#or doused herself in oil maybe

[ghostjelliess]

I coughed/wheezed after passing an obnoxious couple on the bike path (i.e. walking in the middle on a blind curve of a hill) and they scoffed because they thought I was being dramatic about the smoke he blew in my face, but it was actually an involuntary reaction to her silage of lilac perfume because I'm super allergic.

What a moment to dissect.

[distant--shadow]

And the Lady is far enough away - Imogen reminds herself as she pulls her shirt over her head, chest bare to the sea air and immediately transmuting her skin into gooseflesh - the Lady is far enough away that she surely can’t really see anything; sat in the long shadow of the cliff, her pale skin remaining fresh-milk white despite the season – Imogen almost thinks that it’s a shame that she is not sitting closer on the sand, with a black lace parasol to match. She ain’t ashamed of her body – didn’t need the courtesies her mistress offered; leaving Imogen alone in her stately bedroom so that she could get changed into her dead husband’s clothes – she should have looked through her dressers or desk drawer when she had the opportunity – maybe she could create another? Focus and observation is hard. Imogen reminds herself that; reminds herself that she ain’t ashamed of her body as she unbuttons the gloves on her hands at the wrist, mindful to keep them in front of herself once they are revealed, the skin underneath where it isn’t blemished and mangled almost as pale as Ms Laudna’s.

From a distance it might still look like she has the gloves on anyway – it certainly ain’t easy to tell the blood and the cut and the clotting from the scar tissue.

At least it wasn’t her tongue.

It was just the end of her finger, so naturally Imogen had scuttled away and stripped herself nearly naked in order to submerge herself underwater.

This time she planned for the pull, saving her clothes from getting soaked, saving herself from the Lady’s gentilities.

Silk on her chest, soup in her stomach, the knots of flora untied from her hair-

She wonders again if hornwort can be found out in the ocean - what its closest seaweed relative would be.

The water is already well above her ankles and midway up her calf when she thinks to register the temperature of it.

Warm enough, at this depth at least. Welcoming with each collapse that laps at her knees, cat nuzzling into her palm and licking at the skin, whiskers of seagrasses.

She wades in further, until her fingertips meet the surface, the tendril of blood diluting in the water only momentarily visible like cleaning off a quill, a space she could write messages and no one else would find them, despite what careless talk the rivers carried to the estuaries to be laid to rest here.  

She steps in further still, to her hips, her waist, her chest, her shoulders - her hair splaying out all around her on the surface.

She wonders how deep the ocean is,

how long she can hold her breath-

Imogen learned to swim in a flooded quarry. The water was an unusually bright light turquoise from all of the minerals.

It was terribly deep;

she was never able to reach the bottom.

She floats on her back, further into the water than the point where the small waves swell; bobbing steadily as if a baby in a cot, swayed to sleep by the melodies of their mother -

she recalls songs she overheard in town squares and inn-corners, as she has no voice or memory to assign to her family’s own.

She’s buried in the graveyard of the local church. Liliana; sun-bleached and splintered. Papa couldn’t afford a headstone but his friend did as good a job as he could at carving a plank of pinewood.

By the time Imogen was leaving, the elements had already done a fair business of trying to erase her momma’s name - just as the worms had successfully done to her body.

On the day she left she visited her one last time. She had made her best attempt at re-sharpening the points and removing the chew from the serif of the carved text with her dagger, used her neckerchief to brush off the clumps of moss, and wiped the whole plank down with a rag she had doused in linseed oil.

She isn’t sure whether it should be seen as disrespectful that she used the same blade to shuck shells for some noble woman who coulda afforded her momma a headstone made of marble; that the same nobility shared in such fruits with her, that Imogen licked its steel length whilst on her knees and before her. She never knew her, so she won’t ever know - clarifying, the arms of the ocean - Imogen never knew her mother and never will.

She never knew her, so it shouldn’t matter. 

Sometimes such a thought is a comfort; though maybe Imogen is confusing the source of such comfort with the contact of the warmth of an undulating tide, making itself more plush to her back than any cot or mattress she has ever slept on

(well, all except one. The guest bed didn’t fill her ears with a perpetual hum and a buzz occupied with the resonance of an ocean’s worth of rippling bodies)

rumours

false memories

Not a discernible heartbeat. Maybe it’s so many hearts that it all becomes a homogenous murmur.

Jellyfish, the bow of a fishing boat, seaweed that grows in dense thicket clumps, arms reaching, grabbing, pulling

cats’ eyes, teeth of shells and fishbone ribs

the Lady’s barnacle canines-

Her finger is bleeding and still that is not enough to draw any attention. What distinguishes the seaweed from the hornwort? Is it the salt and brine?

circling the earth like an old wives’ tale.

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

tits out for the ocean. i was fortunate enough to get something commissioned to draw from my regency-ish au

[boxxing-flavored]

Part 5 of oil and water

You had always thought of yourself as someone who knew exactly who she was.

Your whole life had been spent in this town, on this land, doing the same work your folks did. You knew the land like the back of your hand, knew every stretch of the dirt road, every face at Sunday service, every rule that wasn’t necessarily spoken but was still expected.

And you damn sure knew what was and wasn’t… proper.

Yet here you were, mind spiraling, stomach twisting over something you refused to put a name to.

Because ever since this morning, ever since that damn accident in the bathroom, you hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was wrong. It was stupid. You were acting stupid.

And yet-

She smelled so good.

That thought alone had been plaguing you worse than anything else.

Sevika wasn’t the kind of woman who doused herself in perfume, but there was something about her scent that stuck with you. something dark and sharp, clean but undeniably masculine. Probably some expensive cologne from the city.

You had caught a whiff of it when she walked past you in the kitchen earlier, you had stiffened so suddenly that Bandit tilted his head at you like you’d lost your mind.

And maybe you had.

Because now, every little thing about her stood out to you in ways it hadn’t before.

The way her voice dropped into a low, in the mornings before her first sip of coffee. The way she rolled up her sleeves revealing strong forearms. The way she leaned back in a chair when she talked, being so damn sure of herself in a way that made you… want to listen.

And worst of all, the way she wasn’t trying to impress you. City folk usually had something to prove when they came through here. But Sevika? She didn’t care.

And that should’ve annoyed you.

Instead, it did the opposite.

“Why the hell are you staring at me like that?”

Your brain short-circuited at being called out.

It was late afternoon, the two of you sitting on the porch, sipping on cold drinks after a long morning. You had been sneaking glances at her without meaning to, and apparently, you had gotten caught.

You immediately stiffened, looking away. “Ain’t lookin’ at you any type of way.”

Sevika huffed out a chuckle. “Sure you’re not”

You scowled, gripping your glass a little tighter. “Just thinkin’, is all.”

“Thinkin’ about what?”

How she smell like sin and bad decisions.

You cleared your throat. “Nothin’ important.”

Sevika exhaled through her nose, stretching her legs out in front of her. “You always get this weird when you think?”

“I ain’t weird.”

“You’re something.”

You shot her a glare, but she wasn’t even looking at you, just watching the sun dip lower in the sky.

You wanted to be irritated.

But instead, all you could focus on was the way the last light of the day cast shadows across her jaw, the way the fading warmth made the sharp cut of her features even more unfairly attractive.

Damn it.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at her.

“You ever gonna tell me what you actually do for work?” you asked, desperate to change the subject.

Sevika raised a brow. “I already told you. Business.”

“Yeah, but that don’t mean shit.”

She let out a low chuckle, the kind that made the hair on your arms stand up. “I handle people’s money. Investments, properties, that kind of thing.”

“So, you’re some rich city broker type?”

“Something like that.”

You tried to picture her in a suit, sitting in some high-rise office with a glass of whiskey in her hand, and for some reason, it didn’t feel that far off.

But then you thought about the way she carried herself like someone who had been through some shit.

And you realized there was a lot about her you still didn’t know.

You tilting your head. “And you just… travel for it?”

Sevika rolled her shoulder in a half-shrug. “Sometimes. Other times, I just need to get the hell outta the city for a while.”

Something about the way she said it made you pause.

“You don’t like where you live?”

She let out a slow breath, swirling the last of her drink. “Chicago ain’t exactly paradise.”

You thought about the stories you’d heard about that city—about the crime, the corruption, the kind of shit that would probably chew up someone like you and spit you out.

“… You grow up there?”

Sevika gave a slow nod. “Born and raised.”

“Huh.” You took a sip of your drink, thinking. “That why you’re so good at dealin’ with people who don’t like you?”

At that, Sevika actually laughed.

It was a rough, real laugh, the kind that made something in your chest tighten in a way you didn’t understand.

She shook her head, smirking. “Yeah I guess so”

You stared at her for a second too long before snapping yourself out of it.

Because this? This wasn’t normal. You weren’t normal.

You had grown up around the kind of men who talked about women like they were the only thing worth lookin’ at. And you had never once cared enough to feel the way they did.

You always figured you just hadn’t met the right one yet.

But now, sitting here, looking at her, feeling that strange, twisting heat in your stomach every time she so much as looked your way

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Right?

[bridgyrose]

Queen Blake was used to warriors doing favors for her. Ruby Rose was an exceptional huntress that killed Grimm that encroached her territory, bringing Blake flowers or spoils of battle. Becoming interested in this girl, Blake returns the favor and gives Ruby gifts as well.

Blake couldnt help but smile as she caught Ruby walking through the halls of the castle with more flowers from her exploits. It wasnt a secret that warriors throughout the kingdom offered gifts to her and her parents, but there was something about Ruby that caught her eye in particular. Maybe it was the way the huntress carried herself or how easy it was to talk to her, maybe she just enjoyed the flowers and sweets that Ruby always seemed to have, or maybe it was the way her heart seemed to flutter whenever she was near her. Either way, it was always a comfort to see her. 

And as happy as she was to see Ruby now, she still had to speak to the forgemaster about the order she placed before she could even think about speaking to Ruby. She made her way down the hall, already nervous that it wouldnt be ready. Especially since she hadnt expected Ruby to be back for another few days. 

Blake took a few, short breaths as she entered the forge. “Forgemaster, is it ready?” 

A large ox faunus pulled some heated metal off the anvil he was working on and doused it in oil before turning to look at Blake. “I actually finished it this morning. Let me put this away first and I’ll go grab it.” 

“Thank you, Forgemaster.” 

The ox faunus nodded and sat the metal he was working on onto his workbench. Then, he grabbed a box and brought it over to Blake, opening it. “Just as you ordered it.” 

Blake carefully pulled a small dagger out of the box and ran a hand across the blade. The pommel had a small jewel, the handle was wrapped in leather, and the steel blade had a small engraving of a rose along the center of it. “This is perfect. Thank you.” 

“Of course, my queen,” the forgemaster answered as he gently took the dagger back and placed it back into its case. “But are you sure you want it to be so… decorative? Usually a blade like this is meant to be used, but with that gem…” 

“I’m sure this is exactly how I want it,” Blake answered as she pulled out a small sack of coins. “I plan to give it to someone special to me.” 

The forgemaster nodded with a smile. “Someone finally caught your eye, huh? Must be that huntress you’re always seeing.” 

“I wouldnt say that-” 

“When most people ask for a dagger to be made, they want something akin to a knife: sharp and can be used for just about everything including fighting. And while this one will work for all of that, something made like this is usually meant as a gift. And its no secret you’ve had your eyes on that huntress girl for a while.” 

Blake looked away to hide the blush that started to cross her cheeks. “Its just a gift for her for her services to the kingdom, nothing more.” 

“If you say so.” 

Though I wouldnt mind if she takes this as an offer of something more, Blake thought to herself as she handed over the payment for the dagger and took the case for it. She took a breath to relax herself and gave another smile to the forgemaster. “Thank you again though.” 

The forgemaster nodded and motioned her out as he started his work again. 

Blake made her way out of the forge and towards the room Ruby was staying at, hoping she’d be there. Her fingers nervously tapped the box with each step as her mind raced. Was this really the right move to make? Maybe this was too much and would scare Ruby off. Or what if she was reading too far into the gifts she was given? She was a wandering huntress after all and went around the different kingdoms. It’d be just as likely that she was giving gifts to other royalty. 

She shook her head to try to clear the thoughts out and paused just outside of Ruby’s room. In any other circumstance, she’d be ready to march in and make sure her intentions were known. But here, getting ready to talk to a warrior she had been friends with since childhood-

“Your majesty, I didnt expect to see you here,” Ruby said with a bow as she came down the hall. “Is there something you need from me?” 

Blake quickly hid the box behind her back and motioned for Ruby to stand. “I just wanted to make sure that everything was still suitable for you. And to find out how your trip to Atlas went.” 

“Cold, but fine,” Ruby answered as she opened the door and stepped inside. She paused for a moment. “Oh! I have these for you!” 

Blake smiled and gently took the flowers that Ruby offered to her, taking a deep breath to smell them. “They’re lovely.” 

“I picked them up near the edge of Atlas. One of the villages out there specializes in roses like these.” 

“Thank you. Would it be okay if we talk in private?” 

Ruby nodded and motioned for Blake to come into the room. “Sure. What did you want to speak about?” 

Blake walked in and closed the door behind her. “I… I wanted to talk about… you.” 

“If its about the gifts, I can stop-” 

“No, the gifts dont need to stop. In fact, I really like them.” 

“Then… what is this about?” 

Blake moved the box from behind her back and presented it to Ruby, her cheeks starting to redden and heat up as a blush came across them. Her voice shook ever so slightly as she spoke. “I-I know its not… customary… for royalty to give gifts in private like this, but… you mean a lot to me. And I wanted to give this to you for your years of service as a huntress to this kingdom and as a friend.” 

Ruby looked at the box curiously and opened it, freezing when she saw the dagger inside. “I cant… I cant accept this.” 

“I want you to.” Blake smiled softly at her and sat the box down, her blush deepening. “You’ve been part of my life ever since you started training with the knights and you kept coming back after your training was complete. You’ve brought me gifts of all kinds, and while I gave some back, it was never the same as what you gave me. Ruby, will you be by my side?” 

Ruby took the dagger out of the case and looked it over, gently nodding to her as she smiled. “I will.” 

Blake nodded and stood up. “I’ll let you rest, I’m sure its been a long day for you. I’ll seek you out tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be at your call,” Ruby answered with a bow. 

Blake relaxed as she left the room and started to make her way back to her own to prepare for the guests she was going to have at dinner, heart pounding in her chest as the blush stayed across her cheeks. Everything had started going according to plan, and all there was left to do was give Ruby a reason to stay.

[taragreenfield]

During my journey through popular (and not very popular) romantasy books, I couldn't help but notice the abundance of blatant double standards for male and female characters. Their actions are considered in absolutely different light: what is horrible and unacceptable for a male character to do is absolutely understandable and sometimes even admirable for a female character. A man slapping/punching/hitting/insulting his love interest is an abuser and an overall vile man; a woman doing the same is a "strong heroine", badass, and "good for her." An abusive or neglectful father is undoubtedly a heartless monster; an abusive or neglectful mother usually gets at least some amount of sympathy. She's probably under a lot of stress, she's traumatized, she's going through difficult times, she's doing her best. A female character starting a relationship with a male character under false pretenses, spying on him, manipulating him, or plotting to kill him gets a rather positive portrayal as someone clever and resourceful, her actions are often excused by the fact she was "manipulated" "brainwashed" to believe that the MMC is evil and needs to be destroyed, and therefore he needs to forgive her immediately. If the MMC does something like that, he would be expected to grovel for two books straight before the FMC maybe consider forgiving him.

To prove my point, there are a few examples:

In Dance of Thieves, Kazi, the FMC, punches her love interest.

In The Ever King, Livia, the FMC, tells the MMC she'd rather "douse herself with hot oil than let his mangled body touch her".

In Of Mist and Shadows, Tessa, the FMC, believes unsubstantiated accusations about her lover, stabs him, and runs away, assuming that she killed him.

In Shadow in the Golden City, Leoni, the FMC, goes behind her love interest's back, undermines his plan, and endangers herself, and as a result, he has to save her. When he's angry and doesn't want to talk to her, the FMC is told by another character not to worry because "he isn't worth it".

All those incidents are resolved rather quickly; the FMCs are forgiven almost immediately, and it costs them one little apology at best. Needless to say, it wouldn't be the case if the roles were reversed.

in this post by @lilu787788 we can see how the attitudes toward Alina and the Darkling could change if they were gender-bent. From the same universe, I wonder if the readers would see Baghra as a strict but well-meaning old lady and practically a martyr were she a man who abandoned multiple children, abused, groomed, and isolated that one kid he decided to keep, and hit, insulted, belittled, and poisoned his students? Somehow I doubt it.

In Shadow in the Ember, the MMC finds out the FMC initially planned to kill him. He's briefly mad at her, but the situation resolves itself in a few chapters. Interestingly, I saw opinions by fans who believe he should have been more understanding and forgiven her sooner. If the FMC learned something like that her partner started a relationship with her in order to kill her later, it would be the reason for a third-act breakup lasting for at least half of the next book.

Even if the book is marketed as enemies-to-lovers, where both leads are supposed to be initially hostile and rather violent towards each other, some readers manage to always paint the FMC as a victim suffering from the horrific abuse at the hands of the MMC, even if the FMC initiates most of the confrontations and ends up winning in 90% of them. This led to the appearance of utterly unsatisfying "enemies-to-lovers" books where the FMC is perpetually angry, mean, aggressive, and rude, and the MMC is inexplicably fond and protective of her from the get-go. Because heaven forbid a man treat his female counterpart as an actual enemy; that would be glorifying abuse. When the FMC does it, it's, of course, different.

The reason why this tendency bothers me so much is because it stems from the same old sexist stereotypes: women are seen as fragile, weak-minded, infantile little flowers who can do no wrong (and if they do, it's someone else's fault) and will immediately crumble if someone says an unkind word about them, and men, of course, are supposed to be tough, stoic, and unfeeling, and just "get over it" if they are attacked, insulted, or betrayed. Part of it might be the author's personal beliefs and biases, while another part is a desire to follow popular, marketable tropes like a strong "badass" FMC or an extra-supportive MMC. Either way, this trend reinforces harmful gender stereotypes even if it masks itself as "progressive" and "empowering."

I am writing that not because I believe the female characters should always manifest flawless, perfectly kind and polite behavior. Neither do I want more male characters to mistreat their partners and get away with that. What I would like to see is a more nuanced and equal approach, where both female and male characters can be allowed some empathy and understanding and, at the same time, face the consequences of their actions. Characters, regardless of their gender, don't have to be immediately forgiven (or ever) and might need to work if they want to earn back trust, make amends, and rebuild their relationship, and, at the same time, don't have to be dismissed as unequivocally evil and malicious and can be analyzed further, with their own traumas and life circumstances taken into consideration.

[waltwhitmansbeard]

"...you knew?"

Vax and Kiki, please.

22. "...you knew?" setting this in vamp machina! it's gonna gonna be vaxleth adjacent, bc i got this idea and couldn't stop chewing on it.

"Percy, wait!"

He's not listening to her. He's triple-checking the locks on all the windows and doors, pulling out boxes and boxes of wooden bullets from every crevice of the apartment, shoving bottles of holy water into her hands. "It's fine, okay? We'll fix it. I'll fix it."

He's not listening to her. "Percy, can we just talk about this—"

He hasn't stood still since it happened, since he walked in on a scene she knows to be straight from his nightmares. There's a book, some leather-bound thing that looks to be half a millennium old, open on the coffee table. "There's a spell in there, I think, can you look? Something about deinvitation. See if it's something in your wheelhouse."

Keyleth is just standing there, unmoving in the center of the apartment, holding a washcloth to her neck. The blood's starting to seep out under it. She doesn't know what to say next.

So Percy keeps going. "If you need anything from the shop, let me know and we'll go together once the sun rises. You're not staying in this apartment alone, not until we can make sure that fucker can't get back in here."

She wants to cry, but she thinks maybe her body forgot how. "Percy."

Something about her voice, now, stops him, and his face melts into something halfway between pity and worry. "Hey." He comes over, pulls her into a hug. She feels dirty sinking into it. "It's okay. It's not your fault. They're so good at this, at tricking people. I should have been here, yeah? This is my fault."

Her body is remembering now. "Percy..."

He pulls out of the hug to take her crumpled face in his hands. "Do not blame yourself for this. If he comes near you again, I'll kill him."

"I invited him in."

He kisses her forehead, and oh, she deserves whatever storm comes barreling her way. "I know. It sucks, but it happened. It was a mistake."

"No."

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

The words are so faint, she can hardly hear them herself. "I knew."

The realization is a full-body process. The brow furrows, then the spine straightens, and the jaw sets. His eyes go cold, distant. "...You knew?"

There's just no way he'll understand it. "I love him, Percy." The tears are flowing hot, fast, unrelenting. "I...I let him in. I let him..." She presses the washcloth harder against the spot where, less than half an hour ago, Vax was sensually pulling from her life force. "I knew what I was doing."

Percy skitters back, then, as if she'd slapped him. In all her life, she's never seen such betrayal in someone else's eyes. She imagines he'd be less hurt if she gutted him from navel to sternum with a knife from the kitchen, if she doused him in oil and set him aflame. Whatever was between them, whatever friendship, whatever family, whatever trust, she watches it shatter in real time.

She wishes she regrets it.

They stare at each other for a long time, maybe minutes, maybe days. She says nothing, because there is nothing she can say to make this better. When the cold stillness becomes too much to bear, Percy spins around, stomps out the front door, slams it shut behind him. She collapses, then, all of the guilt and the sorrow and the anguish crashes down on top of her, the levees broken. She sobs, arms clutches around her middle, until the hard floors dig into her knees, until her tear ducts run dry, until through the same window through which Vax fled, she sees the sun beginning to rise.

[snugglywuggums]

Chapter 5 — Ayre’A’khana — Nightmare, Weasel Bonding, Waking Nightmare

-------

If you've landed here and want to go to the start, this is the link to the beginning

-------

On another day like any other day in any season of any year I make my way out of the cave and douse my lantern, returning it to its designated spot after making a note about the oil level and resigning to needing to buy more. Back in the cabin I pull out my coin pouch and grimace as I realize it is quite a bit lighter than I’d remembered. I mentally knock oil off the list—after all, I can see in the dark, so going down there shouldn’t be a problem without the lamplight for a little while.

I hesitate, thinking over my list, but as I think about going into the cave in the dark, I mentally put the lamp oil back on the list, instead removing a new blanket from it. Winter is a month or more out, I can wait on it as long as I get the nails to fix the door. Thinking around in circles again, I consider if I can afford nails as well, and mark it down as being a lower priority than lamp oil as well.

Frowning at The List, I feel the hazy fog of sleepiness settling over me with a small bit of dread. I never liked to sleep so shortly after visiting my parents, but I would be no good to anyone if I fell asleep by the river later and missed a catch again.

Sighing, I opt to slide into the chair, slipping my tail through the hole in the back and leaning my head down into the crook of my elbows as my coppery hair slides down to cover my face in relative darkness, and before I know it, I’ve dozed off…

I shudder, my hands clamped over my mouth, as I watch. I’ve seen this hundreds of times, maybe even thousands. Past a point, it’s become hard to track. But I watch all the same, unable to tear my eyes away. I know it’s not real, but it is. I know it’s the past, but it feels like it’s in the present.

There’s a sickening tearing noise that’s immediately followed by a heart-wrenching crack, like a sail being torn before a mast snaps. In the dimness of the early dawn, the light in the cave is barely enough to see by. But it’s enough, isn’t it? It always is. I watch as a mighty dragon’s wings are rent asunder by beasts, by monsters…by “heroes”. The tearing of the leather stretched across great wings, an injury that would surely never heal properly even under magical care, hurts me nearly as much as the dragon who I’m watching die again.

They are backed into a corner of the cave, as far away from me as possible. I’m hidden in an illusory alcove near the front of the cavern. So tauntingly close to freedom. So damnably close to seeking help. But I cannot move, not now, not ever. I watch as the dragon draws in a breath, motes of Ignia sparking in his mouth, his core visibly heating and lighting as energy builds within their body. A Breath like unto the fires of the sun herself. In but a moment, the Breath would be unleashed, disintegrating the interlopers and changing fate. My own Breath is drawn in, caught up in the moment, and I feel small bits of Ignia forming in my breast.

“Maybe this time it’ll be different? Surely father is strong enough to ward off three adventurers and that *thing.”* I feel my objectivity slipping and my mind casting back to that day with precious little I can do to stop it. I feel the rising hope in my mind, alight like the hearth within the dragon’s chest. I know nothing can withstand the Breath of an ancient dragon like father. Wars were ended in one torrent of fire, and there’s not a doubt in my mind that this battle will be won all the same.

It feels as though time has stopped. I see the fallen form of the draconic woman in the middle distance between me and the dragon. Surely, she’s still breathing. Once ‘Ma rises and rejoins the fight, the villains will be lain low. … The villains. I gaze at them in this moment where time has frozen like a once-raging river in the dead of winter. Four of them. One tall and built like a brick storehouse carrying a sword more akin to a support beam than a blade. One reedy individual with a staff, gesturing and speaking an incantation of dark and doom. One bearing an orb in hand that glows with a sickly purple mist in the hazy halflight. And the last one. The monster. Their body is wrong. Not like any of the kyn. Something distorted. The others might as well not have even been there while that creature was on the field.

Time, it seemed, was beginning to tick forward again, and my eyes are drawn to where they always are. The spark of ignia in the throat of the dragon. Suddenly, the air pressure in the cave changes, as though the world itself were drawing a shuddering breath anticipating the forces that were being unleashed. I see the first whorls of fire, hot as the sun herself, eject from the dragon’s maw. But…they stop in place. Held by a spell. A terrible, terrible spell. The dragon’s eyes widen in shock when his breath cannot leave his mouth, but there’s little he can do. Nothing is made to contain those forces. The Ignia consumes. Everyone in our family knows that.

The dragon lurches backwards, trying to break the spell, but as he roars, no sound comes out. The cave is suddenly silent despite the thrashing dragon. All I hear is a sick cackle. That laugh rising above all else from that creature. It strides forward after the dragon falls to the ground in a silent crash, scales melting from the trapped fire within his body, leaving rivulets of molten copper growing like a spreading pool of blood on the cavern floor. The creature reaches a hand forward and grabs the spell from the air, drawing it into its sickly looking hands while it’s standing in front of the dragon’s maw.

The flames burst forward, silently seeking to devour the distorted invader, and I feel my hopes rise again. But they are dashed upon the rocks instantly. The creature holds out broken sickly arms that are filled with an amethyst miasma that leaks from cracks in its skin. The fire strikes the extended hands and is immediately sucked into its body, as though being rent from the dragon’s body by force, like a barrel uncorked with no intention of filling a glass. Its arms glow brighter and brighter. The form distorts further. Growing, shuddering, its body takes on draconic traits like mine and my familys. A mockery of a noble dragon, with gemlike purple scales adorning its mottled body.

Seeing this, the dragon loses its will to fight. Its final attack rendered worse than moot—it only served to empower his foe. I watch in horror. What can defeat a dragon? What can lay low a beast of legend in its home? Heroes, says the world. Is this heroism? I find myself dropping to my knees, keeping my hands clamped over my mouth to stay quiet, knowing instinctively that there’s nothing I can do but die in this place. Maybe that would have been preferable to what happened next. The long minutes of wind rushing as everything that made them what they are is wrenched from them and pulled into the horrid body of the monster.

At the end of an eternity, I look up to see the aftermath -- a vast sea of offwhite powder, all that remains -- and can’t help but retch, making a noise for the first time in minutes? Hours? The thing turns at the noise and stares at my hiding place. Its attendants seemingly unaware, but that thing knows where I am. And at that moment I see my death. But…it merely smiles with a maw that had grown increasingly more like my father’s own with every second. Its lips pull back in the rictus grin of a happy corpse. Tight, with countless fangs. However, instead of coming for me like it should have—like I wish it had -- it turns and stands, making a gesture to those who follow it, and walking out of the cave. But all I could see was its eyes.

Laced with purple drifting smoke, bloodshot with magical essence, intelligent, but still feral. Scheming, planning, and, most of all, hungry. It’s all I can see. Those eyes and my eventual death within them being the last thing I see.

“Ayre! I want to go fishing!” I hear a distant high-pitched voice and the thing in my dream turns to rush me as I wake. Again, I wake standing, with my spear at the ready, only to realize it’s Lilly who’s come to visit. We exchange some pleasantries, but she seems oddly distracted. I catch her glancing over her shoulder towards the river every now and again. She must be excited about this thing she saw in the river. Maybe it’s a rare fish or something. That would be nice.

I stop lightly chastising her as she expresses she needs to share something serious, her face going uncharacteristically downtrodden as she does. I change my tack, realizing she needs support and extend my arms for a hug, feeling my wings pantomime the gesture and scrape the walls as the tiny fairy bowls into my collarbone and I wrap her up in my hands. After a little while of that, I gently pick her up and lift her to the top of my head. She always likes riding atop me since I’m tall, and she says it’s an impressive perspective, but I’ve never really understood it, since she can much more freely fly to any reasonable height, but the fey are strange, so I’ve always just accepted it at face value. “Alright, Lilly, let’s go fishing and you can tell me about it.”

I grab my spear and rod and stride out while Lilly bounces around my hair and horns. She chatters endlessly about whatever comes to her mind, and there sure are a lot of things coming to her mind, as usual. It’s nice, though, it gives me something to focus on for a while while I wait for her to drop the topic she actually wants to talk about. I add little bits here and there, ask questions, answer questions, and nod or shake my head when appropriate. The latter actions seem to amuse Lilly, particularly since she is bestride my head.

We arrive at the river, where my little dock juts out into the river with a hand made stool that is slightly less wobbly than those at the cabin. I pause briefly at my barrel of bait. Popping the lid off, I toss in some food scraps and plant greens, and reach in to mix the leavings deeper into the rich black dirt. At the same time, I sift my fingers through and pull out a few worms to use for fishing bait, keeping 3 large ones and tossing back the couple of smaller worms to continue their appointed duties.

“Aw, do we have to use worms, Ayre?” Lilly groans aloud as she sees me digging in the barrel before I replace the lid.

“If you want to have any remote chance of catching anything, then yes, we do. I suppose a sparkly little fairy could be decent enough bait…” I trail off as I reach up towards the complaining fairy and make an exaggerated attempt at capturing her. Which she easily avoids and hops off my head to look at me indignantly as her wings flutter and, and she straightens her arms and legs in mock offense.

“Well…fine then! We’ll use the little wigglers this time. I could just use my magic, you know that, right?”

“Trust me, Lilly, I am quite aware, and it is still my opinion that doing so is cheating, and that that isn’t fair to the fish. You’re gonna have to believe me at some point, fishing is an art, and you can’t rush art. Half of the fun is the relaxation.” I respond simply with a hand gesture after I jab the haft of my spear into the ground. “So, all of that aside, what weighs heavy on your heart?” I ask as I sit down on my stool and affix a worm to my hook and cast. With my free hand, I gesture to a padded spot on my knee for her to come sit.

She flits over and plops on my knee weightlessly, falling cross-legged in one smooth motion and a full three hundred and sixty degree spin—ever the performer. “You remember my rival?”

“The little weasel? Yeah, last I heard about him, you’d said he nearly beat yo-” My knee is promptly punched with all the unrelenting force of a disgruntled mouse.

“That part doesn’t matter! He cheated anyways, there was sun in my eyes!” Lilly quickly fires off a few excuses and I merely raise my brow ridges quizzically, “Agh, fine… Look, I accidentally hurt him today and I feel terrible about it. I tried to do an interesting parry with my shield when he tried to bite me, and I broke one of his teeth…” She trails off and casts her eyes downwards, looking like the single most kicked puppy in the entire world for a moment.

“A broken tooth can be pretty serious for a wild animal. Makes it hard to eat and defend itself. Did you wind up putting it out of its misery?” There’s a tug on the line that distracts me as I speak, causing me to miss both setting the hook and most of Lilly’s response.

“‘Out of its misery’?! What’s wrong with you, Ayre? I healed him. I hadn’t realized how old he had gotten, and when I healed his tooth I saw how badly rotten all of his teeth were. I couldn’t just leave him like that, for all of those reasons you oh-so-kindly pointed out. So…”

“… So?” I ask into the void she leaves for too long.

She pauses for a moment before spurting out everything in one breath, “I bound the stoat to my essence and named him Sir Henry Slinks, and he got a lot younger but was still asleep when I had to leave, and I know I’m gonna get in big trouble when I go home and Caiominh is going to scold me and I know he was just a weasel, but he meant a lot to me and-” I hold up a hand at that point to try to forestall what was clearly about to turn into a much longer diatribe.

“It doesn’t sound like he was ‘just a weasel’, then. You were honest in the second half of that one, though. He meant a lot to you, and you helped him. I’d be lying if I said I fully understood the full breadth of what you did with him, but it sounds like you helped someone dear to you, and if your so-called ‘Guardian’ has a problem with it, he can leave his precious forest and take it up with me.” I say sternly.

“I guess you’re right. He was suffering, and I couldn’t stand by and let that happ- Hey! What’s that?” Lilly abruptly jumps to her feet and into the air for a better vantage point and I follow swiftly, eyes scanning the area for threats before I finally settle on the direction Lilly is pointing and see…a person floating around the bend, face down, about 5 feet upstream from a piece of driftwood. Taking a moment to process the sight, I find myself in motion before I’ve fully decided to be. My rod clattering to the wooden dock, I’m airborne, diving headfirst into the water in a shallow dive. Kicking my legs and undulating my wings, I move against the current with ease to reach the person quickly and surface beneath them. No point in wasting time checking their status here, so I immediately drag them towards the shore by their garments. Garments which are in a pretty dire state already. They’re basically five scraps of fabric away from being in the nude.

Quickly hauling the person, realizing he’s a human man now that I can actually see him, onto the shore, I roll him on his side and lean down to listen to his chest, and hear some slight wet sounds of very slight breathing and a very irregular heartbeat. He’s swallowed water and I can’t tell if it’s in his lungs, but it sounds pretty deep. My mind races about what to do before recalling a book I’d read last year. I quickly roll him onto his back, and tilt his head to the side and overlap my hands on his chest, just above the abdomen and press a few times before leaning over and closing my mouth over his, breathing a deep breath into his lungs. I watch his chest rise with it, and then return to making additional chest compressions and alternating with breaths a few more times.

After a few stressful minutes, he suddenly sputters up some fluid, so I quickly roll him onto his side and let him clear his lungs. And as I step back to assess the situation, I take him in more completely—tattered traveler’s garb, belt knife, what remains of a decent looking bow and…his…arm…

My eyes lock open as I stare at the arm, my brain diving back in time to seeing a purple, mist leaking, cracked, arm drawing my father's last Breath from his lungs. Distantly, I hear Lilly say something, but I can’t understand it. My blood pumps harder and harder in my head, the sound of rushing air and my beating heart fills my ears and I struggle to breathe as my vision tunnels on the arm. That arm. That thing. The monster. Slowly, I reach up to his head, and pull an eyelid open, and see bloodshot eyes looking at me across the darkness of the cavern. Before I can consciously think, I find myself standing over the fallen creature with my spear in both arms, poised to plunge it into its torso and end the nightmare that’s plagued me for so long.

Chapter

[unavernales]

driving over from the set of her short film, iseul had said to herself "wow, i cannot wait to go home to my beautiful, wonderful girlfriend. maybe we can cuddle. watch a movie. and she can tell me all about her day." the chaos waiting for her is met with brief panic, wondering if her girlfriend had been hurt. once it's confirmed that she is, indeed, alive and lucid, iseul relaxes into her usually unruffled demeanor.

her sweet, sweet mai.

"i can see that," she comments patiently and kicks a step stool into place to shut off that pesky fire alarm first and foremost. once that's done, she ever so gently moves mai by the hips so she can be away from the stove. turns any knobs to their neutral position and turns off the oven. whatever mai had been cooking is dutifully put into sink to be doused with water (at a distance, in case there's any hot oil residue. iseul still doesn't know entirely what her lovely girlfriend was attempting to cook). a window is cracked and then iseul is back to her love, examining her pretty hands and wrists.

"are you okay? did you burn yourself?"

@unavernales liked this for a girly pop starter

"Iseul!!!" Mai whined loudly as soon as she heard the door opening. Iseul was finally home. The other would enter to see smoke, hear a fire alarm blaring violently, and smell what could only be described as a Mistake.

"I tried cooking!!" Mai sounded on the brink of tears. She was dishevelled and and overwhelmed and oh thank goodness Iseul is here to rescue her. Normally she was fine with cooking, but this new recipe was too much, and she really couldn't cope with it. There was too much going on all at once and poor Mai had gotten extremely overwhelmed. "Help me!"

[fruitchouli]

**Update**

Guess who also got called into HR yesterday for a “scents at work” concern? HAHA!

Someone in my “immediate workspace complained”. Magnificently, I happened to be wearing Shalimar EDT for this retarded meeting which I love because the citrusy vanilla stabilizes the mood and reminds you even if the world is run by and for losers, you have the choice to detach from the shenanigans and do better.

Long story short, we’re pretty sure it’s the cucked, spiritual woman of a union steward boomer who dyes his hair and refuses to retire. Anyway sucks for the poor fucker because now my other coworker and I plan on actually doubling up on fragrance. My old pagan self would hex him which I’ve done before with low IQ corporate mercenaries, but my higher self tells me he labors under serious emotional wounding, which affects his ability to spell and navigate ebook apps. He’s pathetic and trapped, and I unfortunately empathize.

You asked about my go-tos, nothing revelatory or transgressive: Lolita Lempicka purple bottle, Lulu, L’Heure Bleu, What We Do In Paris Is Secret, Tresor, Alien EDT, Lipstick Rose, Musc Ravageur, Iris Poudre, Poison EDT, Mitsouko EDT, Habanita, Mure et Musk Extreme, Chanel Misia and L’Eau No 5, Olsen Twins stuff, old but beloved baby violet cologne, random drugstore musk oils, and way too many samples of delicious bits of pieces like some of CDG and Xerjoff’s. With perfect timing my M. Micallef Royal Muska arrived last night and this morning I gave myself a glorious dousing. It perfectly suits an imperfect, failing Catholic cryptofascist.

Working in such spiritually unwell surroundings, I am understanding the intensity of non verbal communication and intuition more than I ever have. Humans are wild animals. It’s a privilege to witness, truly.

ok slay.. that’s the backlash for being beautiful.. i still need to try misia it’s compared to so many scents i love 💔 should i revisit shalimar edt? i said just yesterday after trying to will myself to love shalimar for the hundredth time that i HATE IT.. a friend once said that ur not a true perfume freak until you develop a tumultuous love hate relationship with shalimar… i’m still waiting to have the love half of that. anyways something that i always think of when i hear shalimar is how joan and peggy wore it in mad men.. it suits joan so well and i know the prop department didn’t mean anything by putting it on peggy’s vanity, she probably just got it as a gift and never wore it but i always think maybe she bought it to try and conjure up some of joan’s energy in herself before she really came into her own. i don’t think she would have identified with many perfumes until the unsexy girl boss green chypre scents came around in the later 60s. i wonder what perfume fat betty wore

[pocsinspeculativefiction]

Impressions

Title: Cinderella is Dead Series: N/A; Standalone Author: Kalynn Bayron Author Website: https://www.kalynnbayron.com/ Trigger Warnings: Nothing major Year Released: 2020 Demographic: Young Adult Genres/Subgenres: Low fantasy, dystopian, fairytale retelling, LGBT, sapphic, romance

Synopsis: From Goodreads:

"It’s 200 years after Cinderella found her prince, but the fairy tale is over. Teen girls are now required to appear at the Annual Ball, where the men of the kingdom select wives based on a girl’s display of finery. If a suitable match is not found, the girls not chosen are never heard from again.

Sixteen-year-old Sophia would much rather marry Erin, her childhood best friend, than parade in front of suitors. At the ball, Sophia makes the desperate decision to flee, and finds herself hiding in Cinderella’s mausoleum. There, she meets Constance, the last known descendant of Cinderella and her step sisters. Together they vow to bring down the king once and for all–and in the process, they learn that there’s more to Cinderella’s story than they ever knew . . .

This fresh take on a classic story will make readers question the tales they’ve been told, and root for girls to break down the constructs of the world around them."

Themes:

The negative impact of propaganda, misogyny, heteronormativity, and classism on society as a whole

Remaining fearful and complacent in the face of injustice won’t always protect you from its effects

Best Features

Sophia and Constance are well-characterized protagonists. They are effective but not overpowered. They have positive traits and likeability but are not perfect. They have agency and their motives make sense given their circumstances.

The sapphic love triangle was well-executed. It features opposites attract vs. birds of a feather and childhood friend romance vs. a newer attraction to a person you just naturally click with. Both romances were believable and showed different sides of the heroine.

The exposition about how the Cinderella system worked and its impact on society was described in great detail while also being well woven into the narrative. It never felt like the story halted to explain anything.

King Manford is an effectively hateable villain with the qualities needed in an antagonist from a fairytale and dystopian story like this one. He’s pretty one-dimensional but not without a few surprises.

Worst/Least Appealing Features

The main heroines are pretty static personality-wise. Their personalities are set in stone from the start and don’t change much. If you’re fine with flat character arcs then it’s no big deal.

The pacing is uneven. Plot progression was either extended periods of action sequences or extended periods of planning and debating the next moves. It was hard to maintain interest in what was going on during the planning periods after so much excitement beforehand.

The supporting cast has little involvement in the plot. They deepen Sophia’s understanding of the world and add depth to its themes and that’s about it.

The world wasn’t very interesting. If I were asked to recall anything distinctive about the city of Lille or the White Wood or anywhere else except the palace I wouldn’t be able to. The descriptions are incredibly threadbare and the locations leave no impression.

Favorite Spoiler-free Quotes:

“The pieces of my dress are sewn into place to ensure a perfect fit. My mother fusses over the color of the piping along the hem of the gown. Apparently, it's supposed to be rose gold, not regular gold, so it has to be taken off and reattached. I think the entire ensemble would look very nice at the bottom of a wastebasket, maybe doused with lamp oil and set on fire. No one asked me what color I'd like it to be or how I'd like it to fit.”

“A mural of the king mars the side of a building across the street. He's pictured on a horse at the head of an army of soldiers, his arm outstretched, holding a sword. I bet he's never led an army anywhere except across the squares of a chessboard.”

"My mother taught me that I am a whole person with or without a husband," she says emphatically. "Who I am inside and how I treat others are the only things that matter. The same goes for you. Don't let anybody tell you different."

Overall Rating - 3 out of 5

[erazonpo3]

Cassunzel Week Day 3 - Freedom / Growth

The rolling hills of Solljus Valley are beautiful. A passing afternoon storm had doused the green pastures, which glitter in the gold of the emerging sunset. It’s not the first time on this journey that Cassandra has wished she had any artistic talent, and she settles for etching the view into her memory instead.

The hunt for Alphecca’s phylactery is coming to an end. The lich had become increasingly cagey as they approached Vakretta, and they both know what to expect; one of them is going to meet Death again. She isn’t sure what she’s going to do if she wins the coin toss.

There are still days when the thought of turning around and going back to Corona make her insides twist. Most days she reflexively banishes the thought before it can sit in her mind long enough to reveal a different reaction. Other days, she tentatively toys with the thought, and finds that spite has swallowed the shame. She’s not about to let Coronan stigma rule her life again.

But there’s still one memory that makes her hesitate, of a Queen in waiting who loves her but had already adjusted to life without her, and perhaps is better for it. As if sensing her souring mood, Fidella slows her steady trot until Ilione sidles up beside her on her mare.

“Wow. Isn’t there something about these hills that make you want to just… sing?” she looks at her expectantly.

“The acoustics, probably,” Cassandra says, then urges Fidella onwards down the path to the village with a stern nudge.

“You’re no fun.”

Vibrant gold gives way to a bloom of pink across the sky, dusting the world in rose. It’s going to get dark in only a few minutes, so they head straight for the main lodge as locals pop out to light a few key oil lamps. A bell rings as they enter but there’s nobody behind the desk to attend them, and it doesn’t take long for Ilione to wander off.

“Cass, come over here! Look at all this stuff!”

Cassandra remains by the desk for a moment, but it’s clear nobody is coming right away so she gives in. In the corner of the lodge’s foyer is a series of shelves lined with various miscellanea with corresponding price tags, and Lio darts between them with glee. Apart from the usual merchant fare of twine and bandages and dried fruits are an assortment of handcrafted curios, varying in quality.

“Maybe I should send someone a souvenir,” Cassandra considers, picking up a painted wood carving of a duck and tossing it in her hand.

“I’m sure Rapunzel would like one,” Lio replies, rattling a snowglobe with a miniature skeleton inside. Cass frowns.

“I dunno. Most of this is just junk- maybe I should-“

“She’ll love whatever you send her,” Lio says, not for the first time.

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be thoughtful,” Cassandra grouses, but she picks up another knicknack anyway.

It’s a clay figurine of a burning woman. She grimaces and sets it down.

“You should send her this,” Lio suggests with delighted rapture, holding up a stuffed toy with mismatching limbs and two small beads for eyes. It looks like it was intended to be a rat, but its hard yet bulging body gives it the appearance of a tuber, and it was likely made with the dried up remains of indifference after all the love ran out. It looks like a piece of shit.

“No.”

“You’re right, I’m buying it.”

“Can I help you two ladies?” An old, rail thin man pokes his head out from the stairwell and takes his place behind the desk. Cassandra extricates herself from the alluring gaze of a doll sitting high upon a shelf with a shudder.

“We’d like to get a double room, please. And a stall for two horses,” she says.

“And this,” Lio adds, waving the sad rat.

“And that.”

“Each night is twenty crowns for the room, ten for the stall. Plus the seven argents for the toy. ”

“Why don’t you just cut our throats while you’re at it,” Lio mutters under her breath, but reaches into her purse anyway. Cassandra doesn’t comment; there’s a painting hanging on the wall that catches her eye. It’s a landscape, depicting the local town in a wash of watercolour, resting in the crossroads of sprawling hills and encircled by vast mountains. It’s sunset, and the fields are lit in gold and pink.

“How much for that painting?” she asks. She knows it probably isn’t for sale, but the proprietor eyes it with the shrewd gaze of a business owner as he figures out a number for it.

“Two hundred crowns.”

“One.”

“Hundred fifty.”

Ilione watches the bag of coins switch hands, and Cassandra catches her cynical expression.

“What?”

“Nothing. I guess it must be hard shopping for a girl who has everything,” Lio concedes.

“It’s not like that. I just… wanted to.”

“I just hope she knows how much she’s worth to you,” she replies, casually yet carefully. Cassandra doesn’t comment, but she can’t help but agree.

[highlifeboat]

What would be zoe and alincas reaction to mia trying to set her self on fire to get evelina away

I mean, like I'm sure most people would be, they're more scared than anything. Especially seeing Mia so manic while she does it.

In my mind she's just out in the vineyard dousing herself in oil and the only reason they catch her is cause one of the girls glances out a window and goes "Mother, Mom, what's Mama doing?" and it take a second for Alcina and Zoe to register what they're seeing, but the second they do they're running out the door (Alcina even abandoned her heels). Alcina runs a lot faster than Zoe so she's the first one to get there pretty much just a Mia is lighting the match. She's never been so close to actually tackling a person before. She grabs the hand Mia's lit match is in. Insert a small struggle and Zoe comes up like "Mia, what the fuck are you doing?!"

And Mia goes on this whole fast rant about how she keeps seeing Eveline, and Eveline keeps talking to her, and "I can't do it again, I won't do it again!", and yelling for them to leave her alone as Alcina's just trying to keep hold of her. And she has these moments of laughing (probably out of stress, but it's really freaky regardless).

Eventually she kind of settles. They take her back inside and give her a bath (Maybe two) to wash the oil off. She's just quiet by this point, staring blankly at the water.

They don't know what to do to help her.

[em0avacado]

A Rock - Angel Reyes

A/N : The amount of positive feedback i got yesterday/today was ridiculous and it warmed my heart so much what the fuck 😭😭😭😭 so i wrote another! i’m glad y’all liked my first one so much and i hope y’all enjoy this one too!

trigger warning : none? maybe some swears. but that’s all.

word count : 1608

“A rock?” Ezekiels voice was the first to be heard, his tone laced thickly with judgement as his brows pulled together, mirroring the tone he spoke with almost exactly. Angel had just finished telling him, Coco, and Gilly that he brought back a small rock from the desert. It had a few harder corners to it, it was a lovely brown colour that clashed with the grey shades and the few shiny bits that glistened as it laid in the palm of Angels hand, reflecting softly in the bright California sun.

“that’s fucking stupid.” Coco chimed in, he couldn’t quite place why in the world Angel would want to give her a rock, that wouldn’t impress her, not even in the slightest, if that’s what he was even trying to do.

“yeah, why the hell would she want a fucking rock?” asked Gilly next, his brows raised, his dark brown eyes stuck on the piece of earth in the mans hand until the taller Mayan pulled his hand back, balling his lengthy fingers around it.

“She likes rocks.” it was a simple answer, a soft huff blew from his flared nostrils as his friends words slowly started to discourage him, perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. Was it really that stupid? They had been out on a run, doing business in the blaring sun when the small stone caught his eye, half buried in the sand of the desert and he just had to give it to her. “She once talked about crystals, and shit, and this is shiny, close enough, right?” he shrugged.

“i still think you’re stupid.” Coco chimed in just before his hand dove to the inside of his kutte, pulling a pack of cigarettes out, picking out a single one before shoving it back in. Placing the stick between his thin lips, he cupped his hand around the flame as he brought the lighter to it, lighting it. Taking in a deep drag, he shoved the lighter back where it belonged and took a deep drag, ringlets of smoke eliciting from his lips. Angels eyes rolled back, listening to his friends bash his ideas made him not wanting to even present the rock, what if she thought he was equally as stupid they were expressing he was? His mind riddled with ‘what if’s’ as they continued the banter, toning it out until she entered the room.

“who’s stupid?” she asked, a dirtied rag thrown over her shoulder. With two long braids cascading down her back, she wiped her hands clean of grease as she walked into the clubhouse, though, that didn’t do much for the streaks of oil running up her toned arms as she went behind the bar for a bottle of water. “and why’re we standing here gossiping like teenage girls?” she asked, raising one of her perfectly arched brows, she cracked the seal, opening the water before downing a majority of it.

“Angel.” Ezekiel noted, his eyes flit from his older brother, to the woman standing behind the counter, she was doused in sweat, dirt jammed in the creases of her forehead as her brows pushed together quizzically.

“why?” she asked once she set down the water, her hand wrapped around the base of the bottle, shutting it tightly before she crossed her arms over her chest. Looking between the four, Angel was sending his brother glares that could kill, Ezekiels smirk was bright and shit eating, Gilly looked all bright eyed and bushy tailed while Coco didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the situation, but instead the curve of his coworkers hips.

Winnie had been working at the scrapyard for months now, and she was nothing short of a sight for sore eyes. She was confident in who she was, and it showed in how she carried herself. She got on well with the Mayans and the customers loved her, she usually held down the fort along side Chucky when the rest of them were off on business. She hardly asked questions about their work, she knew enough, and respected the privacy that came with what they did. Her uncle, Taza, ensured she got the job, but she would’ve anyways, her work ethic was impeccable and it showed in her references from previous jobs. Her friendships between her, and the Mayans that she’d work with day in and day out, were blossoming constantly.

Her questions were met with silence, up until Ez spoke, avoiding his older brothers menacing glares. “Angel brought you a rock back from where we were today and we think it’s stupid because who likes dusty ass rocks?” he spewed his words quickly, as Angel raised his fist to strike his brother for running his mouth, Gilly snickered quietly and Win’s eyebrows raised. She lifted her hand, placing it on top of Angels balled up fist, and slowly lowered it. His defensive posture quickly, and visibly, softened. His eyes shifted from him, to her, something about her gentle touch against his hand tamed the quickly rising temper that came from the embarrassment the younger Reyes intended on putting him through.

“You brought me a rock?” she asked, there was a soft sparkle in her eyes, one he wasn’t sure he had seen before, but spread a warmth in his chest never the less. Angel nodded slightly, she wasn’t sure if she spotted a hint of hesitation in it, but the corners of her lips lifted into a soft little smile.

“Uh, yeah.” he said, after her hand dropped from his, he almost immediately missed her warm touch against him, but wouldn’t dare show that. Especially with his brothers still standing around him. His free arm reached back, nervously scratching the back of his neck, the neatly cut strands raking against his rough fingers.

“Well give it to me, then.” she spoke in a duh tone of voice, and when he suddenly scrambled not to drop it, he dropped it in her hand. Shoving both his hands now in his pockets, he tried to play off the fumbling mistakes off, playing cool. If she didn’t like it? Who cares. Not Angel, definitely not Angel.

“Agate.” she grinned after examining the rock, she brushed her gentle fingertips over its smooth sides, grazing the rougher corners gently. It was gorgeous, it shone so brightly even in the poorly lit room, it’d definitely fit nicely with her little collection she bad started. She had all kinds of rocks and crystals lining the windows of her home, they brought her comfort, for multiple reasons. “Thank you, Angel. This is a gorgeous rock.” she beamed.

“Ha!” he nearly shouted, pointing his finger at Gilly and Ez, much like a four year old, the next words to come out of his mouth were “I told you so!” and “In your face!”

“Oh come on!” she could’ve sworn those words that came from Coco, were a mix of whining and very obvious disbelief. “What kind of chick digs rocks?” he asked, his shoulders slouched as he focused his eyes on her.

Opening her mouth to say something to tbe heavily tattooed man, Angel beat her to it. “she does, she collects them, she was talking about it once, something about never having time to go out and look for them but she loves them around her.” he said, pulling the memory from the back of his mind, there was a day not too long ago where Win would go off on rants when Chucky brought up the stone she kept on her, tucked in her pocket, she considered it her lucky rock and carried it wherever she would go, just in case.

She watched him in disbelief, her eyes wide in awe as he defended his decision to his brothers, who looked equally bored as they did annoyed that his seemingly ridiculous actions really wowed the woman they’d all been flirting with, for months now. Being almost entirely overwhelmed, a flare of bravery ran through her stark blue veins like adrenaline. Reaching her dirtied, but soft hands up, she cupped his stubbled jaw in her palms and pulled him closer to her. Standing on her toes, she met him half way, her lips clashing with his as she kissed him, it wasn’t long at all, but it means something. There was a pull between the two and the moment their lips parted, Angel wanted to dip in and steal another from her lips, yet a part of him was too stunned to do so when their kiss did end. He didn’t expect to end up here, but now that he had, he never wanted to turn back. “thank you” the soft whisper fell from her lips before she pulled back entirely, with the rock in her hand still, she grabbed her water bottle off the counter, and headed out of the clubhouse. Her shift was over, and she was now on her way home with a smile that would be stuck to her lips for days from now. Angel? Stood there, still in utter shock. Coco, Gilly and Ez were equally as bewildered by what just happened.

Maybe it wasn’t just the rock, and the sheer beauty in the colours that it contained, maybe it wasn’t that it was shiny. But maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that he listened to at least one of your stupid rants, and he remembered it. Maybe it was that Angel looked at this distinctive rock and he thought of you. Whatever it was, it meant the world to you.

“fuck, maybe I needa start bringing chicks rocks..” noted Gilly, the others nodding in silent agreement.

[erimeows]

Happier (Sentinel Prime x Optimus Prime)

Optimus was nervous as he sat in the cafeteria with Elita One next to him, a cube of energon in her strong servos. She listened to him rant about Sentinel, who was wanting to take Optimus on some escapade to sneak into the brigades’ locker rooms that night with no other explanation than ‘it’ll be fun’. 

They were done with their training for that cycle and were given the next deca-phase to eat, get their things situated, and recharge in their cots before the next day of training... But of course, Sentinel wanted to sneak off and drag him into trouble- right before Elita’s birthday, no less!

But, as Optimus sat there mid-ramble, he realized just how much he missed the older bot. Sentinel had been preoccupied with one thing or another that kept him from making it to their lunch, and while Optimus was grateful for the opportunity to buy Elita fuel to celebrate her birthday early and have some quality time with her, he couldn’t help but crave that familiar strong arm over his shoulder like it usually was. 

Still, he continued talking to Elita One like nothing was wrong, half-heartedly slamming his palms down onto the table. The bustle of other bots in training and commanders around them getting their energon and oil filled the large room with so much noise that no one else could drop in on their conversation, so he didn’t act embarrassed- after all, Elita knew his qualms with Sentinel as well as… Other things to do with him and Sentinel, those of which he wasn’t so proud to admit. 

“I just don’t see why he has to take me with him!” Optimus exclaimed with a huff. It was true- Sentinel was constantly taking him on risky ventures for Primus-knows-what, sometimes with Elita One, and sometimes without her. While he enjoyed the time with Sentinel and felt special for being the one chosen to go with him, it often confused him. 

“Oh, come on, don’t act like you don’t like the attention from him,” Elita quipped back and playfully pushed his shoulder-plating. Naturally, the femme forgot how much power she had and accidentally pushed him a little too far, but he managed to sit up and look at her with a sheepish grin. Her tone was accusatory, because of course it was- she knew about his crush on Sentinel, she was the only one Optimus could talk to about it. “You know why he does it, don’t you?”

“No idea,” The red and blue bot confessed. 

“It’s because he wants an excuse to spend time with you but won’t ask you out on a date,” Elita One winked and slammed down the rest of her energon cube in one big gulp. Meanwhile, Optimus hadn’t touched his, too caught up in his thoughts to bother with it and even more caught up in what Elita had just said.

Yes, the blue and yellow femme had always supported him and listened to him vent about his hidden feelings for Sentinel, but she’d never once insinuated that it might’ve been mutual. Not able to believe it, Optimus gasped. 

“W-What? No way!”

“Yes way,” Elita grinned and reached for the younger bot’s energon cube. He didn’t object, letting her chug that one down too. After she was done, she stacked the two empty cubes on top of each other and continued talking. “Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

Optimus tried to think back to how Sentinel had looked at him, and… Well, he assumed it was the same way Sentinel would gaze at any bot; a grin on his face, aquamarine optics filled with mischief and something soft and youthful, faceplates dusted the same light pink that typically adorned his sharp cheeks.

“I mean, it’s the same way he looks at every-“ Optimus had started to answer, though a bit unsure of himself, his friend cut him off with a groan. 

“No it’s not, you dolt!” Elita One raised her voice enough to catch the attention of some of the others in the cafeteria, but when they had the nerve to look at her, she glared at them, effectively scaring them into looking away and returning to their previous activities. Then, she continued. “The way Sentinel looks at you… He looks at you like you put the stars in the sky, Optimus.”

She sounded genuine, so for once, Optimus knew it wasn’t some cruel prank from her and Sentinel’s end, but… It just felt so sudden! Since when did Sentinel return his feelings? Why did Elita know about it, and how did Sentinel look at him in such a way without him even noticing? 

No- it had to have been a joke… Right? It was just too good to be true. Surely it was a cruel, messed up prank from Elita’s end.

“I, um… I think we’re just close friends,” Optimus murmured and moved to scratch the back of his neck with his digits. There was a moment of silence between him and Elita where he averted his gaze from hers. “Yes, that’s it, at least in his optics. You might be misreading things.”

“Have you ever noticed how much he touches you?” Elita asked with a tilt of her head, sounding ever so sure of herself. She did have a point, of course, but Optimus had always assumed Sentinel was just the touchy type- shoulders bumping shoulders, servos on servos, servos on shoulders and on thighs, legs tossed over legs, chin resting on top of his helm… The way Sentinel touched him was affectionate and friendly, or so he had assumed, but maybe it was something more? Still, just to be sure-

“I thought he was like that with everyone?”

“Nah,” Elita brushed him off with a giggle and a shake of her head… Now he was starting to feel plain stupid. The way she talked about it made it seem like Sentinel had blatantly obvious feelings for Optimus like he had for Sentinel, and he was wondering, if it was true, how much time had he wasted skirting around everything? “He might throw an arm over my shoulder when he goes to hug you so he doesn’t seem suspicious, but he doesn’t have servos on my servos, on my back, and on my thighs all the time. It’s not as normal as you think it is for him to treat you the way he does, Optimus, he’s just in love with you.”

The older bot blushed at the thought. It was true, everywhere they went together, Sentinel always had a protective servo resting on his lower back, and every time they sat together, there was a palm lingering over his thigh or one of his servos if there was a table to cover it. 

He thought back to his earlier complaints and felt somewhat guilty. If what Elita was saying was true, and Sentinel loved him back and just wanted an excuse to spend time with him… Then he shouldn’t have been complaining about it. 

“Then…”

“He always takes you to the riskier things because you make him feel less scared to do them, and he wants to spend time with you and impress you,” Elita’s tone grew softer as she gently placed a servo on his shoulder.

It was a lot to process. The charming, strong, mischievous bot he’d been in love with since the moment they met had the same feelings for him, and he’d been completely oblivious the whole time.

All Optimus could do was nod. 

“I see.”

“Do you? Honestly?” Elita One asked, sounding skeptical of him. 

“I’m not sure yet,” The red and blue bot admitted with a blush, earning a shake of Elita’s head in return. 

“Oh, Optimus, you poor, sweet, innocent little mech… You’re a fool.”

-

Later that night, Optimus’s processor was racked with thoughts of the discussion from lunch as Sentinel held his servo and led him into the locker rooms. It was dark and empty with all of their commanders and fellow trainees recharging peacefully in their cots, and though he could have opted out of doing it, Optimus allowed himself to tag along- and he was currently hating himself for it.

One, he was nervous about what would happen if he and Sentinel got caught doing whatever the hell Sentinel was taking him to do. They could get in serious trouble, get kicked out of training or have to put up with some other severe, grueling punishment. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten fragged over because of Sentinel’s schemes. 

And two, he was still unsure of what to do with the information that Elita One had given him earlier that day. Him acting like everything was fine and normal between them when he was slowly realizing what Sentinel’s feelings were was impossible as they entered the room, Sentinel’s headlights on his shoulders turned on to light their way. 

“Sentinel! Out of all of the places we could’ve snuck into, why the locker rooms?” Optimus demanded and linked his digits with the older bot’s. 

“That’s simple, Optimus,” Sentinel looked back at him with a cheshire grin and pulled him towards one specific locker. “While you were having lunch with Elita One today, I went through her bag and found her locker combination written in her password book.” 

“W-What?” Optimus spat, dumbfounded. Their normal pranks consisted of dousing their commanders’ dormitories in oil and putting clear wrap on entryways in common areas, not going through their friends’ belongings and finding out personal information about them. “Harmless pranks on our superiors are one thing, but invading Elita’s privacy and-“

“Calm the cooling fans, buddy! You know what’s tomorrow, don’t you?” Sentinel knelt down in front of the locker he had gone to, still holding Optimus’s servo. The red and blue bot sat down on the floor next to Sentinel- close enough for their knees to knock together. “You bought her lunch today and everything-“ 

“Oh, yeah! Elita One’s birthday,” Optimus let out a sigh of relief and looked at Sentinel’s free servo, which held a small, heavy looking black gift-bag in it. It was rare that they got much of anything where they were at, so he wasn’t sure of how Sentinel got it, but then again… That bot had always been resourceful. “Is that what the bag’s for?”

“You know it,” Sentinel’s grin grew wider as he (unfortunately) let go of Optimus’s servo and turned to unlock Elita One’s locker. 

“What is it?” 

“A card and some high quality oil that I, uh, concocted under my cot.”

“You… You aged oil under your cot? Is that scientifically possible?” Optimus sputtered, optics wide. 

“Who cares, it’s a fanfiction and the readers are more focused on the romance aspect than they are the specifics of oil drinking.” 

“Anyway,” Optimus cleared his throat and sat there quietly. He managed to keep himself occupied by watching Sentinel put the gift bag in the locker and shut it back, but his nerves were getting the best of him. “That’s… Very nice of you. I’m glad this is actually something productive for once and not one of your usual schemes.”

“Oh, hey!” Sentinel laid back on the floor and moved to hold Optimus’s servo again. The younger mech laid down next to him, a bit unsure of his movements as he rested his helm against Sentinel’s shoulder. “Speaking of that, there’s this organic planet that I heard has a ton of energon, I think the three of us should go!”

“That sounds like an awful idea, but…” Optimus trailed off. He was unable to say no to Sentinel, which might’ve been his fatal flaw, so he gave a weak nod. “I suppose if you and Elita One are both there by my side, it couldn’t hurt- maybe. I’ll have to think on it some more.”

“That’s the spirit! Remember how you were when we first met?” Sentinel laughed and grabbed his servo again.

Optimus only sighed, thinking back to when he and Sentinel initially encountered each other. Though he’d been smitten from the start, Optimus had been reluctant to spend much time with Sentinel, as he was a strict rule-follower, terrified of getting himself into trouble. Somehow, though, Sentinel wiggled his way in, starting with eating lunch and training by Optimus’s side to now getting the younger bot to sneak out at night with him. 

“I do recall,” The red and blue bot hummed and stared up. The ceiling was an indestructible glass that allowed them to see into the night sky, so while the locker room may not have been the most romantic place to be, it was a good view. Little did Optimus know that rather than staring at the stars like he was, Sentinel’s optics were glued to him instead. “You wore me down.” 

“Nah, I’m just that great to be around.”

Usually at this point, Optimus would clap back, saying something about how stupid Sentinel was or how he himself was just too nice to put up with the older bot, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it this time. 

“You truly are, dear friend.” 

At that, Sentinel quickly sat up and offered a nervous laugh. He dropped Optimus’s servo, but seemingly unconsciously, rested a servo on Optimus’s thigh seconds later. 

“We should probably leave since we’re done with that and all... I forged your signature on the card, too, so she thinks it’s a gift from both of us.”

They were about to leave, he figured, but Optimus couldn’t bring himself to just let everything go- he had to address what Elita had told him earlier while they were still alone or he was going to go insane. 

“Why do you always take me with you, Sentinel?”

“Huh?” Sentinel started, but Optimus knew immediately that it was a facade, as Sentinel always made a certain face when he was lying or trying to put up a front; lips desperately twitching in an attempt to not smile, optics trained on the ground, face bright red. “What do you mean? We’re buddies, aren’t we?”

“No, I mean-“ Optimus cut himself off, quickly becoming flustered. “I don’t know if I can explain this in a way that makes sense to you, but there are plenty of other mechs who are more willing to do all of your crazy plans with you… I always need convincing. Even Elita One wants to go with you most of the time, but usually, you take me on these more intimate outings, I… Ah, forgive me, I lost track of what I was saying.”

“I’m not sure I’d call this intimate, the only reason Elita isn’t here is because it’s a surprise,” Sentinel defended, using his spare servo to scratch the back of his neck. “Plus, you being the tightaft you are, you keep me out of trouble. If I took any other mech or femme with me on my escapades I’d be dead by now.”

“Is that really it?” Optimus spat, now getting fed up with Sentinel’s dodging. 

“There’s more, but… That’s all that’s important.”

“Then what about last quartex when you pulled me out of my cot in the middle of the night and snuck us off base so we could go watch the stars? Elita One sleeps right next to me, we could have taken her to that,” Optimus argued, and he could tell that Sentinel felt he was being backed into a corner just by the expression on his face. While the stargazing was a good memory that he didn’t regret by any means, it served his argument, so he didn’t mind bringing it up. 

“She’d had a rough day at training, thought I’d let her rest…” Sentinel sighed and met Optimus’s gaze once again. “Is there something you wanna say to me, Optimus?”

“Is there something you wanna say to me, Sentinel?” Optimus challenged, which had the blue and gold bot letting out an indignant huff. 

“I think you know what I mean, Optimus…” Sentinel finally cracked, a frown taking over his face and lubricant filling his optics- clearly, he was embarrassed, and it made Optimus feel guilty for beating around the bush and making the older bot anxious about it instead of just being direct about what was going on. “Why do you torture me like this?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re the one touching my thigh right now.”

At that, Sentinel jerked his servo back, but Optimus stopped him. At that, the older bot hesitantly rested his servo back on the large expanse of heated metal, gently squeezing. Optimus could only lean into the touch as the other mech let out a sardonic laugh and shook his head.

“That glitch!” Sentinel cackled and rolled his optics. “She told you, didn’t she?”

“I figured it out, but me telling you didn’t mean that I want you to stop.”

Optimus felt Sentinel’s intake hitch, the room going dead silent. They met each other’s gaze, aquamarine pouring into aquamarine, and almost as if all at once, there was a mutual understanding between the two; they loved each other, and for once, everything was okay. 

“Optimus…” Sentinel stopped and moved his servo from Optimus’s thigh, up to the red and blue bot’s cheek, settling there with a thumb running over his cheek’s apex. Optimus nuzzled into the warmth with a sigh. “Are you trying to say what I think you are?”

“I’ve always had feelings for you, Sentinel, and if you share the sentiments, I’d like to make something work.”

“Be mine,” The words from Sentinel were simple but clear, enough for Optimus to know what the older bot wanted, and enough to flood him with relief. Still, the two continued to stare at each other like they had no idea what to do. 

“O-Okay, um…” Optimus trailed off again, wordless before Sentinel finally used the servo on his cheek to pull him in for a heated kiss. Lips molded into lips quickly, Optimus gently moving his in rhythm with his best friend’s and taking in the taste of energon, fine oil, and something uniquely Sentinel. After just a moment and a brief swipe of his glossa over Sentinel’s bottom lip, Optimus found himself pulling away, bashful. 

“Wow,” Sentinel gave an uncharacteristically soft smile before raising his eyebrows. “I didn’t think innocent little Optimus would be so good at that.”

“Shut up, you dolt!” Optimus scolded and stood up in a hurry. If he was being honest, it was to get Sentinel to his cot so they could kiss more, but did Sentinel need to know that? Absolutely not. “Let’s just get out of here before we get caught.”

With that, Optimus took Sentinel’s servo in his and stood up, pulling the older bot up and along with him as he walked. They quickly exited the locker room, nothing but a mess of giggles and roaming servos as they tumbled back into the dormitories, and oh-

Optimus had never been happier. 

[kumeko]

A/N: for the @quarantinefanzine! I wanted to do a little compare and contrast for Tanjirou and Yushiro in a modern au

…

…

…

…

Tanjirou loved his home. A two-bedroom apartment, it was a small, cozy place, barely big enough for three people let alone his family of eight. Books, clothes, and knick-knacks claimed every inch of space, cluttering the modest place. Things were precariously stacked on one another, one loud sound away from crashing to the ground.

His classmates found it claustrophobic. He found their bedrooms lonely in comparison. Tanjirou woke up surrounded by a mess of limbs, ate to the sound of a dozen conversations, and laughed every minute of his life. His home was a messy, disorganized place, but it was home and it was his and he’d never needed anything more than that.

However, he had greatly underestimated just how much he relied on his school as a buffer zone to get things done. Thanks to covid, Tanjirou was stuck inside his apartment with all five of his siblings twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a week. Hopefully not 365 days a year.

It was like babysitting, except it never stopped. Tanjirou had managed all of his siblings before; as the oldest two, he and Nezuko had spent most of their weekday evenings juggling school and siblings. A few hours at most, until his parents dragged themselves home, tired and worn.

Now the hours rolled into days rolled into months. Spring had turned into fall and he wasn’t sure what happened to summer. School had started again. His table was cluttered with textbooks and lined papers and increasingly tiny pencils. Tanjirou had never been a good student on the best of days. Now? Impossible. The numbers swam as he stared at the desktop computer, trying to make sense of it all.

“Tanjirou.” A little hand tugged his sleeve and Tanjirou glanced down to find Rokuta staring up at him, his eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned. He ducked down slightly so they were on the same eye level. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Rokuta nodded. He fiddled with his thumbs nervously, looking down at his feet as he asked, “Could you play with me?”

“Play?” Tanjirou resisted the urge to wince. At just five, Rokuta didn’t really have ‘school’ to attend. His teachers held his attention for maybe an hour or two before releasing him. The only other solution was the TV.

Unfortunately, their walls were paper thin. If it was hard to study now, it would be impossible with Baby Shark running through his head. Rubbing his neck, Tanjirou ran through the checklist Nezuko came up with, “Did you read your book?”

Rokuta nodded. “Two times.”

“Your dolls?”

“They had a fight.”

“Your puppets?”

“They’re under the couch.”

“Oh.” Tanjirou bit his cheek. Just what did they have left for him to do? “What about the paper cup castle?”

Once more, his brother nodded, though this time he rocked back and forth on his feet excitedly. “It’s so big!” He spread his arms to indicate just how big his castle was. “Can we smash it?”

He peeked at his computer’s time. Ten thirty. Tanjirou had barely scratched his homework. After a long play before they’d started school, he’d hoped Rokuta would have been fine till lunch, but clearly that wasn’t the case today. Ruffling his brother’s hair, Tanjirou asked, “Can we play in thirty minutes?”

“Huh?” Rokuta trembled, his eyes watery.

“You can get things set up,” he hastily suggested. As the youngest, Tanjirou was never certain if Rokuta’s tears were real or if he’d realized all too quickly how powerful they were, but he didn’t want to find out. “We need your cars.”

Considering how quickly Rokuta beamed at him after, it was probably the latter. “Okay!”

With a sigh, Tanjirou watched as his brother scampered off to their shared bedroom, no doubt having to unearth his cars from under the multiple piles of laundry. Which was yet another to-do item he had to finish later. Running a hand through his hair, he glanced around the living room to see what the rest of his siblings were doing.

Shigeru was nowhere in sight; he was probably in the bathroom or taking a nap somewhere. Seated around a low table, Hanako hesitantly answered her homework while a frustrated Takeo glared at his. Nezuko sat between the two, checking from page to the other as she corrected them.

Catching his stare, she smiled apologetically and mouthed, Sorry.

Tanjirou shook his head sympathetically, mouthing back, It’s fine.

It wasn’t like it was her fault that their mother had to work two jobs, leaving them to take care of the house. It wasn’t like it was her fault their father was in the hospital, battling for his life. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really, that they had four siblings and one computer and had to somehow balance school and babysitting between the two of them.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, and somehow that made it harder. There was no one to blame, to direct this helpless anger at. Instead, it simmered within him, trapped. It was hard to stay positive, to act strong, when fear and rage boiled within.

“You want the blue car?” Rokuta shouted, his voice piercing through Tanjirou’s gloomy thoughts.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Tanjirou replied, “Yeah!”

“Awesome!”

They’d done this everyday now, and somehow Rokuta still managed to sound enthusiastic about it all. He had to be bored of it by now, yet he always found a new way to play the same game. In the face of that, how could Tanjirou do any less? He squashed down his feelings, pushing them aside. It wasn’t like everything was bad, after all.

He still had his mother. His siblings. A place to live and food to eat. Despite it all, he had almost everything that was important to him. Tanjirou could handle anything else life threw his way.

Even this confusing homework.

“Alright.” Tanjirou slapped his cheeks, pumping himself up. He could do this. It was just a bunch of numbers that had to follow some silly rules. Stretching his arms above him, he cracked his knuckles before hunching over the computer once more.

-x-

Yushiro loved his home. Or rather, he loved Tamayo and since they lived together, he loved her home too. It was a big house, maybe too big for just the two of them; there were studies and guestrooms that had a fine layer of dust after being forgotten for a week. Still, it was her house, with every room soaked in her essence, and he never wanted to move. Even on the days when she had to go to the hospital, he never felt too alone. All it took was a glance at the living room to picture her elegant pose as she ate, or the kitchen to see her confused frown as she tried to cook. A single memory and the house felt full as he waited impatiently for her shift to finish.

Well, not that he was alone in the first place; there was Chachamaru, their cat. Sometimes, he was certain Chachamaru knew more than she let on, but that was a silly thought. She was just a cat. Cats didn’t know anything. Like right now, the fact that she was sitting on his laptop was because she found it warm, and not because she was getting revenge for this morning.

“I’m sorry I forgot your breakfast,” he apologized, just in case. “Now get off, my class is starting.”

Chachamaru gave him a blank look and yawned, revealing all of her sharp teeth. Was that a threat? He wasn’t certain. While she always got along with Tamayo, she seemed to only barely tolerate him.

“There’s other rooms,” he pointed out, feeling a little ridiculous as he argued with her. Yushiro gestured behind him at the hallway. “We live in a big house. You can pick literally any other room. Do you need me to list them to you? Take you to them? I’ll do it.”

She still looked utterly unimpressed, before laying her head flat on his laptop.

Time to bring out the big guns. Yushiro glared at her one last time. Chachamaru didn’t so much as stir. His killing intent just wasn’t strong enough. With a sigh, he left the room and padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. There was only one way to ensure he’d get his laptop back, and that was his secret stash of catnip.

The house was quiet as he walked through it. One time, he’d brought his classmates over for a project, and Tanjirou couldn’t get over how silent it was. Apparently his home was a zoo, filled with shouts and crying. Hoards of ugly children ran through it, taking over the tiny apartment. Anywhere without Tamayo was a desolate, dark place, but Tanjirou’s home especially so. Yushiro wouldn’t be able to handle it.

He preferred the quiet—it was warm and comfortable. There was nothing better than the evenings he and Tamayo spent together, reading a book or filling out forms. The only sounds were the rustling of paper, the scraping of a pencil, the soft purring of Chachamaru. Even without words, they understood each other, and sometimes he and Tamayo would exchange smiles, like they were sharing a private joke.

Yushiro flipped the lights on as he stepped into the kitchen. Tamayo’s hastily discarded apron lay messily on the table and he chuckled as he hung it back on its proper hook.

“You overslept this morning,” he murmured, staring at the flower patterns. He’d bought it as a gift years ago, and the fabric was now covered in soya sauce and oil stains.

Tamayo didn’t reply. She couldn’t, not until her shift finished, not until she was forced to take a break from the hospital.

He preferred the quiet, but not the emptiness. Stuck inside the house, he was alone more often than not, with Tamayo taking longer and longer hours as she tried to save just one more person. It was frightening. It was terrifying. The scars on her face only deepened as each day passed and he wondered how long it would be before they were permanent.

How long it would be before she stopped coming home.

A shiver ran through his spine at that last thought, and he hugged himself. Rubbing his arms, he tried to warm up, but the chill persisted. Yushiro wasn’t naïve; he’d watched the news. He’d heard the stories. Tamayo doused herself in sanitizers and soap and even then she made sure to stay a safe distance from him whenever they ate.

Even the memory of her hugs were fading now.

Something warm circled his feet and he looked down to find Chachamaru brushing her head against his ankles with a soft meow. “Finally bored of my laptop?” he asked, his voice cracking.

She meowed again, rubbing against him insistently. When he crouched, she jumped into his arms and nuzzled his neck. Her whiskers tickled his throat.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” he mumbled, pressing his face into her warm fur as he sat on the cold kitchen tiles. She purred in response. “Is that a yes?”

Chachamaru was a pain in the ass and would sit on his laptop tomorrow. She’d scratch him when he didn’t wake up in time for breakfast or nip at his ankles when she was annoyed at him.

But she was also a part of his family, however reluctant he was to admit that, and maybe it wasn’t all that bad to have someone other than Tamayo in his life. To have someone he could cry to and share his fears and not have to worry about adding to Tamayo’s already heavy shoulders.

“Can we stay like this? For a little while?” he asked.

Chachamaru licked his tears in response.

When he finally sat down for class, she stayed on his lap like a portable heater. It was hard to feel scared with her constant purring. Hard to feel alone with her weight on his thighs.

“Hey, Yushiro,” Tanjirou asked on Zoom, his hands clasped in front of him. “Could you help me?”

“Sure,” he replied charitably.

He didn’t mind the company for once.

[scariusaquarius]

en’ca minne 3

Geralt of Rivia & Child! Reader

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A/n: This is a prescheduled post. I am not online at the time of this posting. This story will continue to kick off right from where it left off in previous chapters. Comments are appreciated. Please do not put ‘please tag me’ in the comments. Send me an ask instead.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three (Here) | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight (Soon)

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Genre: Angst, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Horror

Rated: General

Warning: Canon-typical Violence, Abandonment, Suspense,  Blood, Gore, Blood and Gore, Graphic Depictions of Rotting Corpses/Animals, Child Abuse

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Author: dabisburntnut

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The man looking down at him and scoffed.

“He won’t be seeing to just anybody. What you need him for?”

Geralt replied, crossing his arms.

“I need to speak with him. His ears only.”

The guard scoffed before allowing Geralt through, and Geralt turned to (Y/n) and Roach. Guiding Roach in by the reigns, Geralt followed the guard into the courtyard before leaving Roach by some piles of hay, picking up (Y/n) and situating her on his hip. For a moment, the guard and Geralt stood outside of the door, listening to the Baron speak to a guest inside. When a Nilfgaardian stepped out, the baron’s guard gestured Geralt witch his head.

“Get on with it.”

Geralt nodded before walking inside, the Baron holding his arms up in greeting.

“Ah-ha, our defender of the downtrodden. Greetings.”

 Geralt nodded, replying.

“News gets around quick.”

 “That it does. When I learned you'd slaughtered my men, I thought to have you captured and hanged. Or at least flogged. But then I thought ‘one tough cocker if he bested that lot of cutthroats. Man like him could prove useful...’”

Geralt shook his head, looking at the baron.

“I’m not a thug for hire.”

“I know who you are. But since you come here having perpetrated that bloodbath, I assume you've something important to discuss…like who the wee lass is upon your hip.”

Geralt could feel the girl perk up, and he nodded.

“I do.”

“Very well. Then let's discuss it.”

Geralt replied, looking down at (Y/n).

“Got asked to look into a problem for a merchant. Turns out it was just to see if the job he hired some mercenaries for got done. She was the only survivor.  I found her in an abandoned shack in the forest surviving off the meat of the horse she escaped on.”

The Bloody Baron shook his head, letting out a quiet curse.

“The war has been hard on the people…and they have turned to any means they can to ensure that they will not suffer the wars repercussions.”

“Some people are just cruel to be cruel.”

The Baron nodded before offering.

“Why don’t you stay here for the night? She can get food and water…and a bath.”

Geralt looked down at (Y/n), who had her head resting on his shoulder, staying quiet, and he nodded before finally discussing Ciri with the Baron.

-TIMESKIP-

When Geralt had finished with the Baron, one of the guards had shown him to a room, and Geralt set (Y/n) down onto a chair. Silently, he stood in front of her, her big (e/c) eyes looking up at him.

“You won’t leave me like mommy and daddy did, will you?”

Geralt internally winced. The life of a witcher was not one fit for children…but who would take (Y/n) on? The war was sapping everything it could from the people who were already struggling to take care of themselves or their family. Where could she go?

Kaer Morhen was always an option, but he doubted Vesemir would enjoy having another ‘she-devil’ hanging around. Geralt shook his head.

“No, I won’t.”

The little girl looked down at her dirty hands, and Geralt sighed before unbuckling the straps of his swords and set them down beside the door. Stripping his armor off, he was left in his boots, black trousers, and a white shirt. Walking to the basin of water, Geralt carefully used igni to heat the water.

When the water was warm enough, Geralt grabbed some oils and scented the water before looking over at (Y/n). She was a quiet one, not saying much as she watched him curiously. However, just as he was about to call her over, she asked him softly.

“How’d you do that?”

“Heat the water?”

She nodded, and Geralt replied as he rolled up his sleeves.

“It’s a magic spell that Witchers can use. We call them signs.”

As Geralt helped the girl out of her stained and ruined clothes, he glared at the bruises lining her body and just how malnourished she looked. Her ribs were almost visible, and there was a nasty bruise on the side.

‘Maybe she fell off the horse…or was hit…but with what?’

“Can anybody use them?”

Setting her into the bath, (Y/n) sat down obediently as Geralt began to douse her in water, cupping the warm water and letting it shower down her back.

“No, only witchers can use these signs.”

(Y/n) then became quiet, and Geralt gently scrubbed her back, the water quickly turning murky as the accumulated dirt and grime began to wash away. For a moment, it was quiet, before the little girl said.

“I could hear them.”

“Who?”

She was quiet for a second.

“Mommy and Daddy. I could hear them crying while the bad men hurt them. They told me not to look while they made Bucky run away into the forest, but I did.”

Geralt sighed softly as he listened, hating the way she choked on her breath as she tried not to cry.

“Why did they do that? Why did they hurt mommy and daddy?”

“Some people are just evil. Don’t really know why.”

The young girl sniffled, and Geralt sighed deeply. Gently tilting her head back, Geralt picked up a cup and filled it with water before running it through her hair, using his other hand to crush up clumps of dirt and mud so it would be easier to wash her hair. 

When the mud was gone from her hair, Geralt grabbed a comb and began to gently brush her hair, detangling the strands and smoothing the locks out. The girl was quiet, sniffling softly to herself, and Geralt couldn’t help but sigh as he listened. 

Geralt wasn’t used to having to comfort people. He was more of the ‘avenge the loss’ and ‘negative mishaps are vital for growth’ type of guy…but even Geralt knew how terrible it was to lose a parent (though, his mother had only abandoned him, not killed before his very eyes, and Geralt’s father had been killed before he was born).

Ciri was easy to raise because of how old she had been and how independent she was. Ciri was more of a ‘do it now, do it on my own’ kind of child. In fact, Geralt was positive that there was never a moment where Ciri didn’t do something completely on her own without any help.

Well, except for now, of course.

When (Y/n)’s hair was all clean, her body spotless and the water practically mud, Geralt grabbed some linen to wrap around the girl to dry her off. She stayed quiet, her eyes downcast to the floor as he did so, and he pulled back to observe her. (Y/n) looked like a child again, skin squeaky clean and shining, hair flowing freely instead of clumped and matted with mud and grease.

There was a pile of children’s clothing on a dresser, a choice between two dresses, a nightgown, and a tunic, trousers, and some boots. Grabbing the nightgown, Geralt slipped it onto (Y/n), helping her with her undergarments before picking her up.

“There, all done.”

(Y/n) was quiet for a second before she mumbled softly.

“Thank you.”

Geralt replied, walking towards a spare bedroom, the smell of fresh food filtering through the door.

“Don’t mention it. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

[CHAPTER FOUR]

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