#perhaps somewhere deep down i might have a tiny crush

[kindahoping4forever]

Ash via IG

[dr-abitat-blog]

Day 11: "Why would you even say that?! (Truth Serum)

@ailesswhumptober

T/W: Captured, Interrogation, Truth serum, Pain, Ladywhump, referenced incarceration camps

"Any luck?"

I barely hear the gruff voice of Leader over the persistent ringing in my ears. Rough gravel digs into my cheeks painfully. The world lurches violently as I attempt to sit up, gasping in pain.

"Nothing so far. She's a tough nut to crack."

"Every nut has their weakness," he murmurs darkly. "Get her up."

I cough. Beads of red soak into my lips. The fresh gash from the metal studs in his glove stings in the open air. The blow was hard enough to send my glasses clean off my face. A sharp crack reveals their location — crushed underneath Leader’s heavy booted foot. As I attempt to pull myself back to my knees, hands rip at my hair.

"Up!"

I yelp as I'm roughly dragged upwards. My feet scuffle against the dusty ground, trying to twist my head around despite the cruel grip on my dark wavy strands. Everything around me is an indiscernible blur without my glasses. 

Nngh, I can barely see anything—

"You're still not willing to talk?" he asks, voice deep and husky, "Not one word?"

I give him his answer with a silent glare of defiance. The other guards flank me on either side, each locking my upper arms in a tight grip. Sturdy power-suppressing cuffs keep my wrists chained behind my back. Cuffs that I'm all too familiar with...

Keep quiet, Cass. You're not going to give them anything.

"...heh. Fine. If that's how you want to play. I reckon you'll be changing your mind in about...ten seconds."

Nothing you do could make me talk… I vow fiercely.

Still, I brace myself, both body and mind for whatever 'persuasion' he has to offer. The only way I can keep calm right now is to imagine written scenarios playing out in my head — all of which end in me kicking them where the sun won't shine. My vivid descriptions are soon cut short by another painfully sharp tug on my hair. 

"Open her mouth."

My heart flutters in dread.

“W-wait—no don't you d—aggh!”

I jerk my head insistently as the hands grab at my face. The ugly one on my left wrenches my jaw open, the second squeezing my cheeks firmly as Leader approaches me. I get a flash of his hand pulling something from his jacket — a tiny capped vial of colorless liquid. Silently, he steps over and unscrews the cap. "The less you struggle, the easier it will be."

"Nnngh!"

I attempt to growl at him, pulling and twisting my head as he starts to tip the contents of the bottle forcibly into my mouth. In a last ditch attempt to avoid it I work up a mouthful of saliva and spit at him. Perhaps that is what prompts them to immediately plug my nose. I choke frantically, struggling to breathe as they keep my nostrils tightly pinched shut.

"That's it. Down the hatch — swallow."

I fight it. I fight it with everything I have — but the instinctive demand for air is stronger. Eventually it goes down my throat. Every bit of his 'offering'. The other two step back, letting my body drop to the floor between them. The dirt stains my torn black jeans as I start to writhe on the ground, coughing. "Good. Now we might finally get somewhere."

Leader crouches down next to me, slowly lifting up my chin with his gloved hand. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? What is your name?"

"Nngh..."

I stare up at him with gritted teeth, flexing my fingers behind my back. I begin to respond with the most stupid name in existence because no way am I telling them my real—

"Cassandra."

Wh-what?!

"...Cassandra?"

"...C-Cassandra Reed...Ghadavri..." I continue, suddenly realising what I'm telling him.

B-but—no! No, I-I didn't mean to—Cass, what are you—w-why would you even say that?!

"Tell us, Cassandra, do you happen to go by any other names? Any...illegal aliases?"

I feel my eyes slowly widening. The words bubble up through my throat. I have a horrible feeling that it's to do with whatever stuff he just forced down it

No — fight it, FIGHT IT!

I try to. I honestly try to. I even resort to biting on my tongue but then — the pain hits.

"I-I— no—nngha!"

I choke, lurching forward. Electrifying spasms shoot across my body, burning my nerves. Fire radiates in my chest. My forehead pounds. I find myself uselessly writhing in a desperate effort to avoid the pain. My tongue bleeds as I harshly bite down on it, shuddering on the ground.

"The more you fight the truth, the more it will hurt," he declares callously, watching my whimpering form without mercy. "Definitely less messy than a traditional interrogation, wouldn't you say?"

"Hnnk! S-stop—nngh— K-Kin—et—ica...!"

The name is dragged from my lips with a small sob. "K-Kinetica...former...side...kick..."

The words are an effort to get out seamlessly through my gasps of pain, but it's enough to satisfy them.

"Sidekick? So you're a 'sigma'?"

"Nngh...y-yes..."

"And your powers? What are they?"

I cough, shivering from the prickles raging all over my skin like little needles. 

"I-I...t-tele...kinesis..."

My captors murmur together quietly in response. I barely catch what they're saying. Not until Leader reaches out to pat my head. 

"I see — and what were you doing out here on your own?”

He suddenly yanks on my hair with a growl. “Spying on us for them, were you?"

"Gnngh...them? Who—"

"Who else could I possibly mean?" he snaps impatiently. "The Pheno Group —  the Government — well, were you?!"

I blink at them tearily, shaking my head desperately. 

"N-no...I-I don't...work for them. W-we were just...trying to find shelter from—"

“‘We’?”

A guilty sob escapes me.

N-no—

"Who else was with you? Give us their names."

When I don't answer immediately, he uncorks the vial again, bringing it to my lips. "Alright. Looks like you need another dose already."

“N-no!” 

I cry out in panic, trying to shuffle away, but they pin me in place long enough for him to pour the rest of the liquid down my throat. I gag on it pathetically, coughing and spluttering until the waves of  agony return. It's enough to knock me onto my side, curling my legs into my stomach to protect myself. My strained shrieks of pain soon morph into helpless sobs as nothing takes the torturous sensations away. Nothing...except the truth.

"Nngh—E-Ec—lipse—" I grind out, tears spilling down my cut cheeks, "B-Bore—alis...P-Phoe—nix—nngha..."

One of them scribbles the names down frantically as I squeeze my eyes closed. "W-we're all...trying to fight them. Th-they took our friends...we had no choice but to…t-to run or we'd...p-please...don't hurt them..."

Another wavering cry of pain. Leader's expression is difficult to read.

"So...you're fugitives then? And they're after you?"

I merely nod my head in response, unable to meet his gaze. Silence falls between us. After a few moments, he speaks up again. "...good girl."

He folds his arms across his chest. "Thanks for being so honest, Cassandra. No further questions for now. Just keep telling us the truth and that serum won't come back to bite you. Easy, right?"

"Gnngh..."

Forcing my eyes open, I stare at their blurry forms, ignoring the tears trailing down my face. "S-so...what now? Y-you call the Dog Catchers to take us to the camps?"

"No. Not planning on it."

Even in my current state, his answer takes me aback.

Wh-what did he just—

"They'd just come and arrest us all anyway, so no. You won’t be going to the camps yet. Instead, you’ll be staying right here whilst we go and round up your little friends — all we gotta do is plug their names into the database and we'll find them soon enough."

I grit my teeth weakly. I try to drag myself up again, but my body just flops against the ground uselessly. All I can manage is a helpless shake of my head. 

"D-don't hurt them..."

"That entirely depends on how cooperative you all are. On our turf, you play by our rules. If you don't — things get messy."

He turns on his heel. "Keep the cuffs on her, just in case. I'll go and inform Mother. She'll want to know about our latest catches."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Rest up, Cassandra."

Nodding gruffly, he sweeps out of the tented area, glancing over his shoulder at my sprawled shaking form in the dirt. "Welcome to Tartarus."

[dagger-n-ravvi]

Chapter Eight: The Dorm of Tenacity

Epel wakes up, unable to move. Rook ensures that he is comfortable, but seems to be choosing the lesser of two evils.

No warnings in this one.

Previous | Next Chapter | Fic Index

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55557751?view_full_work=true

Epel wakes slowly. He’s lying on something soft that smells strongly of lilac and vanilla. His elbow is throbbing, and his body feels as heavy as lead.

He still can’t move.

He swallows awkwardly around a dry throat, and opens his eyes. What happened? He jumped out the window and then…? Did he pass out?

He did. He fainted. Like a weak, sissy…

"...he won't be harmed."

"You are so confident to guarantee this after what just happened?"

Epel sniffs hard, chin trembling as he only just holds back the tears. Vil and Rook are speaking in hushed tones from somewhere nearby. He closes his eyes again to listen.

“…you, of all people, would be on my side."

"Then this is perhaps the reason why you are never cast as a hero."

Vil goes perfectly silent. There’s a very long pause, and then Rook finally says: "He is awake and listening to us."

Epel opens his eyes again and quickly glances around the room with just his eyes. He's lying on his back in an unfamiliar bed with a satin sheet tucked neatly over his bare chest. Through the door, he can see the window he tried to jump through, or at least what he thinks is the same window. The glass isn’t broken, but the hairbrush that he used to clear out the window frame is still sitting nearby. He can see fresh gouges in the fancy wood.

A moment later, Rook walks into the room and sits down beside him on the bed. He reaches out and gently brushes his hair back from his face with an unreadable expression. Epel stares up at him, trembling and chest burning like hot water is being poured slowly over his heart. Please… he’s just so confused and scared, and small…

His eyes start stinging again and he holds his breath, trying to force the tears to stay inside.

"You have a mistake to fix," Rook says flatly. Epel flinches, then tentatively relaxes when Rook tucks the sheet back off his arm and lightly touches the elbow that he used to break the window. It's been bandaged, but the white gauze is already spotting through with blood where the glass cut him.

"Are you going to help me?" Vil asks from the doorway.

"If you want my assistance, you will not ask me that question again."

There’s a moment of silence, and then Vil’s high-heeled footsteps leave the room. Rook stares at the place where he was standing for a moment with an eerily blank expression, then turns back toward Epel with a small, sad smile.

"Vil has cursed you. He intended for you to be fully paralysed, but he was... overzealous in shaping the magic to ensure that you could remain so still without injury. You will need to be helped. Are you hungry?"

"I…? Yes. Um… Rook? Wh... what's happening?" Epel asks in a tiny voice.

"I cannot say." Rook folds the top of the sheet back off of Epel's chest, stacks a few of the pillows up, and then carefully props him up in a sitting position. "What can I bring you to eat?"

"... Barbeque." Epel pleads quietly. "Like... a pulled pork sandwich?”

“Barbecue?” Rook looks a little surprised, but then quickly nods with a broad smile. "Oui. I'll be back momentarily."

He walks out of the room, leaving him all alone on the bed. Epel looks down at himself, then lets his head relax against the headboard and takes a deep breath. His wrists are free, for what that's worth. When he strains, he’s able to flex his fingers, and squirm just a little against the slippery satin. Encouraged, he tries to move his legs...

And something pulls tight around his ankles. He strains his neck muscles just enough to look down, and immediately sees two lumps under the sheet over his ankles. Some kind of padded cuffs to keep him strapped to the bed? He slumps back against the pillows, suddenly feeling crushed. These stupid, cushy restraints might as well be locks and chains for all he that can do anything about it...

A small, ragged sob pushes itself up through his chest, and his nose immediately stuffs up like he has a bad cold. He’s trapped. He’s a farm boy from the sticks in a highfalutin school for rich kids learning magic, and he cain’t even kick his way off a bed. He doesn’t belong here. He definitely doesn’t belong in Savannaclaw, not when he’s stuck just sitting here like a porcelain doll , naked and helpless, and weak…

Tears start to pour down Epel’s cheeks and he sobs again, feeling worse and worse as he tries to cover up his face and just can’t. He can’t do anything at all, so he just sits there and just cries, taking slow, shuddering breaths through his mouth because his nose is too stopped up now to breathe through.

It’s a long, quiet, and deeply miserable moment. No one comes to help him. Vil's unfamiliar room offers no answers, and no comfort to his shattered sense of identity. 

Finally, the door opens again. It's difficult to look anywhere but directly ahead, so he only sees Rook coming back in the room out of the corner of his eye with a covered plate in one hand.

"Oh..." Rook gently sets the plate on the side-table, pulls out a handkerchief, and begins to wipe the tears and snot off of his face. "This is a hard, unfair thing that's been forced on you."

"I d-hhh… don't... understa-hhh- and..." Epel's voice cracks into a sob. "I don't know why... why am I here? Am I being punished?!”

"Non, non, non. Not punished." Rook pulls him in close, cradling his head and shoulders in a sideways hug. 

“B-but…” Epel’s voice dissolves into sobs again, and he shudders against Rook, feeling so helpless that it hurts.

"Shhhh… Keep your strength, Monsieur Pommette. You were not targeted because you are weak. You more than proved that by flying out the window as an oisillon, beauté in your determination and tenacity. You need only trust that Vil is not doing this for no reason, and be strong."

Epel shudders, slowly calming his breathing back down. It still hurts and he still doesn’t understand. But Rook… Rook says that he’s strong. He’s strong even though he’s crying, and determined and tenacious... 

He doesn’t know much about Rook other than he broke his nose, and he literally took it as a friendly gesture. He’s eccentric as all hell, but he’s ain’t a creep. It couldn't be more plain that he’s real mad at Vil for doing this, and even if he ain’t fully on Epel’s side, he doesn’t want to hurt him.

"So... B’Bil ain’t... he’s d’ot doing d’is... ‘cause he hates b’e?" Epel asks in a tiny, stuffy voice.

"Vil does not hate you." Rook's voice is a little hollow, but when he pulls back, his expression is full of genuine empathy. "Enough of that for now. Here."

He picks up the plate, and takes off the cover. It’s covered with pulled pork in barbecue sauce, and bite-sized pieces of bread. Even through a stuffed-up nose, it smells wonderful. Far more satisfying than the awkward dinner from last night.

"Okay..." Epel slumps back, feeling tired and empty. If this isn't being done to him outta hate... then why? Vil doesn’t seem like he wants to do this, and neither does Rook, so why? Why wouldn't they just stop?

Rook scoops up a bite-sized bit of bread and pork with a spoon, then offers it to him. He reflexively cringes back, not wanting to get fed like a baby. But when his arm refuses to pick up the spoon for himself, he reluctantly opens his mouth and lets Rook put it inside. The spices ain’t quite right. The sauce wasn't sweetened with apple juice, like it would have been in Harveston. The bread is a toasted baguette, instead of home-made whole wheat. But it's as close as Rook could probably get in this moment, and still a touch of home. He devours everything, making Rook chuckle fondly.

"You are a delightfully bottomless pit, Monsieur Pommette. I brought these as well."

He holds up a little handful of pale green macarons. “Do you like confections?”

"Yeah," Epel says, staring at the macrons hungrily. "Um... Rook? I know… Vil said Pomefiore is about the Fairest Queen and her tenacity, but... what is the dorm like? This place seems like it’s all just about appearances?"

"Appearances~?" Rook asks teasingly as he breaks the macrons into bite-sized pieces. "It is not the Fairest Queen's appearance that we so revere, but her tenacity. Is this a word that you are familiar with, tenacity?"

"Not really... I mean... I thought it was just another word for like... you keep going no matter what. Like persistence." Epel opens his mouth and lets Rook put a bit of macron inside. He’s been thinking, and maybe the real problem is Savannaclaw’s value is so similar to Pomefiore’s that the Dark mirror just got confused…

"Persistence is similar, but that is the trait for Savannaclaw," Rook explains gently. "Tenacity refers to the ability to hold on. Where persistence would allow you to try again and again in spite of failure, tenacity implies a sort of permanence. You need not try again, because you cannot be knocked aside. Does this make sense?" 

Epel chews the piece of macaron, surprised to find that it tastes like tart, green apple. He swallows and frowns at Rook’s explanation.

"I guess… but I was more curious what the dorm is actually like. Because in Savanaclaw, a lot of them do sports and stuff. Ignihyde is all technology and future stuff, and I Heartslabyul has a whole lot of rules?"  

"Ah, yes. Pomefiore is deeply interested in the pursuit of beauty, and implied in that, perfection. It is, in essence, the study of that deepest desire of all who live. To find, emulate, and preserve that which we find most beautiful. And what could be more tenacious, more difficult to ignore and cast aside, than true beauty?"

He smiles and offers him another piece of macaron. Epel takes it with a confused frown, unsure what to make of all that flowery language.

"Fashion, film, and photography are the three most common pursuits of Pomfiore students," Rook admits as he chews and swallows. "However, the fourth most common is medicine. Potions and pharmaceuticals preserve and restore health, which in itself is a beautiful thing."  

“So doctors?! And potions to cure diseases and such?” Epel blinks in surprise. These fancy, sissy kids are learning how to do something as hard and useful as doctoring?

"Oui, potions especially. And you? What is your passion and hope in attending Night Raven College?" Rook asks.

“Me? Uh… I wanted to be in sports, and play Spelldrive. And learn magic to help my family back home. We’re not poor or nothing, but apple farming’s hard, and without tourists we just cain’t sell enough to make ends meet. I wanna do my family proud by keeping the orchards alive, so I thought business ‘n agriculture maybe? But they also told me that I gotta find my own path, and I really like Spelldrive. Been flying since I was five, ‘n I’m real good at it.”

Rook nods along with a little smile. He opens his mouth as though he’s about to say something…

“Was it entirely necessary to feed him the messiest dish that the school has to offer?” Vil growls from the doorway.

Epel stammers into silence, staring over at Vil with sudden anxiety. Rook’s expression vanishes, and he silently wipes Epel’s face clean, drops the napkin onto the plate, and stands with it. His movements are not outwardly sharp, but he’s so quiet that Epel can tell he’s spittin’ mad.

“Rook…” Vil finally turns toward him, one hand outstretched pleadingly as he silently walks past him and heads through the door.

‘Click.’

The door quietly shuts behind him. Vil stays staring at the place where he disappeared for a long moment, then finally turns back to Epel with a long, slow sigh.

[fallinfl0wers]

love stories with some genshin boys i thought of while listening to my playlists

includes: aether (210 words), xiao (261 words), scaramouche (277 words) and albedo (307)

warnings (?): spoilers of ‘we will be reunited’, english is not my native language and uhh idk what else, idk really know what these are, headcanons ?? snippets ?? also not beta read and not edited.

it’s long so uhhh i’ll add a cut somewhere

anyway enjoy!! ...whatever this is i guess

Aether

Falling in love with Aether is like a fun adventure. He, being always the center of attention and the protagonist no matter where he goes, is a free spirited, kind and hardworking man. 

Throughout your time travelling and being in a relationship together, you’ll find that your relationship with the Honorary Knight is one of sweet kisses under the sunlight; innocent handholding while thinking up of what to make for dinner tonight; of easily talked out arguments and finding ways to compromise; of softly pushing each other to become a better version of themselves and, most of all, of supporting and having each other’s backs no matter what.

And when Aether confronts the Abyss Princess face to face for the first time and his world comes crashing down on him, this trait of your relationship shines like no other, as you hold him in your arms after everything was over during the night, Paimon sleeping soundly next to the both of you inside your improvised campsite.

“Even though I’m not sure what -or who- I should believe anymore, I... I know I want to see this journey to the end, and I want you to be there with me for it. Let’s be together until the last moment and beyond.”

Songs:

Snow Fairy - Funkist

Snowing, be honest with yourself and smile When two people are getting closer, time overlaps Fairy, where are you going I will gather all the light and shine it on your tomorrow

Still Lonely - SEVENTEEN

This cursed popularity. Why won’t it leave me? But why am I getting lonelier The early morning chill makes me feel Even lonelier today I feel completely empty, as if I’m empty

Kanpeki Gu~ no ne - Watarirouka Hashiritai

I'm at a loss for words, with this and that, I'm totally in love with you Someday, I want do the same to you: Watch you flounder, At a loss for words right back to me!

Side by Side - The8 from SEVENTEEN

I want to hold hands with you but I don't know what to do what to do oh baby I want to give all my heart to you but You still don't know what's in my heart

Hope - Namie Amuro

At the end of this blue, wide world there's a place I want to aim at with you We chose this long ago for eternity

Xiao

Falling in love with Xiao is like living a bittersweet dream. The Vigilant Yaksha is far from human, or so he says, and thus is out of touch with the way we mortals experience feelings, both the negative and positive ones.

Your relationship with him is one of compassion, mutual understanding, appreciation and patience. So, so much patience. Of intertwined pinkies and soft stolen glances, of shy smiles and comfortable silence sometimes filled with your voice chatting time away and his short responses to your talks.

I mentioned patience. He knows you’re making an enormous effort to try and understand him and be patient with him and his slow learning process of how relationships work, so it’s only fair that he makes a true effort to understand you and your feelings.

Xiao is well aware that he could hurt you without wanting to, be it with his blunt phrasing of his thoughts or his Karmic Debt, as much as he is aware that you will eventually pass away and leave him behind to go somewhere he can’t follow, and that undeniable truth haunts him every second of every day he gets to spend with you. And still, he wishes and wants and does cherish each and every warm, kind feeling he gets every single second you’re together nonetheless.

“I might not know what to make of these new feelings you gave me. But I’ll learn. I promise I’ll learn, so please... don’t go, not yet. Let me treasure you and carve you into my memory for as long as I can.”

Songs:

Euphoria - BTS

I don't know what this emotion is Perhaps this is also the inside of a dream A dream is the blue mirage of the desert Deep inside of me, a priori I become happy to the point of being unable to breathe The surroundings, bit by bit, become clearer

Fallin’ Flower - SEVENTEEN

While flower blooms and falls, scars cure and buds shoot We are living our first and last moment So I won’t take you for granted Because you loved me as I am

Fear - SEVENTEEN

Get out my mind I can't handle it, I'm afraid of myself The truth has me tied up My heart is tainted I'm afraid it'll eventually change you too

The Truth Untold - BTS, Steve Aoki

It’s my fate Don’t smile to me Light on me Because I can’t get closer to you There’s no name you can call me

You know that I can’t Show you me Give you me I can’t show you a ruined part of myself Once again I put a mask on and go to see you But I still want you

Tiny Light - Akari Kitō

Because you colored my unchanging monochromatic days Even the blurred darkness gained meaning

Still, hidden in this heart, these feelings of preciousness so strong that they hurt I just want to convey these feelings to only you before they disappear someday

Scaramouche

Falling in love with Scaramouche is like constantly playing a game. He’s strict, demanding, disagreeable, and widely disliked by enemies and allies alike. Still, he has a heart too; and he holds desires and hopes deep inside of it, although most of them are fueled by the unchanging curiosity he has towards the world around him, curiosity to know what he can get out of whatever the world wants to throw at him.

You were no exception to that rule, at first.

When he met you he wanted to get something from you. And you knew it from the start, just as he knew that you knew. And that didn’t change anything, at first.

Your relationship with him is one of dangerously playful, yet still light-hearted games of seduction, teasing and deceit; of secret kisses exchanged in expensive private rooms in restaurants or the cozy warmth of your home, of an unspoken shared respect and, most of all, complete, mutual devotion.

You know Scaramouche is not a good man. He has done many, many unspeakable things in his life as one of the Eleven, and he knows he’s far from being the perfect charming prince you could aim for, but he will never let you go. Because behind those hardened walls of egocentrism and pride, you saw what no one else bothered to see. You saw him, not the role he was playing, you saw him and fell in love with him.

“To be honest, I don’t think I could find anyone else who understands me as much as you do. And no, I’m not saying this because I want something, give me some more credit, geez...”

Songs:

soldier game -  µ’s

You'll come with me, yes? You've grown curious about my touch, yes? Then it's already love Since you're someone I must meet in battle someday, That might just be your reason It's soldier game Though we've met again, I'm soldier heart

Kowareyasuki - Guilty Kiss

Just stop it already and show your heart only to me I love your eyes that are about to cry And your defenseless, clumsy way of living too (...) The hesitation you convey makes my chest hurt Some people just don't know what such kindness is But then I discover the truth When we got together, you don't have to endure anymore Right now, show your grief only to me I like that you think too much The complete opposite of me

Shhh - SEVENTEEN

Don't think of all these as your mere illusion They're not lies that follow the moment No one can underestimate it, my feelings are an ignition 'Cause I'm always the same Me and you, we got hurt by the lies that we won't ever work But it's fate

(...)

So I can cover you from danger A consented dedication

(...)

It's as natural as breathing An everlasting dedication

Good to me - SEVENTEEN

Yeah, when you were making that sign in my heart It was a long time since my firewall broke down Pass with the password What in the world do you know about me? Are my deep feelings seen by you?

Hiraishin - Keyakizaka46

(To trust is to be betrayed, to open one’s heart is to get hurt So to avoid being struck by lightning-like sorrow…)

Which side am I picking? Ah, these values are hard to handle That’s why I won’t stop watching over you Positive positive positive You should just be yourself… I can forgive whatever absurdities you pull off I’ll support you without being noticed Even when you get nitpicked I’ll be your companion Let us now promise to live an unremarkable life hereafter What we have here is the lightning rod of love

Albedo

Falling in love with Albedo is a fairy tale-like experience for both of you. His attention had always been focused on his research, everything else fading into the background save for a few exceptions, until you came around. You, who stole all his attention by just existing. 

As an alchemist, he’s naturally the curious type. He wanted to know what about it had caught his attention, what was so special about you that had him clinging to your every word and movement every time you interacted with him. Still, human relationships are hard for him, and he figured you might go away the second he started to feel burnt out from your interactions. But you didn’t. Instead, you stayed. You stayed and took interest on what he did, asked questions, gave your insight, and dragged him to sleep when he needed a break. In exchange, he did the same for you.

Your relationship with Albedo is like one of those awkwardly sweet first time crushes. Of carefully calculated movements, dates and compliments, of soft kisses on lips, hands and cheeks, of mutual support, understanding and mature compromising and commitment.

The Kreideprinz, like everyone else, has his own fears and insecurities, especially regarding his... nature, but he does his best not to let them affect the relationship he has with you. Each moment spent by your side, even when he’s not actively doing any research, is considered perfectly spent, meaningful time.

“A long time ago, I was tasked with finding out the meaning of this world. Though I have directed my efforts and resources to looking for the answer through alchemy, ever since we met I... think, I’ve found an unexpected conclusion to said issue. While it’s likely that this is not the answer expected from me, I’m positive that, at least personally, I finally have the answer.”

Songs:

Futari Saison - Keyakizaka46

In the wind blowing through the city’s streets, even though I caught whiff of something’s scent, I had no interest in looking back

In a 1m radius around me, I formed an invisible barrier to another world And yet, you took someone like me out of it

What made you do that?

Home - SEVENTEEN

What can I do? Without you I’m just an old robot, my heart stops and it’s always cold What can we do? Without me You’ll struggle just as much, so what can we do?

Baby, I want to cherish our warmth So no one can come between us

Flower - SEVENTEEN

You taught me, you showed me You’re my only reason If you can forever remember me I can get hurt, I can get hurt

My heart that’s engraved with your light Makes me stronger Give me your sharp thorns Cause you’re my flower

Oh my! - SEVENTEEN

Sorry for repeating the same thing But this is all I can try using hard words But my true feeling is this, every everything

(...)

How about you? Is it hard for you to sleep because of me too? If you keep making my heart flutter What do I do?

Naze koi wo shite konakattan darou? - Sakurazaka46

Why hadn't I fallen in love? I've been making fun of it all this time I mean everyone keeps saying 'I love you' just like cats in heat But after falling in love I realized what people live for To meet, to love, to the point of nothing but... I'm not myself, I want to find my true self.

[chockfullofsecrets]

"If I'm not careful I'm gonna end up writing content for a character who literally never appears in 141 episodes"

I mean, you are more than welcome to. In fact, we will gratefully encourage this.

you encourage chock? you encourage chock like the author? oh! oh! tk fic for anon! tk fic for anon for Two Thousand Words!

(also, heads up that i am moving next week! have been working on Importance of Timing when i can, but the first chapter probably won't be here for another two weeks at least.)

---

Verin Thelyss, Essek knows, is a seasoned battle commander and strategist.

He’s also in possession of the instinct to tackle people when he’s excited, so Essek is well aware that it’s only those decades of training and experience that have his little brother pausing for the briefest instant as Caleb and Jester teleport him into the hold of the Nein Heroez before he launches himself at Essek in a dead run.

Veth and Caduceus are at their respective homes, Kingsley watching over the ship, but he is far from alone - Yasha and Fjord each have a supportive hand on his shoulder, a silent assurance from the tense minutes waiting for their friends to return from Bazzoxan. They swear in unison and scramble for their weapons as Verin screeches to a halt just shy of shunting Essek straight though the hull and yanks him into a rib-crushing hug.

He burrows into the junction of Essek’s neck and shoulder, made possible only by virtue of the activated floating spell that puts the coiffed swoop of his hair a full inch above Verin’s. “Thank the fucking Light, you’re not actually dead.”

“What the fuck, he’s like a swearing puppy,” Beau hisses. There’s a soft thwap as Fjord gently smacks her across the back of the head.

Essek is feeling out the edges of friendly intimacy, still, stumbling through every brush of fingers and shared look of exasperation, but even he does not need Jester’s frantic gesturing to prompt him to lift his arms and awkwardly wrap them around Verin’s shoulders.

It’s like wrapping a single thread of silk around one of Yasha’s biceps. Clearly he is not built for comforting.

Verin stiffens with a single sharp twitch of his ear against Essek’s collarbone . Essek’s thoughts flail wildly between an expectation of tears or a dagger to his ribs, but his brother just laughs, loud and hearty, and snuggles even further into his personal space. “I see someone’s finally taught you how to hug back - you should have written and told me, this is better news than any number of pages on den politics.”

Essek bristles. “Careful, or I will stop,” he huffs, somewhat more waspishly than he intends to.

Luckily, Verin has proven immune to his moods. “Oh, please don’t,” he insists, voice still crackling with glee. He grins, warm and wide enough that Essek can feel it against the side of his neck. “It just makes doing this that much easier.”

“Doing what,” Essek says reflexively, even as the tiny portion of his brain that he allows to remember his childhood starts to blare an alarm. “Verin-”

It’s far too late to realize that Verin’s hands have somehow been maliciously positioned just along the backs of his ribs.

Jester, standing with Caleb behind Verin, perks up in clear interest as the corners of his mouth start to twitch up. On second thought, Essek thinks he’d have preferred the dagger.

“Verin,” he hisses again, fighting back the anticipatory shiver crawling up his back. “Don’t - don’t you dare-”

It’s about then that Verin’s evil, evil fingers find the edges of his mantle’s arm slits and squeeze him even closer as they stretch to wriggle under his arms.

He snatches his arms back, but it’s too late - a dismayed giggle sneaks from his throat, then another, and then he’s beating helplessly at Verin’s shoulders as he dissolves into high, squeaking laughter.

Every single nerve between his armpits and his ribs squirms in unison - a bubbly, slippery sensation even more potent for how long it’s been since he last felt it. “No,” he shrieks. “I - ahaha! eeheee! - no tickling, no tickling, Verin-”

Jester looks thrilled - she’s bouncing on her toes, babbling something to Caleb that’s inaudible over the rush of his own laughter. Light, the Nein are going to tear him apart for this-

“Yes, tickling,” Verin protests, laughing right along with him. “All the tickling! You let me think you were dead! For months! I thought I was never going to get to watch my poor brother giggle himself to pieces ever again!”

He’s not, because Essek is going to kill him. “That - nahaha, hff, ahaaa! - that was - ha - it’s been decades - stop, stop, there’s people!”

“Yeah, people,” Beau says, loud and smug and far too close behind him. “Hey - Verin, was it? - does hotboi here have a worst spot?”

Oh no. Oh no. Essek squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to focus and does the only thing he can while laughing like an idiot.

With a shaky flick of his wrist, his floating dispels. Verin yelps in surprise as gravity takes Essek straight out of his grip.

The instant his boots hit the deck, Essek twists the rest of the way out of his grip and bolts.

There’s nowhere to go, really - the Nein have a room full of Counterspells, and Verin can run faster than he can, and he’s already tumbling halfway back into laughter in giddy anticipation of being caught. Still, it’s a surprise when he stumbles into a brick wall of leather and biceps that resolves itself into Yasha as she hoists him back into the air.

“Oh, where do you think you’re going?” She sounds admirably innocent given the soft, teasing smile she gives him.

“Noooo,” Essek giggles. Heat gathers in his cheeks as he tries to make himself stop - it doesn’t make sense, he’s not even being tickled anymore, but even the potential for it flutters light and fizzy at the bottom of his lungs. “I - I’m not ticklish anymore, I’m not-”

The Nein and Verin cluster around the two of them, bubbling with various levels of amusement. “Really?” Beau drawls. “It’s cute that you think denying it has a single fucking chance of working.”

The sarcasm helps him center himself, if only a little - he buries his face in Yasha’s arm and sucks in a deep breath that doesn’t do nearly enough to get rid of his blush.

He straightens as best he can while being bear hugged by a barbarian. “I am denying nothing,” he says carefully. Jester is still bouncing next to Beau, fingertips already twitching where they’re curled sweetly on her cheeks around a mischievous beaming smile, and Essek has to look away before the nervous snickers still wobbling on the back of his tongue can worm their way free. “I am well aware that Verin is - incorrigible-”

He hisses the last word in his brother’s direction - again, harsher than he intends, but he is so unused to being soft around him - and fails to contain a shy smile as Verin sticks his tongue out in retaliation.

Jester’s tail waves its way into the edge of his peripheral vision. He jumps and looks over at Fjord instead. “-but I, ah, I would ask for more respect from the rest of you-”

“You really shouldn’t,” Fjord says, grinning boyishly back at him. “I mean, you know us.”

And then, to Fjord’s right - “Essek?”

He’s been avoiding looking at Caleb. It is foolish, perhaps, to think that after all of the incredibly stupid things he knows Essek has done he will decide to judge him for this, but he cannot help the way his shoulders stiffen as he twists a little further to meet the gaze of the last link in their semicircle. “Yes?”

Caleb looks - focused, in an offhanded way, like he’s intent on something happening just slightly out of their current reality. Stunned might be a better word for it. He blinks for a moment before focusing those keen blue eyes somewhere near Essek’s eyebrows. “Ah - did you know that when you laugh, your ears -” He puts his hands up to his own ears and flaps them a little.

Drow do not run particularly warm, but that only makes it easier for Essek to feel the heat absolutely flood back into his face. “I-” he stammers. Nearly a century of politics is nowhere near enough to help him keep a straight face. “I - ah - eeh!-”

Caleb is close enough to reach out and run a questing fingertip over Essek’s left ear - it flicks wildly, trying to dislodge the unexpected tickle, but a surprised squeak still slips out.

There’s a moment of silence before Verin starts to snicker. “Oh, I like your friends,” he says merrily, beaming. “Go on, Light knows he doesn’t let himself laugh enough otherwise.”

“Don’t,” Essek gets out hastily, but Caleb is already reaching out for another go and Yasha’s grip is firm enough that all he can do is squeak again. “Wait - hm, hnn!”

Beau sidles up to Yasha’s side and gives him a self satisfied leer as she reaches out across their little group to pluck the feather from Fjord’s tricorn. “You got him, babe?”

“I do,” Yasha confirms and lets out a little squeak of her own as Beau reaches around her, no doubt squeezing something entirely inappropriate with company present.

“Hot,” Beau smirks, and reaches to flutter the feather over Essek’s right ear. “Aw, does that tickle? Thought you said you weren’t ticklish, man.”

Essek maintains some facsimile of composure for all of two seconds before his face crumples “Nnn - hehehe - eheehe - oh!”

His lungs are surely going to burst, with the way they’re shivering out desperate giggles as he shakes his head frantically between Caleb’s fingers and the teasing feather. He can’t move his arms, so he kicks his legs instead. “Please,” he begs, nearly incomprehensible even to his own ears. “Ah - aha, heeheehee! - tickles-”

Verin leans down and scoops his ankles up with one ridiculously sculpted arm. “Essek, you’re going to put a hole in someone with those boots.”

He looks up, raising his eyebrows teasingly, and Essek’s stomach drops like he’s cast something on it. “Here, I’ll fix that.”

Essek’s eyes, narrowed with laughter, shoot wide open. He doesn’t remember Verin being this evil - but then again, his brother’s never been egged on by five other people determined to render reports of his death more realistic.

“Verin, Verin, no-” he tries, but he’s giggling so hard that he can’t even get the words out. He twists as far away from Caleb and Beau as he can, flailing frantically, but Verin’s grip holds firm.

He pouts dramatically. “What? Is it my fault that my tiny, ticklish wizard brother insists on wearing metal-tipped boots that endanger everyone?”

Essek opens his mouth to reply and promptly dissolves into another frantic peal of laughter as Beau gets bored of his ears and shoves her feather in Caleb’s direction before jabbing a finger between his trapped arm and his chest to get at his armpit. “Your - shihihit, shit, ahahaaa, not there! - your arcanist brother is going to kill you just as soon as I can- hahaha!”

Verin just laughs, unlacing one of his boots and starting to slide it off. “Is that your attempt to convince me not to tickle your feet?”

Jester, practically vibrating, emits a sound that perhaps only weasels can hear. “Oh, that’s so cute! Can I have one of them?”

“One of his feet? Sure.” Verin hands over an ankle, grinning down at Jester. “You, I think you’re my favorite.”

As Essek gasps and struggles and falls further and further into a formless mirth that makes him feel so light he can hardly bear it, there’s a different sensation at his ear. A hazy portion of his brain identifies it as the rough bristle of chin scruff and an amused huff of breath.

“You don’t really want them to stop, do you,” Caleb murmurs. “I will help you, if you do.”

It’s quite unfair, Essek feels, to try and make him explain himself while he’s strung out and dizzy with laughter. He tries anyway, for a syllable or two, but Verin digs in between two of his toes and he ends up just tipping his cheek against Caleb’s and shaking, laughing too hard to make a single sound.

“Alright, then,” Caleb says. “In that case-”

He brandishes the feather with a flourish more suited to somatic casting, swooping it down the length of Essek’s nose before directing it back to his ear.

“Tickle, tickle...”

[softcallofdutyimagines]

Stay | Russell Adler x fem!bell!Reader

Summary: Despite having developed deep feelings for you after all this time working together, Adler takes you to antarctica like he was told. The only issue is... Things aren't as they seem when he finally confronts you.

Aka, sorry Treyarch, but this time the thotlers win.

SKSKSKS I ONLY MADE THAT POST TO TEST THE WATER, SO THANK YOU @smokeywhalee FOR ASKING FOR THE FIC. I ACTUALLY WROTE THIS WHOLE ASS THING LAST NIGHT SO COME GET THIS FLUFFY ASS BREAD Y'ALL AND ENJOY

Tags: fluff, angst, and angst with a happy ending

Warnings: some strong language and you might need a tissue box bc I sure did 😭😭

"Nothing like arctic air, eh?"

Russell Alder stands just a few feet away, hands resting squarely on his hips, looking out over the cliffs.

"Sure", you smile tiredly, a little sleepy from the long flight, as you walk up beside him. Without needing permission, you slip your pinky around his as he loosens his grip to allow you to do so.

Adler takes a glance down at your intertwined hands. He can't keep you in the dark for long. But still, he's afraid to tell you...

You move to lean your head on his shoulder, only to be left alone as he wrenches himself away.

"Listen Bell, there's... There's something I need to tell you", he refuses himself a glance at you. It would hurt him too much. You make an inquisitive noise and a long silence passes.

Perhaps it would be best just to get the hard part over. He was never one for beating around the bush anyway. "They sent me out here to kill you, Bell"

His voice is hardly audible, a clever trick to disguise the hurt in his voice. He grits his teeth, wondering if you really needed to know that, but then he remembers... He's done lying to you. You deserve to know.

Adler braces himself for the backlash, perhaps even a bullet in the back. Instead, he's met with a whisper.

"I know"

Your voice is only audible thanks to the bitter wind helping it along to his ear, leaving a ghostly caress as it passes him by. Russell turns around this time, almost disappointed to see your back still turned to him.

"How d-?"

You turn slowly, and even from there he can see the tear rolling down your face, "Why else would we be out here?", you gesture around to the great nothingness enveloping you both. You sniff and swipe a hand across you cheek, a joyless laugh escaping you, "Besides, you never take me anywhere nice"

In any other scenario, it would be playful and teasing, just like he knows you for.

Adler huffs a half hearted laugh at that, before tearing his gaze away. "Bell, I..."

"Oh, cut the shit Russell. Just do it, alright?", the tears flow freely down your glassy eyes now, "I know you have to... Really, I get it. A-and it's alright, you know? I-"

By now, Adler has made his way across to you. Even now, he hates to see you so upset. He gently grips your arms in his strong, steady hands, hoping against hope to give you some sense of ease. He needs to finish what he has to say.

"Bell..."

He then tries to say your name, but you won't allow it.

"Just shut up, alright? God, I hate you! I h-hate you..."

You struggle in his grip, beating weakly against his chest as your body becomes wracked pwith sobs, voice trailing off pathetically. Adler pulls you close, just in time, as you collapse into his arms.

"God, why? Why why...?"

You're choked up with hiccuping sobs again as Adler lowers you both to kneel in the grass. He squeezes you tighter, comfortingly he hopes, and if nothing else, to keep him from allowing tears of his own to fall too.

With a ragged gasp, you find your voice, allowing your anger and frustration to seap in at last, "After all I did for you people... This is how yo-?"

But you're cut off, and suddenly all your senses are overwhelmed with... Him.

Adlers lips crush into yours, the eagerness with which he kisses you is enough to erase all the fear, and pain, and sadness. At least, for the moment.

The crisp arctic air only accentuates the musky smell of his cologne, infusing every breath you breathe with its familiar scent. Charred birch and a hint of cigarettes. You almost smile at that.

He's been trying to quit, per your request, but... Old habits die hard.

The uneven stubble of his scarred chin tickles as he works over your lips, sucking gently, but adamantly once, then twice, before sustaining one long kiss again.

At last you part, lungs burning for air. Small puffs of condensation intermingle between your mouths as you catch your breath.

Adler takes one last gasp for air, to steady himself more then anything, before delivering one more kiss to your forehead. He knows he doesn't deserve to think such things, but...

You have no idea how long he's wanted to kiss you.

A few more tears start up from you again, but in that moment, he decides once and for all to commit to all the promises he's been wanting to make to you. He's done watching you suffer, and it's time you knew.

"I'm not going to kill you Bell...", he whispers against the warm skin of your forehead before pulling you to the crook of his neck.

You sniff, instantly frozen as you try to make sense of what you just heard. Too soon, faster then your mind can catch up, you search for words, "Wha-? Why? How? Russell, if they find out they'll kill yo-"

"Shhhh, they're not going to find out. I'm defecting. Right here, right now"

"B-but, why? I already told you, it's o-"

Adler moves his hands to cup your face, training your gaze to be all on him.

"No, it's not ok Bell. What we did to you... What I did to you... Was fucked, and unfair, but... it was for the greater good. But this? No."

"W-well ok... but-?"

"I'm doing this because I love you Bell", he barks it out, almost angrily, but even behind those old tinted aviators, you can see his expression soften almost immediately as he gently strokes your cheek with his thumb, "I love you... So much. Do you understand?"

He pauses for a moment, and his grand show of steely emotions breaks as he removes the sunglasses to wipe away his tears. And when he looks back at you... You're surprised at the reminder of how beautiful his eyes are.

"And... I'm... sorry I never told you before... Well, this"

Your mind is reeling at the rush of information. This... confession, isn't exactly news to you, but to hear him say it...

With one more sniff, Adler manages to pull himself together for a final moment of vulnerability, "Look, I know this is... a lot, but I was thinki- I...", he sighs and takes a deep breath. This is it.

"Would you... Come away with me? The CIA is going to be looking for both of us, and, well... No body and all, so I was thinking... We could find somewhere... off the grid, just you and me, start fresh? I know it'll be tough bu-"

"Yes!"

"-t I can protect you an- Wait... Yes?"

"Yes!", you seal the statement with a quick kiss. A promise. Then, you grow serious, "There's nothing left for me out here Russell... You're my only choice"

"...I'm sorry to hear that"

You cup a hand to his face, a tiny glimpse of that beautiful smile he loves so much peeking through, "No no, I didn't mean... This is a good thing. I meant to say, I wouldn't want to choose anyone else"

Adler sniffs and huffs a laugh, rocking gently as you pull in for an embrace, "Well in that case... I'm sorry to hear you have such terrible taste in men"

That earns a genuine laugh from you, and to him, it sounds like music.

You slip your hand into his, holding on just by the fingers before reaching up to plant a kiss over the scar on his jaw. You always rather liked those scars of his, no matter how much he wishes they never were.

But then again... He loves the way you use them to make him feel handsome, and he'll never understand how you do it.

After a few moments more, Adler gets up, pulling you to your feet as well. You wipe away the last of your tears, and as you glance up at him, a look of uncertainty crosses you.

He knows he has no right to ask you to trust him. Not after all the lies and the manipulation that got you and him to this point. But even after all that... The fact that you're willing to give him a chance humbles him to no end.

Adler looks back at you, and wishes for nothing more then the ability to make sure you never have to worry, or hurt, or live in fear ever again. But if there's one thing he does know, he'll be damned if he doesn't try.

"Come on kid", he rubs some warmth back into your arms, then kisses the top of your hair, "let's get out of here, huh? I've got just the place in mind..."

And just the place indeed.

A few months of preparation go by first, but at last you've managed to escape to the Swiss country side. Fields and fields of vibrant green grass and small wildflowers pass you by as Adler drives along, the great alps standing tall and strong just in the distance.

The sun glows warmly over head, and a little sparkle catches your eye. You look down and admire the ring on your hand once again, turning it this way and that, before stealing a glance at Russell's matching one.

With a couple more twists and turns, Adler asks you to close your eyes. A little while more, and the car comes to a stop. "Hey, don't open yet!", He hurries around to help you out, guiding you along want feels like a gravel path.

He puts his hands over yours, "Ready?"

You nod, the suspense absolutely eating you up. Finally, he moves your hands aside, revealing a small, brightly painted house before you. A stone path leads up to a white fenced porch complete with a swing for two.

The whole thing is practically overgrown with wysteria, coiling in and around the pillars and walls, and out front a wild garden stretches up towards the sun.

It's perfect.

You whip around, finding yourself unable to speak. But, he already knows. Adler sweeps you up off your feet and gives you a little spin as you shriek in surprise, melting into a fit of laughter as he sets you down.

He leans in and kisses you, just another of countless more to come, before pulling back. You have no idea how much it means to him to see you this happy....

"Welcome home"

[binniesthighs]

a/n: and we’ve got another lil valentines day drabble eeee hope you all are staying cuddly and fuzzy! 

sweet like strawberry | reader x felix

Paring: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee felix 

Genre: fluffy fluff hehe 

Tags: valentines day special, coworkers au, friends to lovers, cafe au, two cuties in love, stuck with you au, wintertime au, teeeny bits of magical vibes, mentions of food, teensy bit of food play (sfw but like a leeetle suggestive), that good good makin’ out hehe 

Word count: 4.7k 

Tagging: @stayhavens​ thank you for letting me join for Felix as well ❤️

“Oh! And one more thing, for some reason, the security system keeps acting up. If the doors don’t lock up the first time around, just try it a couple more times and I think that it should work...I kind of just try it enough times until it works.” 

Felix nervously adjusted his cap with the little embroidered yellow chick. 

“Okay. Sounds good to me.” 

Your boss tucked his neck deep into his cable scarf, then tipped both you and your coworker a little salute. 

“Thank you both for being here on Valentines Day. Just a couple more hours! You can do it!” 

The back door to the café slammed shut from the blustering winter wind behind your boss’ coattails. 

“It’s really coming down out there isn’t it?” Your friend, and coworker-in-suffering Felix, shifted from foot to foot. 

Outside of the shop windows, the howling of wind shook at the shutters of the the display case filled with little mock-up cakes and pastries. The snow storm had been unexpected, but it hadn’t seemed to dampen anyone’s spirits on the holiday. Since the snow had picked up in the afternoon, customers still came rolling into the cafe with flakes all caught up in their hair, scarves and hats. On this day in particular, you had seen dozens of school girls and boys come in carrying their stash of valentines letters, bouquets of flowers and all kinds of candies. Little groups of friends would share slices of your special Valentines Day cake and smear cream over each other’s noses in a tizzy of laughter. 

You didn’t mind Valentines Day; there was something extra heartwarming and universal about it all. One day, out of all the days of the year, everyone stopped for just a few moments to say “I love you” or give out an extra hug or kiss on the cheek. How could you not feel all lovey and gushy from it all? Maybe you were a romantic, or maybe you really had just watched one too many dramas to make you feel this way. 

Earlier, you had been making a couple lattes, and a couple sitting by the window had arranged to meet right at the loveseat by the door to exchange gifts. One of them had given the other a couple books and a journal, and the other gave them what looked like hand-knitted mittens. They held the frayed fabric in their hands while the watched how their partner reacted. Of course, they accepted the mittens with a wide smile then pulled their love in to give them a giant hug. 

I love them. So much. Thank you. 

You thought that was what they had said from as far away as you were. 

This kind of love, was your favorite kind. The kid of love that was unconditional, that was given no matter what time of day, no matter what it looked like or how it was expressed, it simply was. 

You had always hoped, this was the love that you would have some day. But, you hadn’t found it yet. Not in all your years of crushes from afar, or love letters written in the night when you should have ben doing work. You had wondered, what was it really like to have someone love you like that: a love that existed in the early mornings, and dead of the night; the kind of love that looked over at you for no reason, and smiled at you just because. 

Perhaps you would spend your whole life looking: and while it saddened you, in a few ways, you had come to terms with it. If you had to wait, that just meant that you were waiting for something really great...right? 

You wondered what kind of love Felix wanted. The thought had crossed your mind time and again. You figured, he was the kind to fall in love fast and all the time. He would even get crushes on people who would come to the register to pay for their coffee and custard tart. It was supremely adorable. He’d stammer over his words with hands trembling at the keys of the register, and the tips of his ears would turn rosy pink. 

“U-ummm here-here’s your receipt....” 

A tiny smile would spread across his freckled face after they would leave, then he would rake his cute little hands though his hair, stammering even more about what a fool he had made of himself. 

“Well, when you think about it, you might never see them again?” You’d joke to him with a playful jab to his side. 

“But what if I doooooo??” 

Maybe Felix was the kind of person who wanted a love that would last forever, or the kind of love that he could daydream about. You thought that this might’ve suited him. It seemed as if that boy was often in a faraway place. There had been a couple times when he would stare out the shop windows wistfully with his mop in hand, or would giggle a little when he made designs into the lattes and mochas. He was just so happy all the time, but for what, you had no idea. 

Maybe Felix already had a love. You wouldn’t put it past him seeing how dreamy he was often. Felix deserved love more than anyone in the world you had decided. He deserved some to love him so hard and all the time. Admittedly, it made your heart ache a little thinking about how badly he deserved it. He deserved someone to kiss away on all those freckles on his cheeks on his cute little wrists. He deserved someone to shower all their love into his strawberry pink lips, and ruffle up his golden hair just to make him laugh. 

Maybe...you wished that you could’ve been the person to do so. 

“Do you think that we’ll get any more customers?” 

Felix had squatted down on the floor behind the counter into a pseudo-sitting position. His tan apron crinkled on the ground. 

“Don’t you think that everyone’s gone out by now? And the snow is picking up?” 

You squatted down next to him. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing anyone else. There’s only one more hour left anyway.” 

A sly smirk started to sprout on his lips, “What if we left a little early? No one is coming so...” 

“Have somewhere that you need to be?” You patted his head. 

“...No, unless spending the night with my cats counts as “plans.”” 

“No...date?” 

“Date?” He scoffed, “Me? Nooooo.” He paused, and with a tentative air, met your eyes. “Do...you have plans tonight?” 

“Mm-no.” 

Felix sucked in a tight inhale, as if he was mustering his courage. 

“Well, m-maybe, after we leave, --only if you want--we could--” 

The bells over the café door tinkled, sweeping in snowy and white air in with it. 

“I’m sorry, are you still open?” 

The old woman carefully closed the door behind her and clung tightly to her shawl that was wrapped around her shoulders. Only dressed in the thin fabric, you figured that she must’ve been freezing. Both you and your coworker sprung to your feet to attend to her. 

“Yes! How can we help you?” 

She was an odd woman, the kind that you could only really describe to look witch-like. While she had warm features, her aged skin had grown stretched with little marks and veins feebly showing. Bags under her eyes were deep, but they didn’t look tired, but like they held many years of wisdom, like he had witnessed much, and knew much. 

“A-aren’t you cold?” Felix rushed to the other side of the corner to help her to a chair. “It’s so freezing outside, and you’ve barely got on a hat.” 

His tone was gentle, like the one that you guessed he would speak to his cats with. 

“I’m fine. Nights like these, I’ve lived through many of them. They don’t phase me any more. I just thought that I could come inside for a moment to have a slice of that strawberry cake that you have in the window. It looks very delicious.” 

You nodded quickly then plated the second to last slice for her. You brought the dish over quickly with a little fork. “Anything else that we can get for you?” 

The woman shook her head politely, then took up the fork in her shaking hands. She ate quietly, merely making little “mm’s” as she licked the cream away. You and your coworker didn’t really know what to do, seeing as she hadn’t paid, and wasn't shivering from the cold at all. Felix shot you a confused glance, then rushed to the back of the café and to his locker. You heard the usual metallic clang, and he came jogging back with his own scarf that he had worn that day. 

“H-here. Please put this on.” He offered her the periwinkle blue fabric. 

“Oh. Dear, you are so kind. I just knew that you would be such a sweet soul. I could sense it.” 

The woman dabbed her mouth with the napkin that you had placed under her plate. 

“That was wonderful, I could really taste the love that had been baked into that cake. It’s always refreshing to feel that.” 

You and Felix nodded, still unsure of the situation, but smiled as politely as you could. She then swaddled her neck in the scarf, and sighed in her contempt. 

“No one has ever offered me something like this before. You are quite special young man.” 

She had voiced the comment about Felix, but she had held your eyes as she said it. Her eyes were a bit hazy, some kind of color that must’ve been blue at some point, but here now a type of soft grey-lavender. They were enchanting, and mysterious, but you had felt that you had known them somehow. 

The old woman rummaged around in her pockets, the pulled out two gold coins that were hefty in size, and thick like the kind of candy ones. You had never seen anything like them before, and they were a bit comical to look at, but still shone like the golden sun. On both sides of the coin, there was no writing, but merely an insignia of two arrows crossed over eachother. 

“I think that should suffice.” Her chair creaked under her as she rose, and placed one in your hand and the other in Felix’s. “Thank you so much for taking care of me. Both of you deserve all the love that’s coming to you. I hope that you remember this.” 

Felix muttered and turned over his coin in his hand. “T-thank you.” 

You shot Felix a glare. You had not the slightest idea how you could have accepted this as payment, but Felix seemed completely fine with it. 

The woman’s crinkled hand wrapped around the door handle, and she pulled her shawl around her once again, then buried her neck back into Felix’s scarf. 

“Happy Valentines Day!” She waved to you both, and you found yourself waving back. 

The door slammed, and you felt as if you had been snapped out of some kind of hypnosis. 

“Wow.” Felix whispered with a little smile. 

“What. The heck. Was that?” Your body trembled in the way that you would’ve have as if you had plunged right out of cold water. 

Felix stood smiling and gazing out, not even paying attention to your remark. 

“Felix? ...Felix?” 

“Hmm?” He turned nonchalant. 

“Did you hear me?” 

“What?” 

You reached your hand down the pocket of your apron to study that strange coin only to find that you couldn’t feel the cold metal. 

“...What?” You rummaged around even further. “I could’ve sworn...” 

In Felix’s hands which he had left cupped in front of him, his gold coin had vanished too, and he hadn’t even noticed. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I hope that this works.” 

Felix’s mittened hands tapped over the keys of the security system keypad and he mouthed the numbers as he did so. The pad illuminated with a green light and made little beeping sounds with each number. Once he finished the sequence, it flashed with a red light. 

“...Does that mean that it didn’t work?” 

“I think so?” 

The two of you had shoved your bodies together in the little corner nearest the back exit of the café. 

“I should try it again?” 

“Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?” 

Felix gave a determined nod, then did the passcode, only for it to flash red again. 

“Oh my god, what if we mess this all up and then someone breaks into the café and then we get fired--I mean--I get fired because it would be all my fault--” 

You snarked out a laugh and pushed him lightly aside, “Here, let me try. No one’s getting in trouble.” 

You pressed in the same code, getting red once more. 

“What do we do????” 

As if it was his security blanket, Felix tucked his neck into his coat collar. 

“One more time, alright? Maybe there’s a manual in the office or something. We can try that.” 

An ahhh circled Felix’s mouth and he let out a relieved exhale. “Right. Right. That’s a good idea.” 

This time, you pressed the numbers in hard, as if that would make any difference, but you thought it best to try. But, red again. 

“I’ll go check the office,” Felix announced, and shuffled closer to the manager’s office near the back door. He wiggled the doorknob, finding it locked as well. “We’re doooooommed.” 

“No, we’re not. I’m not giving up.” 

In your head, you cursed out the damned security system up and down. If it wasn’t going to work, you would make it work. 

“5. 9. 2. 5. 0. 8.” 

beep beep beEP! 

“Oh my god!!! It worked!!” Your friend jumped up and down in his excitement. 

“Thank God.” 

Felix hiked up his backpack on his shoulders, grabbing the door handle at first, but then stopped. 

“Wait.” He licked his lips, “Before we go out there, I...I wanted to ask you, since it seems like we’re both not doing anything tonight, would you like to maybe...do something...with me?” 

His anxious eyes widened, and you could see his breaths quicken under his wool coat. For a moment, you couldn’t even believe that he had said such a thing. Normally a timid boy, his strike of courage was something that was astonishing to you, but it also made your heart beat just a bit louder in your ears. 

“You want to do something...with me?” 

“Y-yeah.” 

“Me?” 

He giggled lightly. “I just said you.” 

“On Valentines Day?” 

“I-is that weird? I-I’m sorry if I’m weirding you out, I didn’t mean to. I know that we’re friends a-and I think that you’re really cool--I’ve always thought that--but, I never really had the guts to say so, and honestly I don’t know how I’m getting it out now but, I just don’t like the thought of being alone right now, or you being alone. So--” 

“--Felix! Felix, calm down...” Even though your chest was thumping, your sweating hands squeezed your palms to calm yourself down. 

“Sorry...I ramble when I get kind of nervous.” 

His hands nervously fidgeted at his sides, and under the light of the emergency exit sign, a glimmer of gold winked between his fingers. 

Felix asked his question with glimmering eyes. “Would you like to?” 

“Yes. Yes. I would really really like to.” 

“Really?” His smile was filled with the very sunshine that he seemed to carry with him every day. 

“Really.” 

“Okay.” He reached for the handle once more, yanking it down, but instead of it swinging from it’s hinges, it clanked, glued to the wall. 

“What?” Felix shook at the handle once more. “It’s not...budging.” 

“Let me try.” You mirrored his action, and sure enough, the door had locked itself in place. “Wait. I thought that it wasn’t supposed to lock after we exited?” 

“I...thought the same.” 

Once giddy, Felix turned solemn and worry chased across his brows. 

“No. Nononono. This can’t be happening.” 

“It’s okay. We’ll just unlock it again.” 

You went back to your mortal enemy, the keypad, and pushed in the buttons, but no green light came from the action. 

“Is it on? Is that supposed to happen?” Felix’s tone edged with anxiety. 

The display screen on the interface had turned blank too. You had seen in movies that if you slapped the thing, maybe it would turn on, but after you had tried, nothing happened. 

“I’ll try the other door.” Felix scuffled over the the front of the café, and you could hear the answer loud and clear even from the back. The other door also had locked and it’s metallic clang resonated through the empty tables and chairs. 

“What do we do?” He asked once he returned to you in the back. 

Even though your heart was racing its way up your throat, you remained as calm as you could. “We call for help. It’ll be okay. Look, there's a phone number here on the panel to call the service company.” 

You drew your phone from your pocket, and it added yet one more object to your list of worries. “I-I don’t have service?? What the hell?” 

Felix opened his phone screen too, and showed you his non-existent bars. “Me too. It’s gotta be the storm right?” 

Your coworker’s eyes flicked back and forth in the darkened hallway, and you could hear his breaths start to quicken one after the other. 

“Hey, hey, it’ll be okay.” You fluffed his hair like you had down a few times before, an action that never failed to make him giggle, so you hoped it helped put him at ease. He keened his hand into your hand a bit like a cat would, and it was just too frickin’ cute, even in a situation just as this. 

“So we’re just gonna wait? Wait until our service comes back?” 

“I guess so.” 

Felix started with taking his coat off, and hung it back up in his locker. “Who knows how long that we’ll be here?” 

You did the same, but left your hat on, merely liking the way that it warmed up your head. “Maybe we can make ourselves something to drink? How about, I make something for you, and you make something for me? Sounds kinda fun?” 

“Sure.” Felix responded with a faint smile. 

In the dim lighting of that hallway, you reached for his small hand at his side. 

“Um, looks like we’re still getting to spend tonight together. I wish that it wasn’t like this, but, it’s something, right?” 

He was startled by your action, but let your fingers lace between his. The small connection was the one that had made you feel butterflies just thinking about, and now it really was happening. 

“Felix...I’ve thought before, I think that you’re really cool too.” 

»»————-　♡　————-««

You knew that using the ingredients for your own experimentation was against the rules, but you had hoped that your boss would’ve understood considering the situation. The rule had been written on the little spreadsheet that he kept taped to the side of the syrup holder, but that wasn’t going to stop you. 

“No peeking.” Felix giggled as he shook something together in one of the hand-held mixers. 

“No peeking to you either.” You said, scooping some macerated strawberries into the bottom of a cup. 

For a boy as sweet as him, you knew exactly what you wanted to make: it was your own version of the strawberry milk that you had made in the café, but it had chocolate dripping down the sides of the glass and it was topped with chocolate shavings and a lovely amount of whipped cream. 

“You done yet?” You asked while adding your finishing touches. 

“Juuust about.” He rummaged around the little array of fresh prepared herbs that you kept in the minifridge under the counter. “Oookay! Now I am!” 

In the corner of your eye, that last slice of strawberry cake called your name. You thought to yourself, I could always make more. It was the last slice anyway. 

The two of you made a little set up at one of the tables and Felix even thought to turn off a few of the light fixtures, and brought out a couple of those birthday candles that you would use on customers, and arranged them in a cup to burn. 

Celebrate! 

Happy Birthday! 

You Are Special! 

Congratulations! 

“Aw, cute.” You slid your drink for him closer, and admired the way that the yellow glow of the candles flickered in his soft brown eyes. 

“I-I thought that it would make it more special, considering that where we are isn’t like, the most special place. Especially for tonight.” 

“I think that it’s special. Or, who you’re with is what makes it special.” 

Your coworker smiled coyly, then took a sip of your strawberry milk. 

“Try yours!” He pushed the iced drink in front of you. It looked a bit like lemonade, but not exactly. Swirls of purple juice danced along with the pulp of the lemons. He had garnished it with a sprig of mint. “It’s blackberry lemonade. I’m sorry if it’s kind of tart. It was my first time making it, but I thought that you would like it.” 

You took a sip, and the second that the concoction touched your lips, it was heavenly. While it was a little tart, the juice of the lemon bit wonderfully on your taste buds, and was complimented well with the sweetness from the ripe berries. 

“Good?” 

“Really good. Thank you.” 

He sighed a sigh of relief, then passed you a fork. 

“Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.” 

“You thought that being trapped with me would be a bad thing?” You teased. 

Felix’s eyes adorably widened, looking as if he had spilled his strawberry milk all over the table. “N-no, I didn’t mean that, I just thought that being locked up would feel--” 

“--I’m kidding! Kidding, okay?” 

A tiny oh formed on his mouth, so he took another sip to fill the gap of silence between you. “Your drink is really good too. How did you know that I liked strawberries so much?” 

“Hm, it was a hunch.” 

Actually, he had said it a dozen times or more, but, it was much cuter letting him think that he hadn’t said it before. 

With the light of the candles now dripping a bit of wax onto the table, all of his features seemed so much softer: he was like some kind of dream, almost like a mythical being that you must’ve imagined. 

You wondered, maybe this was the kind of love that he wanted: the kind of love that was sharing something that you had made, something special to you in a simple place, a place that was not much else other than the people who made it. Or, maybe this was the kind of love that you wanted. 

Your pants pocket felt a little heaver, and you snuck your fingers in. The touch of your fingertips felt the cold and smooth metal first, then they ran over the outline of the arrow shapes on the flat side. 

“Mmm. You made this cake so well!!” Felix did a little dance while popping in a bite. 

“Felix?” You ran your finger over the golden piece. “I’m glad that we’re stuck here together.” 

“Me...too.” He shied. 

Carefully, you took your fingers to trace the yellow strands of his hair dipping over his forehead, taking in the way that they tickled your skin. In his nervousness, he took another sip, gulping loudly with eyes fluttering. On his lower lip, a bit of the cream streaked, and all you could do was wonder how it might’ve tasted there on his strawberry pink lips. 

“Can I...kiss you?” 

You could nearly see the way that his heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird in the way that his shoulders rose and fell with his anticipatory breaths. 

“Yes.” He whispered. 

You leaned forward slowly as to not scare him, tilting your head to the side as you pressed your lips against his. You had thought right: there really was nothing sweeter. His shaking breaths quivered over your lips while he tentatively kissed back, and it made your chest ache thinking about how nervous he must’ve been. You didn’t want to startle him, bur rather gently kissed him slow, carefully and respectfully. He shivered at the feeling, and his hand crinkled the napkin in his hand. The other, he had drawn out to rest on your leg, and rubbed his thumb into your jeans. The sweetness of the cream on his lips caught on yours, and it was unlike any kind of flavor you could have ever imagined. 

After a moment, you drew back, and Felix appeared like he was about to burst with giggles but held himself back. 

“I-I really liked that.” He tried his best to keep his composure. 

“Me too.” Turns out, you really didn’t know what to do with yourself either. Instead, Felix made the decision for you. In seconds, he had launched his small body into your arms and wrapped himself around you in a hug so tight that it was nearly suffocating. 

“I always kinda wondered what that would be like...with you.” He squeezed you tighter. “I can’t believe that just happened.” His smile cracked though his words. 

You wrapped your arms back around him and you could have sworn that you could feel his fluttering heart against your own. 

“Me too Felix.” You breathed in his scent which was that of daisies and candy floss. 

“Can we...do it again maybe?” He leaned back with arms slung around your shoulders and pleading eyes. 

“Of course.” You wove your hands into his puff-ball hair. “Can I try something?” 

An even more sickly sweet idea crept into your brain. 

“What’s that?” 

You took your thumb to scoop up just a little bit more of the cream bubbling on his drink, then carefully wiped it over his bottom lip, just as if you had been coloring him like a finger painting. You sucked off the excess, and he watched as you did so with wonder. 

“You’re just so sweet, I can’t get enough of you.” You hushed into him, leaning closer once more. 

His eyes fluttered closed, and with his quivering breath, he waited for you to kiss away the taste there, sucking the flavor into your mouth, then going to kiss over his parted mouth. A rather awkward creaking of chairs echoed, and he pulled his body closer to yours, and let you fill him to the brim with kisses in all of the places that you desired. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he even giggled into some of your kisses too. His hands found the sides of your face where he held you there gently. Once he was comfortable, the warm feeling of your tongues met, and he nearly melted from the sensation. Your hands crept around his tiny waist, and you never let go. 

It felt like the moment that you had been waiting for. 

Your lips broke, and Felix threw his arms over your shoulders again, dipping his head into the crook of your neck where he stayed for a while as you ran your fingers up and down his back. 

Outside it was a much colder and harsher world, but here, it was your own kind of paradise, and it was sweet like strawberry. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

At some point, you had fallen asleep together on one of the loveseats: a pile of legs and arms all tangled up together. When the morning came, the snow had subsided, but rather was caught up everywhere in the streets and sidewalks, and sparkled like diamonds. 

It was your manager that had woken you up, and of course you had gotten in trouble, not at first for sleeping in the café, but for leaving the all the doors unlocked. 

[storyofmychoices]

A Rose By Any Other Name

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Masterlist]

Pairing: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!MC, human) Other characters: Tyril, Imtura, Nia Book: Blades of Light and Shadow Word Count: ~820

Synopsis: Following the events of book one, the group relaxes in the gardens outside the palace. Mal works on a special surprise for Daenarya

Rating/Warnings: Teen due to profanity and suggestive language

Prompts: @choicesseptemberchallenge21 : roses; @wackydrabbles "This is your lucky day!" (in bold)

A frustrated groan sounded from deep within the lavish garden, somewhere beyond the perfectly manicured hedges.

Daenarya turned toward the noise, listening more intently for more. The garden and the grounds of the White Tower palace were quiet once more. Her attention shifted back to her companions, enjoying a much-needed break after narrowly escaping the Shadow Court.

"I heard it too." Tyril caught her curious gaze. "Perhaps you should—"

She shrugged, relaxing back in her chair, bathing in the warm glow of the sun. "Eh, not yet."

Nia sat beside her, chirping in her ear about the upcoming celebration commemorating their success. Her words strung together, pouring from her mouth in rapid succession; her cheerful cadence increased with every utterance.

Daenarya smiled and nodded along, unable to get a word in, while also shaking her head at Imtura.

The orc laughed readily, having thought it amusing to slip the Priestess some honey wine to kick off the festivities.

A string of loud grunts and groans sounded again, followed by a series of profanities that left the Priestess both blushing with wide eyes and giggling under her breath.

"You should—" Tyril suggested, gesturing toward the source of the noise.

Daenarya, already on her feet, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, yeah. I got him."

She found the Rogue sitting on a grassy patch beside a hedge of roses, various cut flowers splayed on the ground around him. His fist clutched around a rose in his hand, crushing its petals before tossing it to the side with the others he had seemingly discarded. A low rumble of anger trembled on his lips. He shook his hand out in front of him. "Fuck."

"Okay..." Daenarya approached slowly, tiptoeing around the mess of flowers and leaves surrounding him. "What is all of this?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise for you," he grumbled, pulling a thorn from his thumb. "For the gala tonight. But, not anymore, I guess."

Her lip turned up. Her fingers ran through his dark hair, tenderly brushing it away from his face.

He leaned into her touch, his tense muscles releasing with her presence. Mal held up the lopsided floral arrangement he was weaving together.

She knelt beside him. "Is that a flower crown?... For me?"

"That was the plan. The execution didn't go as anticipated." His face fell as he dropped the flowers back to the ground.

Daenarya took his calloused hands in her own. The soft pads of her fingers searching his. "What happened here?"

"Thorns," Mal grumbled.

She brought his finger to her lips, brushing a kiss to the red mark on his skin. "And here?"

"Thorns! Grr—I've fought pirates, thieves, marauders... none have been so fucking challenging as these god-forsaking roses," he ranted, the tension rising in his features again.

She pressed her lips together, trying to stifle her amusement at his frustration.

"I wouldn't be surprised if that prince of shadows didn't curse them."

"Shh—" Daenarya kissed each of his fingertips, carefully caressing every visible thorn prick. She picked carefully at a tiny dark spot in his palm, pulling out the remnants of a thorn. "Better?"

Mal cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. "With you, Kit? Always!"

"Do you want some help?"

"Huh?"

Daenarya sidled up beside him, running her hands over his. "This is your lucky day, Mal Volari!"

"Is that so?" He turned his head, nuzzling closer to her, pressing a kiss to her neck. "It does seem better already."

"Not quite what I meant." She pushed him away with a cheeky grin. Her brow arched playfully, "Save it for later, Mr. Magnificient."

His lips turned down in a pout. "What now then?"

"Now–" Her hand slid slowly up his thigh. She bit her lower lip, watching him intently. As his body began to respond to her touch, she continued toward her goal, wrapping her finger around the small dagger he kept on him. "—I help you remove the thorns without any more unnecessary bloodshed."

"You don't think I already tried that?" He scoffed in amusement.

"Perhaps you need a more gentle touch," she suggested, carefully slicing off the tiny thorns of the rose. "See."

His eyes narrowed on the flower, and his head shook to the sides in disbelief.

"You're not the only one skilled with a blade, your magnificence." She smirked, picking up another rose. She moved the blade swiftly and smoothly with perfect precision along the stem.

"I could kiss you right now." The words flowed from his mouth in complete adoration before he could stop them.

Daenarya schooled her face, trying to hide the telling upturn of the corner of her lips. "Hmm. Perhaps if you finish my flower crown and no better offers arise I just might let you."

Mal quickly picked up the remnants of his crown, weaving in the newly readied roses. He couldn't wait to see her wearing it, both at the gala and hopefully, just for him afterward. There was something about her that, for the first time in his life, he no longer wanted to run.

I miss these two and just wanted to write something random for them. I hope you enjoy it.

I also apologize for any typos or mistakes. I wrote this fairly quickly in the middle of the night because I need to write and this is what happened.

Tags in a reblog, please let me know if you would like to be added or removed

[grahas-gourmet-hamburger]

Lightwardens you say?

Everyone's been talking about Lightwardens, and I don't have a strong visual design for any of my OCs, but I do have a nightmare sequence where G'raha's conscience eats at him that I'm actually pretty proud of. This is a very small section of a larger story that I will probably never find the courage to post (not that it's finished anyway). It's Lightwarden relevant eventually. Spoilers up through the end of 5.3.

CW: Uh.. death, horrific-ish imagery, weird dream logic, the usual sin eater warnings, vomiting

(Side note, this takes place in the handful of days between when WoL wakes up everyone on the Source and the cutscene where they all gather in Mor Dhona.)

Raha walked through a darkened space, nowhere that could exist, but he didn't question it. As he moved forward, a path formed in front of him, wending its way amongst piles of faceless corpses. He shivered as a cutting wind blew through him, bringing with it the stench of ruin. He walked down the pathway and began to see corpses with faces amidst the faceless masses, frozen in contorted expressions of pain. First it was the newer Scions, one after the other. Then Tataru and Krile, their tiny bodies barely visible amongst the rest. Thancred and Urianger, hands reaching towards each other, and Y'shtola, blank eyes staring at something Raha couldn't see . Alisaie and Alphinaud, hands clasped between them. He didn't want to go on, he knew who must be next, but he couldn't stop, and there was his beloved, still and cold in a way that he never was in life, the brilliant yellow of his shirt faded to bone white . Raha tried to close his eyes, tried not to see his face, but he couldn't. The sightless eyes, their blue faded to white. The once mobile features frozen in resolute fear. The usually smiling mouth trapped in a scream.

The darkness grew, enshrouding the path of corpses until Raha could see nothing. The dark was so absolute that it confounded his senses. Was he moving? He didn't know. He felt nothing, no air in his lungs, no heart beating in his chest, nothing to remind him he was still alive. Just as the dark threatened to crush his being, firelight began to slowly grow up in a wide ring around him, outside which a silent war raged amongst the twisting shadows cast by the flames. Inside the ring fought Aedan and a giant demon in red Imperial armor. Purple-black smoke surrounded the creature as it toyed with Aedan the way a bored cat might toy with a mouse. Aedan fought on doggedly, though his blows, usually so devastating, battered at the armor to little effect. Finally, the hulking, horned demon threw him back, leaving him stunned on the ground, struggling to pick himself up. He suddenly clutched at his head as the monster approached with its katana at the ready, red eyes glowing in the dim light, and Raha heard Aedan say desperately, the sound unnaturally loud against the silence, "No, Raha, not now, please!" After a few moments, he slumped over, lifeless but breathing. Fearing what was to come, Raha reached out, as though he could somehow stop the monster with his will alone, but he was powerless, a ghost watching the world as it passed. The demon looked down at Aedan curiously, a cat whose mouse had died before it was finished playing, but it wasn't deterred from its course, lifting its katana over its head and slashing downwards, cleaving deep into Aedan's chest.

Suddenly somewhere far away in the rift, Raha watched as his past self spoke to his beloved for the first time in over a century, but Aedan's only words were demands to be sent back. And then, as Raha stared in horror, the tether to Aedan's body snapped, and his spirit began to unravel into Light before Raha's eyes, growing brighter and brighter until he could no longer see.

The shadowless expanse went on forever in every direction, searing his sightless eyes with its brilliant glare. A single bell rang, the toll caught in an instant that lasted forever, ringing in Raha's ears. After an age, or perhaps a single moment, the toll slowly diminished, and with it, the cathedral at the top of Mt. Gulg faded into Raha's vision. Before him, Aedan absorbed Vauthry's Light and then crumpled over, clutching at his bowed head. Watching him now, without the absolute focus on his plan that had pushed everything else out, Raha could see the desperate pain and fear on his face as Raha's past self approached, his plan made manifest at last. He had arrived too late, however, reaching the summit just as Ryne, her face broken and aged far beyond her years, failed to contain the Light that was shattering Aedan's spirit. Raha tried to look away from the coming horror and couldn't, finding himself forced to watch from just over his past self's head as Aedan's body began to writhe, and he vomited white ichor on the ground at Raha's feet. Aedan looked up at him, his face twisted with agony. He lifted a hand towards Raha, beseeching him, but Raha could only look on with despairing regret, knowing he didn't have time to complete the ritual now. Aedan's face crumpled, just like it had that night after Amaurot, and Raha could see him give in to the Light as giant, marble-white wings erupted from his back. His skin shimmered and split around the monstrous creature tearing itself out of Raha's beloved.

The Lightwarden was enormous, towering over them all and mantling its wings as it screamed in a host of dissonant voices to the sky. It crouched down, low on four legs, then thrust itself into the air, crushing the earth beneath its gigantic paws with the force of its leap, and with a beat of its wings that sent the others flying back off their feet, it vanished into the endless Light of the sky. Only then could Raha move, tears streaming down his face. He dropped to his knees, but the ground vanished beneath him. As he fell, the world beneath him was steadily consumed by the Flood, Light taking what he had given everything to save. The gleaming waves grew closer, and he closed his eyes and waited to be devoured, every shred of hope gone with Aedan.

He hadn't quite reached the end when a familiar voice saying his name shook the silence.  In a flash, the all-encompassing Light vanished, replaced by the darkness behind his closed eyes. 

--------

It ain't perfect, but I like it.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Rising Lady

Pair: Alcina/The Duke

Summary: Alcina, in the middle of her growth spurt, struggles to get used to her size and the gawking and commentary that comes with it. She finds common ground with The Duke who also seems to draw many stares. (AU Where Alcina knew the Duke before her mutation.)

AN: This is another experimental piece. Warning for fat shaming.

Sometimes she wishes that she could be more like The Duke. The way that he handles things with a jest and a hearty chuckle. He is hard to phase and words seem to roll right off of him. For it, he is a lucky man. 

Perhaps it is that he is used to the remarks and the stares. 

At best, Alcina finds them rude. At best she can offer them a scowl and comment on the impoliteness of their ogling. Mostly it makes her uncomfortable. Mostly she finds herself shifting and squirming in her chair. People never paid her much mind before, not after Miss D put down her microphone and retreated back into the shadows of her castle to endure her faulty genetics. 

She is a quiet woman and was perfectly content to be an unremarkable one to boot. Sometimes she thinks that it was a mistake to trade disease for…

She stares down the extended length of her body…

For whatever this is.

She is a large woman and sometimes she still feels growing pains. Every now and then they shoot up and down her spine, along her arms and legs. Her chest and rear ache with it and on occasions, her belly. And on the worst of days she can feel the tingling sensation of  the mutation in her face. On the most unbearable days it is an all over pain--on these days she grows most noticeably. 

On these days she is on the floor screaming, tears streaming down her face as she begs her body to settle. 

Sometimes she doesn’t think that she will stop growing. She doesn’t know what she will do when she is too tall to even duck under the doorways. She has to get new clothes, a new bed, new chairs…

And every time she does, she grows taller still. It isn’t becoming on her in the slightest. It is grotesque and sickening. 

And to delicately salt a rapidly widening wound, stretchmarks have begun to decorate her chest, thighs, and tummy. Perhaps when she was some two decades younger, she thought herself attractive. She thinks that her beauty has waned since then, it was bound to…

But this? This is stealing from her the last fragments of her youth and an unhealthy portion of her confidence. And this time she is finding it difficult to put on a bolder facade. Truth be told she is terrified. She doesn’t know what she is becoming.

She is too big for her own skin. Her body is too big for the mind locked within it. And these days if feels like one very spacious prison. 

She catches a glance of The Duke sitting on the other end of the ballroom. She wonders if the man had ever felt the same. She has known him for many years. She knew him when he was merely a boy. She knew him when he was much slimmer. Relatively speaking anyhow. She supposes that people always stared at him, have always had some comment to make about his size. 

And maybe this is exactly why it bothers him none. 

The village folk stare at him too. “How does that tiny cart hold up such a large man?” They ask. 

“That’s no man, that’s a…” cow, hippo, elephant, bull--Alcina wonders which they will pick this time. 

“I think even elephants ain’t that big.” Responds another man. “That thing could kill an elephant, I reckon.” 

And somehow, Alcina finds herself furious on his behalf. Furious where he only chuckles and says, “Just give me a chance and good footwear and I can wrestle a rhino with my bare hands!” 

Maybe this is why he is left well alone after the initial remark. Of she and her transformation they say more unpleasant things, crass and vile things. Things that she doesn’t like to repeat even privately to herself. 

She no longer feels right in her body, if she had ever felt secure in it at all. And sometimes she feels like an object. They make her feel like an object between their open stares, their routy whistling, and their constant remarks.

Somewhere down the lines she stopped being Miss D. And then she stopped being Alcina Dimitrescu. She is now, ‘the big lady’, ‘the tall lady’. 

Alcina burrows deeper into her coat, she tries to anyhow, only to find that she has grown even further. Alcina closes her eyes and very silently begs her coat to just fit, but she can’t seem to reach it across  her bosom, much less get it to button up. Perhaps she is, in her dismay, only imagining it, but her shoes feel tighter and when she looks down she can swear that her legs are longer still. Hadn’t her coat reached past her knees only moments before? 

She has gotten quite used to waking up to find herself less comfortable in her bed and night gown. But this? She hasn’t ever grown before her very eyes. 

And she feels nothing at all. 

She wishes that a soreness or a burning sensation would accompany her growth. At least then she would know for sure that her mind isn’t playing tricks on her. She hasn’t even that sort of reassurance. 

She has reached eight feet now. 

Eight dizzying, disorienting feet. 

“Look at the big lady!” The girl can’t be older than twelve. “She’s even bigger now!” She doesn’t draw her brother’s attention but also the attention of nearly the entire market square. Everyone should like to take a gander at the strange, big lady. 

At least now she knows that it isn’t her imagination. 

Her clothes suddenly feel much too tight for her, much less breathable. She isn’t sure if it is a physical sensation or the product of anxiety that grows at a rate faster than her body. She hugs her arms around her chest. She was a fool to trust Mother Miranda. 

Beautiful, youthful, and healthy Mother Miranda, who has swapped one of her torments for a new one. 

At least a blood disease is rather common. At least it is expected of a Dimitrescu woman. This...she clutches herself tighter…is unnatural. This is...

“Good evening m’lady.” The Duke greets. She feels the bench dip under the weight of him and frets that it will splinter under their combined weight. “Having a dreary evening?”

Alcina nods, “I can’t leave my castle without getting stared at.”

“Aye...of course they are staring, you are a beautiful lady, Miss D.” 

She clears her throat. “You are a charming man.” She notes. “But I don’t think that, that is why they’re staring at me.” 

He offers a sympathetic chuckle. “Yes, perhaps not.” He shifts from side to side, it takes her a moment to realize that he is feeling for a lighter in his side pockets. Upon finding it, he plucks a cigar from his chest pocket. “Fancy a smoke?”

“A drink would be more helpful.” She confesses. 

“You’ll make me waddle all the way back to my stall?” 

“If you’ll be so kind, Duke.” 

For only a moment, the time that it takes him to walk to his stall and back, attention is taken from her. Her heart aches for the man; he’s a strange one but a good natured one. Perhaps the only gentleman left in this damnable town. And they treat him with such disrespect and mockery. It isn’t enough to rudely gawk. No, they also have to mimic his wide gait and make attempts to shove him over. 

By God, were she him she would shove them down and crush them. He could be quite a punishing force were he a cureler man. She wonders how long it will take before the villagers make a game of trying to topple her. She wonders how long it will take before she grows sick of them and tests her own strength. She can’t imagine that this body is just for show. It isn’t as frail an delicate as the one she’d had before. 

“You gonna share with the lady or is that all for you?” She hears someone quip.

“If it was for me there’d be a lot more food than this!” He declares proudly. He comes back with a bottle of wine and a raspberry spongecake. 

“You spoil me, Duke.” She takes the treat. 

“You have been having a troubling week, Lady Dimitrescu. I thought that I would bake something special for you.” He takes a drag from his cigar. 

She could very much use special. It is nice to feel special and sometimes the Duke makes her feel just that. “How do you do it?” She inquiries. 

“Hmm?”

“How do you put up with all of the leering and commentary.” 

“Truth be told, m’lady, I’ve been hearing it my entire life. Remarks lose their impact when you’ve heard the worst of them incessantly.”

Incessant. That is a good word for what the remarks are. “At least they aren’t constantly salivating over your chest, Duke.”

“You would be surprised, m’lady. They might fancy my chest more than yours.” He wiggles his brows. 

“You disgusting oaf.” She grumbles. 

He only laughs louder, it is the deep and booming sort. “I jest.” He says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Honest, I just.” 

Alcina sighs, “you jest too much for you own good, I think.”

“Perhaps so.” He replies. His expression growing suddenly and uncharacteristically dim. “But if I didn’t jest, I don’t know that I’d be able to smile at all.”

“That’s how you do it.” She nods. “You make jokes so that they cannot.” 

“It’s a learned skill.” He confirms. “You won’t need comedy, Miss D. You have sophistication and a pretty face.”

She thinks that her pretty face may be part of the problem. A double edged sword that brings her a last scrap of confidence at the same time as it seems to attract the most dull of men. “My face isn’t what troubles me, Duke.” 

The man nods. “I can imagine. You have changed. And not slowly either. It must be difficult to adjust.” 

“Yes.”  She takes another dainty nibble of her cake and a less than refined swig of wine. 

“Well those simpletons would do well to respect you. I mean look at you…” she tries not to do that. “You can break any one of them.”

“Why haven’t you? Crushed one of them I mean.” 

“I could but then I’d be down a customer. They have a lot to say until I tell them that the shop’s closed and they’ll have to get their wears elsewhere. They’re all gentlefolk then. Hell, they’re even willing to pay double.”

“At least someone in this town has intellect.”

“And it’s all right here.” He chuckles with a sturdy pat to her knee. 

Her face flushes lightly, “it isn’t quite as lonely when you make your rounds, Duke.” She doesn’t feel quite so freakish when he is around. And maybe it is that they are very like each other. They are both big people. Perhaps the both of them have outgrown this loathsome village. If only fleetingly, she wonders what it would be like to escape it with him. To find a new place and live out the rest of her days in the man’s company. But then she comes back to herself and she knows that she cannot. She is an oddity in this village, a thing to marvel at in a place teeming with bizarre things and curiosities. To stray to another? Impossible. 

A silence falls between them. He watches smoke lazily drift up to the sky and she, for what must be the hundredth time, studies and scrutinizes her body. Tries to make herself comfortable in a chair that is meant for people several feet shorter. Tries to make herself comfortable in skin and bones that have stretched well beyond what they were supposed to. At curves that are too new and too pronounced for her comfort.

She steals a glance at the Duke. He leans back, one hand holds the cigar in place and the other rests upon his stomach. He looks quite relaxed. He looks cozy and self-assured.

Perhaps in due time she will learn to appreciate her supple curves and accept what she has become. 

Perhaps in due time she, like the Duke, will have a confidence to match with her size.

[janetbrown711]

Alrighty. It comes down to this. How would everything be in the Angelina the first lives timeline when Dot is born? I feel like Angelina would be pretty strict on her from the beginning because she "doesn't want another mistake like Lena" to happen. Or something like that.

Princess Angelina II and William had already had two boys, so it was safe to say that when they announced their third pregnancy, everyone assumed it would be another prince. 

And so, it was easy to imagine the surprise on William and Lena’s face when the doctor handed them their beautiful baby girl. 

“A girl, William...” Lena looked at her new baby softly. “Did we ever think of a name for a girl?” She realized, looking back at William. 

“Let me see... there was Giselle, Lucy, Dorothy... Cecilia, I think? Or we could stick with flowers? Like Daisy, Violet, Lily, Yasmine, etc?” William said. Lena looked at her daughter and thought hard. 

“Dorothy is nice... but what if we shortened it to something... simpler. Like- like Dot,” Lena suggested. 

“Dot has a very nice ring to it,” William nodded. “I like it.”

“Princess Dot... I love it already,” She scrunched her nose and smiled at the sleeping baby. 

For a moment, the couple stayed like that, being utterly entranced and wrapped up in their new daughter’s cuteness. However, a quick knock at the door snapped them out of it, and before they knew it, Wakko had burst into the room and ran onto the bed. 

“Is that my baby brother?” Wakko asked, staying on the foot of the bed out of cautious curiosity. 

“Remember Wakko, you have to be quiet with babies,” Yakko reminded his brother, climbing onto the bed at a much slower pace.

“Actually, you boys now have a sister,” William said. 

“A girl?” Angelina stood at the foot of the bed. 

“Yes... a girl,” Lena looked at her mother. 

“Splendid. Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca The Third,” The queen nodded in approval. 

“Actually, we already named her-”

“The girl will be named Angelina the Third, and she will be a proper young lady. You do not have a say in the matter,” Angelina declared. 

“We’re her parents. It’s not your place to name her,” Lena argued. 

“Do I need to remind you that I am the Queen? Because you seem to be rather forgetful,” Angelina seethed. 

“Of course not, your majesty,” William sighed. “Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the Third is a beautiful name.”

The queen looked at William and nodded.

“It would do you well to listen to that husband of yours, Angelina. It might do you some good,” She looked at her daughter, entering a mini stare off, before exiting. 

“That name’s really long,” Wakko said once she left. 

“We can still call her Dot, but it’ll be a nickname instead,” Angelina determined. 

“So... her real name would be Angelina the Third, but we’d call her Dot? Wouldn’t grandma find that suspicious?” Yakko asked with a concerned frown. 

“I suppose we’d call her Angelina around your grandmother... but she hardly spends any time with her anyway, I’d hardly see why it matters. All she cares about is what she’s called legally,” Lena said, sharing a look with William. Yakko and Wakko nodded. 

“I like Dot. Dot is a good name,” Wakko smiled, clearly wanting to come closer, but still keeping his distance on the edge. 

“You can get closer, come here,” Lena smiled and gestured for the boys to come closer. William scooted out of the way, and the boys crawled onto either side of their mother, both getting a good look at their sister. 

“Dot,” Yakko nodded. “I think it fits her.”

“I think so too,” William said, ruffling his hair. Yakko laughed. 

“Can we call her Dottie?” Wakko asked. Lena shrugged. 

“That’ll be up to her,” Lena shrugged. “Some people just don’t like certain nicknames.” 

“Okay,” Wakko didn’t argue. He paused a moment, before speaking again. 

“Why does she look like that?”

“Wakko, you can’t just say that,” Yakko gave his younger brother a look. 

“What? She’s so tiny and cute, it’s weird,” Wakko frowned. Lena chuckled. 

“Yakko, Wakko, it’s alright,” She said, before looking at Wakko. “It’s just because she’s a baby, and you’ve never seen one before. Babies are very small, but she’ll grow with time, you’ll see.”

“Will she ever be bigger than me?” he asked. 

“Perhaps... though you’ll always be older,” William said. Wakko nodded, accepting this newfound information. 

“That’s right Wakko, you’re a big brother too,” Lena said with a smile. 

“That means it’ll be part of your job to protect and watch over her, like how Yakko watches over you,” William pointed out. Wakko looked at his big brother. 

“Really?” he asked. Yakko nodded. 

“Welcome to the big brother club,” He grinned. 

“Yay! That’ll be fun,” Wakko gave a big toothy grin, and Lena and William laughed fondly. 

And so their perfect little family gained another member. Wakko quickly adapted to his role of big brother, always watching Dot from afar with curiosity, and slowly coming closer as he gained an understanding of her, especially with the help of Yakko and his father. 

Wakko and Dot grew especially close when Yakko was forced to go to lessons, leaving Wakko with nothing to do, so he naturally wandered into his sister’s room and they’d play together for hours and hours. 

Four years went by of this, and Wakko and Dot had become quite the wild pair, always running around both inside the castle and out, with William and Lena sometimes barely able to keep up. 

Such was the situation one autumn day. Dot and Wakko were playing out in the gardens, while their parents rested at their favorite bench by the center fountain. 

“I’m gonna catch you!” Dot cheered as she chased after her brother. 

“Nuh-uh! I’m the fastest creature there’s ever been,” Wakko shouted back as he ran through the flower beds, not even realizing mud was getting everywhere. Dot didn’t even hesitate to follow, getting mud all over her bright pink dress. 

“Wakko! Dot! Stay out of the flower beds! You’ll crush the tulips,” Their mother called from afar. The children took their mother’s warning, getting out, and continuing their chase.  

Slowly but surely they ran further and further away from their parents, eventually running back into the castle, still in their mad chase. Wakko dashed upstairs, and Dot followed, but Wakko tripped on one step, slowing him down just enough for Dot to tag him and scurry back down and run the other way down the hall, tracking mud as she ran. Wakko wasn’t hurt from his trip, and chased after, as was the rule of tag. 

“Na na nana na! You can’t catch me!” Dot teased her brother, turning her head to look back, becoming confused briefly when she saw him screech to a halt right before-

Poof

Dot ran straight into her grandmother. 

“Princess Angelina- what is the matter with you? Why- you’re filthy!” The queen scolded. 

“I’m not dirty,” Dot frowned. 

“You’re absolutely covered in mud- you have a trail of muddy footprints coming up and down and-... you,” Angelina’s eyes fell upon Wakko. 

“I should’ve known you were behind this from the start- you’re always corrupting that sister of yours,” she stormed towards the frightened eight-year-old. 

“It’s not his fault!” Dot argued, but her grandmother ignored her. 

“We were just playing...” Wakko said. 

“Games are for fools who will never amount to anything,” Angelina grabbed Wakko’s arm and began to drag him off. 

“Don’t take Wakko!” Dot pleaded, running to catch up with the furious queen. 

“I’ve had enough of your antics. First with that brother of yours always talking back, and then your relentless need to give your sister ideas of filth and characteristics most unladylike- I’m going to put you somewhere where your siblings will be free of your influence,” she gripped his arm tighter and Wakko yelped in pain. 

“Let him go! Let him go!” Dot screamed, pulling on her dress as they began to go up some stairs. 

“Stay out of this, Angelina. Go and clean yourself up,” The queen glared.

“My name is Dot!” She shouted at her. giving her dress a massive tug that almost caused her to fall. 

“You irritable brat!” Angelina kicked Dot off of her dress, and Dot tumbled down. 

“Dot!” Wakko cried out, but Angelina returned to dragging him up the stairs, despite how much he was kicking and screaming at this point. 

Eventually, they reached the top of a very, very tall tower, and Wakko was thrown into a dark and dusty room at the top. 

“You are going to stay here and think about what you’ve done,” Angelina seethed. 

“Let me go! You hurt Dot! You’ll pay for that!” Wakko shook and pounded on the door violently, but she had already locked it, and he had only the strength of an eight-year-old.

Wakko paced and paced and paced around the room, desperately trying to think of something he could do. He tried biting on the door handle to see if he could break it, but the solid iron was just too strong. he tried slamming into it, but it only hurt him more. He pondering climbing out the window, but he knew it was far too tall. 

He was trapped. 

Dot was hurt. 

Wakko sunk to the floor, realizing he had already failed at his duty of big brother at the ripe age of eight. 

He could only wonder what was going on in the world below the tower...

.o0o.

“I’m not saying that, Lena, I’m just saying-”

“Wait, William... it’s quiet.” Angelina shot up, mid-conversation and took a look around the garden. “Too quiet... where are Wakko and Dot?”

“They probably just ran back into the castle and forgot to tell us again,” William sighed with a smile. “They’re very forgetful like that. C’mon dearest,” he stood and offered his hand and assisted her up. 

“I don’t like this... something feels off...” Lena looked around. 

“I’m sure it’s fine, Lena, just relax,” William smiled sympathetically. “Like I said, they’re probably just inside.”

“Yes... you’re probably right. I worry too much,” Lena tried to force a laugh to relax her nerves, but something deep within her didn’t feel right. 

Eventually, the couple made it back to the castle, and noticed there was a path of muddy footprints that lead in the same direction. 

“I told them to stay out of the flower beds,” Lena shook her head with a chuckle. They apologized to the cleaners as they went in further. 

“Wakko? Dot?” William called. 

No response. 

“Excuse me, where did do these tracks end?” Lena asked one of the maids. 

“One set goes up a few stairs before ending, the other goes down the nursery hall,” They explained. William and Lena shared a look. 

They thanked the maid and decided to go to the nursery hall to look for them first. 

However, to their distress, when they entered the hallway, they could hear very distinct cries. William and Lena ran to the nursery and found Dot was crying and hugging her stuffed bear, Barky. 

“Dot? Honey, are you okay? Where’s Wakko?” Lena asked, and Dot ran to her and hugged her. 

“G-gra-grand-m-ma t-to-took h-hi-him a-and now h-h-he-he’s g-gone, a-and sh-she kicked me a-and now m-my head hurts a-and- a-and-” Dot hiccuped so much, it was impossible to understand. 

“Grandma? What did she do?” William asked, his concern growing tenfold. 

“Sh-she took him! A-and kicked me d-down the stairs,” Dot sobbed. Lena and William gasped. 

“The tower,” they said at the same time. 

“h-huh?” Dot sniffled. 

“Don’t worry honey, we’ll get Wakko back. Everything is going to be okay,” she kissed her forehead. 

“William, go break him out,” she ordered, and William only paused to give Dot a quick kiss on the forehead too before running out. 

“Meanwhile I am going to have to have a good talking to with your grandmother,” Lena said. 

“D-don’t go!” Dot pleaded. 

“I don’t wanna go, Dottie, but we’re going to find Yakko, okay? Mommy just really needs to talk to grandma about this,” Lena said. Dot sniffled and thought a second before nodding. 

“Yakko is good,” she agreed. Lena nodded, picking up Dot and carrying her until she reached the family study and walked in. 

“Mom?” Yakko tilted his head, before noticing Dot and gasping. “What happened?” He asked. 

“I’m going to have a conversation with your grandmother. Watch over her for me,” Lena said, setting Dot down. Yakko nodded. 

“C’mere Dot,” he stood from his desk and opened his arms, and Dot ran to him and gave a strong hug. 

“She might need some ice for her head while I go talk to your grandmother,” Lena said. Yakko frowned. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

“Nothing you can fix, but something I’m going to try to anyway,” Lena huffed. “Promise me you’ll be smart and stay safe in here?”

“Promise,” Yakko swore. 

“Good,” She bent down and gave Dot another kiss on the top of her head. 

“I’ll be right back you two,” She smiled before heading out. 

The more Lena walked, the more enraged she became. 

She knew her mother was cruel and wicked, but to be so utterly heartless and inhumane as to lock Wakko, an actual child, inside that terrible, horrible, awful room just felt like a whole new level of low. Lena had to draw the line right then and there. Her mother simply could not get away with this. It didn’t matter that she was the queen- this was beyond sadistic. 

She eventually reached the throne room, and burst in. 

“Mother, what the hell is my son doing in that awful tower room?! He’s only eight years old! You had no right do punish him in that way!” She shouted at her. 

“Angelina! I am in the middle-” Her mother tried to say, looking furious. 

“No! You had no right to do that to my son. I mean- seriously. How on earth could you lock up your own grandchild like that?!” Lena asked, and she heard whispers of people behind her. 

Her mother was in the middle of a meeting with ambassadors from other kingdoms in the area. 

“Angelina that is enough!” The queen shouted, standing up from her throne. 

“Outside. Now.” she ordered, and Lena went out one of the doors, her mother following. 

Once the doors shut, The queen removed her glove and slapped Angelina across the face. 

“You have no right addressing your queen like that, especially in a meeting such as that,” She fumed. 

“You have no right treating my son like an animal!” Lena argued, and her mother hit her again. 

“If he doesn’t want to be treated like one then he should stop acting like one.” She grit her teeth. 

“He’s your family. You have no right to treat him like that,” Lena stayed firm. 

“You do not tell me what I can or cannot do. Honestly, Angelina, you are so blinded by your arrogance you always forget that in every situation, I am the one in control,” She stepped forward, leering over her. 

“Well, either way, your little tower tactic won’t work anyways. William is strong enough he’s breaking down the door to free our son right now,” Lena smirked proudly. Her mother hit her again. 

“You know what, Angelina? For years and years and years I have been merciful on you and your pitiful existence. I let you have your bastard peasant husband, and your disgusting children, but now? Your insolence has gone on far too long. I really did hope it wouldn’t come to this, but you’ve forced my hand,” she said, coldly. 

“Wh-what are you going to do?” Lena’s anger evaporated into fear. 

“What I must to remove this blemish on my perfect family tree,” She glared, before walking back and out into the throne room again, leaving Lena horrorstruck.

Dear God... what had she done?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

[blackberry-bloody]

so I haven't done much original whump in quite a while, but I really felt the need to fill my own prompt (even though technically this turned into waaaaaaay more than I intended, and the tail whump is kind of an after though in this it seems.), and I really wanted to introduce my boi Dayzel officially. So Here's two birds with one stone.

@darkwarfy, @icyheart-and-friends, @seagullsausage

Contains: creepy whumper, retrained whumpee, non human/demon whumpee, angel/non-human whumper, implied prior whump, torture, choking, broken bones, loss of limbs (not graphic/ not described), humiliation (if you squint, so just in case), stress position, snarky whumpee that doesn't know how to shut up, whumpee reaching their breaking point

Dayzel's breathing came wheezy and strained from where he was unhappily seated. The ropes pinning his wrists to each if the chair's arms were starting to cut bloody red lines from his tugging, and his vision was just a little hazy from the repeated blunt force injuries to his head. Still… He looked up at the man glowering over him, a smug grin plastered quite firmly from ear to ear. He was Dayzel Infernos, and he was not about to be bested by some punk angel trying to get all high and mighty on his ass. "Look, chicken wing-" a resounding slap echoed in the room as his head snapped to the side. He clenched his jaw and slowly turned his head back to glare at the very narrowed purple eyes that had gotten much closer. "Oh wow, don't like nicknames huh? I'll keep it noted." His voice was practically dripping with a toxic mixture of venom and sarcasm as he chuckled in the man's face and spit a globule of blood at him.

The look of disgust on his face made his smirk that much more smug as he leaned forward as much as he could with his wings tied to the back of the chair. Just needing enough to close the gap. He was not impressed. "Hey bird brain, I don't know what you, or your buddies that dragged me here are thinking you're doing, but whatever it is… It's pretty fucking pathetic." His tail twitched from it's position around his leg, swaying from side to side like a snake judging the creature before it. "You're not the first person to try and "teach the evil demon a lesson", hell you're not even the first angel. I've had humans do worse than you. All you've done is smack me around a bit and glare at me." A slightly manic giggle escaped, but soon turned into a coughing fit as he had to pull back to catch his breath and relieve tension on his wings. Once he opened his eyes again, he noticed the angel's expression had changed from one of anger and disgust, to something more unreadable…

Dayzel paid the change no mind however, and continued with his taunting."I've been here many times before and not a single person… Human, angel, or otherwise has yet to make me break. None of you have any creativity. You're all so dull."

"Is that so?" The man before him finally spoke. His voice was deep and commanding, but also incredibly soft. But in the otherwise quiet room… It was practically booming.

Dayzel's eyes snapped up once more and processed the moment, his grin faltering for only a split second, and only due to the surprise. "Ah, so he can speak. Wonderful. I was starting to get tired of my own voice. Oh wait, no, that's impossible." He laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls and making them echo. However, he was abruptly cut off as a hand shot out and grabbed one of his horns. It didn't hurt, but it was just jarring enough to make him wince. He let out a low growl and tried to tug it out of the angel's grip. Only for the man to laugh in return, and guide Dayzel's head into an uncomfortable position looking straight up at the ceiling. "For the record. Yes. It is so. And of all the times I've been caught, this doesn't even make the top ten." He bit out. He tried to jerk his head again to make eye contact… But his head was held firmly in place.

"I see. Then perhaps it's time I showed you some of my… Creativity… Hm?" Delicate and utterly cold fingers found their way to Dayzel's fully exposed neck, and ever so gently wrapped around the skin… Before the grip became crushing hard, cutting off his airflow entirely.

Dayzel gasped and, although he tried his best to hide it… He did start to panic… As he tugged on the ropes trying to reach up and claw his hands off him. Or even shift his head so he could bite him. But neither were really options, so he was just left to slowly choke on nothingness until his vision went black.

~~~ Eventually, and ever so slowly, Dayzel could feel himself being pulled from the black void of unconsciousness. The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer seated in an uncomfortable chair, but instead was laying face down on an uncomfortable floor. The second thing he discovered was that he was indeed still restrained, despite the new position… His arms twitched behind him to try and push himself up, but was only met with stiff and sticky resistance of boring duct tape around his wrists. He had yet to open his eyes, but he still rolled them behind his eyelids. “I thought you were going to show me creative, not cliche, pigeon,” he growled out, despite the somewhat still smug tone in his voice. “Oh, don’t worry your fake red haired head, I’m getting to it. Try not to pass out before I can, ok?” The same voice as before spoke somewhere directly above him. Monotone, flat, and utterly condescending.

Dayzel’s eyes finally snapped open and he tilted his head to try and see where the angel was, “What the fuck is that-?!” He was abruptly cut off as a boot was placed securely at the base of where his wings met and weight was steadily applied. “Oh” was the only thing he could wheeze out as he struggled to take in air with his rib cage being crushed. He attempted to seem nonchalant as he felt the angel shift his weight behind him… But that was quickly thrown out the wind as he felt soft hands carefully take hold of his tail, lifting it up to get a better look. Immediately Dayzel started thrashing under him, letting out curses and threats that could put a trucker to shame.

"Oh hush, no need to get so worked up yet." Was the only reply given. Well, the only verbal reply… The twist and added pressure on the tender muscle between his wings were his other reply all it's own. The motion itself was enough to stun Dayzel beneath him, reeling from the pain. The angel, of course, took advantage of this moment and swiftly tied a cord around the man's tail before releasing him. "See? Now, up you come."

Delicate hands corded through Dayzel's blood matted hair and yanked, startling Dayzel from his daze, guiding him to be standing upright.

Dayzel gasped and heaved for breath as he stood up, wobbling ever so slightly as he did so. Although, he'd deny it with the same vigor and venom as he would anything else that might bruise his ego. His eyes were ablaze with fury. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you?! As soon as I can, I promise I'm going to pluck you like a chicken!"

The angel's expression remained neutral as his hand made its way up to wipe the spit off his face. "Yes… I'm quite certain you'd like to. But do please remember you brought this upon yourself sweetheart." There was no warmth, nor malice for that matter as he reached up and patted Dayzel's cheek. "Don't worry, though, I'm almost ready to leave you alone."

"Don't you dare touch me like that!" Was all he could manage to growl as he snapped his face to the side and bit down hard on the man's hand. However, instead of pulling away, or even acknowledging the red lifeblood dripping down his hand… The angel simply tsked and gave Dayzel a look of… What he could only describe as disappointment… Which was enough to startle Dayzel enough to let go.

The angel's uninjured hand shot out so fast he actually flinched as his horn was once again grabbed and his head tilted back. The angel carefully and slowly maneuvered behind him once again, and as he was still held in place, Dayzel had no idea what he was doing. "Such a shame. Your wings are actually quite beautiful you know? I was hoping to merely pin them for this… But seeing as how you want to resort to such. Brutality. I shall return the favor in kind. They should make a nice mantle piece."

Dayzel felt his stomach drop. All tough guy act and threats thrown away as fear took over his face. Actual, genuine, raw fear… "Wait, please don't-!" But he didn't even get the finish as the angel gripped tightly at the base of his wing and twisted and wrenched until the limb fell to the floor. And before he could so much as gather his thoughts… He immediately started on Dayzel's other wing, doing the exact same. That too fell with a soft thud to the floor. Dayzel never cried… And that much held up… No, through his screams, instead he was sobbing. And once his horn was released from it's crushing grip, he too fell to the floor in a heap of himself.

"See? Now we're getting somewhere. Lesson one. Fighting only ends in pain." The shifting of the voice told Dayzel that the man was once again in front of him. He didn't respond. "If you don't acknowledge me, I'll cut off your horns next."

"Fuck you." Dayzel lifted his head ever so slightly to get a look at him… Splattered with his blood across his white uniform…

The man crouched down to be closer in view. "Ah, out of threats I see. That's good. That's progress. There may be hope for you yet." He reached down and delicately pet the tufts of Dayzel's hair and the fuzz of the back of his neck. And Dayzel hated himself for being grateful for the gentle touch as opposed to pain. He merely clenched his jaw. "Unfortunately for you, lesson number two is that hope is meaningless." His hand withdraws and he stands back up to his full height, before fishing around in his pocket for something. Once found, he pulls out a tiny two button remote, one up arrow and one down arrow. He presses the up arrow.

Confused, Dayzel looked up as he heard some sort of mechanical noise, like a motor. And that's when he noticed the cord going up, that was attached to his tail… Which was seemingly being lifted by said motor.

Again, panic rushed through him as he scrambled to stand up and tried to reach the cord just below the tip of his tail… But he was still far too dazed and in pain to grab hold and undo the knot, let alone with his hands tied. He watched as the angel started walking towards the door out of the room, meanwhile his feet finally couldn't touch the ground and he lurched forward with a hiss of pain. The motor stopped, leaving the wingless demon dangling from the cord and the tip of his tail. When he looked back… The angel was gone, leaving him to his own misery. "FUCK YOU!!!" He screamed again, this time raw and full of hate, so loud that it left him once again panting for air.

~~~

It started as a sharp pain, every muscle and joint screaming at him to get down. To ease the pressure. To stop what was happening. And it lasted like that for the first little while as he struggled against the tape and spun in the air. He even tried being upside down and climbing backwards up his own tail to reach the cord. It didn't work of course, but he was desperate enough to try.

Eventually, he figured he'd try staying as still as possible to reduce the sudden jerks on his tail. But then he got lightheaded, or his legs fell asleep and he inevitably had to shift again, sparking the pain once more…

However, after a while… The pain became duller, and more muted. Still very much there and ever persistent. But his tail was slowly losing its ability to hold him up.

Finally he lost the ability to move his tail at all. It had gone a tingling sort of numb and lifeless…

He slumped, folded in half, and without the strength to hold himself facing parallel to the ground. He didn't know how long it had been, nor did he know how much longer it would be… But for the first time, he felt completely helpless.

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Silver

Summary: A companion series for Like Gold.

Sakura misses him so much. She misses the faint smell of woodsmoke and sage, and mismatched eyes captivating in their intensity and unfathomable depths. The Rinnegan is beautiful, soft lavender ringed by hypnotizing layers of circle and tomoe, but flecks of silver dance in his right, tiny asterisms bewitching in nature, if one gets close enough; she’d first noticed it when they were children at the Academy. She knows they're Itachi's now, a slightly different scattering of luminaries aglow in the deep pitch of obsidian, but they're still as enthralling to her as they had been back then. She dreams of that silver sometimes, recalls it any time she sees something similar in color or reflet.

Blank period, canon-compliant, Sakura-centric, some expanded plot points from Like Gold, fluff and pining, eventually becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 1/?: An Introduction to Electrocardiography

Sakura gazes out the window of her office, a pile of paperwork set aside for a poetic sort of procrastination, trying to indulge for once in a Konoha spring, though she's finding it arduous.

As pretty as it is this time of year, all she can manage to feel is wistful.

Hanami has come and gone already for the most part, though there are a few stubborn cherry blossom trees lingering at the tail end of their blooming. She can see one here from her window, up on the hillside that slopes towards Hokage Rock, clinging to the uneven land. She’s sure its roots have to be all twisted, a labyrinth of gnarled wood clinging to any scrap of land it can wind itself around as its branches and petals try against all odds to reach upwards into the open sky that she can’t take her eyes off of.

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but it’s one she doesn’t care to unpack.

This year was her twentieth viewing of her namesake, though Sakura obviously doesn't remember the first few. Her parents take great pride in the retelling of tales from those first few years of her life, the ones she was too little to remember. The highlights come up annually on her birthday without fail, how she grasped at the petals like they were something precious, clutched in her sticky little hands the entire day.

A framed photograph is perched on one of the built-in shelves of her parents' living room, of her and her father on her first birthday. He was holding her up on unsteady legs, ridiculously proud and pointing towards the camera where her mother had been trying to get her to look. Her short pink hair was flying absolutely everywhere, matching the fluttering petals and in-bloom cherry blossom tree in the background, chubby hands grasping upwards. Strawberry cake and frosting were smeared all over her cheeks. They’d had a picnic for her, at the park nearest to their house.

“We came home and cleaned you up, and then your father helped you water your tree for the first time, in the little pink watering pail you unwrapped earlier. You were so cute.” That’s what her mom says every year. Sakura has the sentence memorized at this point, could recite it on cue, if she needed to.

Her parents had planted a cherry blossom sapling in their backyard a few days after they brought her home from the hospital as a newborn, so the tree is around the same age she is. She used to spend time under it often, as a kid, and some of her earliest memories involve sprawling beneath it to study the heavens while her mother gardened. She would also sneak berries from the patch when her back was turned. Sometimes her dad would join in her pilferage, and they would sit beneath the tree like a couple of bandits with stained lips, though those first few years she can remember he barely fit underneath it, as tall as he is. Many a tickle fight had been had, shaded by those branches. She would read books there on nice afternoons, when she was a little older.

The tree is fully grown now, also on the final cusp of its blooming for the year, floriferous wood expanded outwards to drape her childhood stomping grounds in a sea of soft pink. They have a picnic under it every year, in her family’s backyard, when they celebrate her birthday together. Her actual birthday has come and gone, but her birthday dinner is two days from now. Her parents swung by her apartment on Sunday afternoon for a bit with outlandishly large cupcakes, but her mom had mentioned they’d do dinner and a gift on their usual night, Thursday, since it works so well with their schedules every other week.

“We have to have your picnic, under your tree, like always. It’s a tradition! My beautiful girl. I can’t believe you’re twenty. It seems like just yesterday you were only yay high,” her dad had told her, gesturing below his knees before hugging her too tightly, ruffling the hair she'd inherited from him before they left. The cupcakes were strawberry with cream cheese frosting, one of her favorite treats. They’d left her with four extra to enjoy between then and Thursday, one for each day if she wanted it, turning her birthday into more of a week-long affair than a one-day celebration.

She and Ino had demolished two of them while watching some of the terrible movies they love to hate together, later that evening. It had been a smorgasbord of strawberries, really, because they'd washed them down with strawberry daiquiris, sugary sweetness topped with ridiculous amounts of whipped cream. They'd sat on her balcony, after, sipping a little tipsily and just looking.

"You should try to enjoy your namesake more this year, Forehead. You're so busy that I'm not sure you've realized, but you've really grown into it," Ino had said, beckoning vaguely towards a Konoha beginning to bloom, renewed with a warm breeze, spring ushered in by a fluttering of pink petals. Ino likes to give compliments in roundabout ways, she’s learned over the course of their friendship; crass as the blonde can be, she does have her moments. Her words meant a lot to Sakura, so she’s trying to take them to heart, to stop and smell the cherry blossoms, so to speak. It won’t be long before Konoha crescendos into the sweltering heat of the summer.

She loves her parents and her friends. She really does.

But birthdays are weird, Sakura thinks.

Last year, Sasuke had sent her a letter on her birthday. She’s reread it so many times that she has it more than memorized; it’s stitched into the muscle tissue of her heart at this point, or maybe scarred into the lining of her aortic valve, sempiternal markings adorning the tunnels that sustain her, causing her breath to catch every time.

Sakura,

Hanami has come to the wilderness in the Land of Honey. Bees are awakening and foraging for the first pollen of the season, with which to begin again. Cherry blossom petals are everywhere, lining the pathways and floating on the water.

Happy birthday.

-Sasuke

It had been short, simple, and even a little poetic; she had cherished it, as she does all of his other letters. She’d cherished the pressed flower with it just as much; a cherry blossom, neatly flattened with a precision that screamed Sasuke, near exactly the same shade of pink as her hair.

Sakura had started crying when she unfolded the paper to reveal it sitting atop his words. His hawk had waited patiently at her office window for a response to be written and tied to its leg, perched atop the windowsill and watching the goings-on of the village below, absolutely no concept in its predator brain of how much she delights in seeing it fly, a graceful tether to the boy - now man - she has been in love with for ages.

Cherry blossom petals are everywhere. Is there a hidden meaning there, or is she making a mountain out of a molehill?

She’s tried not to read too much into the letters. She's not sure if he sends any to Naruto or not; she's too afraid to ask, because she'll either get a heart-pounding hope if he doesn't get them, or a soul-crushing disappointment if he does. She can't imagine him sending a yellow flower to Naruto, but he may very well have sent him a different gift for his birthday.

Maybe he just thought she would like a flower, which she did - it’s pressed for safekeeping, along with all of his other correspondence to her, sporadically and chronologically throughout a book she keeps on her nightstand, An Introduction to Electrocardiography. It is her take on an album of small things she holds close to her own heart, things she wishes she could read in his. Sakura didn’t want to buy an actual album for such a thing; that felt too formal, for something as ambiguous as her ties to Sasuke, overflowing on her end as they may be. So she’d settled on a book about deciphering the heart’s tells based on science only, electrical impulses and repolarization, the sizes and positions of the chambers, how to diagnose conditions utilizing one’s findings. It’s one she doesn’t need access to anymore, extremely familiar with EKGs after years of study. She’d wanted it to be something no-nonsense, all hard facts and data on how to read activity plotted over time.

Evidence-based. Are letters evidence, though? She’s not sure that would hold up as empirical proof in any of the scholarly journals she’s studied or submitted work to since beginning her research. She thinks wryly, though, based on what she has witnessed get published, that scientific verification doesn’t always matter if you know the right people.

She’s thought many times sifting through it that perhaps it is too optimistic, too hopeful of a book subject for such a thing. Sakura has agonized over it, frankly, wondering whether it was an inappropriate choice.

...But now that they’re in there, it might ache worse to move them somewhere else.

It’s the last day of March now, and she didn’t get a letter this month, which is unusual, because she’s gotten one near each month in the time that he’s been away. She’s paged through the book a few times over the past several days, rereading and admiring the preserved sakura blossom, frozen in suspended animation indefinitely on a page about precordial leads.

Sakura hadn’t really expected anything from him for her birthday, other than a monthly letter like he usually sends... but this year she didn’t even get that. She’s trying really hard to not be disappointed. She has so much to be thankful for, in the grand scheme of things...

...But the petals of the cherry blossom from last year have faded over time, she’d evaluated yesterday, sitting in her bedroom. It might be like her, always pressed in a book, fading whilst stuck indefinitely between the boundless teeth of academia. There is always more data to record, more evidence, with which one can prove or disprove their findings.

No letter this month, though. Nothing to record, no new evidence.

It might be time to move the letters somewhere else, she thinks pensively. Maybe a place where she’s not tempted to look at them all the time; their placement in the book, small scraps of paper that stick out in only a couple of places, makes it easy to go back and reread them. She’s pretty sure she has an empty shoebox in her closet that she could move them to, in a pile rather than catalogued between pages rife with information and a fragile sort of hope. Maybe she’ll do it tonight, put it up in the far right corner of the upper shelf, shoved towards the back so she can’t reach it without the stool, so she’s not tempted whenever the next bout of heartsickness slams into her like one of Tsunade-shishou’s fists used to. She needs to go by the library after work first, to return some things, but maybe when she gets home, she’ll do it. She could eat a cupcake, too; that might make it a little easier.

Sakura misses him so much. She misses the faint smell of woodsmoke and sage, and mismatched eyes captivating in their intensity and unfathomable depths. The Rinnegan is beautiful, soft lavender ringed by hypnotizing layers of circle and tomoe, but flecks of silver dance in his right, tiny asterisms bewitching in nature, if one gets close enough; she’d first noticed it when they were children at the Academy. She knows they're Itachi's now, a slightly different scattering of luminaries aglow in the deep pitch of obsidian, but they're still as enthralling to her as they had been back then.

She dreams of that silver sometimes, recalls it any time she sees something similar in color or reflet. There’s an extremely unique necklace in an antique shop she visits with Ino and Sai from time to time, and occasionally on her own, over on the northeast side of town. It’s a salt-and-pepper diamond, dark grey with inclusions, dainty and set in what must be a hand-fabricated setting. It hangs from a silver chain, towards the back of a display case filled with other vintage and distinctive pieces, but it’s the only one she ever finds herself drawn to. It is so similar to his right eye, dark smoke near black, speckled with beguiling silver startling in its clarity. The bevel cut reveals new flecks dependent on the angle at which you view it.

Sakura studies it closely on each visit, because it is so hauntingly breathtaking and it reminds her of him.

Ino has said it’s not her color, and that she should stick to warm tones and gold, for which she is better suited; Sakura has not confessed to her why it catches her eye so much. Sai has agreed with his girlfriend on the coloring note, sensitive as he is to such things, but the way he studies her every time she tears herself away from it makes her suspect he knows exactly why it captivates her so. It’s been sitting there for years at this point; she has to mentally talk herself out of buying it on each visit. It’s beautiful, but she would spend far too much time gawking at it, and it might hurt more with extended study than the gentle tugging at her heart she experiences when she’s in that old building throughout tiny fragments of lackadaisical afternoons.

Sasuke has been gone for a long time. She hopes he's finding the peace he's been seeking, that he's seeing the world with new eyes just as he'd imagined. She thinks of him every day, sends out little orisons like petals in the breeze in the hopes that they’ll find him, wherever he is.

I wonder where he is now.

Try as she does to enjoy the breath of spring Konoha is right now, and her namesake as Ino said, all she can seem to do is shift her vision to the sky, hoping against hope for a glimpse of a familiar bird-of-prey that will stay an ample amount of time for her to craft a response, before it abvolates away for another month.

Sakura smiles, then, close to laughing at the absurdity of it all, because she is so predictable. She loves this village despite its many flaws and challenges, despite the things about it she and Naruto and Kakashi-sensei and Ino and even Tsunade-shishou, off in the Land of Wind, are trying to change, but even after so many years, she’s still pining for something beyond it, something in the wilds of the sky just beyond her reach.

There’s always next year, she supposes, pupils drawn again towards the outstretched branches of the cherry blossom tree on the hill, before trailing her eyes along further. She can grow a little more to try to reach him. When she was little, she had wanted to grow tall so she could try to touch a star, like the branches of the tree in her backyard did when she and her father laid beneath them on balmy summer nights. He would tell her ridiculous stories about all of the constellations, things she knew had to be untrue, even at the ripe age of five. Precocious, he’d always called her, but in the loving, joking manner he had.

Her gaze follows the horizon, leisurely taking in the rest of her home. It really is a lovely day, despite her yearning. Spring is here again, and today's is a gentle sunset, one last little bit of sunlight with which to conclude March. The temperature is already spiking, unusually warm for early spring, but summers in the Land of Fire are always hot. She really should finish her paperwork, but it’s hard to find the motivation just yet.

Something possesses her, then, to turn her neck more, take in more of the skyline's continuation. She wants to see all of it.

And then Sakura’s eyes fall on an achingly familiar figure cloaked all in black, perched only a roof away and observing her, and she thinks she must have nodded off, because she has to be dreaming.

She subtly pinches herself in the millisecond of time that follows, but she is very much awake.

The words are blooming out of her throat before she can even process what’s happening, exultation sinking into her every vein. “Sasuke-kun!” She moves to crank her window open the rest of the way, and he hops from the neighboring roof down into her office, all nimble legerity that she still thinks has to be a mere mirage conjured from her memories. When he straightens to his full height, she muses that he has to have grown taller. The mere sound of his footsteps on the tile flooring, as familiar a refrain to her as if he’d just walked out of the village yesterday, are a treasure beyond price.

“Sakura.” His voice is a rich timbre that she has desperately felt the absence of; hearing him say her name almost makes her want to cry. She smiles wider instead, to the extent that it almost hurts, and her gaze latches hungrily onto the very eye she was just daydreaming about. A storm of soot and silver, beveled into countless fragments like some kind of dark, rustic diamond, and so staggeringly beautiful that she’s pretty sure she’s blushing just from beholding it. Gods, it's not fair for someone to be so handsome.

“When did you get back?” She asks, utterly overcome with joy. This is better than a letter or any birthday gift she could have received, brighter than any star she’s beheld.

“Just now.” He’s smiling, a small and subtle upturn of lips that is so characteristic of him. Then his words hit her, and her face must be getting redder.

Just now? As in…

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday,” he adds before she can simmer on that for too long, and she has to blink in bewilderment, because that is the absolute last thing she expected him to say. Sakura wonders how much heat can creep into one’s face before they spontaneously combust.

Then she realizes she should probably respond, as humans tend to do in conversations. “Oh! Um… it’s okay.” She folds her hands in front of her shyly, grinning like an idiot. “Thank you for remembering.”

There is a lengthy moment in which she just soaks him in, hoping he can read in her eyes how much she’s missed him. He is still so beautiful, prized eyes and aristocratic angles that have solidified a bit more into the face of a man in the time that’s passed. His hair is different now, covering his Rinnegan eye. His cloak is a little more threadbare, too. He’s tall.

His expression, normally unreadable, is calm. Content, even.

There’s a question nagging at her that she knows she needs to ask. She tries not to bite her lip as she asks it, braces herself for the possibility of not liking the answer.

“Are you… just back for a little while?”

Did you find what you were searching for?

He gazes at her for so long that she thinks he may be glimpsing her soul, peeking into her ventricles to see his own words immortalized there, seared into her core to be felt each time her blood pumps.

“...For more than a while.” And she smiles the biggest she ever has. Oh, this is so much better than a letter or a gift.

“Well, welcome back, Sasuke-kun. It’s… very good to see you again.” It feels as if a piece of her heart has been returned to her, something of the divine stitched back into her chest and full to bursting in omneity.

There is a pause, and then he’s reaching his hand out towards hers, initiating physical contact with a touch that is feather light, so gentle she thinks she is going to start sobbing.

She can’t help it; she pulls him into a hug, tinged with elation. She hopes he doesn’t mind too much; he stiffens for a brief moment, but then settles, wrapping his arm around her and settling his head atop of hers, and she could die happy right there, embracing him with feelings momentarily set free from where they’ve been whelved into her chest.

He smells faintly like sage and smoked cedar, just as she remembered. She can hear his heart thumping, a strong cadence, and it grounds her. Oh, she’s missed him.

“...I’m home, Sakura.” Soft words float above her head, and she can feel the vibration of them through his chest, right by her ear.

Oh, she’s crying.

Sasuke lets her embrace him for a long time, for which she is so grateful. She knows he’s not one for physical contact; it’s a privilege to be allowed into his space even for a single second, let alone for an extended period.

She draws back eventually, glancing up at him again through the tears still collecting in her eyes. Her face blazes when he reaches to wipe them away tenderly with a calloused hand, careful and with a lenity that she’s always known was there, hidden under the surface.

She could just stare at him for hours, she thinks as he lowers his hand. He’s still looking down at her with one of the softest expressions she has ever seen him wear. She really hopes she’s not dreaming.

It’s tremendously hard to get it together, but she tries, because she doesn’t want to spend the entire time crying, not when he's finally back. There are so many questions she’d like to ask him that she’s finding it a challenge to pick one with which to lead.

He surprises her by speaking first, quietly. “I… had something made for you.”

It takes a moment for the words to compute.

Made for me?

Her processing speed must be exceptionally slow, stuck in the utter mush her insides have become, because he adds, “...For your birthday.”

Sakura blinks, and furrows her brows in confusion. “Made… for me?”

He nods. “...I’m sorry it’s late.” The way he speaks it is cryptic, like the apology weighs more than one needed for a tardy gift. Doesn’t he know she doesn’t care? He could have showed up in July with something for her, and it still would have made her knees weak and her heart thump furiously in her chest.

Made for me? She’s still stuck on that sentiment as he breaks eye contact and turns to rummage through his satchel, beneath his cloak.

Sasuke pulls out a medium-sized flat box, a simple white, and she doesn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t that. Something that comes in a box is a lot more formal than a pressed cherry blossom, something more… permanent.

She reaches out to take it on autopilot, and is stupidly distracted by the way his hand brushes against hers, a small spark that makes something in her quake. She wonders if he felt it, too.

Sakura clutches the box with both hands like her life depends on it, murmuring softly, “Thank you, Sasuke-kun.” She’ll wait until later to open it, after he’s left; whatever it is, she doesn’t want to embarrass him, and she also isn’t sure she can tear her eyes away from him just yet, anyways.

Is it just the lighting in her office, or are his ears a little flushed? She didn’t notice that before; maybe he’s had a drawn-out journey back. She wonders how much ground he covered today, if he’s still winded. He might need to rest.

But then he mumbles, voice husky with what she assumes is disuse, “...You should open it.”

His words echo in her head again. I… had something made for you.

“Okay,” she answers in a hushed voice, so she doesn’t scare him away, shifting slightly to set the box on her desk carefully. Suddenly she is very nervous, anticipation settling into her gut.

When she lifts the lid, she swears her heart ceases beating.

The most exquisitely intricate uchiwa fan she has ever laid eyes upon is placed in the box before her.

It’s carved into a likeness of a cherry blossom tree, branches twisting lissomely into bamboo framework, impossibly fine. A different set of words is reverberating in her head now.

You should try to enjoy your namesake more this year, Forehead. You're so busy that I'm not sure you've realized, but you've really grown into it.

Made for me?

“O-oh.” Sakura is not sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this. She fights back the tears, biting her lip and wide eyes soaking it all in, enjoying her namesake in a way that is entirely unprecedented in its sheer severity. The amount of time it would have taken for someone to sculpt and bind and sew is unimaginable; every detail is finely wrought, flawless down to the silk and stitching, lacquered and carved pale wood shifting effortlessly into eighty slivers of bamboo, intricately webbing silk together with the lithe grace of gossamer. It’s a cherry blossom tree, petals and all, pearlescent thread shifting slightly, gorgeously in the light, unimaginable detail. She has stitched people back together countless times over the course of years, but even her expert dexterity would look like a child’s first embroidery stitching in comparison. The stamen within the petals are nearly more detailed and finely milled than an actual, real life cherry blossom, plexure sutured in a fashion so baronial that it’s impossible to believe human hands were even responsible for it.

The silk. Oh, the silk. The color shift bears a striking resemblance to the Uchiha insignia. This is not a gift one gives to a teammate.

Oh, she's crying.

This has to be a dream, some kind of paracosm her heart thought up to give her brain the high of a lifetime. Hope burgeons and unfolds in her chest cavity, bleeding into her extremities like the pale pink shifting into red before her eyes. She’s never, ever going to forget this, not even if she lives to be one hundred years old.

Made for me?

She picks it up with disbelieving hands, grasping it more carefully than she’s ever held anything in her entire life, as if she’s going to wake up at any moment and it will dissolve into synapse, lost in the hazy juncture of morning the way one tends to lose awareness of the contents of a dream upon coming to lucidity. To her absolute bewilderment, it stays solid in her hands, a finery made even more unbelievable by touch. The grooves of the carving are as gentle as his hand had been on hers earlier. She thinks it would have had to be commissioned at least a few months in advance, outlandishly expensive. She’s never seen silk like this. She doesn't know; she's smart, but she's no artisan. Maybe she should ask Sai. She's crying.

She adores it.

Tears won’t stop welling in her eyes; she thinks they may be escaping from a tender spot inside her chest that’s been reserved for him since she was a child, a leak in a metaphorical dam. She takes a steadying breath, blinks, almost has them conquered. Get a grip, Sakura.

Then Sasuke’s hand is on hers, gently turning the handle over.

Her name is carved into the pale wood, on the back in formal calligraphy, Sakura daintier and more perfect than she could ever write it, as if it had just been uncovered in one of the inner layers rather than whittled there manually. Sasuke presses her fingers to it before loosening his grip, and in that second it feels as though his lost hand is in the wood, caressing her from split atoms in the grooves from the other side.

The tears spill over her cheeks - she admits defeat - intricacy of the entire thing blurring out of focus but still somehow burned into her retinas for all eternity.

Made for me, made for me, made for me-

Her voice finds her after a few more tears fall. “It’s beautiful.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, overwhelmed with complete and utter awe, trying desperately to choke down a sob. “Thank you, Sasuke-kun. I… I’ll treasure it. Always.” She cradles the fan closer to her chest, her heart - maybe An Introduction to Electrocardiography wasn’t a poorly-chosen book, after all; there is much to be read from something this precious - and regards him with watery eyes. She wishes she wasn’t crying; the distortion of the tears is making it hard to see the silver she’s loved and missed so much.

His hand lifts to her face after a moment, and to her surprise, he wipes away her tears again. She barely catches the something-more in his eyes, then, through the waterworks, precious metal flashing and pouring into the words scarred into her ventricles to live there forever, fortified in silver, but he is looking at her so -

“...Always,” he agrees, voice a little breathless, sparking scintilla near hypnotizing her in their luster, and he seems so happy -

Then he leans down to press his lips gently to hers, and this is better than her heart stopping, like when she opened the box. This time, her heart soars, and she touches a star she’s been dreaming of for eons.

[dalishious]

how much of (dead mage)cole's personality do you think is in cole? stuff like liking rabbits and hats, and being nice, and i guess on the socially awkward side, since i'm not sure if that would occur to a spirit?

Cole, the spirit we know, became human-Cole at least for all intents and purposes. He has more than just his appearance, he has his memories, and yes, I think at least some of his personality and feelings. This is exhibited in Asunder, like when Pharamond’s demon trapped them all in the Fade and Cole was re-living human-Cole’s past. (Excerpt below the ‘keep reading’ cut; TW for abuse and child death.) And even in DA:I during his personal quest, the whole thing is about how angry he is at the templar for killing him. And by him, he says “me”. Because again, it was essentially him.

Also, Cole liking rabbits is an interesting touch, given human-Cole’s younger sister was nicknamed Bunny.

Backing up this would be how Justice in Awakening starts to take on traits and feelings from Kristoff--although in that case, Justice was possessing a deceased person, while Cole is not possessing anyone.

From Asunder, after Evangeline and Rhys defeat the demon posing as Cole’s father:

And then she opened the last cabinet. Inside crouched a filthy young boy, perhaps twelve years in age and with shaggy blond hair hanging in front of his eyes. His face was filled with stark terror, wide eyes having long drained of tears that now stained his cheeks... and worst of all, a little girl was squeezed in there with him. She was half his age, held in a crushing grip, with one hand clamped over her mouth as if to keep her quiet. Only she was dead. The young boy began shaking, fighting against sobs that threatened to overwhelm him. "Please don't tell," he begged Evangeline in a quivering whisper. "Mama told us to hide. We have to hide." "Cole?" Rhys approached behind her, horrified. Evangeline didn't know what to do. The little boy shook even more profusely, new tears welling in his eyes—but he made not a single sound. She wasn't sure he even knew who they were... or who he was. She reached out and removed Cole's hand from the little girl's mouth. "Bunny was crying," he explained in a tiny voice. "Mama told us to be quiet. I only wanted her to be quiet." Gently Evangeline took the girl from his arms, and he only reluctantly gave her up. She weighed almost nothing, just skin and bones and the slightest wisp of a yellow dress. The sort a child would have been proud to own, something she might have thought was pretty. The dead girl dissolved into nothingness the moment she left the cabinet. She looked helplessly at Rhys. He gently moved her aside and crouched down next to the cabinet. "Cole? Do you know who I am?" The little boy stared at him, terror visibly fighting with alarm. His breaths became rapid and anxious. Rhys reached out to touch him, but then stopped... a dagger had appeared in the boy's hands. Cole's dagger. The boy held it up in an obvious threat, a desperate rage slowly overtaking his face. "I won't let you hurt Mama anymore," he seethed. "I'll stop you." Evangeline almost pulled Rhys back. She had no idea if they could be killed in the Fade, but she wasn't eager to find out. But Rhys simply held up his hands to the boy in surrender. "Shhh," he whispered. "I'm not here to hurt you, or anyone." The shaking dagger slowly raised, the point of it touching Rhys's neck. The little boy held it there, alternating between sharp sobs and frightened whimpers. His eyes were incredibly intense. And then the boy's shaking stopped. "Rhys?" he asked with sudden recognition, his voice so pitiful and hopeful it was heart- wrenching. Rhys nodded. The dagger clattered to the floor, and all at once the little boy spilled out of the cabinet. Only he was a little boy no longer. He was the young man Evangeline had seen earlier in the city square, older and dressed in blood- splattered leathers. He buried his head in Rhys's chest, agonized sobs ripped from somewhere deep in his soul, and Rhys simply held him. He said soothing things, and that made the young man cry all the harder. And then the shack was gone. Evangeline looked around, and saw they were back in the burned field. It was completely empty, as if the farm house never existed. But it had existed, once. Deep in her heart, she knew that for Cole it had gone from being a nightmare to a memory... an awful memory the Fade had dredged up from some dark and dreadful place where it should have remained buried. She stood there, watching awkwardly as Rhys cradled the young man, and her heart broke.

[thebiscuiteternal]

“A Bird in the Hand” Friendship <3, Mutual Interests (Sorta Not Really), Hidden Identities, Kidnapping, The Ship Is A Huge Spoiler Sorry

__________

Having decided he was going to lose his mind if he had to listen to the constant chatter about scores and techniques for one more moment, Nie Huaisang quietly slips out of the dining hall and heads out into the early evening air.

Just a little time to himself to clear his head, that’s all he needs. A short walk, and then he’ll go back. If Da-ge gets upset about him wandering off here… well, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it. 

Movement in the bush next to him startles him a little, but not enough for him to miss that the small reddish-pink form darting out of the leaves is flying very oddly.

Wing damage at the very least, he calculates. If he doesn’t intervene, it’s probably going to be a predator’s meal soon.

Concern replaces his earlier exasperation; he changes course from the path he’d been planning to take and begins tracking where it might land next instead. 

---

The erratic flight pattern makes his task a little more difficult, but there is still a bit of light left in the sky when he finally snares the wounded and bedraggled puff of feathers -a rosefinch, one he hasn’t ever seen this particular color and pattern of- and very gently deposits it in his lap. 

“Shh, you’ll be fine,” he soothes, carefully rubbing the poor thing’s cheek with a fingertip to calm it down before reaching into his sleeve for his usual pouch of supplies. “See? I’m here to help.”

Once the bird is gorging itself -no, himself- on seeds, he begins inspecting and carefully cleaning the injuries. He was right about the wing, plus there are nasty cuts to a leg and another to the neck. Claw marks, most likely. “Poor darling, you must have just escaped a cat,” he coos softly as he takes out thread and thin strips of cloth.

“Interesting.”

Nie Huaisang only just barely manages to avoid jostling his patient when he jumps slightly at the unexpected new voice, then freezes when he turns his head to find a young man wearing red and white robes. “Ah! I’m sorry if I entered a restricted area, I just-”

“It’s fine,” the Wen stranger says with a smile. “You haven’t left the guest territories yet.”

“Oh… good. That’s good.” The rosefinch cheeps in his lap and pecks his hand and he looks down and clicks his tongue as he resumes threading the needle he’s holding. “Demanding now that I’ve been nice enough to feed you, aren’t you?”

“May I observe while you work?”

He doesn’t hear the Wen disciple move at all, so when he looks up and finds the young man standing barely a step away, he has to restrain himself from scooting away on reflex. “Er- I suppose? Most people don’t want to,” he says, watching as his new companion takes a seat on a rock next to him.

Up close, there is something slightly unnerving about him. It's the same feeling he notices when Da-ge is trying to intimidate people around him less, like there's something big and dangerous being forced into a too-small hide.

Nie Huaisang swallows and ducks his head, reaching into the supply pouch to produce more seeds for his patient. He finishes prepping the needle and gently coaxes the rosefinch into a better position, feeling an intense gaze on him all the while as he begins the first neat, tight stitches. The bird makes an unhappy noise of pain, but more seeds and petting keeps him from attempting to escape and he only cheeps grumpily to himself as Nie Huaisang works.

"You're very skilled to make it trust you so easily."

Despite himself, he feels his face heat at the rare compliment. Though Da-ge and their cousin Nie Zonghui often try not to get bored whenever they visit the aviary, the only person who’d ever actually been interested in watching this sort of thing was-

He bites his lip and shoves that thought aside. “It’s a lot of practice in patience, mostly,” he says as he finishes with the leg and turns his attention to the wounds that might need to have feathers clipped for proper treatment. “You have to learn how they work, how to follow them without getting them so stressed they accidentally hurt themselves worse, observing flight patterns, all that.”

“Seems like a lot of effort to put in for someone who so infamously avoids it.”

Nie Huaisang stiffens, then forces himself to calm down.

Stupid. He’s wearing Qinghe colors and this disciple probably just saw him hanging around Da-ge. He’s not hard to identify, and his reputation… well.

Still, the unease lingers, though he tries to shake it off by remaining focused on his task. By now the rosefinch is comfortable enough with him that he’s able to gently remove some damaged and bloody feathers. “I just… I like doing this. That’s all.”

“Understandable. A reward only counts as a reward if you want it.”

It’s gotten dark enough for people in the buildings down the path to begin lighting their lanterns, but he’s well-acquainted with working in such conditions. He finishes the neck and wing injuries quickly, the strange disciple remaining in his spot for the duration. 

“There we go, all ready to get better,” he croons sweetly, coaxing the finch to his shoulder, where the bird snuggles into his collar. 

An elegant hand reaches into his view. “May I?” the disciple asks.

“If he’ll let you,” Nie Huaisang says, tilting his head to give space. The rosefinch is having none of it, however, and ducks to hide under his hair with a grouchy little squawk, tiny claws pricking at the nape of his neck. “Or not. Sorry about that.”

The other man’s lips curve in amusement as he draws his hand back. “It’s fine. Patience, as you said.”

Nie Huaisang begins packing up his pouch. The unease from before has faded into a more readily ignored feeling, especially since the disciple hasn’t actually done anything to deserve it. “Do you want to walk back to the pavilion? Da-ge won’t be happy if I stay out much longer. He’s probably not happy with me for staying out this long already, actually.”

“I appreciate the offer,” the other man says as he stands and needlessly dusts his clothing. “But I live in a different part of the compound.” Another smile, slow and interested in a way that makes Nie Huaisang’s face grow warm again. “There are still two more days left in the tournament. Perhaps we’ll cross paths another time.”

“Ah- well- shouldn’t I know your name, then? You already know mine.”

The strange disciple bows, smooth and sharp, not even a fold of cloth wrong. “This humble one is simply Han-er. I look forward to our next meeting, Nie-er, gongzi.”

It is only later, after Nie Huaisang has returned to his own room with the rosefinch, that he realizes somewhere the ‘perhaps’ had become a certainty.

---

They do cross paths again, more than once, in fact. 

After the second encounter, Nie Huaisang can’t help but notice that Han-er always seems to find him when he’s entirely alone. 

A spy, maybe? 

Maybe not. He’s been keeping track, and Han-er has never asked him anything particularly pointed about Da-ge or their cousin or anything about them that might be considered ‘vital information’, just the occasional offhand curiosity about their relationship dynamics. Their sects may be on bad terms -very bad terms- but Han-er has been nothing but polite.

By the time of their fourth meeting, he feels guilty for ever having had such suspicious thoughts about the man.

“And how is Minsheng doing this morning?”

“Besides being crushed under the weight of such an auspicious name?” Nie Huaisang asks cheekily, earning another of those amused smiles.

“You cannot deny he has earned it.”

He can’t, really. Once no longer in constant pain, Minsheng has become chatty enough that the finch has received at least one threat of being roasted and eaten.  “He’s recovering at a good pace. I worry about taking him home, though. With the differing climate, he’ll be miserable while his feathers are growing back in.”

Han-er inclines his head and looks away. “Why not leave him with me?” he asks after some consideration. “I do not have your experience, true, but our time has been... enlightening. And he likes me well enough, now.”

It’s… not a bad idea, really. If Nie Huaisang changes the bandages again just before he leaves, all that should be left to do surgery-wise would be to remove the stitches, and he’s seen that Han-er has a steady enough hand for that… “I can draw up some notes for you this afternoon and deliver them and Minsheng before the closing ceremony, would that be alright?”

“Perfect.”

---

He doesn’t actually see Han-er again before his sect departs to go home to Qinghe, having been forced to leave Minsheng and his notes with a guard who’d smirked at him in an extremely discomforting way. It brings back the troubled feeling lurking in the back of his head and leaves him unsure whether he’s unhappy to have missed the meeting, or somehow relieved. 

When word comes several days later that the Cloud Recesses have been burned, he decides on relief.

---

His stomach churns unhappily in a mix of unsatisfied hunger and nausea as they’re dismissed back to their cells after another day of grueling work and so very little food. Each step feels like he’s trying to slog through knee deep mud, and by the time he makes it to their designated hallway, he’s starting to feel dizzy.

Something… something’s wrong. Had the food been spoiled? But no, no one else seems to be...

“Young master?” asks one of the other Nie disciples.

“I’m fine,” he lies, even as it feels like the floor rolls under him like the deck of a boat.

He falls and doesn’t remember hitting the ground.

When he opens his eyes again, the disorientation persists. Something noisy is going on nearby and whatever he’s lying on, it’s too comfortable to be the paper-thin pallet mattress he’d been subjected to for over a week.

This isn’t his cell… Where…?

What is that noise?

Confused, head swimming, he tries to sit up and finds that his hands have been bound behind his back. Before he can start to panic, gentle hands squeeze his shoulders and assist him in rolling over. 

He dimly registers that the sound he’s hearing is the chattering of a bird.

But why would there be a bird-?

A familiar figure leans over him, long fingers sweeping his hair out of his face and down his cheek in an affectionate caress. For the briefest moment, he is grateful to see the face of… perhaps not a friend, but at least someone he knows.

Then ice cold terror seizes his insides when his eyes register the crown on the man’s head.

The Eternal Sun.

“Tell me, little bird,” Wen Ruohan says, smile sharp as a knife’s edge and gaze hungry. “Was I patient enough?”

__________

((Author Note: Okay, so, like, if I’m not remembering wrong, Novel!Ruohan is described as ridiculously young-looking because of his high cultivation. Like, we’re talking 19-ish even though he and Jin Guangshan are the only Great Sect leaders who have at least one fully adult child at the time of the Phoenix Mountain competition. So I thought, what if he leaned in to it? Suckered the other sects by having an older proxy take his place at meetings and conferences so that no one actually knows what he looks like except for some of the Wen Sect’s inner circle?))

[monsterlovinghours]

Okay. You asked for robofizz prompts and I think I have something. Character (reader or OC, totally up to you) works at Loo Loo Land as a maintenance worker for the rides and games. Their day is busy as hell because, let’s be honest, shit breaks down a lot there. But, out of the blue, management makes them robofizz’s new mechanic because he killed the last one. This is the first time they’re meeting the deranged clown and things get pretty, you know, when character tries to fix his sparking wires. 👀👀👀👀👀

oh fuck here we go y’all sluts better buckle up

Ducking behind a row of rigged carnival games, you let your work bag fall to the ground as you took a breather, wiping sweat and what looked like engine oil (but could be anything from burnt sugar to cremation ash) off your forehead. Taking a job as a ride mechanic had seemed like a good idea at the time; get into the park for free, discounts on funnel cake, access to all the shows. All you had to do was tighten a few bolts and make sure nobody got electrocuted too severely. 

But here, like the rest of Hell, imps like you were disposable grunt workers and nobody gave two and a half shits if you were overworked or exhausted. Everything was broken or breaking. You were shocked (metaphorically and literally) your first day when you saw that behind the novelty prizes and shiny veneers, the park was just a rat’s nest of rusted metal, sharp edges, and exposed wiring. Mechanics were routinely crushed or mangled or fried, and within a day another had taken their place. So far, you’d managed to avoid the various death traps and make it a solid month, which made you one of the more senior employees. 

Today was especially busy; there was some important fuck and his daughter at the park today, and orders were to keep the place running as smoothly as possible, though “smooth” was a relative term. It had seen you running like a maniac from one end of the park to the other, your uniform shirt coming untucked from your grease-stained pants as you jogged from one disaster to the next. Predictably, as soon as you had a second to take a breath, your phone went off, the splintering chitter of its message alert drilling into your ears. 

Another mechanic was down, this one working to repair one of the main acts. You groaned, big machines you were fine with, but intricate wiring and robotics? Not your strong suit. And this was the top-billed show, the most loved (or most feared) performer the park had to offer. Fizzarolli himself. You hadn’t seen the show yet, and his ominous circus tent was one of the only places you hadn’t yet been called to to fix something, but since you were currently the most senior mechanic on staff at the moment, and seeing how RoboFizz had just crushed his last mechanic, the job fell unfortuitously to you. 

Fantastic.

You sighed and slung your tool bag over your shoulder, walking briskly through the crowds to hastily erected circus tent, which had been cleared of people for the time being. You took a deep breath before ducking inside, blinking a bit as your eyes adjusted from the bright light of midday to the dim green glow that filled the tent. Some benches were knocked over, a few still had blood spatter on them, but you'd straighten that up later. At the moment, your focus was on the shadowed figure bent in unnatural angles slumped on the stage. His eyes and grinning mouth were lit with the same dull green, and they narrowed to slits when they saw you. 

"Its about ti-time you got here, toots!" He laughed, the sound skipping like a damaged record. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you knelt behind Fizz to access his mainframe; at least the rides didn't talk. 

"Yeah yeah, its busy work keeping this shithole operating, sue me." A few twists with a screwdriver, and the panel popped free, exposing the tangled wires and hydraulics, and you groaned inwardly. This kind of detailed work was way beyond your level of experience. 

"Ya waiting for a formal invitation ba-ba-back there, tinker? Get moving, I've got an audience waiting!"

"Hell's sake, keep your bells on. I'm not exactly a robotics expert." Clamping a small flashlight in your teeth, you started to poke around inside the hydraulics, looking for any leaks or broken connections. Not seeing anything right away, you probed deeper, focused on finding the problem in the less than adequate lighting. Had you been more experienced in dealing with robots, you would have perhaps remembered to inspect the outer body for any exposed wiring. As it happens, you did not, and your inexperience led you to brush against an exposed set of wires that threw sparks and burned a dark, circular mark on the back of your hand. The pain made you jerk back on instinct, yelping and cursing. It took you a moment to notice that the posture of the clown had changed, straightening from his slumped position with his head cocked sharply to the side. With the soft ratchet of moving machinery, Fizz turned his head 180 degrees to look at you, and you noticed more quickly now that his stare had changed as well. Before, it felt derisive, a touch irritated behind the ever present smile he'd been programmed with. But now there was more intent inside the green, more interest...almost as if he were leering at you.

"Ohhh," he rasped, "so its gonna be that kind of show?"

You were confused, until you noticed a dot of red within the green, a new light in the mainframe, with tiny lettering indicating what new function your little spasm had switched on. 

18+ Mode On

Your eyes widened as the reality of your little mistake finally began to sink in. It was a well known fact that Fizz had an “adult” mode, mainly for private shows where wads of cash exchanged hands behind closed doors. Sometimes, the crowds at night were bigger than the crowds during the day. Sure, on a lonely night or two, you’d wondered just what a sex-capable robot clown could do and if shelling out a small fortune would be worth it. Now, it seemed, you were about to get an accidental freebie.

“Fuck.”

“That’s the idea, sweetcheeks.” Fizz got to his feet with a whir and a shower of yellowish sparks, his body jerking so that the back panel slammed shut, hiding his exposed mechanics and thwarting any attempt you might have made to switch his mode. From somewhere within the tent, jaunty calliope music began to play, the pitch slow and wavering at first, like playing a record on the wrong speed. “So what’s your ple-pleasure, sweet stuff? Your ol’ pal Fizzarolli can do it all-upstairs, downstairs, butt stuff, you name it.”

“I...uh…” Your entire body felt numb, frozen, unable to do much more than stare as he advanced toward you, looming over you with that malevolent, leering grin still on his fanged mouth. “I’m not...I mean, I don’t…”

Fizz paused, his head once more cocking sharply to the side as he regarded you, then he let out a laugh, the bells on his hat jingling as his head did a complete roll on his shoulders. “Aww, looks like someone’s sh-shy! Don’t worry, tinker,” he growled in a smug, condescending tone, reaching down to pat you on the head. “I’ll take the reins on this one. You just sit back and enjo-jo-joy the show!”

With a sinister chuckle, he lunged for you, wrapping his entire body around you like an electronic boa constrictor, that laugh still buzzing in your ear as he coiled tight, then unwound himself, flinging your body towards the ceiling of the tent. There was barely any time for you to pull breath into your lungs to scream, and then suddenly, you weren’t falling anymore. Something else was wrapped around you, something cold and biting as steel. Around each wrist, each ankle, your waist, and your neck, whiplike appendages were wound, thin and covered in shifting metal plates. You were being held in midair, suspended like a puppet; if the advertisements you’d seen plastered around the park were any clue, you would guess that you were getting a taste of the “real tentacle action” Fizz boasted. Indeed, from within the loose panel on his back was where the appendages seemed to originate. 

As he stalked closer, you gulped, the sickly green glow of his eyes bathing your face and throwing your shadow in harsh relief against the canvas wall. Fizz wasted no time, and with only a deranged giggle as a warning, he shoved his hand beneath the untucked hem of your shirt to slide into your pants, cold hand cupped firmly between your legs. Barely a sound had left you, everything happening so fast you could barely process, let alone react, but a moan left you now, the silk of his glove and the ruffle around his wrist feeling so strange and yet so good as they brushed against your most sensitive parts. Fizz chuckled, or at least, he attempted to, the sound glitching into a series of strange beeps in response to your apparent openness to his touch.

"Boy, hardly touched at all and you're already moaning? You must need it ba-bad, impling." He leaned closer, eyes narrowing, and you shied away from those sharp teeth, so close to your face. Without warning, that hand between your legs began to vibrate, and you yelped, wriggling in your bonds.

"Ohhh...oh fuck…!"

"Like I said," he crooned. "That's the idea-ea-ea." The vibrations cranked up a notch, and you could no longer keep still, your breath coming faster, tail thrashing behind you out of sheer pleasure. Truthfully, it had been a long time; when you were fighting to keep a roof over your head and passing out from near exhaustion the second you returned home at night, there wasn't much time to try and get laid. It was lonely and it sucked, but that's life. Now, touched for the first time in what could have been centuries for all you knew, your toes curled inside your work boots, tears forming in your eyes as your hips bucked against his hand. It was so good, so fucking good, and with every increase in speed, your moans and cries got louder, more desperate, until-

"Ah-ah-ah, tinker, no you don't!" Suddenly that hand was gone, all stimulation withdrawn, and you whimpered. The tentacles around your extremities tightened in response. "You thought I was just gonna let you co-come so soon? Poor, dumb little imp-slut, it ain't gonna be that easy."

You swore, your teeth bared in an impotent snarl, but the clown only laughed, more carnival-striped tentacles unfurling and wrapping around you, the metal cold against your overheated skin. Now fully immobile, you were lifted higher, splayed out, shaking and wanting. The new appendages began to nudge and press around your body, seemingly exploring your form while the clown stepped between your spread legs, hands groping at your trembling thighs. His smirk was near evil, merciless, piercing as a laser as he watched his tentacles divest you of every stitch of clothing, torn and tossed aside without care. The tips of his jester hat brushed along your legs as he leaned closer to your core, mouth opening to graze the tips of his sharp teeth along your inner thighs, chuckling when you writhed, uncertain if you were trying to pull away or get closer. “Please,” you whimpered, not quite knowing what you were begging for, your body reduced to firing synapses and electric pulses of pure need.

Again, that mocking giggle issued from somewhere behind his sharp teeth. “Begging now, slut? You really want it tha-a-at bad, huh?” His open mouth neared your center, and you noticed now that there was heat coming from him, like the brush of warm breath, and saw a faint reddish glow shining from somewhere within his maw. “Want Ol’ Fizz to make you come again and a-again like the greedy little tramp you are?”

“Yes,” you choked out, so far past caring how desperate you sounded. “Yes, please, please, please!”

A soft whir was your only warning before something long, warm, and slippery was sliding between your legs; your body spasmed, jerking against the restraining appendages, your head lifting to see his striped tongue pressing against you, coated in shiny lubricant. He licked experimentally at you, seeing how much pressure you liked and where you were most sensitive, continuing his brutal teasing as the needle-sharp tips of his fingers raked down your thighs, nearly drawing blood. Then that mouth opened impossibly wide, eyes narrowed to knowing slits as that tongue probed at your entrance, nudging against it before shoving inside with no warning. Gasps and choked half-words fell from your lips at the delicious stretch of being suddenly, violently filled, his tongue twisting and pushing, the stripes not just for decoration but denoting a raised, almost ribbed texture. 

When it began to vibrate inside you, you couldn’t help but scream.

He cooed filth up at you, still able to talk despite his mouth being wrapped around you, voice distorted from the vibrations. Yellowish sparks would issue from his limbs as he fought to keep you still, burning against your skin like vicious little kisses. You weren’t coaxed to the edge so much as dragged toward it, your orgasm slamming into you with near physical force. The clench and thrashing of your body didn’t slow him; if anything, the vibrations intensified, more tentacles issuing from him to stroke and tease other erogenous zones, your entire body his to play with, helpless against his ruthless pursuit of your ruin. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he ripped your pleasure from your body with no care to be gentle, teeth and hands leaving marks in their wake. You were his slut, his eager imp-whore, his pretty little toy; at least, you didn’t deny it when he growled these claims up at you. As long as he didn’t stop, you would be anything he wanted.

But while he couldn’t grow tired or drained, you certainly could, and through a veil of tears you begged him to stop, half afraid that he wouldn’t. Fizz paused, then slowly unwound himself from around your violently shaking form, tentacles disappearing back inside the panel they had come from. He regarded you curiously, still grinning as you collapsed in a boneless, shaking heap, unable to do much except pant for breath. Finally, you looked up at him with hazy eyes, your sweaty hair falling limply in your face.

“Didn’t you have a show to do?”

Fizz threw back his head and laughed, the bells on his hat jingling merrily, a stark contrast to the cold, malicious sound of his glee. “Not the sharpest t-t-tool in the shed, huh, tinker? Look around; you a-are the show.”

To your horror, you could see dozens of yellow eyes pinned to your naked form, imps of all shapes and sizes, eyeing you hungrily. The light of day outside the tent was gone, and the depraved crowds that only came around at night had filtered in while you were...preoccupied. Ruby skin turned a mortified burgundy as you scrambled to cover yourself with any scraps of your clothing you could find, but Fizz wrapped his arms around you and hauled you to your feet, his arm secure around your waist as he bowed to his audience-your audience. They began to applaud, some whistling, others throwing out lewd comments. Fizz pulled you into his side, the hand on your waist slipping just a little lower.

“Seems like we make a pretty good duo, dollface,” he rasped, showing off his pointed teeth in a lascivious grin that at your already weak knees nearly buckling. “Whaddya say we gi-gi-give them an encore?”