looked back down and could see one of the drainage grills under the dense foliage of the bush. You looked back up at the stranger and said, “I think a kitten has fallen into the drain.”

Before the man could respond, you squatted back down again and saw the drain and beady little eyes inside it clearly this time. You put down your bag beside you on the ground and put all your effort into pulling the iron rungs up. You could feel it move a little, but not enough to dislodge it. 

“Hey baby, don’t worry. I will get you out of there,” you cooed through your laboured breath. By now, the stranger had joined you. You both exchanged glances and without saying a word you went in and pulled at the grille together at the same time. It seemed a lot easier with the two of you having pulled at it. With one arm, the stranger shifted the grille aside. 

You peered down the drain and extended your arm to grab the kitten. The poor being was scared and cold and probably even more traumatised by all the strange and sudden commotion. You leant down completely, with your stomach on the ground and lowered yourself into the opening up to your shoulders to grab the kitten with both your hands.

The man next to you extended a cautious arm as if to make sure you don’t fall in. Well, the opening was not big enough for you to fall into. But you could get weirdly stuck. But soon he saw your body lifting up and his extended hand hovered over your body, never touching, but ready to help if needed.

You came back up with a feisty calico kitten in your hands who initially made a few tiny scratches on your palm but was now just shivering. The man beside you promptly took off the work jacket he was wearing over his hoodie and handed it towards you. How many layers is he wearing? A small part of your mind wandered, but you quickly grabbed it from him, giving him a thankful smile and wrapped the kitten up in the jacket and held her close to your body, for maximum warmth.

You looked down at the ground near your feet where your bag was and before you could bend over to grab it, the man swooped in and said, “I got this.”

After you stepped out of the bush, you turned to the man again and said, bowing politely, “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem at all. I have two cats of my own, I know the fear of losing them” he said in a calm but understanding tone. You looked at his eyes more closely while he talked, you could have sworn you had met him before, but didn’t know where.

You shook your head and replied, “Oh no, this is not my cat.” And then you explained the noise you followed. The man nodded his head and looked around probably thinking the same thing that you were. “Do you think the mother is around here somewhere?” you asked.

“If she were, she wouldn’t be too far away.”

You looked back down at the kitten, who had stopped shivering now but was still covered in a considerable amount of mud and dirt. You also considered checking if she was chipped and if the person could be notified if she was already a pet. “Do you know of any vet nearby? I am new here, so-”

“Yes, it’s on my way. I will drop you,” he held his arm out to point in the general direction of where you were headed to go back to Sammy’s. You started walking and the man joined you. Out of the park, and having crossed two traffic signals and taken two right turns, you reached the vet’s chamber. It was reasonably empty. You put your name in the register and waited. 

The man sat in a chair next to you but one. He looked over to see you making conversation with the kitten. Of course, she won’t be able to say if she lost her mother or forgot her way home. But the sing-song voice you used clearly worked. He could see the large dark beady eyes of the kitten staring back at your face with wonder and trust.

He too looked at your face with wonder and felt a strange sense of trust and comfort. When he saw a person climb inside a bush at a more or less empty park on a random Thursday evening, he half expected it to be a madman. But when he peered in and saw the glow of a flashlight, he grew more curious. 

He noticed how a part of your right elbow was scraped slightly, not that you seemed to notice. He also saw the muddy bits on your beige outfit. And then looked again at the kitten wrapped in his jacket, on your lap.

“Y/N,” the receptionist called out. You stood up and turned towards the man and gave him a curt nod. He blinked several times before nodding back at your retreating figure and gulped down a deep breath. Did you catch him staring? Even if you did, you didn’t let it show. Y/N. Y/N. He repeated the name in his head a couple of times. 

It was only after the doctor examined the kitten and told you that she has no chips, and is healthy but is slightly malnourished, that you realised you have so far, that is almost in 30 to 40 minutes’ time, not once asked for the man's name - the stranger in black, now at pet clinic reception.

You just followed a stranger through a dimly lit park and ended up where you are now. When put that way, doesn’t sound like the safest thing to do.

The groomers had taken the kitten to another room to clean her up. The vet wrote up some supplements that the kitten could be given and asked you to wait outside. You walked out and saw the man, right where he was, hugging your bag on his lap, scrolling through his phone. Cap, mask and hoodie - still intact. You went up to him and sat in the seat next to him but one. 

“Thanks for looking after my bag,” you smiled. 

The man looked up at you and held the bag out, you could see the crinkles of his smile near his eyes. “Is she alright?” he asked.

You explained whatever the doctor said. 

“Are you going to keep her then?”

Your eyes widened comically and then it dawned on you. You don’t even have a place for yourself. Where the fuck are you gonna keep her? And if the mother was still around, she would likely not be malnourished, so it is not like you can hope to reunite her with her mom. 

Sammy would not mind, for now, you knew. But Woolfie? How would he react?

Seeing you stunned, the man chuckled, “You hadn’t really thought so far, had you?”

“Not really. My immediate instinct was to just release the kitten. But she’s so small and frail, I cannot possibly let her be anywhere else. But-”

Before you could say anything else, one of the groomers approached you, with the kitten now in a cosy, little carrier, all clean and dried. And he carried the jacket she was wrapped in, in the other hand. 

You thanked him and then turned to the man next to you and looked guiltily down at the jacket on your right hand. “I am sorry about this. I will get it dry-cleaned and return it to you. And also, I am sorry I didn’t catch your name till now. I am Y/N Y/L/N," you draped the jacket over your other forearm and extended your arm for a shake.

“HI Y/N, I am Min Yo-,” he choked on his words before he cleared his throat and said taking your hand and giving it a firm shake, “I am Min Yong-Ho.”

You smiled back and walked out of the vet clinic. “I go this way now,” you pointed towards the left. 

“Oh I go the opposite way,” you could see the hint of a smile but also maybe apprehension.

You had bought cat food worth a week, food bowls, a litter box, litter pellets and a small cat bed. You requested the store to deliver the items to Sammy’s address. In the meantime, you had texted the bare bones of your encounter to him. So he was ready to greet a kitten into his home by the time you went back and for the time being had locked his bedroom door, where Woolfie was fast asleep.

You nodded and asked the man, “So, Yong-ho, how do I return your jacket?”

The man looked around, eyes seeming frantic, almost like a deer caught in headlights. Until finally he pointed at a cafe on the opposite side of the road. “How about we meet at that cafe on Sunday evening?”

“Sure, I will bring back a spick and span jacket, I promise,” you said and asked, “6 PM sounds good?”

“6 PM sounds perfect,” the man nodded and waved back at you as you went your way - the kitten in the carrier in one hand, his jacket in the other and your bag, now draped as a sling across your body. He doesn’t know how long he stood there. But he kept staring your way for five seconds longer after your silhouette disappeared over the horizon.

Taglist: @majiiisstuff, @starlighttaek8, @yoongrace

[championofravens]

>be me

>have access to husband's christmas Amazon list

>MIL asks me for his list late November, give it to her

>check it periodically to see what she buys him

>no purchased items showing up when I toggle the list

"Well I guess Im a weirdo who likes to buy gifts early!"

>one month later, mid December

>STILL no purchases showing on wishlist

>text MIL to casually ask what shes buying him so we dont 'double up' on his gifts

>she replies saying she has to go ask FIL

>FIL in charge of gift buying this year

>suddenly never hear back from her

>oh-no.jpeg

>skip to this week

>FIL suddenly wires my husband 500 dollars

>MIL frantically texts me asking what my husband likes because nothing on his wishlist will ship in time for xmas

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Hello! I hope you are having a good day/night. May I ask for axis and allies plus spain, romano and prussia speaking to their s/o in their native language? Thank you very much! -Humble Anon💕

A very good morning/afternoon/evening to you as well, lovely!

When I began brainstorming these, I kept approaching this ask with the thought in mind that the S/O's first language is not the same as that of the Nation's, and aren't quite completely fluent as of yet. It made it a little bit easier for me to write, and offered me just a little more leeway to daydream. ^_^;

America:

Alfred really only does so when he's super tired, stumbling into the kitchen with bedhead to grab his first five cups of coffee, half-flopping on you as he greets you with a kiss to the cheek- ruined by his yawn- accent stronger than normal as he rumbles out a good morning, asks how you slept. He rambles lightly about his weird-ass dreams, making you smile just from his annunciations. At some point, he remembers to start translating, swapping over to the dialect you're most familiar with mid-sentence.

Canada:

Oddly enough, Matthew plays Language Tag more frequently than Al, but more often than not, it's usually an unrefined Franglish that has always irritated Francis and Arthur. (He enjoys this fact, just a little.) Around you, however, it really only flares up in moments where he's just so overwhelmed and in awe, taken aback by how much he's in love with you. Most of his petnames for you are in English, but those moments where you're both spending a lazy evening in bed, he'll happily shower you with all kinds of cheesey compliments in French, teasingly poking your nose every time you try to get him to translate.

China:

Yao has a habit of slipping back to Chinese on a whim, honestly oblivious to the fact most of the time. You've noticed it gets significantly worse whenever he's stressed, and you've learnt some very colourful nicknames for the Others over the years because of it. Despite his seemingly incessant need to pace while venting, you always manage to coax him into your arms, steadily working your fingers across his back, easy out the knots that had been plaguing him. Meetings always brought him stress, but after a good rant and a few moments of your grounding touch, he's sighing away all remaining agitation, slowly bringing himself back to you and apologising for the slip.

England:

One of Arthur's greater strengths comes in linguistics. While he would much rather prefer a courtship with an English speaker, he's not going to deny himself happiness just because of a silly little language barrier. He generally tries to keep everything on common ground, but his nicknames for you, and some of his more scandalising compliments, are murmurred in English. He always keeps it quiet, an intimacy reserved only for you. There's many a "dearest" and "darling" when first waking up in the morning, a languid greeting for the coming day. (Also, he swears mostly in English, so be careful if you decide to borrow any of his vocabulary.)

France:

Francis never hesitates to prattle in French; it's second nature to him. Sometimes, he'll hop between both yours and his preferred dialects several times in a single sentence. You know it's just part of who he is, and while it can be annoying some days, it is helping you improve your own fluency. There are also moments when he makes you weak, his expression uncharacteristically sincere, hands carefully clasping your own. He hums out a soft phrase, one you still haven't fully translated, leaning closer to caress your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek, any number of praises passing his lips.

Germany:

Ludvig, since Day One, has tried his best to make sure you're comfortable around him, and part of that is him keeping firmly to the language you are most familiar with. When coming across words he may not be entirely familiar with, or saying a more complicated phrase, his accent may sometimes come out a bit thicker than would be normal. The only time he really slips into German is when he's on the phone with folks from his government. You don't mean to eavesdrop on the latter, but you do enjoy how much deeper his voice tends to get when he's being "professional." Secretly though, you have to admit his voice when he sleeptalks is your favourite of them all. 

Japan:

Kiku constantly, and often unnecessarily, goes out of his way to make sure that you're comfortable, and despite your arguing against it, one of his ways of trying to do so is to only stick the language you both share. Frankly, you love hearing him speak Japanese, even though you really only hear it when he's at the store, and sometimes to the servers during date night. You love how gentle his voice is, his accent adding almost a sweetness to his words. Lately, you've been debating how to tell him that you'd like to hear it more, but for now you savour the little pieces you've collected over the past few months.

Prussia:

You learnt some time ago that Gilbert quietly speaking in German actually helped you fall asleep significantly easier. For that reason, he primarily only does so while either headed to bed, or whenever you're spending an afternoon together in the library. He'll sometimes read to you, but mostly he tends to ramble. You only understand a handful of the things he's saying and assume that he's regaling you with tales of days long past. In reality, he's running through his checklist for car parts he wants to fix, complaining about something stupid Roderich did back in 1648, and most often- when you're on the cusp of sleep, breathing deep and relaxed, his hand resting on your back- he's listing off every single thing he's come to love about you, not as afraid of his vulnerability when you're hardly conscious enough to hear it.

Romano:

Lovino spent too long relearning Italian to ever abandon it, even for your sake. He casually weaves it into regular conversation, the endearments, greetings, exclamations, and nicknames fluidly blending into the ordinary. He figured out quite a while ago that you actually enjoyed his "slip ups," so he's especially generous on date nights, about half of the words he's saying falling around you in his unique dialect. He once told you that you should be grateful, that he was blessing you with "the most beautiful language in the world." And begrudgingly, lost in his smile and the way the candlelight makes his eyes spark, you have to agree.

Russia:

Over time, one of your favourite pastimes with Ivan has becoming hunkering down on a settee by the fireplace, where he'll work on his knitting. The best part of these moments, especially on particularly frigid mornings where you've no obligations, is that Ivan will start to sing to himself, always pieces in Russian. Sometimes they're lullabies he's picked up from the royal families over the years, sometimes they're peasant rhymes he's known since childhood, and on some rare occasions, he'll sing something from an opera he fell in love with back in 1872. He'll often pepper in a few casual words here and there, always with a lightness to it, but you're absolutely addicted to how full his voice sounds when he sings.

Spain:

Antonio is actually the worst of the bunch. He can and will ramble in Spanish, a lot, so much so that some of it has permanently rooted itself into your own vocabulary, some of your replies slipping out without pause these days. He tends to catch onto his slip-ups quickly at least, quickly sliding back into your shared venacular with a quick apology. Still, you'll often hear him singing in Spanish, greeting the plants in Spanish, talking to the cats in Spanish. He's particullarly bad at losing himself whenever he's invested in a football match, or if you happen to catch him irritated about politics. Tonio has taught you quite a few colourful curses over the years, smattered with some day-to-day phrases you've both come to recite by default.

Veneziano:

Feliciano is surprisingly good at sticking to the language you feel most comfortable with, though he's notorious at mucking up the number of syllables in certain words. You have a strong suspicion he does this intentionally, this elongation solely designed to annoy you, especially as he always seems slightly bemused each time he does it. Regardless of how annoying he can be in your language, you do love eavesdropping on his conversations with his brothers, chattering away in Italian, his words and hands moving far too quickly for you to even hope to follow along. There's something so soothing in listening to him speak, even if he is producing 500 words per minute.

Thanks for the ask, Anon! I hope you enjoyed~

[readiajin]

To Love Herself - Chapter 2: Wherever

Synopsis: Following ACOSF until Nesta’s confrontation with Amren. Rather than going to hike and soul search with Cassian in the wild, Nesta uses her powers to disappear.

In celebration of being done with my finals I finally finished chapter 2! I found writing the inner circle hard because I wanted to be consistent with the books but also got frustrated at them... Enjoy!

Prologue: Disappear

Chapter 1: Appear

Chapter 2: Wherever

Cassian - After Appear

“Don’t finish all the wine before Feyre gets here.” Cassian met Mor’s gaze over the top of his wineglass, her own hovering just about her lips, curved in a teasing smile.

“You’re one to talk,” he shot back.

“It’s not my fault Feyre’s late.”

“You both have a problem.” Cassian looked at Amren, who was practically in Varian’s lap next to Mor on the couch. 

“Where is Feyre anyways?” Elain asked from her seat next to Cassian. That was addressed to Rhys, who was walking into the sitting room from checking on Nyx. 

Rhys took a seat in one of the two open arm chairs in front of the fire. “She said she lost track of time in the studio. Is on her way back now.” 

“What is she doing? Walking?” Mor asked. 

“Yes, said she wanted to enjoy the night.” Rhys said this casually, but Cassian knew his brother well. He could tell Rhys was bothered by Feyre’s absence. They hadn’t had a planned dinner tonight, their family convening spontaneously as Cassian and Mor reported in on court business to Rhys and Amren. Azriel had been here after training Nyx earlier. Varian was the only one besides Feyre told to come over. 

Dinner had been casual and quick as Nyx had been full of energy before Rhys got him down. Nyx had asked for his mother, and Cassian didn’t think she had ever unexpectedly missed his bedtime, especially just to paint. Rhys seemed to be thinking the same thing. Cassian knew his brother probably wanted to go get Feyre himself, but she had most likely told him no. Rhys understood how important it was to respect Feyre’s independence.

Still, Rhys accepted the glass of whiskey Azriel placed in his hand before returning to his chosen spot leaning against the sideboard. 

Rhys was about to take a sip when his head snapped to the doorway. 

Feyre stood there. 

Cassian could immediately tell something was wrong. She didn’t say anything, barely glanced at any of them as she made her way to take the last open seat in front of the fire. Rhys stood, but Feyre only reached out to take his glass of whiskey before sitting, and downing the glass. 

“Feyre, what’s wrong?” Rhys asked this with a deadly calm Cassian knew was to cover his panic and rage at whatever had happened. The fact that he asked it out loud meant she must not be responding through their bound, something not lost on anyone else in the room. 

Feyre finished the glass and closed her eyes, letting out a sign.

“What happened girl?” Amren asked somewhat tentatively. Tentatively for Amren, which was even more alarming. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” It was true, Feyre was deathly pale and her hands shook slightly. 

Feyre let out a shaky laugh. “I have.” 

No one spoke, the crackling fire the only sound. 

Feyre’s eyes fluttered open, going straight to Cassian. In that split second before she spoke, Cassian already knew what she was going to say. 

“I saw Nesta.” 

Time stood still as a million different things flashed through Cassian’s mind. He saw her, Neata, the last day he had seen her eight years ago. Her face flushed with anger, then frozen, her eyes empty. He saw her burn herself up in silver flames, then gone. 

He also saw the memories of her he clung too. Training with that determined look in her eyes. The I will slay my enemies look. A ghost of a smile on her lips as she talked with Emerie and Gwyn, or even with him, even when she fought it. He saw her naked, breathing heavily beneath him while looking at him with a feeling in her eyes he had thought he knew but was too scared to voice. A feeling he now understood had just been wishful thinking on his part. 

“What do you mean you saw Nesta?” Rhys’ deadly voice brought Cassian back, his eyes still locked with Feyre’s. At the threat of violence in Rhys’ tone however, Cassian found his gaze drifting to Rhys, who still stood next to Feyre, and a rising tide of his own anger with it. 

“She showed up at my studio as I was leaving.”

Cassian found his voice to ask, “And where is she now?” Save for Rhys, who was focused on Feyre, Cassian sensed everyone else watching him. 

“She left again. She was only there for a few minutes.” 

“What did she say?” asked Amren

“She said…” Fryre stumbled over her words as she stared towards the back of the room, as if she could see Nesta standing there now. “She looked great.”

Cassian frowned. He had pictured Nesta as she had been at her lowest. In the old apartment, drunk, and reeking of sex. These past eight years had also been ample time for him to imagine her lost, starving, bleeding out. He had pictured her in the same pain he had been since she had left. He didn’t understand what Feyre meant by ‘great’. “What do you mean?” 

“She looked healthy. She had the Great Sword with her.” 

“Of course she did,” Mor scoffed. “Did she have the other weapons with her? Did you ask?”

“No, but she told me… some things.” 

“What things?” Amren demanded. 

“She said we needed to look for dissent among the Illyarians, that some were conspiring with… someone on the continent.” 

Cassian exchanged a glance with Azriel. “Feyre, can you start at the beginning, what happened.” Az said this as he switched Feyre’s empty glass for one with wine.

They waited as she took a sip before explaining how Nesta had appeared behind her, and what she had told Feyre about a group on the continent looking for Prynthia’s power. 

It was Mor who broke the silence that followed. “Well that sounds like a load of shit if I have ever heard it. Seriously, she expects us to believe that? If there is a threat to Prynthia, it’s her. Did you ask her about the kidnapped priestesses?”

“No, I didn’t think of it. But she wants to meet in two days.”

“Absolutely not,” Rhys finally cut in. “I’m not having my mate go anywhere near her.” 

Feyre set down her wine glass to glare at her mate. “She’s my sister, of course I’m going.”

“A sister who lied, left, and stole from you,” Amren scoffed. “Nesta didn’t deserve you before, girl, nor does she now.” 

Cassian’s head and heart were pounding. Part of him wanted to rip into Rhys, Amren, and Mor for what they said, but he was feeling too much. He should say something, but they all knew how he felt already anyways. They had seen him in the weeks and months after she disappeared after all. 

Azriel, thankfully, spoke up. “We should meet her. If not to hear what she has to say but then at least to check out her magic. My shadows have never been able to track her. She seems to have mastered her powers if she was able to get into the city and sneak up on Feyre.” 

 “She also could have help,” Varian added. “Getting into the city itself is a feat, but she was able to get those weapons and priestesses out seven years ago, right?” 

“I agree Nesta is a problem to be dealt with, but that should be done without meeting in a situation she controls.” Rhys said. 

“What do you mean ‘dealt with’?” Cassian asked with a deadly calm.

Rhys turned to Cassian, his face cold. 

“I told you before her power is death. I will not tolerate any threat to the Night Court.”

“Nesta’s a threat to the Night Court? Or do you just think she is a threat to you?” Cassian growled. Cassian would never forget Rhy’s threat to kill Nesta after she had told Feyre about the risk of the baby. Despite his later apology, Cassian knew Rhys had meant it at the time. 

Rhys’ violet eyes flared and the air became charged with his powers. Cassian’s siphons flared in response. 

“Enough!” Feyre jumped up and stepped in between them before they both did something they would regret. In over the 500 years Cassian had known Rhys, the only things that had ever caused them to threaten real violence towards each other were Feyre and Nesta. 

Feyre whirled on Rhys. “I am in no mood for your overprotective male bullshit. Nesta is my sister and I am High Lady. I will meet her if I wish.”

Rhys settled back a bit, but his voice was still hard as he replied to his mate, “You are also a mother. What about Nyx.”

“Don’t use our son as a reason I can’t do something. Besides, Nesta is not a threat.”

Once again, a tense silence filled the room. Cassian couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Rhys and Feyre fight like this, if ever. Usually they kept their disagreements silent and between them. 

“What do you think Elain?” Azriel asked, breaking the tension even if it required him addressing Elain. They had enough tension between them without getting involved in other’s. Still, Rhys and Feyre both took a step back from each other and turned their attention to Elain next to Cassian. 

Elain, who had been sitting so silent throughout the debate that Cassian had forgotten she was there, stood. “I think Nesta has always made the wrong choices. But she wouldn’t have come back or asked to meet without a reason. You should at least go meet her.” 

“You?” Feyre asked, frowning. “You don’t want to see her?”

“No, I don’t.” Elain said this with a confidence Cassian rarely heard from her. “Hear her out, but I agree with Mor. She can’t be trusted. I’m going to bed, let me know what you decide in the morning.” With that, Elain left the room. 

Cassian attempted to keep his voice neutral as he said, “So we will meet her in two days where she said.”

“It seems so.” was all Rhys said.

Cassian knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it together for much longer so he downed the last of his wine and walked to the doors leading outside. No one tried to stop him. 

Out on the patio he breathed in the cool air in an attempt to calm his pounding blood. He flared his wings with the intention of flying to cliffs on the coast to scream out everything he was feeling, when the door opened behind him. 

Feyre stood there, her eyes, Nesta’s eyes, sad.

“I’m sorry Cassian.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for everything,” Feyre ran a hand over her face. “I’m sorry for her leaving, I’m sorry for how she behaved before that, and for how I behaved towards her. I’m sorry she came to me and not you.”

Cassian’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to feel this way, but envy wasn’t rational, and he couldn’t stop the pain at the thought that Nesta went to Feyre but not him.

“She’s your sister, of course she went to you.”

Feyre gave him a sad smile and leaned against the railing, looking up at the stars. “She did ask about you.”

Cassian’s voice was breathy as he said, “Really?”

“Yes.”

They both continued to examine the stars before Cassian asked what had been nagging him the most. “What did you mean by she looked great and healthy?”

“She was tanned and looked to have a good amount of weight from what I could see. I think she was in fighting leather’s, but not Illyarian ones.”

“But she didn’t give any clue as to where she has been the past eight years?”

Feyre shook her head. “Said it was a long story.”

“I’m sure,” Cassian scoffed, the back of his mouth bitter.

“We will find out in two days.”

Cassian nodded, but didn’t say anything more as he spread his wings and launched into the night. 

•••••

Nesta - After Disappear 

The first thing Nesta became aware of was the sound of wind rustling thousands of tree needles somewhere above her. 

Nesta took a deep breath of the earthy, spiced tinged air as her eyes fluttered open. The world was a mix of red and green, but far above where she lay, Nesta could make out bits of blue sky and white clouds through the forest canopy. 

Gods, her head pounded. But not like it did after she drank. No, the last time Nesta had felt like this was after the battle with Hyburn. Memories flashed in Nesta’s mind as she recalled what happened. Cassian asking her for sword names, to the rage she had felt at them all, herself, and then the tears she caused Feyre to spill.

And the magic. Nesta had not just let her powers slip, she had used them, allowed them to take her. To here. Wherever this was. 

Nesta’s fists closed around handfuls of soft wood and dirt. Slowly, she pushed herself up to take in her surroundings, and her breath caught. She was surrounded by the most enormous trees she had ever seen. Their orange-red trunks were thicker than her family’s old cottage, with the lowest branches several stories above her head. 

Nesta had never felt so small. So insignificant. 

She had done it. She had left Velaris and her sisters. And Cassian. She had left Gwyn and Emerie with no explanation. Guilt settled in her as Nesta remembered their concern after she had argued with Cassian earlier that day. Oh gods, what day was it?

Nesta pushed to her feet only to almost collapse immediately, her head spinning. She had no way of knowing how long it had been since she had left. Her mouth felt like sandpaper and her stomach ached painfully.

The forest around her was unsettlingly peaceful. Wind high about shifted the needles and branches, but the world at the ground where Nesta stood almost seemed frozen in time. By the sun’s soft light, she figured it was mid morning. She saw no animals, or much vegetation besides small bushes and ferns scattered about the bases of the trees. 

It would be a fine place to lay down and die. Of all the places Nesta had ever been, this forest was one the nicer places. Better than her run down apartment, or Feyre’s ornate palace on the river. Definitely better than the townhouse and it’s claustrophobic walls.

Nesta felt a pang in her chest as she thought of the House. It may be ridiculous but the House was her friend, and the first home she had felt comfortable in. Even if it hadn’t been her choice. 

Now it was all gone. Everything she knew was gone. He was- no. This had been her choice. 

The thought spurred Nesta to move. She picked a random direction and started walking. She needed water. And food. And shelter.  

Despite everything her family had been through, Nesta realized, she had never truly been without. Even in the grips of poverty they had a house, no matter how small and rundown. And Feyre had always been responsible for food. A familiar heavy wave came over Nesta. None of that mattered anymore. She wouldn’t be a problem for them anymore. 

There was too much to take in as Nesta made her way through the huge forest. She felt like an ant crawling on twigs as she made her way around and over fallen branches. The red trees were soft, with many branches and old trunks shattered across the ground. 

It was hard navigating, as the trees made it hard to see more than a few meters. 

A small stream came into sight and Nesta had to restrain herself from jumping into it. Swallowing her dry mouth took a lot of effort now. Walking to a mini waterfall where the water ran clear, Nesta collapsed to her knees beside it. She cupped her hands and drank, not caring about the water she dribbled down the front of her training leathers. 

The water was rejuvenating. After thoroughly quenching her thirst, Nesta splashed water on her face.

Refreshed, Nesta sat back and closed her eyes, taking a breath. The water helped, but Nesta knew she needed food. And shelter, and a plan. Because she had no idea what she was doing. 

Nesta tried to clamp down on her rising panic. She would get her wish and she would die here in this strange forest because she was so unskilled she lacked the basic abilities required to survive and feed herself. For all her training with Cassian, he had never taught her to be self reliant. She hadn’t even trained with a real sword.

Nesta felt a sob build in her throat and tears threaten to spill despite holding her eyes shut. It was only shock that stopped Nesta’s breakdown. Shock when a voice said from behind her:

“Who the hell are you?” 

•••••

Thanks for being here :)

Tags:

@bluassassin @my-fan-side @nehemikkele @vidalinav​ @dread3r @vasudharaghavan @laylaameer01​ @little-shipper55 @aelinchocolatelover @mis-lil-red @missing-merlin @frosted-crackers​

[slomocloblog]

calling into the void for a jujutsu kaisen rp!

the name’s clo. i’m an 18+ gal (she/her) who’s been rping on and off for, jeez, probably at least six or seven years now. i’ve brushed up on my rping as of late-- i write mostly fanfic, but rp is just so much fun! i’ve recently gotten into jujutsu kaisen and i’m about to finish the first season of the anime. i know a tad about the future arcs because of spoilers, but i haven’t yet read the manga. i plan to start on that as soon as i can find somewhere to read it, though!

so, let’s get right into it.

you!

laid back, casual rper with some experience under their belt, perhaps

open to ooc chatter and extensive plotting over discord or other platforms, because i am a goblin that lives on both of those things?

me!

gmt-8 timezone

novella, 500-1000+ words a response. i tend to average that, even sometimes more, but that being said: i value quality over quantity! if a post doesn’t need to drag on forever, let’s not fluff it up.

gdocs format.

third person, past tense // third person, present tense. that’s all for me.

excellent grammar/sentence structure. i’m so sorry but it bothers me far too much when a post is unintelligible or grammatically sour. i promise i use capital letters and whatnot ic, ooc i don’t really care and i’m more casual.

in-depth, thought out, creative writing. i’ve seen a variety of different styles and love many of them dearly, so bring to the table your best ideas and i’ll bring mine too!

m/f main, m/m and f/f secondary, also welcome nb characters with open arms.

definitely willing to double, play a completely separate roleplay in a totally different fandom, bring your wildest x-canon ideas to life, or show you one of many well-loved ocs that may tickle your fancy.

au-friendly. i love and welcome au ideas. 

frequency can range from 1-2 posts a day to maybe a few times a week. i work a demanding job most of the week and don’t have all the time in the world to write, but i can definitely reply regularly. i also tend to agonize over my posts and put a lot of time and thought into them– if you’re okay with our responses being a little more spaced out sometimes, that’s ideal! 

dark themes welcome: drug use, alcohol abuse, violence, death, gore, noncon/dubcon, etc. all fine with me, but not necessary.

i personally do not care if you ghost me. i’ve done it before, mostly for health or personal reasons, and i absolutely understand if you need to do it, too. i do appreciate a heads up, though! and if i feel i need to step away from our story for any reason, i will let you know.

smut?

i am well within legal age, BUT smut is usually not my first priority. i’m definitely more plot-centric than anything. smut can be the icing on our extra large, very intricate cake.

i’m totally fine fading to black!

the good stuff (cravings and fandoms!)

currently: jujutsu kaisen!!

i’ve just come up with an oc that i would love love love to play in the jjk universe/anime timeline. she’s pretty fresh-- i’m not 100% sure where i’d like to go with her or who i’d want to pair her up with, which is where you come in! do you have an oc you’d like to play too? or are you a fan of writing canon characters? i’ll accept anyone and everyone! 

but to give you a better idea, my favs are:

gojo satoru (duh)

geto suguru 

bastard mahito

nanami kento 

oooor anyone else. i have both younger and older versions of her depending on who you’d like to write. 

i am very new to the fandom so please be patient with me! i can’t wait to read/watch more :) if you’re interested, shoot me a message or interact with this post and i’ll hit you up!

[arvandus]

Congrats on 500 followers! Could I perhaps request 8 from the fluff prompts with Present Mic, but platonic? Like he's the reader's unofficial metaphorical dad and something bad happens to the reader and the prompt line is what he says at the end? Sorry if that's confusing.

Thank you so much!  Ngl, I struggled with this one a bit. I’ve never written for Present Mic before, so this was new territory for me.  Also never written platonic before, which was also a good exercise. Really though, it’s because this was INSTANTLY the idea that had popped into my head with your request, and it WOULD NOT BUDGE.  Normally not a problem, but for some reason, I had the hardest time figuring out how to fit the dialogue prompt into it.  BUT I DID IT!  It only took me.... *checks* 1732 words to get there. 🤣🤣🤣

This makes it my biggest one yet for the 500 Followers Event.  I hope you enjoy it!  It’s a bit angst heavy in the beginning because of the nature of your request, but it does end on a happy note!

8. “You are my family.”

It happened. It actually happened.  You had hoped it wouldn’t, but here you were, sitting on a park bench with nothing but a backpack and a duffle bag.  Your mind replayed the sound of your family’s words in your head.  Harsh, cruel, heartless words.

‘Get out.’

Sure, there was more to it than that, but you didn’t want to dwell on it, to let it fester within you and take root.  There was already more than enough damage tied to their memory, and the last thing you wanted to do was carry it with you. After all, you had enough baggage as it was.

Of course, this was easier said than done. The ache sat heavy in your gut, your heart a black void. Questions flew circles in your mind like crows, questions you’d likely never know the answer to.  They mocked you, pecking at your resolution, tearing at your self-esteem. Tears soaked down your cheeks and you let them fall freely as you wrapped your arms around yourself, struggling to find a strength you weren’t sure you had.

You began to shiver as the cold night air made its way into your jacket.  You couldn’t stay here.  You knew you couldn’t; it wasn’t safe.  You looked at your phone for the tenth time.  A single contact stared back at you.

Hizashi Yamada.

Hizashi was your mentor, your guide… and quite frankly, the closest thing you had to a good father figure.  He’d helped you through your years at UA, both academically and emotionally, giving you the support you’d desperately needed, the support that was painfully absent with your own family.  He treated you kindly and respectfully, taking you under his wing so that you could flourish. He praised you in your successes and guided you through your failures, all while keeping a light heart that constantly reminded you not to take life too seriously.  It set up the foundation for a strong bond between the two of you that continued after graduation.  It was a bond that you still had, ever evolving with occasional check-ins and coffee shop meet-ups, where he often gave you professional and even sometimes fatherly advice.

Fatherly was what you needed right now, more than anything.  He was the only person you really trusted, the only one who knew about your situation. He’d even said for you to call him if you were ever in trouble.

This counted, right?

Still, you hesitated.  You didn’t want to inconvenience him.  And you’d never ever reached out to him in this capacity before.

But you didn’t really have any other choice.

You pressed the call button.

It rang once. Twice.

“Y/N?” His voice answered.  No doubt, your name came up on his phone.

You swallowed.

“Um… Hi, Mr. Hizashi…” you mumbled.

“Hey, kid! You okay?  What’s got you callin’ so late?” he replied.  You could hear the concern underlying his jovial tone, and you clutched your phone tighter to your ear, grateful to know that at least someone out there cared about you.

“I… I need some help.” You said.  “They… they kicked me out.”

There was a silent pause. When he finally spoke, his voice was somber.  “I’ll come get you.  Tell me where you are.”

You thanked him and gave him your location.  He kept you on the phone with him the entire time as he drove over, making you speak to him and describe your surroundings.  Any people who walked by you, specific landmarks, anything he might need to know if trouble arrived before he did.  When you finally saw his headlights pull up into the parking lot of the park, relief flooded you and you nearly ran to his car. He was a sight for sore eyes, his blonde hair pulled back into a casual man bun, his clothing simple.  He stepped out of the driver’s side door to put your things in his trunk before opening his passenger door for you.

“Thank you.” You said as he settled back into the driver’s seat next to you.

“I’m glad you called me.” He replied.

As he drove, he spoke to you.  “You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?” he asked.

Your vision blurred and you shook your head.

“Listen.  I’m going to give you a couple of options for tonight.  I can take you back to my place and you can crash on my couch.  Or, if you’re not comfortable with that, I can reach out Nemuri.  I’m sure she’d understand.”

You were grateful he didn’t offer to put you up in a motel by yourself or take you to a homeless shelter.  The tension in your spine eased slightly.

“Um.. your place, please, if that’s okay…” you mumbled.

You could see relief smooth the creases on his brow and he smiled at you.  “Of course it is.”

You arrived at Hizashi’s home and he helped you carry your things in.  He retreated to his hallway to grab a spare blanket and a pillow and set it up for you on the couch.  You looked at the space curiously, intrigued at his level of preparedness.

Hizashi noticed the questioning look on your face, and chuckled.  “Shouta crashes here sometimes.  Gotta be prepared.”

You gave a small chuckle at the mental picture.

“How about some tea?” Hizashi asked as he disappeared into the kitchen. You could hear the clinking of ceramics and the running of water. “Have ya had anything to eat?” He called out. “Are ya hungry?”

You shook your head, your stomach still twisted in knots. “No, I’m okay…”

“Well, if that changes, feel free to help yourself whenever you want.” He replied.

By this point, the dam of your emotions was beginning to crack, and you sat on the couch with your head in your hands.  You could feel fresh tears filling your eyes, sticking to your lashes.  You blinked at them, letting them fall into your palms.

A few minutes later, Hizashi returned with a cup of hot tea that he handed to you. You took it gratefully and sipped at its contents, letting the warmth coat your throat and fill your stomach.  It helped to slightly ease the knot of anxiety that you felt twisted up inside you.

“I’m so sorry to ask for your help like this.” You muttered. “I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind when you gave me your number.  I just didn’t have anyone else to turn to.”

“It’s okay.” He replied.  “Like I said, I’m glad you called me.”

“I promise I won’t stay long…” you said.  “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You’ll stay as long as you need to.  I’m not going to let you out back on the street by yourself.” He said sternly.  “I’ll start reaching out to people tomorrow.  I’m sure there are some UA graduates that might be cool with getting a new roommate.”

“Thank you.” You said again.  

Another long silence filled the space as you sipped at your drink.  He quietly sat near you, letting you acclimate to his space and this strange, new situation.  Once the mug was empty, you set it down.

“So… do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked.

You began to recount all that had transpired hours before.  The things your family did, the things they said… You tried to keep the emotions separate from your words, but it was impossible.  Within a matter of minutes, the dam finally burst, and you were openly sobbing.  As you cried, Hizashi offered you a box of tissues and put a comforting hand over yours. You clutched at it in return like a lifeline, his silent consolation tethering the broken pieces of your heart.

“I don’t know what to do now.” You whispered.  “Hizashi… what’s going to happen to me…?”

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.  Together.” He replied.

You stared at him and he stared back, a small reassuring smile on his lips.  He was such a good person.  Already, he’d managed to give you more support in the past twenty minutes than you’d received from your family in months.

You gave a sad, ironic laugh.  

“You’re like the dad I wish I had…” you muttered.

Hizashi’s eyes widened for a moment, and panic filled you.  You hadn’t meant to say that; the words had just slipped out, a small confession of tired heart. But then he laughed and scratched the back of his head.

“Haha, really?  Thanks! I guess we have gotten pretty close over the years…”

The tension in the room immediately evaporated.  You gave a small smile, glad that your comment didn’t have the dramatic impact you feared it would.  The man’s positivity seemed as immovable as the mountains.

Hizashi’s chuckles eased, and his expression softened.  “To be honest, I always knew you had family troubles.  When you teach long enough, you start to notice those kinds of things.  And back then, there really wasn’t much I could do about it.  But that’s part of why I wanted to help you, I think.  To give you a chance to grow past that, so it wouldn’t define you.”  

He stared at his hands as he continued.  “I guess, maybe in some way, I did sort of adopt you, in my heart.”  His eyes looked up at you again, holding your attention.  “So, don’t feel bad about saying that, okay?  If anything, it makes this old man’s heart happy.”

Your stared at him, your eyes freshly stinging as new emotions – happy emotions – bubbled forth.

“Hizashi….”

“Yeah?”

“Could I have a hug?”

He gave a chuckle and sat next to you before putting his arm around you. You leaned against him, soaking up the physical contact. It drove away the loneliness and replaced it with something you’d only ever really felt in his presence.

Love, strong and familial.

You had thought that you were all cried out, but you were wrong. Fresh sobs shook from your body like the boughs of a snowy tree, knocking loose all that you’d been carrying within yourself.  The anger, the fear, the self-loathing…

Hizashi rested his chin on your head as you cried. “You are my family.” He said softly.  “Only if you want to be, of course.”

You nodded fervently as a laugh bubbled from your throat, pure joy filling you.  You were safe.  You were loved.  And maybe… just maybe… you were home.

[whenisitenoughtrees]

Platonic loceit, 26- “Hold on. You’re telling me that you want to go out to the creepy woods in the middle of the night on a full moon? Really? Really?” I'd really love if you did something fluffy, but do whatever takes your fancy!! And congrats on 500 followers!!

@halfordshysteria dsflaskdf i love this prompt so here, have some urban fantasy and/or high school au

Title: the woods are just trees

Word Count: 2,031

Content Warnings: ment. of not-great parents

(fic masterpost)

Janus is woken by a gentle, persistent tapping on his window.

At first, he tries to ignore it, tries to roll back over and go back to sleep, but the tapping continues undeterred, and finally, he sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. His phone helpfully informs him that it is 2:16 in the morning, which might not be so terrible if he had stayed awake to get here, but to be woken up at this time is absolutely egregious.

So, he does the only rational thing and stomps across the room, flinging open his curtains, ready to rip into the genius that thought this was a good idea.

And then pauses.

From the other side of the windowpane, the genius that thought this was a good idea gives a little wave, motioning for him to open the window, and Janus glares even as he acquiesces.

“Logan,” he hisses, “what the hell?”

Logan blinks at him owlishly, as if it’s not the darkest hours of the morning, as if this is a regular occurrence, as if Janus’ parents won’t kill him if they find out that he’s speaking to his friend through his window at this time of night. And Janus wants so badly to be angry, and he is, but some part of him is intrigued, wants to know what could possibly be so urgent as to prompt a clandestine meeting of this sort.

“Good morning,” Logan says, infuriatingly casual. “Would you like to come harvesting with me?”

Janus stares, dumbfounded. That… does not sound urgent.

“Logan,” he says, “are you aware that it’s two in the morning?”

“Of course,” Logan says. “Two eighteen, to be precise. I would have been here sooner, but this was the earliest I could slip out.”

He says all of this matter-of-factly, as if this meeting was entirely expected, just delayed. Logan does this sometimes, forgets that the rest of the world doesn’t move on his speed. What is obvious to him is not always obvious to everyone else, and while Janus is sure that Logan believes he has a good reason for being here, he is also sure that Logan has entirely overlooked the fact that he needs to elaborate on just what that reason is, rather than expecting Janus to know.

“It’s two in the morning,” he reiterates, deciding that he can’t possibly put too fine a point on this fact, “which is typically when people like to be asleep, Logan. Just what do you want to go harvest that can’t wait until a more reasonable hour, or for that matter, that you can’t do with someone who doesn’t mind being sleep deprived?”

Logan completely ignores his acerbic tone, which is typical of him. He unslings his bag from his shoulder and goes digging inside of it, coming up with a weathered brown notebook. Janus recognizes it easily, and recognizes the contents as Logan flips through it, the meticulously drawn diagrams, the notes written in cramped, slanting handwriting. Logan takes his studies more seriously than most of the practicing alchemists Janus has met, and this notebook contains years’ worth of research. He guards it zealously, and the fact that he trusts Janus enough to allow him to see it never fails to astound him.

“Here,” he says, and holds the page out for Janus’ inspection. Janus takes the book gingerly, eyes flicking over the entry that Logan indicated. The illustration is a delicate depiction of a tangle of vines, thin and curling and glowing pale blue. Infused Moon Ivy, it says, and Janus frowns as he reads the description.

“Grows only on fall nights with the wind blowing from the east and a blue moon in the sky,” he says doubtfully, and looks up to meet Logan’s eyes. “These conditions are met?”

Logan smirks at him, pointing upward. Janus follows the direction of his finger, and sees the moon hanging in the air above them, shining bright and full.

“There is a strong easterly wind tonight,” Logan informs him. “And though midnight is the most traditional hour for gathering components such as this, three o’clock should serve nearly as well. If I can find some, its properties should successfully balance out the sunflower essence in my memory enhancement project.” His voice rises with his excitement, and Janus nervously casts a glance behind him, as if the additional noise will summon his parents. It’s unlikely, but still, he would really rather not have to try to explain this to them.

“Your notes also say that it only grows in dark, damp places,” he points out, letting his weariness bleed into his voice. “We’d have to go out into the woods.”

Logan nods. “Well, yes, it would be a bit of a walk, but if we left now, we would arrive in plenty of time to begin a search.”

“That’s not my point,” he replies, and resists the urge to sigh. “Just, hold on. You’re telling me that you want to go out to the creepy woods in the middle of the night during a full moon? Really? Really? You don’t know what kinds of things might be out there. What if we run into a werewolf?” He pauses. “Gods below, I sound like Virgil. But you get my point, right?”

Logan frowns at him, adjusting his spectacles. “Well, yes,” he says. “However, I believe the chances of running into a werewolf at all to be slim, much less one that would wish us harm. And in the case of other creature, magical or otherwise, I have brought precautions.” He shakes his bag, as if to make his point. “The usual preparations, silver and iron and salt and the like. But I hardly believe that the fae will be waiting to ambush us in the local park. In fact, I’m not sure that your standards of ‘creepiness’ match mine at all, if you believe that the woods there are unsettling.”

Janus breathes out through his nose. Logan has a point, as usual, and truly, he doesn’t believe they’ll be at much risk. It’s only that this is very much not how he wants to spend the rest of his night. Especially not on a school night; on weekends, it’s a fifty-fifty chance as to whether his parents will let him sleep in, but the option is out of the question on weeknights. And he won’t be able to claim sickness to get out of school attendance either; he’s fairly certain that his parents would force him to go even if he was actually dying.

But looking at Logan, at the slight flush in his cheeks and the barely restrained motion as he rocks back and forth on his heels, he is tempted. Improving the standard memory enhancement potion has been Logan’s passion project for months, and he looks as if he truly believes that this will be a breakthrough.

And Logan came to him. Not any of their other friends. Him.

“You wouldn’t rather somebody else go along?” he checks. “Virgil, perhaps? He has an odd knack for tracking down magic.”

Logan’s brow furrows. “I am aware,” he says. “But Virgil is not the one who has been supporting me as I work on this. If it’s going to be anyone, it should be you.”

Something in his stomach does a little flip at that, a delighted twirl. He has known Logan for more than three years now, since the moment they were alchemy lab partners their freshman year of high school. Janus had expected him to react the same way everyone else does upon meeting him, to stare at the left side of his face at the very least, the side that has been covered in thick yellow scales since the moment he was born. Most people recoil, and some even scream; school up to that point had been a lesson in ostracization. From the very start, his peers labeled him disgusting and unclean, no matter how many times he tried to explain that his curse is not contagious, that he was born with its effects already in place, that he never did anything to deserve it.

Even his own parents dislike him, though they try to disguise it. They push him constantly to do better, to be better, as if academic achievement will make up for the fact that in their eyes, their son is permanently disfigured.

He expected his high school years to be no different than the rest of his schooling. Expected to end up alone once again. He’d even persuaded himself that he didn’t mind, prepared himself for the bullying, for the name-calling, prepared himself to hear snake and freak and monster. That is, if anyone bothered to acknowledge his presence at all.

But then, Logan looked at him as if he was a person. As if he was no different from anyone else. And Janus spent their first few lab sessions on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the disgust or the fear to come, because surely, surely it had to be there. But aside from a few questions about his curse and the way it worked, worded clumsily and asked awkwardly, but startlingly genuine, there was nothing.

And for the first time in his life, Janus had a friend. Someone who liked him, who wanted to get to know him. Someone he could talk to, rely on, be with without having to stay on his guard.

To this day, he’s not certain that Logan understands how much that meant to him. Still means to him.

“I understand if you don’t wish to accompany me,” Logan says. He tries to sound nonchalant, but Janus picks up on the minute slump of his shoulders. “I… do realize that it is rather late. My apologies, I don’t believe I thought this through all the way.”

Janus sighs, feeling a reluctant smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, I’m awake now, aren’t I?” he says. “This is absolutely how I wanted to spend my night, but you know, I wouldn’t be surprised if I let you go by yourself and you ended up trapped in a faerie circle or something equally embarrassing, and we can’t have that.”

Logan makes an offended sound, but he, too, has begun to smile, the light returning to his eyes. “I’ve never been trapped in a faerie circle in my life,” he says. “I know better than that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right, because you’re always so good at remembering to watch where you’re going,” he says. “Give me a moment, let me grab a jacket and shoes.”

Logan waits patiently for him as he tugs on a few layers to ward off the fall chill. When he’s sufficiently bundled, he clambers over the windowsill, landing softly in the grass by his friend’s side.

“I expect you to have me back before my alarm goes off,” he says. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that my parents will murder me if they find out I’m doing this.”

And Logan grins, and somehow, that makes Janus feel worlds better. “Of course,” he agrees. “I imagine my parents would as well. Perhaps they would bury me next to you.”

“How poetic,” he quips. “We’ll have to have Moon Ivy planted on our graves. Lead the way.”

He gestures, and Logan takes the lead, and together, they set out. It feels a bit like an adventure, like the world is just made up of the two of them and everything else is silent and still under the cover of night, only the moon to light their way.

It takes half an hour to get to the park, and twice that long to find any ivy at all, and by that time, Janus is cold and more than a little bit miserable. But looking at Logan’s face, elated and filled with wonder as he takes the first clipping, tiny and glowing blue in his palm, Janus can’t help but think that this was worth it.

Especially when Logan turns to him, staring at him with that same look of wonder, of excitement.

Yes, Janus thinks. Definitely worth it. And really, that’s all there is to it.

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888 @thatoneloudowl @sanderssides-angst @gayboopnoodle

[zabdidaddi]

zabdiel de jesús - camping trip

A/N: this was intended for @mind-of-tavia​ ‘s 500 follower writing challenge! congrats girlie :)) also the jacket zabdi is wearing in the pic looks so so floofy and i just wanna hug him oamsdfmsdf

prompt: “It’s cold, you should take my jacket.”

warnings: none? just fluff :3

word count: 1.7k

You’d been best friends with Joel since you were kids, so you agreed without hesitation when he asked if you were down to join him and his bandmates on a week-long camping trip in California.

When you arrived in Cali, Joel had picked you up at the airport and the two of you hopped in his car and drove to the camping site.

“I can’t wait to introduce you to them,” he squealed like a five-year old, making you laugh. “Sometimes they get annoyed when I talk about you a lot, but they think you’re pretty cool.”

You blushed at the pseudo compliment, but played it off with a smirk. “Well, I mean… aren’t I though?” Joel just grinned at you and shrugged.

“Eh. Debatable.”

…

Three hours later, you finally arrived at your destination, and Joel gently shook you awake.

“(Y/N), wake up. we’re here.”

Yawning, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes before hopping out of the car and helping Joel unpack. As you trudged up the hill with all your stuff, an icy breeze sent shivers down your spine; suddenly, you wish you’d packed warmer clothes before you left.

“Joel!”

You looked up to see a boy who looked around your age running towards the two of you.

“Erick!” A grin was plastered across your friend’s face as he waved to his bandmate in greeting. When Erick had made his way over to the two of you, Joel dropped his stuff on the ground and embraced him. Then, to your slight surprise, Erick turned to you and extended his arms for a hug as well.

“I’m Erick,” he said cheerily. “You must be (Y/N).”

“Yep, that’s me,” you giggled, hugging him back. Then, Erick helped you and Joel carry your stuff to a more secluded area where the other guys had apparently already started setting up their tents. When you finally got there, you saw the three other people Joel had told you about in the car - a guy wearing a beanie with tattoos poking out form under his rolled-up sleeves, a red-head wearing some of the coolest earrings you’d ever seen, and a six-foot tall guy with curly blonde hair who immediately caught your attention. They looked up as the three of you approached them, and immediately rushed over to tackle Joel in a group hug. The beanie guy glanced over at you and beckoned you to join them, so you happily obliged. When they finally broke apart, Joel introduced you to the rest of them.

“Guys, this is (Y/N),” Joel said, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “(Y/N), this is Chris, Richard, and Zabdiel.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” you chirped.

“Joel, ¿ella no esta tu novia?” Chris asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at the two of you. Although your Spanish wasn’t the best, you recognized the word “novia” and could tell from the tone of his voice what he was implying.

“Ew!” you and Joel simultaneously cried, exchanging disgusted glances with each other. The other boys cackled with laughter, causing Joel to glare at them.

“But don’t you guys dare touch her,” Joel warned.

“Ay papi, lo entendemos,” Zabdiel laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. You glanced at him when he said that and noticed him looking at you. Then, he winked at you mischievously, making your heart flutter. In response, you offered him the most confident smirk you could muster, which earned a soft chuckle from him.

When you and Joel excused yourselves to set up your individual tents, you asked as casually as possible, “Is Zabdiel always this cocky?”

“Cocky?” Joel questioned incredulously, then burst out laughing. “Why do you think he’s cocky?” “I - I don’t know,” you answered, clearly flustered. “He…winked at me?” This only made Joel laugh even harder, and you huffed in annoyance.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, trying his hardest to hold in his laughter. “Nah, he might have been flirting, but he’s super sweet; you’ll see once you get to know him better.”

By the time you guys had finished setting up everything, it was already late at night. Richard suggested a bonfire, so you carried all the food supplies out while the boys set up the fire. When they finally managed to get a flame going, the six of you sat in a circle around it. Much to your delight, you were sitting next to Zabdiel, with Joel on the other side of you.

The boys started to discuss plans for the next two days, and you thought it was extremely sweet of them for trying to converse in English so that you would understand. After a while though, you zoned out, focusing on trying to warm yourself up instead.

“Careful,” Zabdiel muttered, placing a hand on your shoulder when you leaned too close to the fire. You tried to ignore the tingling sensation where he touched you and just gave him a small smile. Leaning back a little, you felt a little colder because of the lack of heat from the fire, so you wrapped your arms around yourself instead.

Out of your peripheral vision, you noticed Zabdiel shrugging his jacket off, and you turned your head to look at him.

“It’s cold, you should take my jacket,” he told you.

“But then you’ll be cold,” you protested, shaking your head when he offered his jacket to you. “Keep it.”

“No,” he responded. You crossed your arms across your chest and pouted at him, which made him grin goofily at you. “(Y/N), por favor. I’m not cold.” You stared at him for a moment longer, then gave in when another cold breeze caused you to shiver uncontrollably. 
“Fine, but just tell me when you want it back,” you told him, and he nodded, handing you his jacket. “Thanks Zabdiel.” The jacket was way too big on you, but at least it kept you warm.

“Isn’t that Zabdi’s jacket?” Joel asked from beside you. You whipped your head around to look at your best friend, having momentarily forgotten about his existence. Turning your head back to glance shyly at Zabdiel, you nodded. The other boys heard Joel’s comment and immediately turned their attention to the two of you.

“Ay Zabdi!” Erick cheered, and the other boys joined in.

“Callate,” Zabdiel muttered, though a small grin was spreading across his face. You half expected Joel to chastise or threaten Zabdiel, but he just shot an all-knowing smirk at the two of you.

“I’m tired,” Joel said suddenly with a yawn. “I’m gonna sleep now. Goodnight.” He kissed the top of your head quickly before standing up and winking at you. You blushed furiously as you realized what he was doing. The other boys quickly caught on and stood up as well, claiming that they were tired and went back to their tents. After the boys had all left, it was just you and Zabdiel awkwardly sitting side by side, neither of you looking at each other.

“You tired?” Zabdiel asked after a while. You turned your head slightly to look at him.

“A little bit,” you admitted. “You?”

“Sí, pero,” he paused. “I’ll stay outside with you if you want.”

His sweet offer brought a smile to your face, and you wanted to hug him so badly, but didn’t know how to initiate it. So, you just replied, “Thanks Zabdi.”

Suddenly, Zabdiel asked, “Are you sure you’re not dating Joel?”

“No,” you replied, almost choking with laughter. “I’ve known him for so long.” Before you know it, you’ve started to tell Zabdiel about your childhood stories with Joel, and he shared a few of his own childhood memories with you as well. An hour later, you’d grown so tired that every sentence you uttered was interrupted by a yawn.

“You should sleep,” Zabdiel reluctantly said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. A blush crept upon your cheeks, and you smiled shyly at him.

“I think I’ll sleep out here,” you said, glancing at the sky. “It’s so pretty.” Zabdiel followed your gaze and looked up as well, murmuring in agreement. Then, without a word, he stood up abruptly and started heading back towards his tent. You looked up in confusion, then realized he was probably going back to his tent to sleep. Sighing, you lay down on the grass and just stared at the stars. He did even utter so much as a “goodnight” or tell you that he was going to go back to sleep. “Whatever,” you told yourself. “Stop liking him (Y/N), because he obviously doesn’t even care about you.”

“Idiota.”

You sat up in alarm and found yourself face-to-face with Zabdiel who was holding two pillows and a blanket in his arms

“I…”

“(Y/N), I care about you,” he whispered. “Yo creo que… ya enamorado de ti.”

You cocked your head to one side. “No entiendo, Zabdi.”

“Nevermind,” he said softly, then laid the pillows down about a foot apart. You lay down on one of them, and he lay down on the other.

“Tell me,” you whined, turning around to face him. He chuckled and shook his head, staring into your eyes. “Por favor.” He swallowed nervously as his gaze flicked to your lips. Oh. Without hesitating any further, you closed the gap between the two of you and pressed your lips against his gently. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach as he kissed you back harder, his hand sliding down to the small of your back to pull you closer. When you broke apart, he grinned widely at you.

“Are you cold?” Zabdiel asked suddenly. Even with his jacket on, you were still a little cold, so you nodded. In response, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and relished his body warmth.

“Goodnight Zabdi,” you yawned.

“Buenas noches, amor,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. Smiling, you closed your eyes and drifted off into sleep. You couldn’t wait to spend the rest of the week with Zabdiel De Jesús.

[main-to-card-games-and-pain]

phosphorescence

I originally started to write this in July, and was going to gift it to @blondsak for her 250, but then I was awful and never finished it. BUT my queen has just (ish) celebrated her 500. So, this is for @blondsak as a gift, and for @frostysunflowers because we torment her with so much angst and she’s also a queen. 

... 

“I like Canada,” Peter declared, watching the trees roll by through the windshield. “Imagine how this drive would look in the fall.” 

“I’ll take you in October,” Tony grinned. “You’re right, it’s... something else.”

“Canada’s like, really cool.”

“It’s like the United States bud.”

“But it’s not, it just feels different Mr.Stark. Oh! What’s that?” 

Tony smiled to himself as Peter stuck his nose against the window to get a look at the passing group of mountain goats. “Mountain goats, Pete.”

“So cool...” 

Peter was a kid who’d only ever seen New York, Washington, and the drive in between, so Tony was understanding of his excitement. 

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and see a bear,” he said, feigning casualness, “they’re out of hibernation now.” 

Tony pretended not to see Peter’s eyes light up at the mere suggestion of more wildlife. “Really?! They get that close to the highway?” 

“Sometimes,” the inventor replied. 

“That’s awesome.” The boy shifted himself in his seat, fidgeting with the air conditioning. “Thanks for bringing me, Mr.Stark. I really appreciate it.” 

Tony glanced at the kid from the corner of his eye and found a rather inconvenient lump had lodged in his throat. “Yeah well,” he choked out, “I missed my kid - catching up on lost time and all.” 

The teen’s mouth quirked in a mixture of sadness and warmth as he wordlessly nodded. There’d been a time of dust and debris and death and devastation, but Tony got him back, and they were okay now. 

“How long before we actually have to do the work we’re here for?” 

Tony laughed, Peter almost sounded like Pepper when he said things like that. “Three days kiddo, and then I have to make a stop at BCIT and UBC for their engineering programs’ clean energy sector kick off.” 

“You funded two universities?” Peter held nothing less than awe in his voice, not for the billionaire’s wealth but for his generosity. 

“Not just me,” Tony replied, “there’s a few other donors too.” 

“Yeah but not like Tony Stark.” 

“Not like Tony Stark,” the mechanic agreed. “As for you, my young padawan, you aren’t working this weekend, you’re just here for the ride.” 

“Would you care if I jumped ship and decided to study at one of these universities?”

“Already that attached to Canada, Pete?” Tony laughed. “No, I wouldn’t care. Wherever you want to go is lucky to have you, and your university fees are on me, so it makes no difference.” 

“Cause I like Vancouver.” 

“We’re on Vancouver Island right now, not the city Vancouver.”

The teenager groaned, “what’s the point of that? Making them two different things.”

“Ask the white dudes who named it, I don’t know.” Peter snorted, resuming his position of pressing against the window. “You can go to sleep if you want, we’re about an hour from the cabin.” 

He said this mostly for show, recognizing how Peter was already relaxing into the sweet embrace of Morpheus. 

...

Peter’s eyes sluggishly blinked open just as the car rumbled to a stop. “We’re h’re?” He mumbled sleepily, pulling himself up from his place against the seatbelt. 

“We’re here,” Tony confirmed, opening his door and stepping into the afternoon sun. 

Peter followed, sighing and pushing the car door open. He had just pulled himself out of the car when he stopped dead in his tracks and closed his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked, worry tinging his voice. 

“Nothing,” Peter whispered, a smile beginning to pull his mouth up, “it’s quiet.” 

Tony smiled back at him and started unloading their duffel bags. “It’s nice?”

Peter had yet to open his eyes. “So nice,” he murmured. The teen opened his eyes, taking in the surroundings properly. “This place is... it’s stunning, Mr.Stark.”

Tony smiled. “I thought you’d like it.” 

Peter could see the lake from where they stood, but it was through the sprinkling of trees that grew high enough that Peter thought he could see them brush the blue of the sky. The water sparkled like crystal, stark and clear against the browning forest floor that shifted and crinkled as he shifted. Everything smelt of cedar and moss. The cabin was up the drive, wooden and big enough to be comfortable and small enough to be cozy. 

It was perfect. 

Sun filtered through the branches and lit the space in patches, and a breeze took the heat with it, leaving only cool contentedness; it such a surreal and idyllic scene that Peter almost wanted to blink to clear the dream away. 

“I...” But there were no words for what Peter was feeling at that moment; peace, maybe, peace and quiet. “I really like it, Mr.Stark,” the boy finally whispered, tears prickling at his eyes. 

“Oh- oh no, Peter... don’t cry. Why are you crying?” Tony dropped the bag and gathered the boy into his arms. “Hey, you’re okay… what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Peter sobbed, “I’m fine.” 

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the response. “You don’t sound fine, Underoos." 

“I’m just really happy,” Peter continued to cry. 

“Alright,” Tony grinned, pulling the teenager’s head closer to his heart. “As long as you’re happy.”

…

“Mr.Stark, why couldn’t we swim until literally midnight?” 

“You’ll see kid; don’t doubt me!” 

“I have to doubt you, or else Ms.Potts would be mad at us - you - way more often than she is.” 

Peter stuck his tongue out cheekily at the billionaire’s own snarky expression, mimicking him as he slipped the beach towel into the bag. 

“I’m just saying,” the teenager continued, “we can’t even see anything without the light and it’s going to be cold as fuck out there.” 

“First off, I’d say language but I don’t want to sound too much like Cap. Secondly, it was sunny and hot all day, it won’t be that bad, and trust me it will be worth it.” 

“Fine,” Peter huffed, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he hauled the beach bag over his shoulder. “You should at least have to hold a bag,” he grumbled, “this is your idea.” 

Tony pointed at himself. “Heart condition.” And then at Peter. “Enhanced. You do the math, genius.” 

“‘You do the math genius’” the boy mocked, ducking a swat to the head. 

“God,” Tony huffed without any real malice, “teenagers…”

With an exaggerated flourish he was out of the cabin and into the crisp night air, Peter rolling his eyes and following behind obediently. The pair walked the short trail to the lake, Peter’s flashlight lighting the way when Mr.Stark’s “dinosaur” torch flickered away and died halfway through. 

They stopped a few metres away from the shore of the lake, where the water was gently dipping onto the sand and away again. Peter wasn’t exactly certain but he was fairly sure that finding a sandy lake was a rarity this far west in Canada. 

“Okay,” he said expectantly, “now’s the time where you give me the explanation for why we’re here this late.” 

“Do you know what a phosphorescent organism is?” Tony casually asked him instead. Peter blinked once at the sudden diversion and/or subject change.

“Yeah? The things that make light on their own? Right?” 

“Yuppers, Underoos.” Peter watched, still confused, as Tony shed his shirt and began to make his way to the probably freezing lake water. 

“And that has to do with this how?” 

“Come here.” Tony held out his hand, already submerged up to his calf in the water. “It’s not cold, I promise; we’ll roast marshmallows in the cabin afterwards.” 

Reluctantly, Peter did as he was told, wading into the not-unpleasantly cold lake till he was as far out as Tony was. 

“Well, in this lake, there’s phosphorescent organisms,” Tony finally explained, a grin creeping up his face as Peter suddenly had a renewed excitement for their little voyage. “You can’t see them except in the dark, and you don’t feel them, but they only light up with movement.” 

To demonstrate he shook his foot in the water, delighting in the way Peter’s face lit up as the little lights appeared. 

“That’s… that’s so cool,” Peter breathed, glancing away from the water and back at his mentor, “and it’s safe?” 

“I wouldn’t bring you if it wasn’t. Want to swim?” Peter nodded his head almost immediately, breaking out of his amazed stupor to smile mischievously and suddenly launch himself into the water, with an arm around Mr.Stark. “Brat!” Tony spat, laughing, when they resurfaced. “That’s one way to get used to the water I guess.” 

But Peter was already paddling out into deeper waters, avidly watching his limbs as he did so. 

With every twitch or kick the sparks would jump into existence, that’s what they looked like, the sparks that fly off of sparklers at New Years’ and birthday parties. They’d last just a second, and then they’d be gone. As Peter tread the water they flashed into existence moving with the motion of his kick. 

The unbridled awe in his eyes made the entire trip worth it.

“It’s like galaxies crawling up my leg,” he exclaimed, looking at Tony with all this childlike wonder that was stored in everyone’s soul for exactly times like this. “This is- I mean- wow.” 

“I know what you mean, kiddo.” Tony flipped onto his back and began to float, looking at the real stars instead of the ones flickering below them. “When I was a little younger than you my caretaker, Jarvis, took me on a road trip out here; the cabin is in his name. It kind of puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Pete whispered, floating beside him suddenly. “It really does. Small things, ya know? There’s still small little pockets of beauty out here.” 

Tony glanced at him out of his peripherals, ruffling his hair as best he could while still floating. “I don’t need the lake to remind me of that, Pete, but yeah - you’re right.” 

…

They stayed in the water for about an hour, Tony content to float as Peter dove and spun and flipped in the water, experimenting with the little lights. 

By one Tony called the both of them in, concerned about Peter’s body temperature. 

The teenager, of course, insisted he was fine, but his violent shivering when he wrapped himself in his towel said otherwise. 

Tony fussed over him like a dad until he was bundled in about three blankets and sat next to the fire. Out of his little cocoon of fleece a marshmallow poker was roasting a marshmallow in the fire. 

“Move over, Underoos,” Tony grunted, sitting next to the kid with a plop. His hair was still wet and the chill had clung to his skin, but Peter couldn’t thermoregulate the way he could; he’d gladly get sick before taking a blanket from him. 

“You’re cold too though, Mr.Stark,” Peter grumbled, like he could read his mind. 

“I’ll manage; keep your blankets on bud. The fire’s warm.” But Peter continued to grumble, sleepier now, Tony realized. The boy shifted closer and closer to his mentor, till he was leaning his head against his shoulder. “Hi, Pete,” Tony whispered, wiping away a stray curl. 

“Hi,” he mumbled, grinning languidly. 

“Comfy?” Peter shook his head. “No? What do we have to do to change that?” 

Peter shrugged off one shoulder of his many blankets and slipped it around Tony, pushing his head into the crook of his neck. Tony’s instinctively wrapped an arm around his shoulder. 

“Tha’s better,” the sleepy teen mumbled, burrowing further into the embrace. 

“That’s good,” Tony hummed, pulling him in closer and resting his chin against his curls. “Take your marshmallow out now, that’s it. Look, perfectly golden.” 

...

quality? we don’t know her. I recently started uni though so like, this is a mixture of procrastination and random bouts of inspiration. I don’t think this warrants a tag list, it’s not all that impressive. XD 

[lisaofcypher]

My Home (A Dream SMP fan novel)

Once there were two orphan boys, with no where to call home but each other, until one summer trip to a weird town in Oregon, US. From strange disk journals, mystery authors, time traverlers, zombies, amnesiac half endermen half ghast people, hybrids, and teenage angst, with demons thrown in as well, looks like this summer will have more in store then they thought.

(Summary is poor, but try the first chapter, it explains the plot better. Loosely inspired by Gravity Falls)

Episode One- A Mystery in Vinyls

Episode One- Having Disk sounds great

Tommy’s leg bounces up and down, hitting the metal floor of the bus. 

“Are you nervous, Tubs?” Tommy asks, looking out the window as they pass a bunch of pine trees.

Tubbo sighed, “A bit, yeah.”He paused for a moment. “You?”

Tommy smiles. “Of course not? I have two brothers and a dad! That’s awesome!”

Tubbo only smiled, a hint of sadness in the air. It was common knowledge between the two that for whatever reason, Tubbos parents had left him on the side of the road, and if it wasn’t for a random couple driving by and noticing him, he’d be dead by now.

Just the thought made Tommy shudder.

“I hope he has great music taste!” Tommy.riM. “Maybe he knows some hot girls.” He winks.

Tubbo sighs, “Are girls all you think about?”

“I also think about drugs!”

“You disappoint me.”

“I know!”

“Next stop, L’Manburg!” The bus driver yelled, breaking up the conversation.

“That’s our stop,” Tommy exclaims, getting his bags.

Tubbo inhales quickly, grabbing his own small backpack. It was full of clothes and a bunch of pollen and nectar for his weird obsession with bees. There were over 500 different species of bees living in Oregon.

Tommy was never gonna hear the end of it.

As they walked off the bus, thanking the bus driver politely, they were greeted by a guy with a beanie and a JD style trench coat. He was leaning against a pole, looking like a classic stoner.

“Hey,” he says, shrugging, clearly not too bothered by actual emotions. 

Tommy was shocked, no gasps, no hugging and crying about how their baby brother came home. 

Instead he got, “You look scrawnier than I expected.”

Wow.

That’s nice.

“Who are you?!” Tommy snaps, accusingly. How did he know this was his older brother anyway? He could be some weird stranger.

“Wilbur Soot, your older brother.” He replies, casually.

“Huh, my last name is Soot…” Tommy mumbles to himself.

“No shit, we’re family,” Wilbur sighs, as if Tommy had made the worst joke in existence, as he begins leading the boys , quietly through a trail in the forest.

“Who’s this, your boyfriend?” Wilbur asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Tubbo quickly shakes his head.

“Is he mute?” Wilbur asks.

“‘No, he’s not mute, and he’s my best friend, my brother even,” Tommy defensively spats.

“Then why isn’t he talking?”

“He doesn’t like talking in front of strangers.”

“Uh huh,” Wilbur rolls his eyes. He continues to walk down until they get to a small clearing, to a shack with the name “Mystery Carava.”

Next to it there was a road, with cars leaving and driving in.

“We could have walked down the road instead of hiking!?” Tommy asks, panting. He was this close to smacking Wilbur.

Wilbur smirks. “I prefer the scenery trail.”

“This is it? Why is it called the Mystery Carava?” Tommy asks, looking up at the weird van looking shack.

“The N fell off,” Wilbur shrugs, walking inside and gesturing for the boys to come in.

Inside there was a guy fixing up a bear statue. He saw the boys and ran over.

“You’re here!” He exclaimed. “I’m Philza Soot, but you can call me Phil.” He smiles. He has blonde hair like Tommy’s but longer, and  wears a green cloak. Is it a family trait to have a fashion sense?

“Well I’m Tommy! And this is my best bud Tubbo!” Tommy grins, pulling an arm around his best friend, who smiles sheepishly.

“Oh well, I see you’ve met my son, Wilbur, hope he wasn’t too rude,” Phil laughs awkwardly. “His twin, Techno, is out getting some meat for dinner.”

Both boys look at each other. “Ready to see your room?” Phil winks.

The room is small, with a window in the middle and two beds against the two walls. It was in the attic. 

Tommy takes the red bed instantly, jumping on it and laying out all his stuff. Tubbo takes the tree covered bed, leaving his suitcase by the bed, not bothering to unpack it right now.

“Wanna go explore the forest?” Tommy asks, looking out of the window at the forest looming around the shack.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean- it seems kind of dangerous-“ Tubbo mumbles, not wanting to get himself in danger on the first day.

“Exactly! What if it has like a 

 that we can 

” With that, Tommy grabs Tubbos arm and drags him out of the room and down the stairs.

The forest is beautiful, especially with the nice tint of the sunset. 

“Tommy, it’s getting late, can we please go home?” Tubbo mumbles.

“Do you want to be a pussy?!” Tommy glares.

Tubbo shrinks. “No, sorry.”

Tommy keeps running  until he tripped over a branch and hit his shoulder on a tree.

“Are you okay, Toms?!” Tubbo cries, running over.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He brushes himself off, grabbing his shoulders. “That was really hard for a tree…”

“Well maybe cause you ran into it!?” Tubbo exclaims.

“Or maybe…” Tommy looks at the tree, feeling it. “It feels like metal.” He turns to Tubbo, who walks over, playing with the sleeve of his green sweater.

“Hm,” Tommy looks all around the tree, before finding a button, pressing it excitedly.

The metal part opens, lifting, showing...

“Disks?” Tommy asks, grabbing them immediately.

“What are you doing? What if it’s booby trapped?” Tubbo snaps.

“Or it’s just disks. What are they?” He brushes his fingers along the black circle. There were two disks in here.

“Maybe we should go home, see if Phil has any way to play them?” Tubbo suggests.

Tommy sighs, looking up at his best friend, then at the darkening sun, “Yeah, you’re right,” he says as he begins walking. Then he realizes something and stops “Hey, Tubs?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember the way back?”

After what feels like a lifetime of walking, they reach the caravan.

“I don’t get why it’s called a caravan, it’s not even a van!” Tommy complains as he walks in.

There was Phil, frowning, with Wilbur sitting by the cashier desk, his legs resting casually on it.

“Where were you?” Phil asks accusingly, having clearly already the role of 

“Out in the forest?” Tommy exclaims, shrugging.

“Do you know how late it is? Couldn’t you have sent me a text or something?!” Phil asks.

“We don’t have phones.”

“Told me where you were going?”

“We didn’t think we needed to.”

Phil sighs, walking closer to the boys, “I know you two grew up without a father… but I’m here now. You- you need to tell me where you are. I don’t know if you can take care of yourself, like Techno. Please, boys, work with me, and I’ll work with you. I know the system isn’t kind, and you’re not used to having anyone but each other, but I swear to you, I’m not leaving you, just please stay safe and work with me here.” He rests his hands on both of the boys’ shoulders.

Tommy looks down at his feet. “Fine, but we both know this arrangement is temporary,” Tommy says before walking upstairs.

“Tommy-“ Phil tries, but Tommy is already gone.

Tubbo begins following, but Phil grabs his shoulder, pulling him back.

“Hey, Tubbo, I- I know you’re not related to Tommy or me, but you’re just as much my son now, as he is. You’re a Soot. I promise.” Phil smiles.

Tubbo blinks. “Thank you, Phil,” he says, then walks up.

It was the first time Tubbo had talked to them.

——— ———

“So, I found a disk player in the storage room, I hope Phil won’t mind us stealing this,” Tommy says, bringing in an old disk player and dropping it on his bed.

Tubbo looks up at him. “What if the disks are haunted and we summon an evil demon?”

“If that happens, that’d be like, really fucking awesome, ya know?”

He hooks up the disk player and puts in the disk, connecting it to a speaker.

“Audio log one, side A. It’s been a year since I moved to L’Manburg,” the voice on the speaker says. It sounds familiar, but Tommy can’t put his finger on it.

“And in all my time researching the strange fantastical elements of the town, I never could have expected this. The town has strange mystical elements, ones I can describe but not exactly explain. Just yesterday I saw a giant bee that was purple! That’s not how bees work! Trust me, I know a lot about them. Kind of an obsession of mine. My brother keeps telling me to relax, stop looking into these things. But I won’t. I will get to the bottom of this. This town could be the key to figuring out why I have these horns.” As he says that, Tubbo jolts up, touching his own horns. “He’s like me?”

“My goal for this week is to see if I can help my friend and restore his memory. Perhaps his half enderman nature could have something to do with it.”

“Half endermen? But those don’t even exist!” Tommy yells.

“I hope my brother understands…. He’s always been a loud guy, and I love him, but... at least my new friend is kinder to me. Alas, I must get going, before P gets annoyed and sends T after me. Until next time, my precious disks.”

And that’s when Tommy stops it.

“Oh my god….” Tubbo mumbles, stunned.

“This guy is a total nutcase!” Tommy snaps.

“How are you so sure?” Tubbo asks.

“Look at the guy, he’s talking about endermen and purple bees! That’s not even possible!”

“Maybe not…” Tubbo sighs, he can't help but relate to this mysterious man, with his horns and love of bees.

“What are you guys doing with my disk player?” A voice asks, and they look up and gasp.

It’s a young man with a pink braid who is wearing a white tunic with a red jacket, and has red eyes….

It must be Techno.

“Uh…. hi! I’m Tommy!” Tommy shoots up.

“Yeah I got that part.”

“We just wanted to play some disks we found in the forest!” Once again, Tubbo facepalms at his brother’s lack of a filter.

“You found disks in the forest?” 

“Yeah! In some weird tree compartment!”

“That’s interesting, look, next time ask me, or I’ll make sure you won’t even be able to grab it.”

Oh great, this guy is threatening violence.

“Why are your eyes red?” Tommy asks.

“Uh, contacts,” Techno quickly responds.

Those eyes look far too real for contacts, but Tommy drops it, not wanting to anger the man any further.

“Anyway, welcome. Try not to die.” And then he leaves, closing the door behind him.

“Try not to die!?” Tubbo gulps.

“Well… that was something.”

“Guess we have a mystery on our hands!”

“Mystery….?” Tubbo asks cautiously.

“Well yeah? We have to figure out who the man recording the disks is, and if these enderman creatures are real!”

Tubbo smiles, trying to hide his apprehension at the idea of looking for danger.

“So far, this place feels more like home than Manchester ever did.”

“I mean, we’re in a foreign country, but yeah,” Tubbo shrugs.

“That guy on the disk has the same bee obsession that you do!” Tommy points out.

“Yeah, I guess he does.”

“Are you assuming one's gender, Tobias?” Tommy teases.

“Don’t call me that!” Tubbo smacks his brother over the head.

“Oh what are you gonna do? Tackle me with your short legs? I could take you easy!”

“When was the last time you worked out, Tommy?” Tubbo snaps back with a grin.

“When was the last time you did?” Tommy pushes Tubbo.

“Asshole!” Tubbo pouts.

Tommy laughed, taking off his shirt for bed.

“Sleep well Tubs,” Tommy whispers, turning off the light.

“You too, Toms.” 

Who knows what this town has in store for them. They’re together, and that’s what matters.

——— ———

“Is it almost ready, Sam?” A man asks, as Sam works on the portal.

“It should be, Mr. President, just give me a moment.”

“We need to hurry up before the goons find us.” The man gulps.

“I know, I know. Dream and his forces will never track us down here.”

“You consulted Karl right?”

“Of course not. Karl can suck my dick, this is for the sake of humanity.”

“I hope this works… for my sake and Earths.”

“Mine too,” Sam frowns.

“Because if it doesn’t I know what will happen.”

[tsubaki3192]

Luck. 1

[Various Ikesen x ??! MC/Reader]

Chapter 1: Nope.

Masterlist (TBA)

Notes: .... Should I keep Yoshimoto in? IDK how to write him, tbh. Pronoun (Y/N) will be used. IDK if Kennyo will be a love interest... Yet.

Tagging: @unstoppablelinda, @otome--fantasy.... 

(Let me know if you want to be tagged!)

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

Nope, nope, nope.

There was absolutely no way this was happening to you. 

Absolutely not. 

You were dreaming. You had to be dreaming. It was simply impossible for you to have fallen through some strange space-time continuum (a black and streaky grey, you recall) into some strange 500-years-ago dimension where the famous figures of the Sengoku Period were the same age, if not slightly older than you were.

Then again maybe it wasn’t impossible. Then again you had forgotten who you were; what you are. 

And then again- “Hey!”

And you fled, feet pounding against the mossy (unevenly paved?) ground beneath her. And it was only right you had done so, given-

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

“Hey, wake up! It’s dangerous to be sleeping during a fire!”

Following that strange warp you had passed through (and you stand by the black and streaky grey), you had been brought to a temple blaze with a man (laid in full Japanese medieval armour, might you add) at the centre of the room.Though your instincts told you to flee, your rather sensitive ears had heard the subtle yet distinct sound of geta against the somewhat crumbling tatami mats (or was it wood? There was too much ash to see clearly).

And then the sharp, metallic sound of a blade drawn. 

“Come on! We need to get out of here!”

The sword-wielding figure froze, unexpectedly finding another within the room- You. And if luck hadn’t given you it’s control, then you and the armoured man would’ve been killed- slaughtered- with no evidence of family. But no. Your curse (hex?), now applied to the supposed assassin, caused the beam to fall from above him. 

But he managed to step backwards in time, away from the crashes above. 

And if you needed to sigh exasperatedly, now was the time to do so. Apparently, just apparently, heat from a rather heavy (and uncontrolled) fire wasn’t something to wake from, but the crashes from a falling wooden beam was?

And though he was still disoriented, you grabbed the hand of the now-standing, once-sleeping male and tugged him towards the open doorway, forcing him to leap from the balcony. And you could only hope your bad luck tendencies wouldn’t appear during such a precarious deed.

Then, just moments after you landed on the ground and strode away from the building-

“Someone tried to do me away as I slept? How audacious. You there, woman. Release my hand.”

It took you several moments to realise exactly who he was speaking to, and exactly what he said. It wasn’t a request, but an order and certainly one you would’ve absolutely despised, if it weren’t for the fact his eyes glowed just as red as your own would, under some rather specific circumstances. 

“Who are you?”

Your narrowed eyes watched him skeptically, watching for any signs of danger (to yourself or he?). But your instincts informed you otherwise and your shoulders partially relaxed under his rather intense gaze. 

Yet your question floated through the air, undeniably stubborn.

“Do you mean to say you saved me without expecting a reward of some kind? I am-”

“You know what? I’m not interested after all. I believe I’ll dislike whatever I hear from you.”

You had decided he was someone you exhaustedly didn’t want to deal with (too loud with far too much ego), shrugging off his hand before he could say much else to you. But he only stared at you incredulously and continued speaking as if you hadn’t interrupted him with your unnecessarily rude comment. 

It had taken you several moments of ignorance before you realised just who you had impudently spoken to.

“You’re… who?!”

“Oda Nobunaga,” the man replied, watching your expression change amusedly, “The man who will unite this country under one flag.”

But you just silently eyed him from top to bottom shamelessly, blinking unamused. And you sighed. Of course he was. It wasn’t as if you didn’t recognise the name, nor the nameplate nailed to the wall of the crumbling temple behind you. Honnōji. Oda Nobunaga. They were both names you well and truly recognised from your high school history textbook.

But he was much younger than your textbook had mentioned he was when he supposedly died, and... Oh wait. ‘Honnōji’ and ‘Oda Nobunaga’ were two names that went hand-in-hand with ‘death’.

…. Did you… just… prevent the death of the so-called ‘Devil King’?

Oh shit.

And it was ‘oh shit’ indeed when another voice on horseback- the undeniable clops of a horse’s hooves rang through the crackling of the nighttime blaze- called the man now standing beside you almost hurriedly.

“My lord!”

If you had thought the so-called Nobunaga’s voice was far too low and almost didn’t match his face, then this newcomer’s voice was like a cool breeze on a hot Summer's day - that was, refreshing and sweet to the ears. 

The Oda-claimed man standing beside you had also been muttering something about, to quote him, “impudence”, but you had blocked out the sounds favouring your thoughts over his shockingly deep voice. And it wasn’t until moments lated that the late-teen, early-twenties-looking male with the surprisingly silver hair and lavender eyes had introduced himself as “Ishida Mitsunari”, to which you accidentally blurted a quick “You’re the tactician” before slamming your hand over your mouth.

Oops…? 

You peered at the indigo-kimono-clad male standing in front of you, slowly but steadily, relieving your lips the pressure of your hands. And if you had thought the damn man with the crimson eye and limitless ego had been attractive, then this guy was an angel.

“It’s, um, nice to meet you, Ishida… -san?”

And true to your word, you sounded unsure of yourself, unable to deny the fact that you were unsure of what to call him. Your head cocked itself slightly towards your right shoulder; your expression scrutinising your word choice. The said ‘Ishida-san’ just smiled at your expense, uttering a quick “Mitsunari is fine,” with that naturally angelic smile of his.

And if your impudence hadn’t already amused the one called Nobunaga, then your unease, indecisiveness and knowledge did. 

“How interesting to know-”

“Milord, if you don’t mind, I’ll retrieve a new set of clothes for her. ”

For the first time that night, you took a glance towards your clothing eyeing the char, grime and ashes caught in between the pleats of your plain drawstring tee and up the leg the casual deep-blue jeans you wore. Perhaps you really did need a change of clothes. And though you couldn’t say you hadn’t worn kimonos before, it truly wouldn’t your first preference of clothing. 

Then again it was the Sengoku Period, and all they wore were kimonos, much to your irritation.

(You had also ignored the fact that the ‘Nobunaga’ had began speaking simultaneously with Mitsunari and that he was now staring, again incredulously, at the said tactician.)

“Listen!” you sighed exasperatedly, sighing as you gazed into the distant mountains, “I’m not really from around here… As in this time period. I’m from approximately 500 years in the future, if I’m not wrong.”

And as if you had uttered something completely absurd (for the record, your words did sound rather strange after they left your lips), the two warlords, as far as you could identify, blankly stared at you. And-

You deadpanned. A storyteller, the raven-haired one had called you and ‘a storyteller’ was what the other man believed, though you weren’t sure if he really was gullible or bound by obligation (most likely the latter, but who were you to judge?). And despite your protests, you were whisked off to a nearby tent and handed an indigo kimono, no doubt belonging to the gentle male (given both colour and scent) who had brought you there, to change into.

When you exited, having finally managed to shake most of the ash from your hair, Nobunaga had been waiting for you outside. And much to your chagrin, he eyed you from head to toe and hummed almost contentedly. 

“You clean up well.”

With a roll of your eyes, you turned your head away but followed him into the supposed main tent (the largest of them all) anyway, still disliking the whole scenario you had unwillingly been tossed into. But it wasn’t long after you were handed a glass of water that the tent flap opened again. And your eyebrows furrowed in increased discomfort as you realised you had not heard his footsteps-

“Milord, I see that you are well.”

“Mitsuhide.”

Your head shot up as you narrowed your eyes for a split second, analysing the male for any sign that he was the one who had planned the murder (history said it was him, after all) and sighed, not in relief but for the curious glance he had given her. If anything, he couldn’t have been the one who had planned the murder of the Nobunaga you had save (or ‘rescued’, as you smugly preferred to put it). If he had taken a bath between the time you had disappeared with the said lord, how on Earth did he have the time to dry it? Hair dryers certainly didn’t exist in this period, so on that basis, he was ‘innocent’.

But this once again new guy… If you had thought Mitsunari was an angel, then this man’s white hair, tantalising golden eyes and overall aura reminded you of your kind- A kitsune. You closed your eyes and leant your head back against the tent wall and a quiet sigh escaped your lips in an attempt to calm yourself down. 

And you almost lost the gratifying sensation a split moment later when Mitsuhide parted his lips, apparently wanting to say something to you.

But-

“Nobunaga-sama!”

At the sound of the suffix, your face near-blanched and paled in disgust, though you couldn’t deny that the new voice was far more attractive than you had anticipated it to be and you somehow figured- no, knew- he was a charmer, whether intentionally or unintentionally. The voice, however, had sounded rather flustered and you had heard the sound of hooves from perhaps a 100 metres away. 

But the sight of his ruffled caramel-blond locks and the sweat dripping from his face when he entered was a set for sore eyes.

Damn, why are all these guys so good looking?!

“Hideyoshi,” Nobunaga greeted, although somewhat curtly and you gasped quietly, mentally punching yourself in the face almost immediately after. You really shouldn’t have been surprised. It was the Sengoku period after all, and Hideyoshi was Nobunaga’s right-hand-man, or so to speak.

“Oh great. Here comes ‘Toyotomi Hideyoshi’...”

It had been uttered from beneath your breath as you sighed now uninterested, but apparently even mentioning his name had been enough to capture his attention. His eyebrows furrowed as he took in your appearance, frowning even further at the sight of your displeased expression.

“Outspoken, are we? Have we met?”

And with a scowl, you couldn’t help retorting a quick “Oh, buzz off,” as irritated as you already were. You turned away from him, as in back facing him and all, huffing quietly as Mitsunari giggled at your expense. The kitsune-male only raised an eyebrow are your snark, finding you as amusing as his banter with Hideyoshi.

“Leave her be, Hideyoshi. She is the one who saved my life.”

Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide eyed you over - something you hated by now, but couldn’t do anything about - and glanced back at Nobunaga in interest.

“Such a slender thing! But it appears your courage makes up for it…”

If you had a choice, you would have cursed Mitsuhide with all of your ability, before baring your bite in his arm and disappearing in a flash of blue-white fox fire. ‘Slender thing’ or not, you were well and truly able to obliterate him on the spot if you really wanted to, though you were pretty sure you had a higher likelihood of dying from these other warlords standing ahead of you. And your history knowledge told you that you had not yet met all from Nobunaga’s end of the war.

Just how many vassals and retainers he have exactly?

But then again, as you watched Hideyoshi supposedly opting to argue with the said kitsune-like man there was just something very specific you knew of. And if you had the chance to interfere, you would’ve, save for the fact that they were so adamantly yelling at one another to the point you almost wished for some kind of headache relief.

(Did you even have a box of painkillers with you? You really weren’t sure-)

Glancing around your feet for distraction, you spied your leather-brown satchel laid at your feet and sighed. You had unconsciously clung onto the said bag (perhaps in fear? Then again your kind didn’t exactly fear fire) and only released the item when you had rested beside you. 

But you were thankful for that fact, for multiple reasons. First-

“Give us some time alone. There is something I’d like to speak to her about.”

...Nevermind the ‘first’, you had more ‘threatening’ things to deal with. From memory, ‘time alone’ with a warlord, let alone any male during Imperial Japan, was essentially agreeing to something you’d rather not think about (definitely not, considering what your occupation had been- a police officer-cross-detective).

As Nobunaga excused his fellow warlords from the tent, your hand reached towards your bag, pulled out a pen and a piece of paper and scribbled a short note. And before the Oda lord could face you, you crushed your bag against your chest and fled through the same entrance, hoping to never see them again, no matter how impossible you knew it was.

But the piece of paper flittered to the ground, folded and addressed to a single man she had met that night.

‘Akechi Mitsuhide’.

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

-and as much as you’d like to say your endeavour was successful, there was just this one thing: It was the centre of town and there were people about (the whole ‘temple on fire’ thing, remember?). It wasn’t as if you could just POOF! into a fox and expect to get away, right?

And so here you were, geta pounding loudly against the dirt floor as you ran towards the forest where you ironically felt most safe. But your thoughts were preoccupied with a host of strange thoughts and analysis of the people you met earlier. They appeared much different from how your history books stated, though there wasn’t much you could say considering how frantic you thought you were.

Nobunaga, the man you had rescued, was… Much younger than you thought. You had sworn your history book had stated he was nearing, or at, 45 years of age when his death came around. But here he looked to be in his mid-twenties, if not slightly early-twenties. His crimson eyes and raven hair seemed to stand out most amongst his equally black, ruby and white clothing. 

Hideyoshi, on the other hand, appeared to be skeptical of you and frankly, you couldn’t complain. His lean figure was something you had exactly expected, though his caramel locks had been somewhat surprising for the time period. He appeared to be just as protective (and loyal) as the history books stated he was. However-

-You hadn’t even ran 200 metres into the forest when you came across a clearing, occupied by a rather scarred monk with an attitude, might you add.

“My name is Kennyo,” he had introduced, staff jangling as he moved, “A travelling monk. May I be of assistance?”

Your almost imperceivable shake of the head torments you even further as your intruding thoughts (ones of doubt, anxiety and mental discussion) abruptly ceased. His hardened expression... appeared to be almost forced, as if he wasn’t used to being cruel; as if he was forced to hurt you. And if your kimono had been shorter, you’d probably kick his normal expression back to his face. Literally.

He had stopped in front of you, eyeing you carefully before continuing his words.

“You should return home quickly, Demons lurk in these woods at night.”

If the whole ‘travelling monk’ attribute hadn’t made you skeptical of him, then his last statement had. Demons? How could he possibly know about them? You, for one, could be classified as one if you weren’t careful but for he to address the demons would mean he-

...Oh yeah. He’s a monk...

Hurriedly, you rushed a rather flustered-yet-sarcastic, “Thanks for the warning!” before delving deeper and deeper into the darkness that enshrouded them. And you had to thank him- mentally- for not following you as you travelled further away from him.

But your feet (or rather, you in general) had come to a sudden stop as you were tackled unwillingly to the ground by someone far heavier than you were (and was that muscles you felt?). You groaned at the impact, before rapidly finding your will to sit upright; shoving the man from your chest. And unfortunately for you, it earned you a rather heavy glare from the chocolate-haired boy… Dare you say. 

(The truth was, he looked to be your age, but you refused to acknowledge the fact.)

“I save you, and this is what I get?”

Your head whipped around at his exasperated words, unsure of how to respond to his exasperated question. And you blinked blankly at the sight just behind you- A wide expanse of a forest, beyond the clifftop you now sat upon. 

Oh.

Not that it really mattered to you (you wouldn't have died anyway), but it seemed to terrify(?) the crimson-clad male that you would so willingly leap off a cliff, despite how unaware you were. Despite your nature to tease the soul out of the male, it was perhaps better courtesy to thank him for saving you the trek back up-cliff (though you wouldn’t let him know that. Ever.) So you did, though he, for some reason or another, seemed to doubt your gratitude for several seconds before nodding and shifting away from you with a blush on his face.

Oh. OHHH.

For sure, you would be teasing him the next time you met, that is, if you ever did. After all, he appeared to be blushing because of your proximity rather than his actions, and if anything, he reminded you of a shy, athletic, college boy. And just as you were about to ask for his name, you were interrupted by a rather amused (more mature and somewhat sultry), “Yuki, we leave you for ten minutes and you’ve found yourself a girl?”

And for once, you stared; anger, amusement and irritation suddenly drained from your thoughts. If the other warlords you had met that night were ‘good looking’, this guy was hot. Frat boy hot. 

If your jaw hadn’t dropped before, then it would now. 

How the hell were you supposed to handle all these good-looking men?

Something told you that even if you ran away now, they would find their way back to you no matter how far you fled. But you just stared at the newcomer (or rather, you were the newcomer, but screw logic for the moment-), from the smirkingly egoistic smile on his face to the crimson-maroon colour of his kimono. And his open chest. You didn’t deny that. 

And given your initial impression of him (a flirt, and you were sure you were correct), it was easier to just turn around and leap off the cliff. But again, you didn’t want to insult this so-called ‘Yuki’ for saving your life, so you just huffed, crossing your arms indignantly.

There was, after all, no room to flee (unless you wanted to scare the shit out of the men in front of you by leaping backwards… Something you were tempted to do-).

And as you contemplated, he muttered something about “Honnōji” and “ghosts” and something- something- “seen?”. He was probably flirting with you, if you knew him well enough (and for the record, you didn’t). But your ears had caught onto something else, directing your attention elsewhere for the moment: Another rustle in the bushes, and a flash of white-

Oh. This guy… seemed cold, to say the least, which somehow had become a rather fresh change for you given how warm the other men you had met seemed to be. From top to bottom, his aura and style alluded loneliness and the freezing temperatures of blue. And he was heterochromatic, simply an aspect of him that added to his mysteriousness.

“Your ability to spew cheap pick-up lines never ceases to amaze me.”

…And you were right. Which was rare, considering your luck, or lack thereof, you usually had. 

“You there, could you step into the light? Thank you.”

Amusedly, you hadn’t even shifted (or spoken, but whatever), but you complied out of curiosity rather than obedience. The raven-haired man standing beside the freezing-looking male was pretty, you didn’t- couldn’t- deny it. His braided hair, completed with a stunningly pink kimono, was nothing to laugh at either. He was one of those… ‘art appreciation’ people. Not that there was anything ultimately wrong, you’ve just had several pretty interesting run-ins with people of his kind, that was all. And-

“Would you be willing to exchange your kimono with one in my collection?”

Your eyebrows furrowed themselves, mind immediately either leaping to a single question (rare, for someone of your profession): Was he… flirting with you? To exchange a kimono to one from his collection… Didn’t that mean he was claiming you? Maybe? Maybe not? It was difficult to tell with this guy. 

But all you did was give him a gentle smile, refusing politely with a shake of your head. And before you could take a step backwards (and off the cliff), a large hand, though heavy, clasped itself over your shoulder, drawing you close to a very warm wall.

“Sorry Yoshimoto, I saw this angel first.”

Okay, that was the final straw- you really were going to leap off the cliff, accidental or not. There was no way you were going to spend the night warming their bed, as their words implied. And perhaps it was because of your exhaustion, or perhaps not, but your irritation originating from the interaction with Nobunaga’s men had once again risen. You slipped from his arm and backed towards the edge of the cliff. 

“What are you doing?!”

Your heels hung off the precariously crumbling edge as the athlete yelled at you with eyes wide. And you just stared at ‘Yuki’s’ concern (which, you had to admit, did touch you slightly), before whispering a quiet ‘sorry’ at him and tilting your entire body backwards.

And in a split second, the men rushed to the edge of the cliff, unable to do much save for watch you fall without so much of a scream. And as if to spite you, the one who had clasped his hand over his shoulder, peered over the edge of the cliff and waved at you (winking, might you add), though a clear sign of worry and doubt was evident on his handsome face. 

“Takeda Shingen! Remember it!”

But you had disappeared within a blink of an eye, leaving almost nothing behind (a faint blue tinge, maybe, but it was far too faint to be considered much else than a trick of the eye). And for several seconds, the men blinked confused at your sudden ability to fade. And then-

“Why-? How-?”

The questions fell from Yuki’s lips almost innocently as he gaped in surprise at his lord’s strange actions. But the lord just smiled almost nervously in response, as if doubting his eyes, and responded to his question somewhat smugly.

“-Did I know that she would be alive? There’s no way a person would so confidently fall from a cliff- suicidal or not- unless they knew they were going to survive.”

[malex-love-letters]

We’ll Wish This Never Ends

This is a prompt fill for @mander3-swish who requested #45 - I can’t believe you actually bought that.  Thank you for the prompt, I hope you like it.  I made you some art too because I’ve always loved your blog, and it’s so lovely to see a fellow Marvey shipper over here. x

When Alex left for the airforce, they made no big promises or commitments to each other.  The one thing they agreed on was that they wanted to keep in touch.  They were family, after all.

So, Alex emails when he can.  Sometimes it's daily emails when he’s at the base, and things are quiet. On a few occasions, when he’s in the field, it’s over a month before Michael gets an email.  Relief can't even begin to describe how he feels, knowing Alex is okay.

Every day like clockwork Michael checks for an e-mail, the first thing of a morning while sipping his coffee at the Evans’s.  Isobel sits opposite him at the breakfast bar, eyes and heightened senses focused on her brother, making sure he’s okay.

In more recent times, this daily ritual has included a business meeting with Isobel, who volunteered to be Michael’s bookkeeper.  He started a signage business from the ground up a year after Alex left to keep himself occupied. It wasn't an easy task, his first two jobs we're freebies for Mimi and Mr Ortecho.  Soon, word of the talented sign maker spread further afield, and in under a year, he had a steady flow of business, with customers from Texas to Washington.  A few months back he’d gotten so busy he'd taken on Sanders grandson, Ben, as an apprentice to lighten his workload.

On the fourteenth day of March 2011, he finally gets the e-mail he’d been dreaming of.  Alex has been granted post-deployment leave for two months.  His flight is due to land at Albuquerque International in a week.  Michael’s hands shake as he replies.  He’ll be there to pick him up.

Isobel is the only person Michael tells about Alex coming home.  He’s in a mad flap, rambling about a road trip and that one week isn't enough time to make everything perfect for Alex’s arrival.

His sister rolls her eyes at him and pulls him into a tight hug.  She gives Michael one job, and one job only.  Get a map and pick a destination.

She handles the business, shuffling a few long term customers around, knowing that Ben can cover the rest.  She has the airstream cleaned, then stocks it with food, a whole swag of camping paraphernalia, plus some casual clothes for Alex.  Lastly, she lies.  Everyone in Roswell is under the impression that Michael is going to Texas for long-awaited knee surgery.

Michael could kiss her, the last thing he needs is Sergeant Manes raining on their parade.  He tries to thank her for everything, but he gets choked up.  She takes pity on him and tells him she gave herself a pay rise for her efforts.

On the day Alex arrives, he isn't nervous, he’s excited.  It’s been over two years.

He stands in the terminal jigging from foot to foot. As the last few passengers leave the plane, he spots a beret sporting the well-known falcon badge, behind them, and his heart pounds against his ribcage.

When he finally sees him in the flesh, walking toward him; completely intact and smiling, relief almost drowns him.  His hands fly out to meet Alex, touching him and reassuring himself that he’s okay.  The way Alex looks up at him as he fusses hasn't changed.  A fond reserved smile, but it's those big brown eyes that speak volumes.  Everything has changed, but at the same time, nothing’s changed.

”You miss me?” Alex asks.

”Not as much as you missed me.” Michael replies, slapping his shoulder.

There’s no big scene made.  They grab the luggage off the carousel, Michael noticing just how much Alex’s body has changed.  He's stronger and broader, and Michael’s very into it.

They walk the almost kilometre to where the airstream is parked. Alex drops his bag and pulls Michael into a hug.

”I can't believe you actually bought that,” he says fondly into Michael’s ear, ”You've done a fantastic job with your business.”

Michael blushes against Alex’s shoulder, but the truth is he’s pretty damn proud of himself too, he’d managed to buy them a home, a safe space to be together.

”So I take it we're not heading back to Roswell?” Alex asks, as Michael unlocks the door of the airstream and places Alex’s bags inside.

”How do you feel about Zion?  It's about 500 miles away; there’s this spot next to a lake.”

Alex’s smile reaches his eyes, ”Sounds perfect.”

Even though they have kept in contact, there is still a lot to catch up on.  Michael wasn't sure that Alex would want to talk about all the things he'd seen, good and bad, but Alex is an open book, and he tells Michael everything.  Alex is also eager to hear more about Michael's business and how Liz and Maria have been.  When they arrive at Zion RV park late that evening, Alex has completely debriefed, and he’s fallen asleep against the passenger side window.

Michael gently wakes him, and they move to the airstreams bed.  Both of them falling asleep almost immediately.

After a full nights sleep, something neither of them has had in their time apart, Michael shouts them a greasy breakfast at a local retro cafe.  It's like being on a first date again — both men grinning at each other as they nudge knees under the table.  At times Michael finds himself just staring at Alex, drinking him in, just so fucking grateful to have him sitting here across from him.  Michael shows Alex his map and gives him a run-down on where they are going to be camping, and when they are both so full they can hardly walk, they head back to the truck, and head for their temporary home.

"Wow," they both say in unison when they see the site.  They exit the truck and walk amongst the stunning Aspen trees that line the tranquil looking lake.  They have their own jetty with a private speed boat that Isobel has hired off a local.  From the end of the jetty, they have a magnificent view of the National Parks sandstone cliffs.

"This is perfect," Alex praises, joining Michael at the end of the jetty, wrapping his arms around his waist.

"It is," Michael agrees, letting Alex take his weight.

Alex spins him around.  "I missed you," Alex admits, pushing a wayward curl from Michael's eye.  Micheal's hands come up to touch his face, thumbs caressing his cheekbones.

"I love you, Alex," he replies, eyes going glassy as Alex presses their lips together and the whole world falls away.  

-

They spend their day's hiking over rugged terrain, swimming and fishing, before falling into bed in the warmth of the afternoon sun and making love.  It's bliss.

Michael thanks his lucky stars that he gets to have this time with Alex.  And he prays to a God he doesn't believe in, that it's not the last time.

[strife-and-discord]

Here Kitty, Kitty - Chapter 3: Dimitri Finds Out

Read on AO3 here | First Chapter | Previous Chapter

Characters: Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Dedue Molinaro 

Summary: After Gronder Field, Dimitri discovers that the rest of the world has moved on while he was singularly focused on decapitating Edelgard. A lot has changed and some things a weirder to process than others.

A/N: uhhh hey! long time no see but I'm here to continue these catboy Felix shenanigans! This is less a "Dimitri finds out" and more "Dimitri tries to mentally process that his best friend has cat ears" I said before that this isn't meant to be shippy but I do have a bias towards dimilix so sorry if it shows

okay so given that I won’t  be getting a job in the foreseeable future I’ve decide that anyone who donates to my ko-fi page and shoots me a message with proof of payment and a request will get a short drabble (absolute max word count 500) so if you like my writing please consider doing that! 

Things started to move quickly after the battle at Gronder Field, something Dimitri is thankful for as it gave him less time to dwell on… well… everything. Apart from suddenly taking on numerous kingly duties, He's also trying to process how all his former classmates have changed over the years. It's not that he hadn't noticed the differences when they all arrived at Garreg Mach, it's just that, amid his vengeful obsession with Edelgard, he hadn't cared. Now that the fog has somewhat cleared from his mind and the voices are a little quieter, he can finally appreciate how much they've all grown.

Ingrid's hair is short now and she got rid of her bangs, Dimitri has made sure to tell her that he thinks it suits her. Ashe has grown several centimetres since the academy and looks far more the knight he's always dreamed of being then he used to. Dedue hasn't actually grown but he holds himself with so much more confidence now that Dimitri can't help but feel that he towers over everyone more then he used to. Sylvain hasn't changed all that much, aside from some minor details, but Dimitri can see how the darkness in and under his eyes has grown over the years. Felix… Felix has cat ears and a tail.  

Dimitri can vaguely recall this change happening not too long after the Blue Lion's initial reunion, however, he also recalls quickly dismissing the change as unimportant before returning his focus to mowing down as many imperial soldiers as physically possible. Now, Dimitri curses his brain for dismissing this as unimportant. His closest childhood friend has grown cat ears and a tail!! Of course that's important!! Unfortunately, Dimitri seems to be the only who cares at the moment, presumably because everyone else has simply moved on already given that they've been aware since it happened.    

However, it feels like Felix and Dimitri's relationship is at a crossroads right now, considering everything that's happened. It's honestly a miracle that Felix has stayed to fight by his side this long (it's a miracle that anyone has stuck around this long) and Dimitri is terrified of saying something that might push him away for good. For example, pointing out the fact that he seems to have gone through some unusual physical changes and can Dimitri please, pretty please, scratch him behind the ears, they look so soft and he wants to know if Felix will purr and-  

Dimitri quickly cuts off his line of thinking because he knows the only way that scenario ends is with him losing his other eye. The point is that things have been… tenuous with Felix lately and Dimitri has been subtly avoiding him because he doesn't know how to handle the situation without screwing things up with Felix more then he already has.

"Talking to him will help a lot more than avoiding him, Your Highness." Dedue points out, shocking Dimitri out of his internal musings. They are having lunch together in the dining hall, a new tradition they have taken to based on a mutual concern for each other's health.

Dimitri gives Dedue a look, "talking to who will help a lot more, Dedue?"  

"Felix, of course," he replies, as unfazed as ever.

"And what makes you so sure that Felix is the subject on my mind, hm?"

"You have a 'worrying about Felix' face, Your Highness. It's very similar to your "I'm getting a migraine' face."

Dimitri frowns. Felix has been the cause of many of Dimitri's migraines in the past so Dedue has a point.

"Fair enough. Then what makes you assume I'm avoiding him? I have been awfully busy as of late and Felix spends most of his time in the training grounds."

"Despite your new responsibilities you have also been spending a reasonable amount of time in the training grounds yet I have not seen you spar together once, something you still did regularly even when we were students at the academy and Felix hated you."

Dimitri deflates, he knows when to admit defeat and honestly he doesn't know why he thought he could successfully lie to Dedue in the first place.  

"Talking to Felix is never easier, Dedue," he sighs.

Dedue's face softens, "You'd be surprised, Your Highness. He's matured a lot over the past five years and I truly believe he wants to rekindle your friendship as much as you do. Not mention his recent… biological changes have actually served to make him more flexible as a person."

"That may be true with everyone else Dedue but my mere presence is usually enough to annoy Felix."

Dedue sighs, "If it is worrying you so much, Your Highness, I could accompany you to talk to Felix."

Dimitri perks up. If Dedue's there, he'll be less nervous and therefore less likely to screw something up! "That would be amazing, Dedue!"

 ____________________

These days there are actually a number of places one could look for Felix at. With the cat spell and the passing of Lord Rodrigue, Felix's time spent at the training grounds has been cut down significantly. It's probably for the best that Dedue decided to accompany His Highness or else he wouldn't have been able to find Felix at all.

 The Crown Prince of Faerghus is very shocked to find his oldest friend curled up under a tree napping.

 "Does he do this often?"

 Dedue allows himself a small smile. While this whole situation was very weird and confusing at first, most of them had gotten used to it by now. It's amusing to see someone struggle the way they did initially.

 "Yes, Your Highness. We discovered the hard way that Felix needs more then a full night's sleep, he gets too exhausted if he doesn't take regular naps."

"Oh."

Dedue decides to spare His Highness the agony and kneels down next to Felix to gently shake him awake, It doesn't take much since pretty much all of Felix's senses are enhanced now. Felix yawns in a way that shows off all of his new teeth and Dedue thinks he hears His Highness gulp at the sight. Dedue reflects on how much things have changed given that he is no longer disturbed by the sight of Felix licking his hand and cleaning behind his ears.  

Once he is finished Felix looks up at the two of them, squinting with disdain, "What do you want? Is something wrong?"  

Dedue looks to His Highness in anticipation. This is his cue.

His Highness looks about as nervous as if he'd just been asked to dance in the Heron cup but does his best to put on the image of a noble king. An act that's actually more likely to piss Felix off.

"Uh… Nothing is wrong, Felix. I simply felt that…" His Highness takes a deep breath, "I simply felt that we are long overdue for a talk."

Dedue keeps his expression neutral. As deeply as he cares for His Highness, even he can't deny that sometimes the things he says are just so… lame.

Felix continues to squint at them with disdain, "Why do you make it sound like I'm a student who's been misbehaving? Are you making a run for Seteth's job?"  

This is the main reason Dedue felt he should tag along. It takes His Highness much time to build up the confidence to talk to Felix about serious matters and it often only takes one slash from Felix's cutting words to bring it all back crumbling down. In a near instant, Dimitri's kingly demeanour is gone and all that is left is a stammering wall of muscle in a fancy cape.

And Felix hates stammering  

"I… uh… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… um… what I meant to say was…"

Even without the flicking of his tail, Dedue would be able to sense how annoyed Felix is getting.  

"Your Highness," Dedue steps in, when Dimitri turns to face him Dedue mimics taking in a deep breath with his arms. Dimitri does as shown and smiles at Dedue gratefully.    

"What I meant, Felix," Dimitri tries again in a much more casual tone, "is that a lot has changed very quickly recently and I would like the opportunity to catch up with you, As you are someone I care about deeply. If that's okay?"

Felix's tail stops it's flicking and instead falls beside him and Dedue barely manages to contain his sigh of relief. He'd hate for his words to His Highness earlier- about Felix maturing- to have been false. Felix looks over at him for a brief moment before going to back to Dimitri, Dedue can just see how his eyes a darting around, evidence of how Felix still dislikes making eye contact.

"I… guess that would be okay, " Felix extends,

"but in return I expect you to train with me... It would be bad if our so-called Savior King became sloppy." The last part is said in a rush, as though said as an afterthought. Dedue can see the truth behind Felix's words, he clearly just wants to spend time with his friend again.

"I believe my work here is done, Your Highness. I will take my leave now and let you two talk." Dedue gives a small bow to His Highness, to which he smiles back fondly, and turns to Felix one more time, "And Felix? I ask that we do not have a repeat of what happened with Sylvain in the dining hall."

With a smirk and the sound of Felix muttering, "that wasn't my fault." Dedue makes his way back to the monastery.

_____________________

Dimitri does everything in his power not to stare longingly after Dedue. Just because Felix accepted the invitation doesn't mean he won't still need help! Come back! Dimitri's mind screams desperately, although he doesn't let the emotion show on his face as Felix would likely see it as a sign of weakness. Not that Dimitri is feeling very strong now that it's just the two of them. It feels as though the weight of their entire history together is sitting on his shoulders.

"So…" Dimitri starts, not really sure where to go from here. Everything he has to say seems like it will upset Felix.

"Oh just come out with it already, will you? You've been staring for weeks while simultaneously avoiding me. I'm not an idiot so just come out and say what you want to say."

Dimitri pauses. Sure Felix is giving him permission to say whatever he wants but it feels like a trap… on the other hand, being dishonest could land him in just as much strife.

 "You… have cat ears." Dimitri settles on.

Felix scoffs, "That's the best you've got? You really are a moron."  

"And also a tail." Dimitri continues.

'Oh really, King Obvious? I hadn't noticed, is that what those weird growths on my body are? Thank you for blessing me with this truly enlightening knowledge."

Dimitri grimaces but then thinks on what Dedue would want him to do, "Well don't ask me to speak my thoughts if you are only going to get upset upon hearing them. I realise it's obvious to everyone but me but I haven't had the time to process it yet."

Felix's ears fold back forward and his tail relaxes again when Dimitri hadn't even noticed they'd changed in the first place. He smiles a little at the thought that Felix is once again back to wearing his emotions on his sleeve. Albeit, not by choice.

"So…" Felix looks at the ground near Dimitri's feet.

"So," Dimitri responds.

 "I have cat ears… and also a tail." Said tail is currently moving back forward in a rather languid wave movement. Dimitri doesn't know if that means something or if it is simply an idle motion.

 "Do you… feel very different?" Dimitri asks hesitantly

 "Um… Not physically speaking. I didn’t really know how much I'd changed until the… differences made themselves known."

"You're um… you're ears… they look very soft," Dimitri looks away, feeling the blush on his cheeks. He knows Felix appreciates honesty but this is so embarrassing.

"Go ahead," Felix says. When Dimitri turns to look at him Felix has his head tilted forward and his eyes squeezed shut.  

"Umm… I'm not sure what-"

"As I said earlier, you've been staring for weeks! So just go ahead and touch them already, I know you want to!"

Dimitri's entire chest fills with warmth and happiness. This is exactly how he wanted things to go! He didn't think it could possibly happen given that Felix is Felix but perhaps Dedue had a point about him maturing since Dimitri's been gone.

Tentatively, he reaches a hand out to where Felix is bowed and does an experimental scratch. A shiver runs through Felix's body and Dimitri feels him pushing up against his hands. Ah, so this is why Felix was so eager to allow him this miracle, he's getting something out of it as well.

 His ears are just as soft as Dimitri had imagined and after a little while of scratching something new happens. Purring. Felix is  purring . Dimitri doesn't understand how on earth he is making that sound but it is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful things he's ever heard of.

They stay like that for perhaps a couple minute or so when Dimitri feels that he's probably pushed Felix to the absolute limit of his patience for the day and gently starts to retract his hand. Only, there is suddenly a hand clasped over his on Felix's head.

"Who told you to stop? Huh?" Felix is glaring up at him and holds Dimitri's hand there until he starts to scratch again.

After a while longer, Dimitri thinks that Felix probably isn't going to let him go anytime soon and requests that they move to sit beneath the tree Felix was originally napping under. They end up staying there for what feels like hours, mostly just in comfortable silence filled only with the sound of Felix's purring but with the occasional small talk. Discussing things that happened over the years, what else had changed for Felix. By the time Dedue returns to fetch them for dinner Felix has dozed off and Dimitri doesn't feel far behind him.