#plants do love blood and bone meal i suppose...

[thepenultimateword]

I know you just wrote me a part 3 but I need a part 4 to old bones I need to know what they are! If not, could you at least make them cuddle? 👉👈

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

"What are you doing, Lav?" Vampire asked.

They trailed on the cabin owner's heels as they moved from room to room in the cabin replacing the bundles of dried lavender hanging over the doorframes with twists of rosehips. They had gone out again last night and come home with an entire sackful of the crimson fruits. At first, Vampire had assumed it was yet another ingredient to infuse in their morning tea, but now here Lav was, hanging it all around the house.

"Brightening up the place," Lav said. "I switch these out every once in a while, and red is definitely a winter color."

Vampire cocked their head staring at the bough of buds, like little drops of blood on a branch, for a long time.

"It's nice."

"Glad to have your approval."

Vampire's face warmed. "Oh, I didn't mean to act like my opinion matters, you can do whatever you want with your own house."

Lav tilted their head and smiled only somewhat wolfishly. Vampire was beginning to think they couldn't help that. "Of course your opinion matters, you're a guest. I'm glad you like them. Honestly."

"Oh." Vampire's fingers flitted to their hair, twisting the end of a lock tightly around their forefinger. "Er, good then. Do...you want any help?"

Lav surveyed the next door frame, the one to Vampire's--er, the guest bedroom, then the remaining bag of rose hips. "Could you tie them into bundles and pass them up for me to hang?"

"Yes! Yes, of course!"

Vampire immediately plopped to the ground and began stringing the little branches together into neat sort of bouquets. Anything to feel like they were contributing to the household. Lav had been far too kind to them already and asked for nothing in return. They said Vampire's company was enough, but that didn't make Vampire feel any less useless. They couldn't even leave the cabin to help out with meals because of the traps and villagers still littering the forest.

Lav's step stool creaked and Vampire stole a glance at their back, long dark hair pinned neatly over their shoulders, muscles shifting, pale fingers fluttering from branch to branch until the bundles weaved together in a beautiful garland.

"Y-you know," Vampire said, jerking their face back toward their work, "plants have meanings behind them. Like a language or, or a code."

"Oh, really?" Stranger said.

"Mm." Vampire passed up a knot of rosehips. "When I was still...er...you know, I worked at a shop for a bit. I helped people send messages with flowers all the time. I was actually pretty good at it."

"What sorts of messages?"

"Love messages mostly, but there were also lots about friendship, condolences, pride, pain, even hatred. Oh! One time someone sent a death threat with a rhododendron! Nothing came of it of course, but it was one of the most interesting work days I'd ever had!"

"Do rosehips mean anything? Well, I suppose they aren't a flower..."

"Oh, it doesn't have to be a flower! They're just more commonly gifted. Let's see..." They tapped their cheek with on of the branch ends. "Roses are centered around love, since rosehips are part of a rose, the meaning is something similar... Ah! That's right! Waiting for one's true love!"

As soon as it was out of Vampire's mouth, their entire body from ears to toes flooded with warmth. They drew the branches closer to their face. "B-but I mean that stuff is just for fun, it's not like it actually means anything unless you want it to. They're also just really really pretty, so..."

"It's not entirely unfitting," Lav said, disappointingly unflustered. "I don't know if I'm waiting for love exactly, but I have been waiting for...something."

Vampire slowly lowered their rosehip shield. "Something?"

Lav's broad shoulders shrugged, but they continued weaving in the next garland piece. "I'm not sure what. Something to quench the loneliness I suppose. Fill the hollow in my soul."

Vampire thought they understood. They'd felt something similar while living in the middle of town. They had their shop, their comfort, and their secrecy. No room for anything else. If anyone got too close, if they discovered what they truly were, well... It had already happened.

"I've heard there are communities," Vampire said. "For vampires. Is there anything like that for people like you?"

"Not sure. Possibly. I haven't met many others, and when I have we didn't talk. Our origin is different than with vampires. It's not as simple as a bite. You have to..." They trailed off, squeezing one of the branches a little too tightly. "The thing is, I'm comfortable here. Safe even. And there aren't many undead who can say the same. If I left, I might be throwing away everything I have for trouble."

"Or it might be nice."

Lav shrugged. "Guess I'll never know."

They outstretched their hands for the next bundle, finally looking over their shoulder and briefly skimming Vampire's watching eyes.

They cleared their throat. "What does lavender mean?"

"Huh?"

"You call me Lav. Lavender. Any particular meaning?"

Vampire's stomach flipped. "Y-yes, but I only called you that because you had so many around the house, and you said I could since you don't have another name, and I'm not very creative, and I--"

"[Vampire]."

Vampire's blushing ramble stumbled to a halt, lips trembling with the remains of a silent stutter.

"It's ok. Tell me or don't. I won't mind."

They wouldn't, would they? Lav was nice. Scary, but nice. And Vampire probably projected too many of their personal fears onto them. What was the worst that could happen? Get thrown out? Well, maybe that wasn’t the worst thing. Maybe continuing to stay, draped in awkward pity would be worse.

Vampire plucked a rose hip from its stem and rolled it between their fingers. "I-it's contradictory. Devotion and distrust. We usually encouraged pairing it with something else so that intentions didn't get muddled. B-but...I think some people liked being ambiguous."

Lav clapped off their hands and stepped down to the floor. Vampire felt the tip of their head in their direction, and the hair on the back of their neck prickled. Their instincts still rebelled against their host’s presence, but they’d gotten good at ignoring it. That…probably wasn’t the smartest habit.

"I-I’m going to read for a little while,” Vampire blurted, jumping to their feet. They couldn’t meet the other monster’s blazing gaze.

"Go ahead.” Lav gathered up the remaining twine and branches. “I'll get started on dinner."

Vampire nosed brusquely, hurrying numbly to the back of their room and picking the first book their fingers touched. A few minutes later they huddled on the sofa and tried to stay focused on the words in front of them.

What was going on with them? Why were they so nervous?

Lav isn’t going to hurt you. If that’s what they wanted, they could have done it a long time ago.

The townspeople had stopped by twice more during the week and every time Lav had turned them away with feigned oblivion. Though…Vampire was starting to worry that they were catching on. They knew their instincts had been heightened in the change, but if they could feel the danger wafting off their host, then a more vulnerable prey must too.

"Here you are," Lav said, suddenly beside them.

Vampire leapt, fumbling their book twice before it fell into their lap.

Lav only raised a brow and grinned one of those spine-chilling grins as they passed them their cup and saucer. "What's the title?"

"Oh, it’s…” Vampire flipped the book back to its cover for help. “‘Legends and Curiosities of the Northern Regions’.”

"Mind if I take a peek?"

"Not at all!” Vampire held the tome out to them, but instead of accepting it, Lav sat on the couch beside them.

"I'm fine sharing."

Vampire’s heart pounded. Not this again. What was the matter with them?

They held the book out to the side just far enough for Lav to see, and their host shifted a little closer, shoulders just short of brushing. Their eyes flicked steadily from one end of the page to the other, and Vampire forced their own back to the top of Chapter 3.

Lav, it turned out, made a perfect reading partner. They never asked for a page turn too early or too late, and apart from an occasional “hmm” they remained quiet. If it weren’t for, their breath, steady and cool across the hollow of their ear, they might not have known they were there at all.

Not true.

Their presence dominated everything else in the room. It pressed on Vampire’s side, heavy and tangible even when they weren’t really touching.

Vampire sipped idly at their blood tea, sucking their tongue against their teeth at the tart aftertaste of leftover rosehips. How did Lav always know how to balance the flavors so that they complimented instead of concealed one another?

“Do you still have many le—“

Lav’s head drooped onto Vampire's shoulder.

Vampire’s whole body seized. For a moment all they could do was stare straight ahead at the hearth and its crackling fire.

“Lav?” They murmured to the room.

No response.

They carefully turned their head, doing their best not to shift to much, and stared at their hosts sleeping face.

So peaceful. So…vulnerable. Two things they never were while waking, even with their smooth demeanor. It felt wrong and right, impossible and obvious, all at once.

Lav’s eyelid’s fluttered and this time Vampire couldn’t help their jolt.

"Mm?“ Lav groggily lifted their head again, rubbing one eye, "Oh, I beg your pardon. I dozed off."

"Er...it's fine...I don't really mind if you want to rest. I-I can read aloud."

"I can move to the chair so I don't fall asleep on you again."

"No!" Vampire froze, not really sure of the reason for the outburst. "N-no...it's fine. Wherever you're most comfortable."

Lav gave a couple slow blinks, possibly still not totally coherent, and carefully lowered their head back down, though this time their whole right side rested on Vampire’s shoulder.

“One of the most overlooked curiosities of the Northern region is its wide variety of other worldly pond life,” Vampire read aloud, ignoring their flushed cheeks and the incorrigible squeak that infected their speech every three words.

They weren’t scared of Lav, were they? They were…something else. Definitely something else.

Part Five

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps s @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi i @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindo @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons

[cameoappearance]

Wormwood?!?

HUMANMEAT = "Belly stuff", HUMANMEAT_COOKED = "Mmmm...", HUMANMEAT_DRIED = "Chewy",

[pixicunt]

THINK AGAIN

Yoongi x Reader

Wordcount:2.7k

Warnings: Fear play, light forced pet play, noncon, Yoongi is actually insane, yandere Yoongi, threats of violence (bone breaking and skin carving), threats of breeding, implied murder, Yoongi’s manic laugh that we all love, hair pulling, face slapping.

summary: Yoongi always thought you would make a better pet then a wife but he never really had the excuse to go through with it.....well until you cheated on him.

Because in the SOOP season 2 is coming soon and I need more domestic Yoongi in the kitchen. 

Yoongi cuts away at a carrot, the sound of the sharp knife slicing away at the chopping board full of vegetables with a numb mind, his mind was 1000 miles away from his humble home kitchen because you were not here.

It was quarter past 8 and you were supposed to home an hour ago, he knows this because he had calculated how long it took you to get home from work, knew what route you took each day.

He chopped into the carrot calmly, his face stoic.

You shove your keys into the door of your shared home, the delicious aromas of a homecooked meal already making you salivate, only now noticing how your stomach aches in hunger and you go in search of your kitchen where your sure you'll find your husband.

You see his shoulders flexing under the cotton of his shirt as he slices tofu into cubes, the gentle sound of a pot bubbling on the stove and the warm fragrances of the meal making you breath a sigh, your hands coming to snatch around his waist, his shoulder jumping slightly in surprise before turning to you, his cold eyes quickly flooding with warmth, brows forcing into a fond smile as he eyed you up and down.

"I told you not to do that when im in the kitchen, its dangerous" 

He places a soft kiss to your head, mentally gaging at the cheap macho cologne that stuck to your skin, fucking pine and grass what a fucking loser. He would clean you of that scent soon.

He turns back to his chopping and you wrap your hands around his waist. "im sorry just missed you, what are you cooking it smells so good" you burry your head in the back of his shirt with a sigh.

He slices into the onions as the air goes stale, a shift in his voice that ices your blood.

"where have you been"

Your fingers tense at his side from where you were holding onto his white shirt. your voice coming off defensive "what do you mean, iv been working"

His heart aches but he doesn't show it on his face as he stops chopping, laying the knife down on the chopping board and turning around to face you with his warming smile.

He cups your face gently, the soft pads of his fingers caressing your cheek and the other falling down the side of your neck, your stomach flutters as he looks down at you leaning his face in close and you close your eyes to wait for a kiss but instead you feel his lips against your ear.

"I dont think that's right" 

You felt the ear ringing slap across your cheek. your head not being able to whip to the side with his hand still on your other cheek to keep you still and unable to turn away.

Your mouth opens in shock but nothing comes out. the pain bubbles across your skin, heat radiating from the red area as he moves his hand over the sore area with a false look of awe and concern.

Your eyes water as you look at him in shock, "why did you do-"

 Another hard slap was delivered to your face and this time you cant help the scream that leaves you, no longer in shock as the pain vibrates down your neck, your palm coming to touch the pained surface of your cheek.

His hand clasped over your windpipe as he looks down at your tear stain face, his cat like eyes piercing into you as he watches you struggle.

He could feel the way you gulped in fear, swallowing thickly as he leaned down slowly to plant a soft kiss to your trembling lips, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth as you regain yourself from the pain and the shock as you push at his chest hard. He hit the back of the cold counter top with a pleasured grunt and a sick smile, the knife trickling to the floor with a metallic cling.

"why are you lying? his fingers are quick to clasp around your arm, squeezing harshly as he spins you around to cage you between his body and the harsh edge of the counter and you whimper as your back is pushed against it. 

Your lip trembles at the way he looks you up and down, his eyes flickering over your body, his palm coming to rest against the reddened area of your left cheek.

It felt familiar with the way he touched you but his eyes were full of ill intent. you filch at his soft touch, tears leaking from your eyes as he pushes his clothed hard cock up against your stomach and you shudder, trying to escape his hold only to have him tighten his grip on you followed by his dark chuckle.

"where are you trying to go baby, I'm speaking right now aren't I ?" his grip was iron tight but his voice was soothing as it usually was. 

"Min Yoongi let go of me right now, i think we need a break"

You try to sound confident and unaffected and it does start out that way but as his eyes dig daggers into your eyes you slip, words come out in an udder whisper, never had you been scared of Yoongi in your life, until now as he smiles... the same smile he always wore but now he was smiling at your tear stricken face and that terrified you.

He tsked in disapproval at your tone, his fingers running along the vein in your neck. "you think ? and when did i ever tell you to think for yourself" 

His finger tapped mockingly at your forehead and he chuckled "all you had to do was sit pretty and be my loving loyal pet but then,,, you used that head to think of how you could get away with cheating on me, again let me say thinking isn't your strong suit, you look much better on your knees right kitten?"

Your mouth falls open in shock at his harsh words, they felt more painful then the slap he delivered across your face that was now starting to bloom a deep red from either the slap, the embarrassment or pure rage you didn't know.

"I never chea-" 

"shhh" 

You felt the tips of his fingers press into your shoulders, putting his weight into his hands to push you down to your knees, your unsuspecting body falling under the weight and falling to your knees, knocking your head against the kitchen counter in the proses.

"Thats better, I don't care that you cheated on me kitten but ill have to make sure it never happens again"

His eyes lit up with every word as he ran a hand through your hair lovingly and the action confused you, your fist coming up to hit at his knees which did nothing from your position on the floor 

"fuck you Yoongi, fuck you" you place your hands on the cold floor to gain leverage to balance yourself up but you are quickly shot down with a tight hand in your hair pulls at the roots making you instantly cry out and hiss in pain "oh i intend to"

"but first lets do something about this filthy mouth"

His free hand comes to pull down his sweatpants, he had been ready for the occasion, excited even as he dressed in easy to remove clothing. He was hard just at the thought of turning you into the perfect house pet as he grabs at you jaw, your lips pucker out against your will as you try to turn your head. He had had enough of your attitude, pulling your hair harshly to bring you to your feet again, ignoring the tears that had welled up in your eyes.

"i was going to be a good owner and let you get me nice an wet before I fuck you but thanks to your bratty behavior I had an epiphany, you don't deserve that"

Your eyes widen at his harsh grip, he grabs your wailing body as you try to hit him to get out of his grasp, yelling at him to let you go only to have him roll his eyes at you, clearly unaffected by the spew of names you were calling him and your weak attempt to try and escape. he is a lot stronger, grasping your hands behind your back as you continue to shout and cry nothing but word vomit.

"stop being such a brat" his voice was hot in your ear and your eyes go wide in fear as he pulls you over to the hot stove, bot still boiling with bubbles and steam.

You feet kick at nothing as you get closer to the pot on the stove."y-yoongi stop" your voice was frantic as you struggle in his grip but your voiceless pleas go ignored as he shoves you forward.

You gasp in fear as your hands brace the counter just above the hot flame and bubbling stew, sweat already dripping down the side of your head.

"Yoongi no, I'm s-sorry please" 

You immediately try to move from the heat with a strained panicked cry but your hands are already being pulled back behind you, locked into place with Yoongis belt.

 "you did this to yourself y/n now be a good girl for me". His grip was harsh on the belt surly cutting off any blood flow from your wrists but you were to scared staring down into the red bubbling liquid as his fingers come to rub against your soak cunt.

"Fuck, if you don't want me to touch you then why are you so fucking wet, did he touch you here" he pushed the underwear to the side as string of your arousal followed and dripped down his fingers as he pushed two into you at once. 

Your body so familiar to the fingers that you cant help the swell of arousal.

You cried out at the stretch, body inching forward towards the flame as he fucked them into you and curling them as soon as they were as deep as they could reach. 

"I throw you around a little bit and you get this wet, what a little slut" you felt him smile into your neck, the sloppy sounds of his fingers fucking into you having you squeeze your eyes shut, mouth clamped shut as the moans try to spill.

Pulling his sticky fingers out with an obscene squelch, his slicked fingers gripping your waist to line himself up at your entrance. "don't move or you might burn yourself" he laughed as he pushed himself all the way in, your body moving forward at the sheer force as you scream out. He didn't spare you a moment as he pulled back to fuck back into you, his cock hitting your cervix every time he pulled back.

"mmm that's it baby, cry for me" his fingers twined into your hair, pushing you forward. 

"YOONGI! ah" he fucked you at a brutal pace and you think you may actually slip and burn yourself, your tears making you feel lightheaded and delusional, drunk on the heat from the stove top and the way he fucked you so well.

 "please stop" you voice breaks as you moan at his mean pace, the sound of his skin hitting your ass and his grunts as he slipped into you over and over.

The feeling was overwhelming as he continued to pound into you at the brisk of your orgasm, your legs tingling from standing on your tippy toes away from the flame, "c-cant" his hold tightens on you "yes you fucking can, cum or you'll be fucking sorry"

His fingers wrap around your throat to pull you back, his lips at the cusp of your ear.

"cum right now" he pulls out of you to flip your body, the smell of burning food and smoke making you dizzy as he pulls you up against him, grabbing your ass to pull you up before slamming you to the adjacent kitchen cupboard.

"fuck your so tight when your scared, you belong to me do you understand or do i have to make it clearer?" he grips your jaw as he forces you to look him in the eye and you finally cum.

 "FUCk fuck fuck Yoongi please" your fingers scratch down his back as he rests his head in your neck hissing in pain as you clench down on him, faint lines of your nails in his shoulders.

Your body bouncing against his thighs as your scream breathlessly in sensitivity. "please yoongi, im sorry please please use me" you don't even know what you saying anymore, don't even know how to speak as he finally spills into you with a smile. his palm over your mouth as you droll all over yourself

"messy kitten" 

He drops you to the floor, a satisfied chuckle low in the air as he tucks himself back into his pants, bending at the waist to grab your jaw again. you whimper trying to turn away, not daring to look him in the eyes. "i hate you", your words come out in broken pieces, throat sore for all your crying.

His fingers push their way into your mouth and you gag around the thin digits, hitting the back of your throat, the wet sounds of his fingers smearing your spit across your face was humiliating

he is quick to secure a collar to your neck, you think about protesting but with the pot still bubbling and so many knives around you accompanied with his strong gaze you don't fight the click of the collar.

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

It didn't take long for you to be seated at the dining table, the red liquid staring back at you, still steaming and warm. the silence was suffocating and your eyes lift slightly to catch Yoongis gaze as he tips his glass up to let the rest of the red wine trickle down his throat, some spilling down his jaw and onto his white shirt.

Hes quick to lick the residue from his thumb before cursing at the red stain. "I already ruined a perfectly good white shirt, but that's my fault for getting blood on it, never comes out" he was speaking so casually like it was about the weather and your eyes instantly water.

"what was his name again, was it Namjoon?"

silent tears rolls down your face as your throat constricts under the tight collar around your neck.

"tell you what, lets play a game kitten" he stands from his seat, the loud screech of the chair startling you, leather leash in his hand.

"ill give you 30 seconds to run and hide while I go change my shirt, if you can stay hidden for 7 minutes i wont make you eat this" he pushes your bowl towards you, you feel sick, suddenly the red liquid made a lot more sense and you try not to gag.

"But if I find you i get to do whatever I want"

its silent, you wonder if he could hear the sound of your own heartbeat

"what would you do"

He sits on the edge of the table, hands coming up to his mouth in thought, something he did often and you would usually find it so endearing but now it was just terrifying.

"maybe ill carve my name into your flesh, break your fingers so you can never touch another human being again or pleasure yourself without my help, Maybe ill breed you, leave you on my cock all night until your so full it hurts, so many possibilities"

 you cant stop the shaking of your hands, your breathing picking up and it was suddenly hard to breathe. he twirls the leash in hand before looking to his watch and smiles.

Yoongi wouldn't kill you, what would he do with a pathetic lifeless body, where would all the fun be if he couldn't watch you cry.

"30 seconds starts now pet"

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

@evilteddybear requested: I always love a LWJ/WWX fic where the sect leaders, especially Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, and Lan Qiren, come to the Burial Mounds and see what it's like before attacking, try to negotiate.

Thanks for the request (and your patience in seeing it filled), hope you like it!

[Masterpost] [Ao3]

--

“Xiongzhang.”

“Wangji. I don’t like it any more than you do but it’s going to be the best solution for everyone.”

The weight of his brother’s glare is nearly a physical blow but Lan Xichen is used to it and stands firm. It helps that he can distract himself from the heat of it by focusing on the long trek down to the bottom of the staircase of Jinlintai. With Jin Guangyao busy for the afternoon Lan Xichen had offered to take Lan Wangji into the city for the day, though now he’s wondering just why he had though that would be a good idea in the first place. Now at least, he supposes, they have the excuse of going off to purchase paper fine enough to be suitable for an invitation for Wei Wuxian to attend his nephew’s one-month celebration.

“I will take him the letter myself,” Lan Wangji states, voice pitched low and steady. Though it’s an obstinate, unmovable tone that Lan Xichen has heard far too many times before, he can’t help but feel that it’s his duty to put up at least something of a token argument. He can never seem to argue with anyone but Lan Wangji, but even then he almost always ends up bowing out as gracefully as he can under the strength of his headstrong brother’s will.

“Wangji, it’s not safe…”

“Wei Ying will not hurt me.”

“I didn’t say that he would.”

“The Wens are not a threat.”

Lan Xichen sighs heavily and pauses as they reach a landing to close his eyes against the inevitability of his little brother getting to have his way. He always has until the day Wei Wuxian left with his band of Wens, and Lan Wangji has been doggedly pursuing him – whether Wei Wuxian is aware of it or not – ever since. He’s never done well with not getting precisely what he wants when he wants it, and Lan Xichen adores his brother and the fact that he’s grown up being given what few things he has wanted without much thought. However in this moment, for this situation, he can’t help but privately wish deep down that his brother knew how to practice the same sacrifice that Lan Xichen himself makes when it comes to those he wishes to protect.

“If you doubt me you may come with me.”

“Wangji-“ Lan Xichen cuts off with another sigh as his brother simply walks away, his piece said and his interest in the conversation clearly exhausted. They both know very well that he’ll do what he wants, and Lan Xichen will allow it. Which is why, in the end, it’s no surprise at all that Lan Wangji makes his way to Yiling with his invitation tucked safely in a qiankun pouch, nor is it particularly surprising that Lan Xichen has accepted Lan Wangji’s sort-of-bluff of an invitation to go with him. What isa surprise is that Nie Mingjue had elected to join them when he’d caught wind of where they were going and why.

“Mingjue,” Lan Xichen attempts to soothe now as the man in question paces back and forth in the confines of their room. In the interest of keeping the peace he had taken it upon himself to make sure that Lan Wangji got to have his own space, but any notions that Lan Xichen may have had about utilizing the relative privacy this arrangement affords to Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue have so far borne no fruit whatsoever. “I warned you that this would be a matter of patience, you didn’t have to come with us.”

“What? And let you both walk into the lion’s den? Of course I had to come.”

“Wangji and I are far from helpless, Mingjue, and he is certain that Wei Wuxian won’t harm us.”

“He’s the only one.”

“He’s not, I-“

“Xichen I will walk all the way back to Qinghe right now if you can honestly tell me that you’re completely and utterly certain that Wei Wuxian won’t hurt anybody!”

Xichen lets out an uncharacteristically audible sigh at that and fixes Nie Mingjue with one of his Looks that always make the man cave. “Even if I could meet those terms I wouldn’t want you to go back to Qinghe. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other.”

“Can we stay on task here?”

“We are. We are waiting for someone to leave the Burial Mounds so that we may approach them in town rather than appearing threatening by attempting to infiltrate their settlement on the mountain. There is nothing to do now but be patient. What about our current activities are not on task?”

“We need to use this time to strategize. Plan. Things may go wrong. We may need to protect Wangji, he may need to protect either of us. We don’t know what we’re in for.”

“Mingjue.”

“Xichen.”

“This is not a battle, nor a war. We are approaching a young man – a young man Wangji trusts - who hasn’t done anything dangerous in a year so that we may invite him to a family event. Please sit down and relax.”

Nie Mingjue finally stops his pacing to turn a betrayed glare on Lan Xichen, but as with Lan Wangji he’s well used to absorbing Nie Mingjue’s frustration and neutralizing it with the soft, reassuring lines of his smile. Nie Mingjue has never been able to stay angry with him – or even near him – for longer than a few heartbeats anyway, and Lan Xichen watches the tension bleed from his broad shoulders with his next blustering exhale.

“Wangji believes that our presence may alarm the inhabitants of the Burial Mounds should we be allowed to enter their wards. You will need to remain calm in such a case so that we can show that we bear them no ill will.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nie Mingjue grumbles and Lan Xichen’s heart aches a bit for Nie Mingjue, so level-headed when it matters but so hot-headed when it shouldn’t. Nie Mingjue meets his gaze and then groans, covering his face with both hands and tipping his head back a bit as he says, slightly muffled, “Don’t give me that look, Xichen, that’s not fair. How do you always know how to get your way?!”

“It would be significantly harder to have my way if you didn’t know in your heart that I’m right. This is a delicate situation, Mingjue, we can’t let past anger cloud our judgement now. Wangji has been here before and he says that what’s going on here isn’t what everyone says it is. We’re only here to keep him safe on his errand and see things for ourselves, alright? Now is not the time to declare the continuation of Jin Guangshan’s blood feud with the Wens.”

“Yes, fine, fine! I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”

“And no glaring.”

“Xichen!” Nie Mingjue manages an affronted look for only a scant moment before it too fades into grumbling acquiescence as he resumes his pacing. “Fine. As little glaring as I can manage.”

“Thank you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I love you.”

“Xichen!” Lan Xichen laughs softly to see Nie Mingjue’s blush overtakes his handsome features, turning his entire face a lovely shade of red as he splutters his way through returning the infrequently-expressed sentiment and accepts kisses that thoroughly distract him from any lingering anger.

It takes two full days of waiting before Wangji suddenly stands and strides off right in the middle of their morning meal. The behavior is so unusual that Lan Xichen is instantly worried, though as he stands to follow – with Nie Mingjue hot on their heels – he relaxes ever so slightly to see that Lan Wangji is heading straight for a young man Lan Xichen recognizes dimly as Wen Qionglin. He reaches out instinctively to rest a restraining hand on Nie Mingjue’s arm when he feels the man tense next to him, but though the Ghost General looks a little wary upon spotting Lan Wangji he doesn’t look hostile. In fact, he looks as timid and soft-spoken as he had when Lan Xichen had seen him during the lectures in Cloud Recesses. The only hint that he can see that something is different than it was then is the pallor to his skin and, just barely visible through the curtain of his mostly-unbound hair, thin spiderwebs of black cracks on his neck that creep up towards the underside of his jaw.

It takes some convincing from Lan Wangji before Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue are allowed to approach, and then further convincing from Lan Xichen before Wen Ning agrees to let them all come up the mountain. He takes the invitation Lan Wangji presents with gentle, steady hands and holds it as gingerly as one would expect someone to hold little Jin Ling himself, and once again Lan Xichen finds his heart aching – this time for the cruelty of the world that always seems to touch the gentlest of souls.

The trek up the mountain is slow and hot, but the further they get from the town the colder things get. The sensation of the sun on his skin is still there, but it somehow brings him no warmth. The shade cast by the twisting, barren limbs of the trees seems wan and thin, and yet the chill he feels in their shadows reaches into his bones with clawed fingers of dread. The soil becomes loose and dusty under their feet and before too much longer he can feel resentful energy crawling along his skin, seeking weakness. That sensation, at least, passes almost as soon as he notices it and he realizes they must have passed through the wards. Things grow, if possible, even more gray and sere from then onwards, though by the time he can begin to hear sounds besides the wind through dead, hollow trees there are a few with some life in them. A few gnarled leaves on some of the branches in the underbrush, a few trees bearing small fruits.

They pass the first field for planting before they see anyone to till it, though the next field has a figure bent to their task. They sit up straight to watch them pass and Wen Ning offers a little wave to the figure who nods back, wariness etched into every line of their posture. Lan Xichen chances a glance at Lan Wangji to find him facing staunchly ahead, fist held behind his back and his eyes glued to the invitation in Wen Ning’s hand.

“Wei-gongzi should be tending to his field this time of day,” Wen Ning says in his typical soft stammer as they approach what seems to be the heart of the settlement. There are more people around now, all going about various agrarian tasks with varying degrees of vigor. Lan Xichen is about to ask what he means by field when he looks ahead again and spots it, shocking in the gray landscape around them – a bright green space dotted with soft pink petals, and a man in shades of black and grey bent over it with his trousers rolled up to the knee.

It’s clear that Lan Wangji is aching to go to him but they’re stopped before they can go any further by a small young woman suddenly in their way, her feet planted and her arms crossed over her chest.

“Wen-guniang,” Lan Wangji greets with a salute as Wen Ning offers a quiet, “Jie..”

“A-Ning. What are they doing here?”

There’s a beat of silence that Lan Xichen abruptly realizes it’s his responsibility to fill, despite this being Lan Wangji’s errand.

“Wen-guniang,” he greets with a salute of his own that Nie Mingjue copies at his side a beat later. “Wangji has an invitation to extend to Wei Wuxian, and Nie-zongzhu and I agreed to accompany him.”

“An invitation?” At her prompting, Wen Ning hurries to hold out the document itself for her to take, which she does with another skeptical glance at the three of them before she opens it to read the contents. Lan Xichen watches her face for some sort of reaction to the news that Wei Wuxian is invited to Jinlintai, but if she has any sort of feeling about it she does an admirable job of hiding it.

“Wei Wuxian!” she calls without looking away from them. Lan Wangji’s spine stiffens and goes miraculously straighter, as if Wei Wuxian’s name alone is enough to electrify. The man in question waves a mud-stained hand in their general direction without turning around.

“What is it, Wen Qing? A-Yuan is playing with Popo right now.”

Lan Xichen glances up at Nie Mingjue at that with a question in his expression though he knows Nie Mingjue likely doesn’t understand that any better than he does. Nie Mingjue isn’t even looking at him anyway, as it turns out. Instead he’s looking around what they can see from where they are – a crumbling stone structure built into the side of the mountain. Crude wooden huts made from the subpar lumber available in the twisting dead forest around them. Tired farmers in clothes that look one hard winter away from falling apart. And over it all the pall of death and decay that’s inescapable in the midst of a field that had once been, as the name suggests, nothing but a hill of bones and restless spirits.

“You have…guests.”

Lan Xichen looks ahead again in time to catch Wei Wuxian whipping around so quickly he nearly falls off his perch at the edge of his ‘field’ of lotuses, thriving right there in the middle of the Burial Mounds, against all odds.

“Lan Zhan!” he squeaks, looking utterly shocked to see Lan Wangji, let alone him or Nie Mingjue. “What are you-“

“Rich-gege!!!” A tiny voice suddenly cries and Lan Xichen is startled to see a small blur come running from the direction of one of the other fields to plaster itself against Lan Wangji’s leg.

“Hello A-Yuan,” he says softly, almost too softly for Lan Xichen to hear, and he drops his hand down from behind his back to pet the top of the boy’s head, smoothing flyaway hairs back from his little face.

“A child, Mingjue,” he whispers, though the volume can’t hide his horror. This is the ‘band of Wen rebels’ the Jin Sect is so afraid of? This is who remains as the target of their revenge and hatred?

“I see him,” Mingjue replies quietly, jaw working with a little flutter of the muscles in his cheek. “I see them.”

“Rich-gege Xian-gege said you wouldn’t come back but you did!! Pick up, please!”

Lan Xichen wonders if it’s possible for his eyes to go any wider as Lan Wangji reaches down without hesitation to curl his hands under A-Yuan’s reaching arms and, heft him up onto his hip where the boy promptly clings and lays his head down, seemingly content to hug and be held.

“Lan Zhan what are you – what are you all doing here?” Wei Wuxian tries again as he stumbles out of the mud of his pond to traipse across the space between them, cleaning his hands rather ineffectually on his robes hiked up around his hips. When he draws level with Wen Qing she holds the invitation out to him with a look in her eyes that Lan Xichen can’t quite decipher. It’s the first time she’s taken her eyes off of them since she had intercepted them, and Lan Xichen is a little embarrassed to realize he’s relieved to no longer be the subject of her sharp attention.

“They brought you this. You can go see your sister.”

“What?!” Wei Wuxian scrambles to open the letter, eyes flying across the page as he reads whatever it was Lan Wangji had written – knowing him it’s probably as bare-bones as possible, conveying only the necessary information and nothing else. It doesn’t take him long at all to look back up from the page with suspiciously shining eyes. “Is this real?”

“Mn. It was agreed upon.”

“Jiang Cheng agreed to this? And Jin Zixuan?”

“Mn.”

For an alarming moment Wei Wuxian looks like he’s in desperate need of a place to sit, but he rallies quickly and all of a sudden his smile is absolutely blinding, the way it had been once when he’d been a younger, much more carefree teenager coming to study in Gusu. When his smiles had turned Lan Wangji’s ears red and made him glare daggers through whatever poor wall or floor or passing disciple happened to be in his line of sight.

“Oh. Oh wait come in, come in, you’re making everybody nervous out here,” he says with a laugh that doesn’t sound..entirely genuine, but another glance around the settlement proves that he’s got a point. The Wens are all watching them now, tasks forgotten in the need to watch for approaching danger. “Lan Zhan sorry about A-Yuan, he probably won’t be willing to let go for a while.”

“No need.”

“Aiyah. Fine, fine. Come in. Wen Qing and Wen Ning, you too. Come on, let’s go,” he says and just like that Lan Xichen realizes with amusement that they’re all being shepherded into…a cave. It’s a spacious cave, the dilapidated remains of the palace built into the mountain, but it is still effectively a cave. There are tables set up in what’s clearly a communal dining area and Wei Wuxian bustles ahead of them to swipe some accumulated dirt from a couple of the benches before gesturing for them to sit.

“Ah Zewu-Jun, Chifeng-Zun, apologies for my manners,” Wei Wuxian says with a salute for both of them that Lan Xichen is quick to smile away. “We’re not exactly ah…equipped for visitors such as yourselves, I’m sure you understand.”

Lan Xichen takes a seat at the table between Nie Mingjue and Lan Wangji, who has now transferred the child clinging to him to his lap where the boy sits looking at the two strangers to him with wide, curious eyes.

“Xian-gege, Rich-gege brought friends this time,” he observes and earns himself an affectionate ruffle of his hair from Wei Wuxian.

“He did! And they’re very important friends so behave for Rich-gege, alright?”

“A-Yuan is better behaved than you are, Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing retorts in what Lan Xichen is sure is meant to be their usual banter, though it comes out flat and, if he’s not mistaken, too stressed for the joke to properly land. Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does then he is still adept at charging through any sort of tension with his usual charm.

“So rude, Wen Qing, we have guests,” he says with a little flourish as he finally takes his robes down from where they’re hitched up and pats them into place where they belong. It becomes even more apparent how threadbare they are with the full length of them on display. He sits down quickly enough and the Wen siblings move to stand behind him, arms crossed protectively over their chests though rather than looking intimidating, as he’s sure other people would find them, to Lan Xichen they just look…afraid.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says softly, and though Lan Xichen knows his brother well enough to know that there’s a whole thought tucked into those two words, he doesn’t know them well enough to know what those thoughts are. And that is strangely disconcerting, to realize that there’s an entire facet of his brother that he doesn’t understand anymore.

“Lan Zhan, not that I’m not pleased to see you, of course you know I am. But why are you here?” Lan Wangji flicks his gaze towards the invitation now stowed safely in the front of Wei Wuxian’s robes and the man rests a hand gently over it, though his resolved expression doesn’t waver. “This could have been delivered by post, or by messenger. The townspeople know Wen Ning, they would have gotten it to him if you had left it for us. Why did you come here in person? And - no offense Zewu-Jun, Chifeng-Zun, but..why are you part of this too?”

“Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning speaks up softly, surprising everyone else in the room. “I don’t think you’ll be safe in Jinlintai.” It’s something of a non-sequitur but somehow the thoughts must be connected, and Wei Wuxian muster understand how they are judging by the way his entire demeanor changes into something much more alert.

Lan Xichen sighs softly as Wei Wuxian’s sharp gaze fixes on them, but it’s Nie Mingjue who speaks up first.

“Jin Guangshan wants your amulet.” It’s bold and barefaced in the way that Nies tend to be and though Lan Xichen is used to it, it still makes him feel a bit squirmy and anxious in the pit of his stomach to hear something so unpleasant laid out so plainly. Not that he’ll ever let it show, of course.

“Well he can’t have it. Next.”

“He thinks the Wens here are dangerous.”

“Clearly we’re not. Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and I are the only cultivators here. Besides, we’re barely feeding ourselves, let alone preparing to take on the Jins. Next.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji cuts in, and this agonized tone, at least, Lan Xichen recognizes.

He interrupts before they can begin any sort of argument. “Wei-gongzi. During the discussion of whether or not you should be present for Jin Ling’s celebration, Jin Guangshan presented concerns about both the amulet and Wen-gongzi. You can’t deny that these are valid concerns for those whom you consider to be enemies.”

“I don’t have enemies unless they make themselves my enemy,” Wei Wuxian shoots back, all trace of boyish excitement gone from his face now. “None of you were there that night in Qiongqi Pass. Did any of you even visit the work camps Jin Guangshan put the Wens in? Did you see, with your own eyes, the field of corpses they created because they knew that the cultivation world would turn a blind eye?” There’s ringing silence for a moment before he repeats his demand. “Did you?!”

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing warns, low and quiet.

“If Jin Guangshan is so bored of watching over Lanling and sending his cultivators to protect the interests of his own Sect then by all means, create an enemy of me. I knew what I was doing when I took these people away and brought them here. I know what people say of me, and of the Wens, do you think I don’t? Words are nothing. Fear is nothing. But if someone acts against me and those I’m sworn to protect, can I not defend myself? Can I not defend them?!”

Lan Xichen curls his hands into slow fists on his knees under the edge of the table as Wei Wuxian makes a wild gesture in the general direction of the rest of the settlement, beginning to look desperate as he works himself up.

“You saw them with your own eyes. They’re just farmers, they’re just regular people, the kind that we’re supposed to protect! Popo plays with A-Yuan to keep him occupied while we work in the fields and Fourth Uncle makes wine from the fruit that grows here and everyone here is just trying to survive, yet you would rather see them all dead for the sin of having once been related to a man who has already been killed for his crimes?”

“Xian-gege,” A-Yuan says softly from his perch in Lan Wangji’s lap. Lan Xichen turns an agonized glance on him to find him reaching out for Wei Wuxian with one chubby little hand, his eyes still wide though now it’s with something like concern rather than the curiosity of before.

“A-Ning, take A-Yuan back to Popo,” Wen Qing instructs. Her brother obeys with a nod, reaching down for A-Yuan even as the boy tries to cling to Lan Wangji.

“Want to stay with Rich-gege!”

“I will come find you soon, A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji promises with something fierce and immovable in his eyes. “Go with Wen Ning.”

There’s a quick flutter of activity as the child allows himself to be carried away, and as Lan Wangji shifts his weight to get comfortable again Lan Xichen doesn’t miss the way he subtly positions himself a little closer to Wei Wuxian. It’s hardly noticeable, but it puts him on the same half of the table as Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing still standing behind his shoulder, and when Lan Xichen meets his brother’s eyes he knows precisely whose side he will stand on should it come to that.

He desperately hopes that it won’t.

“This invitation to Jin Ling’s celebration is a trap, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian asks and unlike the boyish cheerfulness of before, or the anger of mere moments ago, his tone is now as cold and blank as the stones outside.

“No,” Lan Xichen protests, though it’s undercut significantly by Lan Wangji replying with a simultaneous (and much more convincing), “Yes.”

“Lan Zhan?”

“Jin Guangshan wants the amulet. He knows you will not miss a chance to see your family. He will demand you hand over your amulet and Wen Ning to show that you are no longer a threat to him, and if you refuse I do not know what he will do.”

“He just wants to destroy the amulet and the…weapon,” Nie Mingjue cuts in, gruff and clearly unhappy with the way things are going but it is, surprisingly, Wen Qing who rises to meet him.

“You can’t seriously tell me you buy that? That a man like Jin Guangshan can be handed something powerful and decide, out of the goodness of his heart, to get rid of it,” she snaps, eyes once again cutting and her hands clutched in her sleeves where her arms are crossed. “And that ‘weapon’ is my brother, who, in case you haven’t seen, is in full control of himself and his thoughts. He counts as one of us, and destroying him now would be to finish the murder that those guards at the work camp didn’t finish.”

An uncomfortable silence drops in the wake of her anger and in it Wei Wuxian rises slowly from the table to stand next to Wen Qing, his arms crossed over his chest as well. Lan Xichen can’t help but flick a cautious glance at the hand closest to the flute tucked into his belt but at least for the moment it doesn’t seem like he’ll be reaching for it.

“If you’ve come as nothing more than Jin Guangshan’s messengers then I’m taking you right back down the mountain, one way or another. I’m protecting these people, and that is not up for negotiation. You can tell Jin Guangshan that yourself.”

“Wei Ying-“

“Lan Zhan this isn’t directed at you. It’s them.”

Lan Xichen blinks slowly as he realizes that Lan Wangji’s subtle positioning hadn’t gone unnoticed by Wei Wuxian after all. Or, he supposes, it’s equally likely that Wei Wuxian simply trusts Lan Wangji. Despite their differences, their arguments, it’s possible that Wei Wuxian sees now how ardently Lan Wangji wants him to be safe. How far it seems he’s willing to go to ensure it.

“So what’s the deal, if we leave you keep Wangji here as leverage?” Nie Mingjue barks. Lan Xichen’s eyes go wide as he abruptly realizes he’s lost all control of this conversation and it is heading in a dangerous direction much more quickly than he could have expected.

“Lan Zhan is free to come and go as he pleases, he won’t hurt us. He allowed you to come here with him this time so I assume he trusts you to do the same. But if seeing the truth is going to do absolutely nothing to change what you want and what you’ll help Jin Guangshan accomplish in wiping the Wens off the face of the earth then we’re done here, and you will not be welcome back.”

Lan Xichen can’t deny the dread settling thick and heavy in the pit of his stomach, and only a small portion of it has to do with the resentful energy in the air. Wei Wuxian has proven himself time and time again as a formidable opponent, and while Lan Xichen doesn’t think that it’s necessary to see him as an enemy he knows that the majority of the cultivation world would disagree. It’s plain to see, though, that even should that be the case there’s no force on earth that could turn him aside from the path he’s on. He said it himself – his purpose now is to protect the Wens, and if the cultivation world sees that as a reason for him to die alongside them then he will.

“We’ll help you,” he promises. Rash, perhaps. Uncharacteristically sudden of him, perhaps. But it’s actually not really, in the end. Lan Wangji has been worried about Wei Wuxian ever since that banquet in Jinlintai and his disappearance with the Wens later the same night, and so Lan Xichen has been worried about his brother since the same moment. And not only that, but he still remembers Wei Wuxian as he had once been. Where now it seems everyone wants to paint him as a devil, as an evil mastermind, as a cruel and power-hungry tyrant amassing an army of the dead, all Lan Xichen can see is a young man whose heart has always been kind, who cultivates with evil things he can’t understand but who’s using it to keep a group of helpless people safe. It is not such a sudden change of heart for him to wish to see everyone around him treated well and fairly.

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue says, startled by his declaration, but Lan Xichen puts a hand on his knee beneath the table, a silent promise to explain himself later.

“We’ll help you. The Lan Sect. What do you need?”

Wei Wuxian is staring at him, mouth hanging open rather comically, and so it’s Wen Qing who speaks up after a moment though Lan Xichen can see in her eyes that she doesn’t trust him yet.

“Food. Blankets for A-Yuan and for the elderly at least. And we want to be left alone.”

“These are the only demands you have?”

“What else could you possibly offer us, Zewu-Jun?”

“Fertile land,” Lan Wangji supplies, eyes beginning to alight with the first dangerous edges of hope. “Protection. Homes.”

“In Gusu?” Wei Wuxian cuts in to ask. There’s weight behind that question, a hostility, but when Lan Wangji looks at him all Lan Xichen can see is his desperation.

I want to bring a man to Cloud Recesses, his brother’s voice echoes softly in the back of his mind. Bring him there and keep him safe.

“It would not have to be permanent, necessarily,” Lan Xichen supplies, hand tensing a little more on Nie Mingjue’s knee when he feels the man shift restlessly beside him. “But it could be. None of this should have happened to you and your family, Wen-guniang. Will you allow the Gusu Lan to begin attempting to make reparations?”

Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing look at each other but whatever passes between them in their glances is beyond Lan Xichen’s comprehension.

“I will think about it,” she replies after a moment and Wei Wuxian turns on his heel to put his back to the rest of them, effectively hiding whatever expression he makes in response. “Come back in three days.”

It’s a clear dismissal and so Lan Xichen stands, Nie Mingjue at his side. Lan Wangji doesn’t move, his eyes fixed firmly on Wei Wuxian’s back, but he doesn’t seem to be included in the dismissal anyway. Wen Qing simply leads them to the doorway again where Wen Ning is standing patiently on the steps outside, likely to keep any eavesdroppers away.

“We’re escorting Zewu-Jun and Chifeng-Zun back to town,” she informs him and he falls in quickly at her side.

“Where is Lan-er-gongzi?” Wen Ning asks with a concerned glance over his shoulder. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. He and Wei Wuxian might finally be ready to stop acting like they don’t want to be together,” she replies so flippantly that Lan Xichen is suddenly grateful for Nie Mingjue’s hand at his elbow as he stumbles ever so slightly on the uneven terrain in response.

“O-oh,” Wen Ning stammers out and Lan Xichen is abruptly sure that if it were still possible he would be blushing. “Well that’s nice I suppose. Is Wei-gongzi going to go to Jin Ling’s one-month and see his sister?”

Wen Qing glances back at them at that, though what she’s measuring them for Lan Xichen isn’t exactly sure. “Whose idea was it to have him there?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Wangji’s.”

“Oh yes then I daresay he’ll go no matter if it’s a trap or not,” she remarks so dryly that she actually gets a chuckle out of Nie Mingjue, which is startling to say the least. Lan Xichen looks at him, trying to gauge what he’s thinking, but he’s got his expression carefully locked into stern, unreadable lines. They continue on in silence down the mountain and back to their inn in the town. Only when the Wen siblings have departed and he and Nie Mingjue have retired to their rooms does he unbend enough for Lan Xichen to see that he’s deep in thought.

“Do you think Jin Guangshan truly means to destroy the amulet?” Nie Mingjue finally asks when Lan Xichen has waited him out long enough for him to speak his mind.

“In all honesty no, I do not. At least not right away, and power corrupts. We already know he is a man of vices, it’s no secret that power is one of them.”

“Can you really offer the Wens land and protection without consulting anyone else? The elders, your uncle?”

“It will have to go through more official channels I suppose to actually begin the movement – we’ll need to send resources to keep them clothed and fed while travelling and cultivators to keep them safe, after all. But yes, that is something I can offer them. I will make my case to the elders with what we saw here today, Wangji is my witness, and you could be too. They’re nothing but humble citizens who simply bear the curse of an unfortunate name through no fault of their own. So many Wens have already paid the ultimate price for what Wen Ruohan has done. There’s nothing and nobody in this last remaining group to be so afraid of that they must be eliminated. The only part that should worry the rest of the sects is that Wei Wuxian is at the helm, but their fear of him is slightly misguided as well. I believe once Uncle and the rest of the elders know the truth they will allow such peaceful people to live and work in Gusu.”

“Hm. Well alright then, the Nie will support you.”

That pulls Lan Xichen up short and he stares at Nie Mingjue with undisguised shock. Nie Mingjue at first only raises an eyebrow at him, but after another moment he exhales sharply and shakes his head as if bedeviled by a fly.

“I still don’t like the Wens but I can’t in good conscience lead them to the slaughter. If you want to protect them, then protect them. And I’ll protect you. Maybe we can finally take Jin Guangshan down a notch or two in the process, I definitely won’t be opposed. Nor do I think Jiang Wanyin will take much issue with it either, not if it can get him his brother back. And we already know Jiang Yanli will support anything that repairs Wei Wuxian’s reputation, and Jin Zixuan will support anything that makes Jiang Yanli happy. I’d say the winds are in our favor if we act too quickly for Jin Guangshan to counter it.”

Lan Xichen can still only blink as Nie Mingjue finally cracks his expression to smile ever so slightly and offer him a wink.

“You should have agreed to strategize with me days ago, none of this would have been so surprising, I thought it may become an option. Now it’s just up to Wangji to talk Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing into agreeing.”

“I believe he will find it in himself to be persuasive, and Wen Qing at least is quite sensible. I believe she understands their position well and knows that it is not sustainable for much longer. Or that even if it were, it would be better if their people could get the care and treatment they need to thrive, not just to survive. I believe they’ll agree.”

“Well we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t return once during the three days Wen Qing asked for them to wait. On the morning of the fourth day Wen Ning returns for them to bring them back up the mountain where they find Lan Wangji kneeling in the dirt with A-Yuan perched happily in his lap chattering away to Wei Wuxian, who is sitting far closer than necessary to listen as the rest of the Wens bustle around them, hurrying from field to field at a much quicker pace than mere days ago. Wen Qing meets them again at the entrance to the main clearing, arms once again crossed over her chest as she eyes them up like a hawk studying its prey.

“We accept. We’ll all come to Gusu with everything we can carry to start things anew.”

And just like that Lan Xichen gains a new branch of his family in the most unlikely of places.

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

Cupid is stupid (Or Weiss asks a lot of questions and finds love in all the softer places)

Falling in love, Weiss discovers, rather inconveniently in the middle of a fight, is a lot like wielding a weapon.  

There’s the push and the pull, the drawing blood and taking of it. Weiss is rather inclined to think of it as a violent, bloody dance — the way she’s almost constantly tripping over her own feet trying to follow her partner when she has no idea what her next move will be. Then, of course, there’s the fact that whoever she’s dancing with is equally as clumsy as she happens to be, which Ruby definitely is.

“Thank me later,” she quips, after she’s done saving the idiot’s ass for the millionth time in her life. And then it hits her right in the chest, not a Grimm’s blow, not a weapon, and worse that Cinder’s fiery spear that had impaled her a couple days ago — this is affection. Not the kind she feels for Yang or Blake or any of their other friends, it’s the kind that turns her inside out whenever she so much as sees a malevolent force heading towards Ruby. The kind that automatically reaches out to touch Ruby when she’s near, that draws her eyes, unbidden to search her out in a fight.

Ruby catches her a while later, holding onto her hand as she hangs off a moving train, and Weiss can do nothing other than blink back at her — at her bright eyes, and her hair whipping around in the wind. She then proceeds to whisk them both to between two train carriages, in a flurry of red. When Weiss tries to step away, to catch her breath, she finds she’s stuck to the ground, or more accurately, entangled with Ruby. They’ve got their arms wrapped tight around each other, and with every movement, strands of Ruby’s hair land onto her face. Weiss doesn’t know it then, but all of her molecules have indeed just been rearranged. She has a feeling that stupid thing in her chest has been put back together to form Ruby’s name instead.

*****

It’s almost offensive how easily she feels the cold when she’s supposed to be the Ice-Queen. Yang would say something stupid about her not having a thick skin because she grew up in the literal lap of luxury (and she would be right, but that’s beside the point) and Blake would probably punch her in her arm, but thankfully, nobody’s noticed yet. So she stands in the corner of the porch, looking out at the rapidly falling snow outside the creepy house.

“You’re cold,” Ruby murmurs when she sidles up to her.

Of course. Of course Ruby sees. “Everyone’s cold,” Weiss says back.

Ruby shrugs, gently reaches for her hands, her eyes on Weiss’ the entire time. Is this okay, she seems to be asking, and Weiss, helpless, can only nod.  

Ruby covers Weiss’ hands with her own, raises it to her face and like it’s a secret, breathes warm air into their cupped palms. She’s no longer looking right at Weiss, instead focusing her attention onto their hands, and Weiss, like any other time she’s lucky enough to get to stare at Ruby freely, takes this opportunity to do so. The cold in her bones has instead been replaced with warmth — Ruby warmth, the particular shade that she can only find around Ruby — and even the tremendous crash of Qrow and Jaune breaking down the door registers to her as though coming from far, far away.  

Ruby blows one last gust of warm air into their hands before they make their way inside. She doesn’t let go, though. Weiss realizes she didn’t want her to, anyways.

*****

There are around ten people in the house besides the three people who actually live there, and not enough beds. It’s a logistical nightmare.

“Or,” Nora says, smirking in a very wink-wink-nudge-nudge way while she side-eyes Ren, “it’s an opportunity.”

Ren colors, fiddles with his collar until he’s sunk half into it. They’re all polite enough to look away; the sight of Ren, embarrassed is physically painful to witness.

“We’ll — we’ll manage, won’t we?” Ruby pipes up, smiling brightly, and Weiss sees them all smile back in reflex. Sometimes she wonders if she’s the only one Ruby can twist around her little finger — other times she is reminded that she just has that effect on people. Why else would they follow her to the ends of the planet? When Ruby talks, people believe.  

(When Ruby talks, Weiss physically feels her heart careening out of control, skidding into a blind curve with no idea what lying ahead. On and on and on, like Ruby’s running up ahead and Weiss follows, with just her voice for company)  

They end up cramped in two rooms — Maria gets the bed in the guest room, in honor of her being practically a fossil, a fact that gets Yang’s ears boxed when she says it aloud. Oscar, Jaune, Nora and Ren plant mattresses on the free space on the floor and are snoring in fifteen minutes. Qrow claims he won’t sleep much, and finds a rocking chair that he pulls close to the window, and he sits there, swigging rum ominously every once in a while. The rest of them decide to concede the couch in the living room to Ruby, who looks the most exhausted. And when Weiss gets up because she can’t sleep, she sees Blake and Yang snoozing next to each other, their hands loosely held close to Blake’s chest.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” she hears from somewhere beside her when she goes out to the porch, and whirls around, only to see Terra sitting in the corner. Adrian is perched on her lap, watching the soft snow drizzling outside.

Weiss smiles at her, feeling a little awkward about the entire thing. Shrugs. “Shouldn’t he be.... asleep?” A quick glance at the clock confirms her suspicions. It’s almost one.

Terra chuckles. “He conked out at seven. He wakes up in the middle of the night at least once. This — this helps him go back to sleep. Plus,” she pauses to bend a little and deposit a tiny kiss on top of his tiny head, “it’s one of the few minutes I get to spend with him in the day.”

Weiss thinks of her own childhood, of nightmares and staying up all night terrified, because there was no way, absolutely no way she was allowed to wake her parents up for any reason besides imminent death. The Schnee estate was vast, confusing and filled with entirely too many showpieces no one would ever use, full of winding staircases that lead nowhere close to comfort.  

This house is tiny and full of love. Every dent on the couch talks of tickle fights and places someone was so happy that they bounced their way into almost breaking it; the lower parts of the walls are scribbled over with crayons and blue hearts and stick figures of smiling people. She thinks back to dinner when Oscar and Nora burned whatever pie abomination they were supposed to be baking and then they’d all crammed into that tiny space to try to salvage it, and Weiss could’ve sworn even the tiny gaps between them were overflowing with love.

(This is a house someone would want to walk into at the end of the day. A place of shelter. A home)

“Jaune did mention you, you know?” Terra says, after a while, and Weiss is startled out of her train of thought. “In his letters to Saphron when you kids were at Beacon. He was particularly effusive in his description of you.”

“Oh dear lord,” she says, burying her face in her hands because that phase of her life seems so far, far away now. “I’m so glad he got over it. Not before singing an awful made-up song on his guitar, though.”

Terra laughs, softly, and Weiss notices that Adrian’s fallen asleep against her chest, his head resting on the arm she’s moved awkwardly to brace him.  

“Saph worries about him,” Terra says. “He makes sure to text her updates, but she can tell when he’s left a lot out. He’ll text her something like roadtrip and she knows to translate it to we’re on the run and have no idea where our next meal is coming from. He’s her only brother and kinda the baby of the family. And she.... she frets.”

“And when she worries, you worry,” Weiss completes.

When Terra looks up at her next, it is with all of her emotions plain on her face to see. Weiss reads consternation, affection, helpless desperation and blinding, blinding love before she bites at her lip and wipes it clean. Nods.

Weiss goes back inside a couple of minutes after they do, Adrian’s head hanging off his mother’s shoulder as they make their way to his room. When she walks in, she catches a glimpse of Qrow, snoring with a blanket now thrown across his torso, and movement off the corner of her eye. Oscar gives her a boyish grin, holds up a finger to his lips, before he disappears back to the guest room. She climbs over Yang and Blake, and finds her way, inexplicably, to Ruby’s side.

At some point in the night, Ruby had apparently kicked off her sheets and they now lay half-thrown over her legs. Weiss kneels at her head, looks on. At her impossibly young features, and her mouth that has fallen open, and the few strands of hair that are strewn across her forehead. Weiss wants to kiss the spot where they meet, wants to kiss the tiny freckle just beside her nose, her snoring mouth. She flushes, and balls her hands up into tight, wanting fists.  

When the urge passes (passes in a way that thirst in the desert passes, always there beneath the surface, just pushed back down enough so one can concentrate on more important things), she pulls the sheets up over her body, and tucks the ends, carefully over her shoulders. Her fingers wander, unprompted, to Ruby’s face, where they trace the path of her hair, and brush it away. Once. Twice.

And Ruby stirs beneath her hand, and then is staring at her, wide-eyed. There is no fanfare to how she wakes up, no protracted sigh or stretching. Weiss guesses it’s a product of their on-the-run lives — when there is no time to breathe, one gets used to waking and sleeping easily. In the end there they are, with Weiss kneeling next to Ruby, their faces shrouded in moonlight, staring at each other.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” she whispers, after a beat. Her hand is still resting on Ruby’s face. When she moves to bring it back, Ruby stirs. Her hand comes up to cover Weiss’, keeping it there.

“It’s okay,” Ruby whispers back, still holding her goddamned hand close to her face. Weiss can feel her breath tripping all over itself, like it’s not sure what to do in such close proximity. It’s almost intimate, she imagines, the both of them with their heads huddled together. If she leaned forward a smidge, their foreheads would touch. A head tilt — and here the thought makes her feel hot all over — and they would be kissing.

(The distance suddenly feels almost awfully unbearable to her)

Ruby’s still staring up at her, her eyes still wide and serious. When it all becomes too much, Weiss moves her hand to cover her eyes.

Ruby’s lips curve up in a sleepy smile. “What?”

“Stop,” she says, flustered, “stop looking at me.”

“But I like looking at you,” Ruby tells her, sounding amused and Weiss is one hundred percent sure she is going to die tonight.

(She doesn’t mean it she doesn’t mean it she doesn’t mean it she doesn’t — then — she means it in a different way than what you’re hoping for so shut up shut up shut up)

“Shut up,” she says, finally, then adds. “Dunce.”

Ruby giggles, then her mouth stretches open into the hugest yawn ever. Weiss laughs, boops her nose, because she simply must.

“Sleep, okay?” she says, one last time. Then, without thinking too much about it, she leans down and presses her lips to Ruby’s forehead.

She’s not sure, but Ruby looks a little like she’s blushing. She blinks a few times, then says: “Now I will.”

Weiss’ mattress is just below the couch. Five minutes after she lies down on it, she feels Ruby’s hand travel down and rest on her head. It is to the continuous motion of her hand through Weiss’ hair that sleep finally takes her when it does.

*****

Winter is all angles and bones. Not just physically, but also in the way she carries herself. She is sharp edges and words that cut easily. Weiss knows it’s not just her — the Schnee family tends to make knives out of people and then set them upon the rest of the world to hurt and maim. Weiss knows that better than anyone else, knows that some blades draw blood unwillingly.  

Also knows that Winter is trying her very best to change.

But her posture is still ramrod straight, refusal to relax written into every single one of her cells. They’ve all split up after their celebration for their newest promotion to Huntsmen and Huntresses: Yang and Blake having disappeared on a trip to explore the city, Ren, Nora and Jaune off to gorge on Atlesian delicacies, and they’d left Oscar practicing sparring with Ruby. Winter had dropped in to invite her out to a celebratory dinner at Atlas’ finest dining establishment, and so here they were, sitting awkwardly in front of each other, eating whatever was on their plates.

Weiss wonders if Winter would die of shock if she dared to reach over and steal one of the dumplings on her plate. The Weiss of two years ago wouldn’t even have entertained the thought.  

Today, she thinks about it maybe five seconds before picking one up and shoving it into her mouth.

Winter’s eyebrows are arched. “You know Father would disapprove of the declination of your table manners.”

“Good thing I don’t care, then,” she replies, flippantly. “Do you?”

Winter rolls her eyes, takes a sip of her wine. “You’re my sister, Weiss. You could take half my liver and I’d only call you a boob. Or something equivalent.”

That’s how Winter Schnee loves. In casual gestures, in standing behind Weiss, ready to sacrifice herself at a moment’s notice. It is not the unwavering, adoring devotion of Yang and Ruby — Yang wouldn’t even entertain the thought of a potential hurt coming her sister’s way, jumping into action to save her before she even asks. Winter, however, needs to make sure Weiss can take care of herself, only hanging back in case things get too dire.

She smacks her hand with the chopsticks when Weiss reaches for another one. “I offered up a liver, you go looking for my heart? Behave, Weiss.”

It makes her laugh.

And it’s this foreign.... ease, for lack of a better word, that has Weiss’ tongue loose enough for her to shoot Hey, Winter, you ever been in love before an hour later, when they’re walking back to the military complex.

Her sister seems to be choking on thin air — she coughs and squawks and makes all sorts of undignified noises, before smacking Weiss on her head to make her stop laughing.

“I’m sorry,” Weiss says, when that hysterical bout is over. “Just wanted to see the look on your face. You don’t, you don’t have to answer that if it’s too personal.”

“Imbecile,” Winter mutters, but she turns to face her anyway. They’re almost at the building that has their apartment, and they stop almost simultaneously, standing in front of each other and trying very hard to avoid looking into each other’s eyes.

Winter hesitates, then speaks again. “Really want to know?”

Oh. Wow. Okay. “Yes,” she nods, trying to look casual about the whole thing.

“Once,” Winter tells her, running her hands through her perfectly coiffed hair in a very uncharacteristic move. “Before I joined the military.”

“And what happened?” Weiss asks, after a prolonged pause.

Winter’s smile is both sad and amused. “Father found out about her. What do you think?”

And she doesn’t know if it’s the easily dropped pronoun, or the way she can still read the utter loneliness in her sister’s eyes, but Weiss finds herself taking a step forward and wrapping Winter up in a hug.  

(Winter is all angles and bones)

And stiff limbs. “What,” her sister says, hesitantly, “Weiss, what are you doing?”

“Hugging you.”

“We don’t do that,” comes the prim response.

“We also don’t steal food off of each other's plates, Winter,” she replies, easily, still acutely conscious of the way Winter is just pressed against her stiffly. “As far as major changes go, I personally wouldn’t mind seeing a lot more of this.”

Winter’s arms come up, finally and hang loosely off her shoulders. As far as hugs go, it’s not the most comfortable one.  

(As far as hugs go, it’s one of the best Weiss has ever had)

And that’s' the moment, she becomes aware of movement from somewhere up high. Winter’s back is facing the building, so she’s in the perfect position to tilt her head up and see—

(What in God’s name?)

Oscar, Jaune, Nora, Ruby, Blake and Yang and crammed into the same window, peeking out at them, and appear to be giggling furiously. Ren, thankfully, seems to have enough dignity to not stoop to the level of these utter pains in her ass.

“What the—”

“Weiss?” Winter asks, still awkwardly hugging her. “Something wrong?”

She laughs. “Depends on what you define as wrong,” she says, and disentangles, so Winter can turn around and see for herself.

“Oh dear.”

A chorus comes sailing from above. “Hi, Officer Winter!” they all say, and then disperse, laughing madly. Only Ruby remains in the end, waving at them shyly.  

Winter, to her utter surprise (and really, it shouldn’t have been. If the evening had taught her anything, it was that she didn’t give her sister enough credit), waves back. When she turns back to Weiss, she’s even smiling a little.

“I like that one,” she tells her, eyes glinting with what Weiss can only define as mirth.

“Everyone likes her,” Weiss replies, shrugging.

“Do you?” Winter’s eyebrows are raised, and Weiss cannot help dropping her gaze, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of her neck. Winter’s hand falls on her hair, ruffles it up a little.  

Her parting words are Be careful, you boob. Weiss pretends not to understand.

*****

Blake and Yang are easy to figure out. Even Weiss, who has a general tendency of being clueless in these matters, can see the way Blake kind of — withers, when Yang isn’t around. There’s a light in her eyes that’s only visible when Yang’s close to her, a subtle confidence in her shoulders that says Yeah, I’m good now. Blake and Yang carry their love in their bodies, always moulding themselves to the other’s relative position. Weiss is sure even they don’t realize it yet, the way they always seem to come together when they’re in the same room, this unconscious meeting of opposite poles that ends in relief. They’re tangled hands, arms resting around shoulders, feet nudging each other, eventually leading up to secret smiles in team meetings.  

Sometimes, Weiss is sick of the whole thing.

Oftentimes, Weiss wants them to be happy so, so much that she fights the urge to push them into a room together for two hours.

“They’ll be back soon, you know?” she tells Blake, who hasn’t moved from the window since they finally made contact with the rest of the team. Blake whirls around, relaxes, then accepts the coffee Weiss is holding out to her.

“Thanks,” Blake says. “I just—”

“I know, I know. You worry.”

“I just,” she says, tugs at her hair with her free hand, “I just, I don’t know how anyone does it. Stay away, I mean, I — it’s like I can’t breathe properly when I don’t see her.”

And Weiss has done it once, a long time ago, although the magnitude of her feelings wasn’t known to her back then. Back when her father had locked her up in an ivory tower and she had no idea what Blake or Yang or Ruby were doing, if they were even alright. But she still stayed up all night, wondering if Ruby was okay, if she had eaten, if she was thinking about Weiss.

She imagines having to leave Ruby for a moment now, and the melancholy that washes over her almost brings her to her knees.

“Some hypocrite you are,” she says, teasing Blake gently, “with all the find yourself schtick you gave Nora earlier.”

She laughs, and Weiss finds herself hoping it’s taken her mind off of Yang for at least a little while.

“I like your brother,” she says, then. “He’s adorable.”

“Can you say that to him, please?” Weiss begs her. “And can I please be in the room when you do so?”

There’s another moment of levity. “Hey,” she starts, frowning a little. “Do you know where he is right now? Haven’t seen either him or my mother after the whole Grimm debacle.”

“I last saw him with Ruby,” Blake says. “I think he’s.... quite taken to her, actually.”

Weiss sighs. “Of course.”

(Ruby is the pied piper, after all. Everyone would follow her to the ends of the planet)

(Weiss? Weiss would walk with her beyond it)

Blake grins at her.

“What?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, mischievously. “Seems he’s not the only Schnee who’s quite taken with her.”

(Blake deserves the massive bump running headlong into the glyph Weiss conjures up in the next second. No doubts about that)

*****

The end of the world comes after the night before the end of the world.

Like a protracted moment of utter calm before the cacophony starts, they all comes together, and eventually split up to the places that give them the most peace. Weiss takes a tour of the house once. Her mother’s sleeping on a chair next to Whitley’s bed; Weiss covers her with a blanket before she moves on. Jaune and Oscar are sitting guard over Penny, next to Ren, who has squeezed himself in beside Nora. Yang smiles at her warmly when she comes upon her and Blake in another room. Blake’s fallen asleep with her head resting on Yang’s lap. She wanders around for a little while more, until she finally comes upon Ruby in her bedroom.

“Why is it,” Weiss says, “that most of the time I meet you, I have to tell you to go to sleep?”

Ruby turns, smiles at her, but the smile is fractured in places. Weiss takes a step forward, closer.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Nothing, nothing, I,” Ruby takes a deep breath, looks around. “I can’t believe you lived here.”

Weiss lets her change the topic. “What’s so unbelievable about that?”

“Just doesn’t look like you, that’s all.”

“That’s because I don’t exactly belong here.”

“Where do you belong then?” Ruby asks, looking right at her.

With you. “With all of you,” she says. It’s true. “Blake and Yang. And Jaune and Nora and Ren and Oscar. And even — that stupid alcoholic uncle of yours. And—”

“—and?” she asks, a lopsided grin on her face.

“And you.”

Ruby sighs, steps forward so they’re in each other’s personal space.  

“Weiss,” she says once, quietly.

Weiss closes her eyes, takes a step forward of her own, blindly, feeling Ruby’s steadying hands on her shoulders, her back, her hair. She feels a hand carefully moving against the scrunchie holding her hair together.

“Can I?”

She nods, feels her hair pulls free. Ruby helps detangle it, the braid, and ends with tender hands, smiles.

“I like your hair,” she says, then makes a soft sound in her throat, urgent, wanting. “Weiss.”

“Yes, Ruby?”

“Weiss, Weiss, Weiss,” Ruby says, again, and now her forehead is tipped against Weiss’.

“What, darling?” Weiss murmurs, and feels Ruby’s shuddering breath in response. There’s a small, desperate kiss pressed to her hair, then her forehead, and amusingly enough, her nose.

“Weiss, I have to tell you—”

“—wait!” she says, not moving. It’s not like she could. A Grimm could be standing in the room right now and it couldn’t draw her away from Ruby. She touches Ruby’s cheek gently, feels Ruby sigh and sink into her palm. “Please — please don’t say what you’re about to.”

(A part of her, the stupid, hopeful part knows what it is and craves it, dreads it, mourns it already)

“And what am I about to say?” Ruby asks, her eyes burning with something Weiss can’t find the words to define.

“Something incriminating, I fear.”

“You fear?”

“Yes. But I also — I hope.”

“Then let me say it,” Ruby implores. She removes her arms from around Weiss, grabs her hands and raises them to her lips. Kisses her knuckles carefully. “Weiss, you know already. You must know.”

“I do, sweetheart, I do,” she says, resting her head against Ruby’s collarbone. The two of them have been circling each other in some dance that Weiss hasn’t been able to pin down yet, have been hurtling, at alarming speeds towards unknown cliffs, and the same way that Ruby has to know that Weiss would split herself end to end for her, that if cut into pieces, Weiss would bleed for her happily, Weiss knows.

(All love is violence. She knows that better than anyone)

“Tell me,” she starts, “tell me when there is peace.”

“But there will never be peace!” Ruby says, and her voice cracks. Weiss raises her hand blindly to press at her cheek and feels the warm moisture sticking there.

She rises on her toes so they’re level again. “There will be.” Weiss would make sure of it. For Yang and Blake, who need time to get their fledgling love off the ground. For Ren and Nora and Jaune who have lost too many friends already. For Oscar, who deserves a chance to grow up and for Qrow, who deserves a chance to feel young again. For Penny and Maria and Pietro and her mother and Whitley and Winter.  

For the girl she loves.

For Ruby.

When they kiss, Weiss thinks she’s shattering into a million pieces, like she would never be the same again, even if reformed into someone who resembles Weiss Schnee on the surface. How could she, with the memory of the movement of Ruby’s lips now imprinted on hers, her fingers tracking indelible marks through her hair — tomorrow, she will remember, a week later, she will remember, if somehow, she couldn’t see Ruby for another thirty years, her skin would remind her, every day.

*****

The end of the world comes before the day after the end of the world.

Weiss wakes up in the woods, empty handed. She wakes up, and thinks of Ren and Nora and Oscar, hopes they got to safety. Of her mom and Whitley and Winter. She thinks of Jaune who tried carrying her to the door. Of Yang who fell infinite miles into the void before Blake fell an equal distance to her knees, of finding Gambol Shroud and trying her very best to gather her courage to honor her teammates best.

Weiss wakes up in the woods, stumbles to her feet, looks around. There’s water to be searched for, and sustenance to be gathered. She’s got a long journey ahead of her, after all.  

Ruby’s waiting for her.

[aressss1]

Through Fire and Ice Chapter 7

(Technoblade x Reader)

Chapter 7

<Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

~~~~~~

Niki was a very gracious host; you had come to love her company. She would be gone in the day, helping with the patients the doctor hadn’t turned away. At night she would come and talk to you, tending to your needs. She was extremely easy to get along with. It had been a few days and you saw both Dream and Techno every day that passed. You even got to meet Wilbur, both her and Techno’s friend. They all had an amazing dynamic together.

Your sickness had started to calm down, though you still couldn’t do too much from the fatigue you still felt. Your highlight of the day was Techno, who would come bring Niki some of his already stocked-up food and she would cook, while Techno would read to you. That was a deal made between the two of them, and they both seemed pretty content. Dream was always there watching over you when he could as well.

 Dream was out and about most of the day, finding more survivors and helping them, with the help of his friends Sapnap and George. He loved telling you stories of the events he had been through, both recent and long passed.

 It was the middle of the night and you were having bad dreams, it was easy for them to sneak up on you. Peace eluded you even more so after the recent events. You woke up with a start, the pain still in your shoulder. Pushing yourself up, images of your dream flashing behind your eyes. Blood dripping off the blade, Techno’s friend… Phil… wielded. You were back in that house again in the dream, and you wished you could scrub your memory clean. You were supposed to be safe here, you were…

  You choked out a sob, causing Niki who was sleeping on the floor to stir, you put your hands over your mouth cursing the fact that you had woken her up. The tears started streaming down your face. You could hear the fabric of her blankets rustling beside the bed, she crawled over to the bed sitting on her knees right next to you.

 “A-ah,” Niki leaned forward, “Please… Why are you crying? Are you in pain? What can I do to help?” Niki sounded distressed and you disliked that fact, you didn’t want to be the cause of it. You couldn’t help but shake your head. Your vision was blurring as you started hyperventilating. An overpowering sense of dread settled in your chest. “Do you want me to get someone?” She asked her eyes searching your face. You hesitated but nodded, your fingers grasping at the fabric of your shirt on your arms.

 “Techno… Please.”

She didn’t hesitate, she got right up and threw on her shoes, not bothering to change out of her pajamas.

 --

 Techno laid back on Phil’s couch in his newly dug out home. Kristin and Phil had gone to bed hours ago, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the voices who had taken to whispering the letter E to him for the hour. The house was nicely built, and it already had a homey feel to it. Phil and Kristin’s building and decorating energies flowed well together. You almost wouldn’t expect it to lead out to a massive ravine. The house was still under construction, and the guest bedrooms weren’t complete yet.

 Techno helped with the house, building things for Phil, on account of his broken arm. He was happy to help Philza, in between his visits with you… Techno even helped with Kristin’s garden. The back of the house led out to a good sized ‘backyard’. Techno helped till the dirt he brought in and he gave Kristin the resources to start their farm.

 His thoughts were cut short by a frantic rap at the door. If he weren’t a hybrid, he probably wouldn’t have heard Niki’s voice calling out to Techno from behind the heavy dark oak door. The stress in her voice made him jump up to his feet, rushing to the door. Adrenaline began pumping, and he unlocked the door and swung it open, revealing a disheveled Niki, she was out of breath from running.

 “She’s panicking Techno,” she said in between breaths, “She wanted you.” Her hands gripped at her knees as she struggled to catch her breath. His grip tightened on the door.

 “Thank you, Niki.” His voice sounded out, as he slipped on his own shoes. He didn’t even bother getting his mask.

 “You two take all the time you need,” Niki panted handing him the key to her place, “I’m going to go check on the patients,” Techno saw something in Niki’s eyes that he just couldn’t place, along with a smirk. He would ponder on it another time. Right now, he was thinking about you, and how you had requested him to be there.

 He left Niki standing there at Phil’s door. He was in the residential part of the ravine. As they expanded the cavern, it started to expand in a crescent shape, with a long main road bustling with homes and businesses. Even in the late of night, people were walking around, working on their projects. The voices riddled his mind.

 ‘She needs you.’

 ‘Protect her.’

 He quickened his pace once the bakery came into view. People around him started to stare, and they would quickly look away once they realized who was rushing through their town. People didn’t like Techno, it was obvious. It was more so after the incident with Dream, people saw him for who he was. Dream’s words echoed through Techno’s brain. ‘When you have scared the living shit out of her, I will come to be there for her. Because I know, you will slip up.’

 He shook the thoughts from his head. He needed to be there for you right now. His feet landed on the wood steps of the bakery and he took no time in unlocking the door, and walking in. Locking it behind him. He could hear your sobbing from the front room. His heart pounded. What if he wouldn’t be able to help you through this? What if this would just result in you pushing him away? Techno knew he wasn’t good with comforting people. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. His steps rung out against the stone floor, and his pace quickened when he heard you call his name.

 “I’m here.” He said as he stepped through the doorway to the room you were in. His eyes landed on you; your face buried in your arms as they rested on your knees. “Everything is okay.” He stopped just short of your bed, kneeling so he could be eye level with you. “You’re safe. Just breathe. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He mimicked the way Phil helped him with his panic attacks. He didn’t dare to touch you. When your eyes met his he implored you to follow his breathing.

 It was a few minutes, and your breathing had calmed down, but your hands still shook. You shifted your body and motioned for him to sit next you. He seemed hesitant, but he climbed up on top of the bed just next to you.

 “What’s your favorite color?” His eyes searched your tearstained face. You cocked your head at him at his question. Your eyes flitting up to his golden ones. “Come on, what’s your favorite color?” He asked again. You let out a shaky breath and gave your answer. “That’s a good color.” You saw his mouth quirk up into a smile. You wanted to see him smile more.

 He ended up firing off questions at you waiting and listening for your answers. He was patient with you when tears spilled from your eyes again, not nearly as bad as before. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but your eyes started to feel heavy again. You felt thoroughly worn out. You let out a little sigh, and you leaned on Techno’s shoulder. Feeling him freeze for a second, he wrapped his arm around you carefully, the both of you lying down in the bed. Your face buried in his chest.

 “Thank you, Techno.” You whispered to him, taking in his scent. His arm tightened around you, as he drew the covers around the both of you. You were fast asleep.

 Techno was staring up at the ceiling, like he had done every single night thus far. This time with you in his arms. It was a weird feeling, being in this situation again, not out of necessity, but out of want. You had initiated this, and it was foreign to Techno, even if it felt right. But for Techno one thing was for certain, and he couldn’t help but be a little freaked out… When he found you in the room, not one of the voices in his mind could be heard… And for the first time in a while, he was afraid.

 --

 Ranboo was sitting in his small cave like home, his pets lounging about around him. He hadn’t gotten around to building too much for his own home, but he had been helping with the farming, even going into the nether and finding the gigantic bones, he was learning how to imbue the bone meal with magic so the plants could grow almost instantaneously. With the volume of people in the ravine it was still hard to feed all of them, not to mention still try and make enough glistering melons for potions. With Dream’s team bringing in more and more people by the day, it meant more bone meal had to be made, but the bones were starting to deplete from the surrounding areas of the portal in the nether. They tried composting, but even that was proving hard if they didn’t have a lot of resources to compost…

 Today was the day that Phil had called for a town meeting. Everyone was meeting in the town square. The clock on Ranboo’s wall read that it was mid-day. It was almost time to go, he went through his checklist of what to bring with him, patting his pockets down in search of his key. He scans around the room cursing the fact that he can’t remember where he put his key. He didn’t have much in the way of furniture and his home rivaled a small studio sized house. It couldn’t have gone far…

 Searching for it, he found it hidden behind the dragon egg on one of the only end tables he owned. He quickly pocketed the key, his eyes turn to the egg, a small smile gracing his lips. He put a hand on the egg, he could feel the life in the egg pulsing, it let off a happy aura at Ranboo’s touch. He turned and started heading to the door. If he left now, he would be early to the town meeting, and he could help Phil do whatever he needed to.

 A sound echoed off the stone walls, and it was a sound Ranboo knew well. It was the sound endermen made when they had teleported, but… This wasn’t an enderman teleporting… He was almost afraid to look back, but when he did, the egg wasn’t where he had left it. He quickly scanned the room, and it didn’t take long to see that the egg had teleported in front of the door.

 “Huh…” Ranboo breathed out. He walked over to the egg, crouching to grab it. When he returned it to the place that he had just left it, he took a step back, watching it for a few seconds before sighing. “How weird…” Ranboo mumbled out before turning toward the door again. He only got a few steps away before the egg did it again. Ranboo cocked his head at the egg. It really didn’t want him to go… He thought for a second. Trying for a third time and getting the same result. He was just going to have to carry the egg with him. He grabbed a canvas bag settling the egg in the bag and covering it up. Ranboo could feel the happy aura radiating through the bag. With a sigh he was ready, he went out his front door, finally on his way to the town meeting.

 --

 Phil looked out over the crowd that had gathered, he had no idea where Techno had gone but he was sure it had something to do with you, not that Phil minded of course. He wasn’t even sure if Techno was going to stick around, if Techno wanted it, he would give him one of the rooms that was currently being built in his house.

 He stood next to the beacon shining brightly in the town square. People started congregating around him. There were so many faces he didn’t know. He started to even feel worried. How could he take care of all these people? He had barely gotten through Will and Tommy’s antics when they were children. Hell, Phil even now had to tell Will to stop eating sand.

 Phil was brought out of his thoughts when Ranboo weaved through the crowd of people with excitement in his eyes. He gave Phil a half wave, before he protectively settled his hand on a canvas bag he had strapped on his shoulder. Phil looked down curiously at the bag, it looked like an ordinary bag but there had to be a reason Ranboo was guarding it. He would ask about it later.

 The crowd grew steadily, looking at Phil expectantly. His eyes looked for anymore faces that he could pick out among the crowd. His eyes landed on Wilbur, Tommy, Niki, and Kristin, who had found their places at the front of the crowd next to Ranboo. He gave a big sigh and let his eyes scan over everyone.

 “Hey everyone,” his voice echoed on the walls of the chasm. He almost faltered when nothing but silence answered. “So… I know things have been hard and it’s going to take some getting used to.” Looking in the crowd, he saw many tired faces, faces that wanted answers, and Phil didn’t know if they would like his answers.

“So… First things first… The food situation.” His eyes gazed over the farms. “Sam and I are going to start up work on automated farms,” Phil’s confidence started growing with every word. “I’ve seen Sam build with redstone and he is one of the best people for the job.” Phil paused. “When it comes to bone meal… be sure to compost anything that is compostable. If anyone would like to go deeper into the nether for bones we haven’t found yet, or if you want to hunt for skeletons, be sure to tell Sam he’s working on procedures to make sure everyone gets back safely,” Phil, after going through some specifics of the nether, asked the people a question.

 “So now that we have plans and are settling here nicely… I wanted to ask you lovely people what should our home be named?” Phil didn’t have to wait long, because his sons had stepped forward, an excited look on their faces. They had obviously talked about this topic at one point or another.

 “L’manburg!” Wilbur’s excited cry echoed through the chasm.

 “No Pogtopia is better!” Tommy argued. Listening to their squabbling, Phil puts an end to it.

 “Shut!” He shushes his boys, earning the laughter from some of the audience. “Does anyone have any other suggestions?”

 “How ‘bout The Burrow?” A deep voice suggested… That voice could only come from Eret. Phil looked at them, thankful for a regular answer. It was talked about for a good few minutes, with people putting random suggestions into the hat. It was a toss up between The Burrow, and Derinkuyu. After much consideration and everyone voting, the majority vote was in favor of The Burrow.

 “That’s all fine and dandy… But what about our sick and wounded that keep getting turned away?” A disgruntled woman spoke up. Phil was taken aback by the question and he thought about it, the crook of his finger resting on his bottom lip.

 “Niki,” Phil’s eyes flicked to her. “Has the med bay been updated since we got here?” She shook her head.

 “We haven’t had time to do anything,” Niki spoke up, “It’s just as crowded in there now as it was a few days ago.”

 “Alright…” Phil said after a few seconds of silence. “Any builders, who want to work on an actual hospital, will need to find Wilbur,” He motioned at Will. When more and more questions made their way to Phil, he fired off solution after solution to the people questions. When the crowd seemed happy and no one else had any questions for him he gave out a sigh. A familiar voice broke through the crowd, and his heart dropped.

 “Who the fuck put this guy in charge?” Schlatt stepped forward from the back of the crowd, he had been leaning on the blank wall that led into the med bay listening in until this point. He made his way to stand right beside Phil. “This guy, won’t be able to lead you people right.” He jerked his thumb toward Philza. If Phil didn’t have a broken arm, he would have crossed his arms over his chest.

 “Schlatt, what are you doing?” Phil studied his face, he wasn’t wasted off his rocker, which meant he was up to something.

 “Let’s just say that I’m… educating the people.” His gaze turned from Phil to the crowd. “Are you really going to let the man responsible for this whole mess, rule you?” Gasps could be heard from the crowd, but Philza refused to falter.

 “Do you really think, I wanted this? Listen Schlatt, if you want to rule these people so much, go for it.”  Phil’s eyes burned holes through Schlatt.

 “I don’t think you originally wanted this, no.” Schlatt’s eyes peered over at him. “But a good opportunity, is still a good opportunity.” His voice was amused. “Why don’t you tell them all what happened? I think you owe them that much.” Phil was at a loss for words and now he was facing an angry mob. When his eyes glanced over at his love, Kristin, she nodded at him, trying to be encouraging. He let a shortened version of him and his friends killing the ender dragon spill out from his lips.

 “So, this all happened because you wanted to scavenge for loot, is that what you’re telling these good people.” Schlatt feigned his surprise.

 “Schlatt.” Phil said through his teeth. “The books and scrolls I read did not tell me anything about this.” Phil gritted his teeth. “I have been looking into ways of reversing it. I have been nothing but transparent with these people since we got here. But if you think you would do a better job go ahead.”

 “Uuuuh… Phil I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Will chimed in. Schlatt’s eyes flicked to Wilbur.

 “And why is that Big Man?” His voice taunted.

 “Schlatt, you’re a fucking drunk, the only reason you’re not plastered right now is because our inventory on liquor is low.” Wilbur motioned at Schlatt his voice calm and collected but Phil knew Will was absolutely livid at the accusations thrown at Phil. “Phil, will actually keep us afloat, whereas you would crash us into the ground.”

 “We will see about that.” Schlatt gave him a smirk as he stepped down, his arm bumping Will’s. Phil let out a shaky sigh as Schlatt disappeared into the dispersing crowd. Some people looked at him, disgust written all over their faces. Phil felt a hand slide down his wrist and take ahold of his good hand. Kristin leaned on him, letting him know she was there for him. That’s all he wanted in this life. He wanted his family, staying by his side. His eyes scan over Tommy and Will. Even Techno was on that list, he didn’t need to be blood to be his brother.

 “Let’s go home,” Phil lightly put his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, guiding all three of his family back to his and Kristin’s home. He ignored the stares he had gotten from people. He needed to think things through. But now Schlatt had put him in a bind. Things were just going to get harder from here.

[lil-pine-mha-drabbles]

Can u please write a Shoto fanfic (or could be for multiple characters) inspired by Murders by Miracle Musical? 😭😭😭 The line "all for nothing at all" hits very VERY hard for me. Can u make it as angst as possible too?

Todoroki Shoto x Murderer Reader

I listened to that song a bunch and still my brain didn’t process all of the story in that song, I hope that you will still enjoy this. I did work hard and I think I did ok, but I put my own spin on it.

TW: A LOT of blood, a few swear words, and heavy(ish) angst.

I got too into the storyline I forgot all the actual angst I was supposed to put in.

Here are some people that inspire me, @alpha-bnha-boys and @random-mha-thoughts

There are 2567 words to read below the line!

————————————

Were the woods always this scary?

The leaves rustled and the wind whistled as it sifted through the dark branches. It would have been a peaceful day if it weren’t for the darkness that had been put over the woods. You looked up through the cracks in the leaves to see that the sky was beginning to darken as well. You picked up your axe and wiped of the blood of the animal laying dead on the ground, the blood pooling around your feet. The smell was enticingly sweet, the scent of blood always fascinated you. As you grew older you figured out your favorite type of blood was human, there was something about the fact that there was no fur to get matted when the liquid gushed out leaving you in excitement to see the beautiful color on the white or chocolate skin.

You may be a murderer but you didn’t discriminate. You hoped desperately to find another human in these woods to harvest but you would wait and kill others patiently. The hunt is what you enjoyed; the feeling of raw adrenaline as you ran after your prey.

You had a quirk, and that quirk was a shifting quirk. You could change into any animal; real or fantasy that you could think of, but... whatever you choose you keep the appetite and diet of that chosen creature for a week.

If say, you wanted to be a horse, you would eat grass for a week, even after shifting back, if you wanted to be a dragon, you would be eating meat and spewing fire all week.

But, if you shifted into a herbivore then into a carnivore, you would not only be eating meat AND plants, you would have double the hunger for blood. To most people that would horrify them, but since you drank blood like apple juice, you had no problem going on a killing spree to sedate your desire.

You picked up the blood in the buckets you brought and rang out the already mangled body over the container. Finally you grabbed your shovel and dug by a dried tree. Soil that has a calcium deficiency ate up bodies quickly. If you buried and animal under a tree, the roots would wrap around the white bones in haste to receive their needed vitamin.

After the burial was complete you picked up the two buckets and walked to your cabin.

Now, these woods were special. There was a fountain of mirrors which showed your true inner self but only few have seen it. Those who have are trapped in the woods forever to guard the fountain from others who wish to see themselves.

You sniffed the air and quietly put down your buckets when you smelled it. Fresh prey.

Someone was in the woods whether they’re lost or they’re looking for the fountain, you don’t care, you’ll drink them up either way and leave their bones to the trees of the forest.

You turned into a bunny and jumped over boulders and bushes to reach the heavenly smell. It was sweeter then any human you have ever smelled, but it was surrounded by two other people. Well, you could eat two and save the sweetest for later, like a dessert.

There was a girl and two boys walking with picnic baskets through your woods. The girl was wearing bright pink, easy to spot. One boy had green hair that just made you want to rip out and watch the blood fall from the open scalp.

The last was the sweetest one. His hair was red and white, he would be easy to track down. If he ran you could sniff him out, or look through the darkness for his bright self.

The girl would be easiest to lure, you thought. She would like to chase the cute little bunny, but would ultimately get eaten by the big bad wolf.

You hopped out in front of the girl and her eyes went wide as she squealed to the boys next her how cute you were.

“Hoe, I am gorgeous, not cute.” You thought to yourself bitterly.

You hopped a little father away and the white and red haired boy tried to stop her.

“Uraraka, it’s dangerous in these woods, I wouldn’t recommend chasing the bunny.” He looked through you like he knew everything about you and you shook with anticipation.

Oh, this would be fun.

“Look, it’s cold. It’s shaking so much... please, I gotta help it.” You rolled your eyes and hopped away looking like you were limping. Your sweetest prey just sighed and waved her off like he knew she would be killed by you. The girl smiled and ran after you while the boys waited on the path for her.

When you lead her far enough that the boys wouldn’t see your smallest dragon form, you changed rapidly, stretching over her, your head curled around to the other side so she couldn’t run. You let her scream and then bit.

The blood squelched in your mouth as the neck snapped and your eyes rolled back at how good the flavor was. You sucked and sucked until she was nothing but a dried carcass on the floor.

You flew to the trees in your terrifying black creature form. “The Black Chaos.” The only way to describe this form is it looks like the chupacabra. Black fur that looked like porcupine quills, tail covered in spikes, claws as thin and as sharp as the sharpest knife, and wings that could cut through the thickest tree trunks in your way.

The two boys ran as fast as they could to where they heard the scream only for the green one to start bawling about his love, and your sweet, sweet prey looked around to assess the situation. He looked at all the trees till he locked eyes with you. His left side covered it self in flames and his right put a field of ice around his now screaming friend. You smiled at him, teeth glistening with the blood of the girl. Your eyes stayed on him as you flew up and over the trees.

He breathed a small sigh of relief, thinking you had left until he heard his ice shatter and you fly out, holding his last friend’s neck between your teeth. He was paralyzed with fear while sucked all of the blood from his friend while you locked eyes.

He couldn’t maintain eye contact much longer and turned to the side to throw up. You changed your form into your human body and watched from a distance curiously. Why did he feel sick? You were only eating a meal. Did he dislike you?

You had never felt this feeling before. It was one of dread and confusion, maybe, guilt. You watched him spill his guts for a bit more before he wiped his mouth and looked at you sitting on the ground, legs crossed, head tilted like a confused child.

“Why do you come to my woods, red one?” You asked.

“Why did you eat my friends?!”

“I was just having dinner, what’s the big deal? I’d rather have meals then friends.” You stated to him plainly.

He looked at you funny.

“I’m not afraid of death. When will you kill me?”

“Rather bold of you to think I was going to eat my dessert on a full stomach.” You looked at your black claw-like nails in thought.

“Dessert?”

“Dessert, your starting to get on my nerves. I might just keep you as punishment.”

“Is this some kind of sick twisted flirting?!” Tears streamed down his face, his eyes puffy red, and the darkness around him made you almost purr he looked so gorgeous.

“Is it working?” This time you did purr, your words surprised the boy as he flopped down onto the floor in defeat. “Well?” You asked again.

“Maybe you should have come up like a normal person and asked me on a date instead of EATING MY FRIENDS!?”

“I can see why you’re mad, but what is ‘date’?”

“A date, like where you take someone you might want to marry out to dinner or something.”

“Like a courtship then?”

“How old are you?” He asked curiosity lacing his voice as you purred because of the lovely sound.

“I was born in 1823. Lovely time I must admit, until they tried to burn me at the stake because I was the only person with a quirk.” You rolled your eyes then smile suddenly at the boy in front of you.

“How,” he coughed, “how old were you when you were killed?”

“Oh dear me, no, I wasn’t killed! I escaped into these woods, of course!!” Your smile must’ve grown larger because he looked like he became more uncomfortable. “Sorry, I smile too much.”

“No, you don’t smile too much, I just became uncomfortable because I’m sitting right next to my best friends’ corpses. No biggie.” He said with what you believed was sarcasm.

“I remember the first time I sat next to my best friend’s dead corpse, my father killed her when he found us kissing behind the barn! He wasn’t pleased that his daughter was becoming a ‘whore’. But! I showed him, after years of abuse from that bastard, I sucked his brains right out of his empty eye sockets! Good times, good times!” You laughed bitterly. “You probably think I’m some freak right? A girl can’t like girls and guys, it’s immoral.”

“Well, that’s not why I find you a freak, but you’re fine. It’s called being a bisexual. It’s not super new but it’s definitely more widely excepted now days.” He smiled at you slightly which made you smile a bit.

You two talked through the night like that. He explained that his father was emotionally and physically abusing him, and he had problems with showing emotion because of it. He wasn’t exactly “okay” with you killing his friends but he seemed more excepting then anyone you could think of.

You’d been with Shoto for months now. He was forever forced to stay in the woods. (With you not letting him leave only to go back to his father, it could be quite difficult.)

You talked about everything and anything, he taught you how to cook meat and how to prepare a meal without drinking blood. You stayed in your human form for the rest of the time he was with you and the only animals you were ever allowed to transform into were herbivores, which made sense. You hadn’t eaten raw meat in months and you thought you were doing better.

You thought.

You warned him. “Full moon is coming, stay in the cabin when I’m out, don’t leave. I won’t be able to control myself.” You told him, over, and over, and OVER. He didn’t LISTEN.

You were out in your most dangerous form, the Black Chaos. Wings spread out you hunted without being able to stop yourself. This was the only time of year you physically couldn’t restrain yourself from hurting others, and killing, and hunting.

Over the past hundreds of years that you’ve roamed these woods, this was the only time you were scared of yourself. You hated the way you couldn’t control yourself when you smell the slightest bit of sweet blood.

You had hunted ninety-nine beasts in the forest, bears, wolves, bunnies, foxes, dogs, dear, frogs, if they had meat on them, they were dead. Every time you hunt like this you count how many you kill.

It’s always a hundred. Exactly.

The moon was falling fast and you felt yourself slowly come back but something wasn’t right, you had seen a few animals pass you but you had no intention of killing them, yet you only had ninety-nine.

What was your body waiting for?

You looked out towards where the sun was rising and felt yourself stay on edge. Whatever was happening, Black Chaos still held the rains of your body.

That’s when it hit. The sweetest scent, Shoto.

He must’ve left the cabin looking for you now that the sun had risen, you wanted to call out to him, scream, “run!!! Stay away!!” But no words left your mouth as your body surged forward, bounding on all fours, not even utilizing your wings.

You saw the head of red and white hair in the distance and you finally let out and agonizing scream. “RUN!!!” That was all you could say before your eyes turned red and he turned and ran.

The chase was on.

You could hear his breathy huffs as he ran you could hear the leaves crunch under his feet, his sobs that wracked his body as his tears fell. He was terrified, of YOU.

You were screaming and crying and trying to stop this mess but the thing inside you wouldn’t stop seeking blood, his blood.

Finally after twenty minutes of running and crying on both parts, he tripped and you loomed over him, your long black tongue lolled out and touched his face, caressing it sweetly, wiping his tears as his chest rose and fell rapidly. Not only from all of the running, but also the fear of you.

He always said he wasn’t afraid of death but after looking into your eyes, your eyes that held death, he realized something. He was afraid, but he was in love with death. He loved you. YOU. The one who comforted him and joked with him and learned how to be human from him.

“I love you!” He yelled out as your long tentacle tongue wrapped around his neck, your teeth inches away from biting down.

“I love you so much it aches! I want to live with you forever! I want to teach you to be human and hug you when you’re sad!” He cried and cried and watched as your own tears fell for your eyes.

Then you bit down.

You screamed in agonizing pain as your only love was ripped from you by yourself. You did this. Your human form came back to you and you slammed you fists on Shoto’s chest.

“I love you so fucking much!”

“I’m so sorry!!! I’m so sorry!! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry... I’m so—“ your laid your head on his chest and cried and cried and cried.

Shoto’s hands moved to your face and wiped your tears.

“I love you too. You’re wonderful.”

You hugged him tightly crying harder in relief. How was he alive?

“It’s cliché to say that your love woke me up, but look at where we are.”

You look around and a smile made it’s way to your face. You were in the Fountain of Mirrors. The water had already healed Shoto’s neck.

He had tripped into the shallow pool when you were chasing him and you were too worried about him to see that you were surrounded by the water.

“You’re a guardian now. Of the woods, I mean.” You laughed threw your sobs.

“I know. And I will be forever.”

And so, you and Shoto live in the forest of Murder for the rest of the days of the earth. You looked into the mirror to see yourself a beautiful swan, you were no longer Black Chaos, you were White Savior, helping all people away from the fountain instead of gobbling them up.

The End.

[kitkat1003]

If you want another Spirit prompt, maybe #1 "Don't give me that look." With Spirit and Pigsy?

1. Don't give me that look

Quick Warning for disturbing imagery and blood

Have fun! :)

It was all because Spirit got the mail.

That was the long and short of it.  Spirit went to get the mail, pulling out a crystal ball that had exploded in their hand, and when Pigsy, Tang and MK ran out to see what the commotion was about they found a child where the Spirit that was familiar used to be.

This child goes by Yin.

This child has four eyes.

This child smiles, and there’s nothing sad in their eyes when they do.

A conference with Monkey King and some studying of the residue left by the exploding object proves that it was likely meant to stall MK by temporarily turning him into a child.  The prime suspects are Yin and Jin-they seem like the two to have such a hair brained scheme. 

Monkey King and MK head off to see just what MK was supposed to be kept from stopping, leaving Pigsy and Tang with the 8 year old.

“Where’s mom?” They ask.

Pigsy sighs.

The day goes on mostly as normal.  Tang and Mei entertain Spirit with phone games and medicinal texts.  It seems Spirit’s love of medical knowledge has not changed with age, and they sit in Tang’s lap and follow his finger as he reads out what plants can be ground up into a healing balm for wounds.

They were told that their mom was out on a trip to get medicine, and left them with Pigsy and Tang as babysitters.  They seem to believe that.

Red Son sneaks in to see them when he hears about the incident from Mei, and Spirit is entranced by his hair, reaching up with wide eyes.

“It’s pretty!” They shout, giggling when Red Son picks them up so they can card their fingers through the flamey strands.  “You’re really pretty!”

They bump their forehead against Red Son and smile, and Red Son looks...

He looks a lot younger than he is, staring at them as if lost in another time.

He doesn’t stay for long.  He lets Spirit play with his hair and shows them that he can melt metal with his fire if he tries, but eventually he stalks away with a terse, if kind, farewell.  There’s a quiet look of discomfort on his face, and Pigsy wonders if Red Son ever knew Spirit before they were scarred.

By the shock on his face when he’d seen Spirit’s four eyes, Pigsy doubts it..

They’re far more trusting than Pigsy has known them to be.  He feels like he could tell them the sky is actually purple and they’d believe it.  They talk a lot, too, chattering with questions and comments about anything and everything.  Pigsy and Tang had worked hard, to get the Spirit they know to be comfortable enough to ask any questions at all.  They’re very inquisitive, regardless of age, but the eight year old isn’t afraid.  They ask, without hesitation, and drink in every answer.

Pigsy makes them lunch, placing a bowl of noodles in front of them.  He reaches over and ruffles their hair, and

Spirit doesn’t flinch.  They don’t freeze, for a split moment, as they register that the motion is a kind one and not an attack.  They don’t awkwardly let the touch happen, pulling away because they feel like they have to.

Pigsy knows they like to be pet.  They like contact.  But contact has been marred by centuries of it being used as a weapon and so they still treat hands reaching to them for comfort as if they were blades.

This Spirit doesn’t see it that way.  This Spirit leans into the touch and giggles, bouncing in their seat.  Their tail wags, their hands flutter, their feet kick out beneath the counter.

Pigsy has seen them stim before.  It’s rare.  Typicaly, they’ll let their hands shake with the energy that wants to be released, too nervous to flap their hands like MK does.  Tang and Pigsy have been coaxing that out of them, too.

It’s terribly sad and wonderful to see that they used to do it with no fear at all.

They slurp up he bowl of noodles with a gusto he doesn’t recognize, messy and unfocused and silly in a way only a child can be.

“You’re a really good cook!” Spirit says, grinning with all their teeth, wide and unburdened.

Pigsy smiles back.

It’s when Spirit sprints off to the restroom that Tang levies his eyes onto Pigsy, raising a brow.  There’s something knowing in his gaze, and Pigsy knows what he means when he stares at Pigsy with pity and reproach.

“Don't give me that look,” he grouches, turning away.  He knows what Tang is going to say.  He knows.

“They’re not going to stay like this forever,” Tang, predictably, reminds Pigsy.  He says it gently, though it still stings, but Pigsy knows Tang doesn’t mean it to be cruel, voice as soft and sad as Pigsy feels.

And Pigsy wants to rage.  He wants to punch a wall and scream, because he sees that child and he sees Spirit centries later, blades in hand on a death mission because it was the only way out, in their eyes.  He sees wide smiles and childish innocence and sees Spirit limp, tired, and empty on his couch, with nothing left in them to give.

But that’s for later.  When Spirit is grown and gone to bed Pigsy will mourn what no one else before had thought to, the person Spirit used to be and could have kept if not for a world far crueler than it should be.  Pigsy knows, now, and knowledge is not always kind.

“I know,” he responds, quietly, just as Spirit comes skipping back to their seat, leaning over the counter to watch Pigsy cook.

“How does that work?” They point to the stove, curiosity painted on their face.

Pigsy turns around with a blank slate plastered on his face, and explains it with a smile as Spirit stares at him as if he knows everything.

Mei pops in from time to time, helping with deliveries and bringing Spirit random candies that they munch on.  She’s taken to ruffling their hair, and has turned their tiny ponytail into a mini braid.  Spirit spins around to try and catch a glimpse of it, stopping only when after a full minute they get so dizzy they fall to the floor.

Mei takes a video of it.  For later.  She also takes a picture of the braid so Spirit can see.

“That looks so cool!” Spirit bounces on their feet.  “Mom always has her hair up in a bun, but I don’t have eough fur for that.  I can’t wait to show her this though!”

They all tense, at the reminder.

“When’s she’s coming to get me?” Spirit asks.

Mei fumbles, looking off to the side as she tries to find an acceptable answer.

“Sometime tonight,” Pigsy replies.  “It’s a long journey, though, so you might have to sleep over if she can’t come this evening.”

Spirit nods, taking the answer as truth.

The lie sits like a stone in Pigsy’s stomach, and he doesn’t look at the kid in the eye for at least an hour after.

As the sun begins to set, traces of light peeking between the large buildings that block the view, Pigsy begins to close up the shop.  Tang headed upstairs a few minutes before, both to see what quick meal they can make for a child in their kitchen and to set up a bed on the couch should Spirit have to stay the night.

Spirit watches him clean up the shop kitchen, tail swishing back and forth from their seat.  They seem endlessly fascinated by the mundane.  It’s endearing, and almost familiar.  The Spirit Pigsy knows found cooking very interesting, once Pigsy introduced them to it.

The sun disappears behind the horizon, and gold turns to blue as Pigsy finishes wiping the stove down.

“Where’s mom?” Spirit’s voice is quiet, and sends a shiver up Pigsy’s spine.

“She’s out right now, getting medicine,” He replies.  “I told you earlier, remember?  It might be an overnight trip, but we have a bed for you to sleep in if that’s the-”

He turns around, and freezes.

“Where’s mom?” Spirit repeats, tiny hands gripping the counter.

They’ve grown a little bit, he notes.  They’re growing up.

Their eye.  One of them, the top left, is melting.  It drips from the top of the socket in strands, slowly pulling away from bone and collapsing in on itself like a deflating balloon, revealing the void behind it.

Whatever the eye melted into disappears, and as streaks of blood drip down Spirit’s face, Pigsy is suddenly reminded of how four becomes three.

He thinks he’s going to be sick.

He rushes out of the kitchen, as Spirit drops out of their seat and stands, dazed, in the middle of the dining room.

“Kid, look at me,” Pigsy grips them by the shoulders, turning them to him.  

Spirit looks so confused, as blood continues to pour down one side of their face.

“Where’s mom?” They ask again.  “She’s supposed to be here.  She can fix it.  She-she fixes it, and then she...,” They trail off staring into some far off place, and Pigsy grips them tight enough to bruise because he’s terrfied they’re goining to melt out of his grip.

Spirit starts to cry.

“I’m sorry,” They sob.  “Mom’s gone.  She got hurt.  She helped me and she got hurt, and she was cold-and-and,” They shake, tail curled around their leg in a familiar motion that makes his heart jump in his throat.

He wants to pull them back.  He wants them to be 8 again.

A small, dark part of him wonders how long Spirit had to wait, bleeding and broken, before their mom found them and made it right.

“It’s not your fault,” he breathes, even though he knows the words won’t stick.  “It’s not because of you, Sprite.”

But Spirit isnt listening, because he watches the empty eye socket and the full one beneath it begin to merge.  He watches them grit their teeth and shake as their skull shifts, as it changes, as two becomes one.  The eye swirls and grows to take its new shape, and then finally settles into something heartbreakingly familiar.

The blood disappears, as does the tears.  Spirit grows a little more.

With every passing minute they get a little bigger, and Pigsy wishes they didn’t.  Every passing minute he watches a new wound and then scar appear.  He watches the light in their eyes get duller and duller and he watches them get taller and hunch lower, trying to disappear.

They whisper things too, like ‘Sorry, Red’ and ‘Yes Sir’ and “I miss you, Mom’ and all sorts of awful secrets that add weights to their stance.

By the time they’re familiar, wearing the company shirt with their magenta pants, Pigsy can hardly breathe.

“Pigsy?” They finally say, voice small and uncertain.  “Are you okay?  You look really upset.”

Pigsy stares at the familiar, and wishes with all his heart that the Spirit he knew wasn’t.

In the end, they tell Spirit that they were hit with an artifact meant for MK, and that they were different for a day.  Spirit remembers nothing of it, which is a blessing and a curse, and no one has the strength to explain the truth.

Spirit doesn’t know.  That’s for the best.

Things go back to normal, with Spirit helping out in the kitchen.  Pigsy finds his movements slower than normal, and he can tell Spirit notices, but they don’t ask anything.

They’re too nervous to ask those questions, now.  They would before.

They keep rubbing at their one eye, today, as they help with the cooking.

“You alright?” Pigsy asked.

“Oh!” Spirit jumps a little, dropping their hand with a nervous grin.  “Sorry, uh, my eye is a little itchy today.  It happens sometimes.”

Their tail loops around their leg.

“It does?” Pigsy turns back to the broth, so Spirit won’t feel so scrutinized.

“Yeah,” Spirit replies.  “I, uh, I can still feel the spaces.  You know, where the two used to be.”

Pigsy freezes.  He glances to the side, and watches Spirit trace the two eyes on their face, quietly.  They trace it with pinpoint precision.

“I, uh, I read some stuff on it,” Spirit continues.  “It’s kind of like phantom limb pain?  My brain knows there’s supposed to be four, but there isn’t, so,” They shrug.

Pigsy is reminded, again, of how four becomes three.  How two became one.

He feels vaguely sick.

“Sorry,” Spirit says again.

“I’m sorry.  Mom’s gone.  She got hurt.  She helped me and she got hurt, and she was cold-and-and,”

“Don’t be,” Pigsy waves a hand, and wishes he could take the part of Spirit that thinks they need to say sorry because they are and shake it out of them.  “You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for.”

[tothemeadow]

Kyo con-noncon teacher/student roleplay pls? 👉👈

😜😜😜

‘getting A’s and D’s’ / Rengoku K. x Reader

warnings: NSFW, noncon (roleplaying), handjobs, oral sex, facial

words: 1,769

-

Being a teacher is long, exhausting work. There are lessons to be written, homework to be given, exams to be graded. And while Kyojuro loves his job – he wouldn’t give it up for anything else in the world – there are times when all he wants to do is sit back and relax. It’s this very thought of returning home, returning to you, that keeps him going.

Soon enough, he’s pulling up in the driveway, putting his SUV in park. You should be home by now, probably doing something to pass the time (Kyojuro really hopes you’re cooking because he loves it when you cook). A smile comes to his face as he picks up his satchel and flings the car door open, nearly jumping out of the car and sprinting to the front door in his near fit of desperation.

Now, Kyojuro has never been a quiet man. Granted, he experienced an accident as a kid that left him with partial hear loss, so that doesn’t help, but he usually just wants you to know that he’s home as soon as possible. So yeah, it might be cliché that he yells “honey, I’m home!” as soon as he walks in through the front door, but he doesn’t care. If he’s really lucky, you’ll pop around the corner and run straight into his arms.

However, now is not one of those days. In fact, the house is surprisingly quiet. Usually, he’d hear you clanging away in the kitchen, or music blasting away from the stereo in the living room, but there’s nothing. Complete static silence. It’s unnerving, to say the least. Kyojuro saw your car in the driveway, so you’re clearly home, but where are you?

With a sigh, Kyojuro shucks his loafers off and stalks down the carpeted hallway, his footsteps somewhat muffled between the carpet and his socks. He draws closer to his office, already dreading the amount of papers he has to grade; frankly, he’d choose to have no papers or exams whatsoever, but the school requires at least something. True, his students are among the people he holds most dear, and he hated taking exams and the like when he was in school himself, but it can’t be helped. If he wants to keep his job, he has to play by the rules.

Upon swinging the door to his office open, however, Kyojuro comes to a complete stop, jaw dropping and muscles tensing. There you are, his beloved spouse, sitting in his office chair, legs crossed. What really catches his attention, though, is the school uniform you’re wearing, tartan, tie, all that fun stuff. You absentmindedly chew on a pencil, an almost perplexed look on your attractive features. You drop the pencil as soon as Kyojuro appears, a bright smile blooming on your face.

“Mr. Rengoku!” you chirp. “I was hoping to catch you after class…”

Oh, god. The way you say “Mr. Rengoku” has Kyojuro’s blood boiling, and it’s all in the best way possible.

Clearing his throat, Kyojuro tugs at the knot of his tie, loosening it and giving him ample room to breathe possibly. “Uh, uh…” he stammers, unsure of where he’s supposed to go with this. The button up shirt you wear is just a smidge too tight, clinging to your body and leaving little to the imagination.

“Listen,” you say, slowing drawing yourself to a stand, “about that last test we had… I know I failed it, but I really need to pass this class. You understand, right?” Stepping closer to him, you cock your head, a soft smile spreading across your lips.

A single whiff tells Kyojuro that something spicy sticks to your skin, all too tempting and delicious at once. He stands there dumbly, feet rooted to the spot as you get even closer to him. Your chest just barely brushes against his, your warm breath fanning across his face. Kyojuro’s breath quickens, the blood pumping through his veins heading south, leaving his cock throbbing in his slacks. The look in your eyes is too much, too sultry.

It makes him want to eat you alive.

“Then…” Kyojuro starts, but then he pauses, licks his lips. “Then maybe you should have studied more.”

Your lips twitch at that. “Awww, but Mr. Rengoku, can’t we find some solution? Anything? I really need that passing grade…” Reaching up, you place your hands on his biceps, give them a tight squeeze. “My, my, Mr. Rengoku, I always figured you worked out, but I never knew you were this hard,” you coo, tone innocent.

Like a flipping of the switch, your simple touch is enough to shift Kyojuro into this little “game” you’ve set up. It’s not the first time the two of you have engaged in roleplay, but it’s usually a planned occasion, not something spontaneous. Either way, Kyojuro is drawn to the way your hands run over his chest, lightly yank on his tie. Setting his jaw, he drops his briefcase, hands reaching up and taking hold of your wrists.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he says, voice low, gravelly. He doesn’t miss the way you shiver.

“Am I not allowed to appreciate my teacher?” you shoot back. “Besides… We can make some sort of deal, can’t we?”

Kyojuro scoffs at that. “And what did you have in mind, exactly?”

“Well…” Instead of finishing, you force him closer, spinning him around and pushing him towards his desk. He grunts as the backs of his thighs hit the dark wood, but you keep going; dropping to your knees, you send him a mischievous smile. “I thought that maybe… I do you a favor and you do me one in return?”

No, it shouldn’t be like this. He shouldn’t be so affected by one of his own students. It’s hard to miss the way that his cock strains against the fabric of his slacks, but he’s smarter than this. It’s protocol, for fuck’s sake!

“Come on, sit,” you urge, pushing on his hips until he has no other choice than to plant his ass onto the surface of the desk.

Murmuring your name, Kyojuro grips at the ledge, the tick in his jaw twitching. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t be doing this. This could cost me my job.”

Pouting up at him, you shake your head. “You only get in trouble if you get caught, sir.”

Oh, fuck. The mere name has Kyojuro’s cock kicking in his pants, a fat bead of precum soaking the front of his boxers. Still, he has to retain control in this situation.

“Don’t be stupid,” he hisses. “I refuse to waste away my life over something like this.”

“Oh, come on,” you tell him. “Just give me a passing grade and we’ll forget all about this, okay? Unless…”

Kyojuro swallows thickly. “Unless what?”

You flash him a knowing smirk. “Unless you like it.” With a giggle, you reach up, gripping onto his belt and pulling it loose.

“Hey,” Kyojuro snaps, hands shooting out and grabbing yours. “What did I just tell you?”

“Don’t be a fun sponge, Mr. Rengoku! Or should I say sir?” Leaning forward, you nuzzle your cheek against the tent in his pants, another giggle slipping through your lips. “Don’t act like you don’t like it. In fact-“ Pulling away, you rip your hands away from his grasp, opting to pop open his button and yank down his zipper. “-you want me to continue. If you didn’t, then you wouldn’t be this hard.”

“No, don’t – ahh,” Kyojuro pants. A grunt slips from his mouth as you pull his cock out, hand stroking the heated flesh.

“Look at you,” you purr, fluttering your eyelashes enticingly. “I’ve barely done a thing and yet you’re so wet.”

“You’re not playing this fair.” Kyojuro groans, then, the sound rumbling in his chest as your hand picks up in a steady rhythm. “Fuck…”

“I’m just helping you, sir. A favor for a favor, hmm?” You hum as your thumb digs into his slit, picking up another drop of precum and smearing it over the head. “And I’ll be completely honest with you, sir… I’ve fantasized about you during class. You’re just so big, and I really wondered what it’d be like to be bent over your desk…”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Kyojuro moans.

“I always knew your cock would be so pretty,” you continue to gush, your hand picking up its movement. “I bet you taste like candy.”

“Stop, stop, don’t- Hnngh, shit!”

Kyojuro groans as your lips wrap around his cock, your tongue darting across his cockhead. His eyes nearly roll towards the back of his skull as you sink down, cheeks hollowing; the head of his cock easily slips down your throat, your nose bumping against his pubic bone. You swallow around him, the moan you release making your throat vibrate. Kyojuro’s blunt nails dig into the surface of his desk, a choked-out noise breaking from the depths of his chest.

This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real-

Kyojuro has to remind himself that this isn’t a real student he’s interacting with, but fuck if the implied danger of it makes his cock harder than what it should be. Arousal and heat swirl around his lower abdomen, squeeze his insides in a merciless hold. The wet heat of your mouth is too much, the lewd sounds emitting from your mouth echoing in the room. Moaning around him, you lift a hand, slipping it into his boxers and cupping his balls.

“God, yes, yes, just like that,” he pants, all caution thrown to the wind. “Fuck, baby, so good-“

His impending orgasm is approaching – and fast. He’s not sure if you can just tell by his desperate noises or the way his balls tighten, but you redouble your efforts, hollowing your cheeks so fucking hard that it almost hurts. He’s gonna cum down your throat, make you swallow each and every goddamned drop like it’s your last fucking meal-

But then you pull away. Your hand wraps around his cock, the schlick, schlick, schlick filling his ears and spurring him on even more. It’s like you know it was coming, for you close your eyes and open your mouth just in time. Kyojuro moans, low and raspy; thick, hot ropes of cum splash over your face, leaving such a sinful image for Kyojuro to burn into his memory. He’s a heavily panting mess as you carefully crack your eyes open, a devilish smile spreading across your features.

“On the desk – now,” Kyojuro grits. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

[vendettaparker]

Where’s My Love: Chapter 2- A Second Chance [T.H]

Summary: Tom learns what it feels like to watch a flower die; though I suppose a heart that is broken is a heart that was loved. Harrison reminds everyone about the finality of death. 

Word Count: 4.7k of pure pain 

Warnings: Angst (like the most i’ve ever written; which is saying something), mentions of sex, mentions of alcoholism, depression, cursing, character death, unhealthy grieving, grief in general, very very small mention of/hint to suicide (it’s extremely brief and you might even miss it, but it’s there)

a/n: i lowkey am kinda sorry about how sad this is. i’m just now realizing how sad this series is going to be as a whole (today i came up with a new plot idea and it made me cry just thinking about it so...), anyways, technically you could argue that this has a happy ending, so theres that to look forward to :) also you’re my best friend if you catch the WandaVision reference! reblogs, likes, and feedback is extremely appreciated! this series hasn’t been doing great in the notes department :( i’m still gonna write it obvi, but anything helps with the motivation, thanks <3 ps. thanatos is the god of death

Series Masterlist| Main Masterlist

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

     “Tom,” You smiled up at your husband, eyes shining in the moonlight and heart swelling with love. “We should go home soon. There’s still more to be done tonight.” 

     Tom smirked and tilted your face up, capturing your soft lips in a heated kiss, tongue slipping in and clashing with yours. He pulled away after a while of savoring your taste, lips pink and swollen, “You’re right, darling. There’s still so much to do tonight.” Tom lips travelled further down to your jawline, where he kissed, nipped, and sucked, leaving a dark pink love bite. 

     You whimpered and tugged at his unruly curls, bringing his lips closer to your sweet spot. Tom chuckled and littered kisses and marks all up and down your collar bones. You brought his face up to yours and kissed him, practically shoving your mouth onto his in a clash of teeth and tongue. 

     Tom pulled away and groaned, “You’re gonna be the death of me, love.” His eyes darkened with arousal and you smirked, knowingly. 

     Your breathing slowed and you giggled, pushing him away gently, “Then we better get to it, lover.” 

     Tom stood up from where you were both lying, holding a hand out to help you up as well. You placed your hand in his and basked in the warmth of his touch. Something so simple as holding hands was enough to make you feel electric. Bursts of tingles and butterflies filled your body. You felt like you were on fire, burning up with the desire to feel him, touch him, and just love him.

     All the while, an evil in the form of Aristaeus watched from the shadows, his disdain growing for Tom by the minute. He watched as Tom held you close, as he seized every opportunity to kiss you. His hatred for the son of Apollo only deepened when he saw how your eyes shone and how your smiled grew in his presence. How perfect you looked and how all the intimacy and love you possessed was now only for Tom. You were only for Tom, and Aristaeus just couldn’t have that. 

     Watching Tom’s smile and listening to his care-free laugh, he knew that he needed to feel that. He needed the source of that type of happiness. 

     Aristaeus waited in the shadows for his moment to take what he wanted. Dagger clutched in his hand and blade sharpened, ready for use. The moment he saw you and Tom stand up and begin the journey back to your villa, he knew the time was now.  

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

     With your hand clasped tightly in Tom’s, you began the trek back to the villa you’d purchased for the two of you. You swung your hands up with Tom’s as you both happily made your journey in comfortable silence. 

     You reveled in the way his hand felt in yours. Warm, encasing your entire being in warmth. It was so simple, just his hand clutching yours, holding your hand and your heart. There are only so many ways to describe love, and his hand in yours said more than any empty words could. 

    Your peacefulness was interrupted when you heard a shuffling in the wooded area you were walking through. The bush you were passing shook and soon Aristaeus launched out of it, dagger in hand, aimed at Tom. You screamed and Tom pushed you away to keep you away from the evading blow. 

     Tom dodged the attack, swiftly throwing a punch to the offender's jaw, momentarily stunning him. Tom grabbed your hand, and began running through the woods. You could hear the shouts and curses of Aristaeus behind you, quickly gaining speed on the gravelly road. 

     In an attempted detour, you ran through the thicket, hoping the thick mixture of branches and thorns would diverge the route of the crazed man chasing you. The thrones pricked at your skin and scratched up your face. Tom was no better, hand slowly loosening up on yours due to the pain of the thrones scrapping up his arms. 

     “Tom!” You yelped, tripping on a small log. The momentum of the fall ripping your hand from his, leaving his cold. Tom, stressed and frantic, kept running, unaware of the fact that you were no longer behind him. 

     “Come on (Y/N)! We’re almost home!” Tom yelled back, seeing the light of a clearing just up ahead. Tom jumped through the last few branches, breathing heavily once he reached the other side of the woods. He ended up in a meadow, close to your home. Tom turned around to hug you and make sure you were alright, but you were nowhere to be found. 

     “Love, we made it! Look, our villa’s right over ther—” Tom cut himself off, realizing he was now alone. 

     Tom began walking back into the woods, a sharp shot of anxiety ran up his spine. Why wouldn’t she follow me? He thought, is she hurt? Tom continued, his thought quickly being interrupted by a pained scream. 

     “(Y/N)? (Y/N)!?” Tom ran where he heard the scream and then the whimpers. His heart dropping to his stomach, bile rising. He finally found you, laid out in a pile of daisies, leg purple and bruised, small drops of blood coming from two puncture wounds in your leg. 

     It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened, and the snake slithering away from your limp body told Tom all he needed to know.  

Aristaeus had fled upon seeing you. He too knew, and he even saw with his own eyes, what had happened. The viper dug in deep and long, the poison immediately taking effect on you. 

     “(Y/N)? Fuck, darling?” Tom crouched down to your still body. He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing, he didn’t want to believe the pained look in your eyes, or the tears welled up in his. “It’s okay, love. You’re alright. Can you move? Can you get up? Please?”

     Tom did his best to help you up, but you were limp, no movement in your entire body, only your eyes showed the fear you were feeling. 

     “Tom,” you mumbled, tears streaming down your cheeks, “I-I can’t feel anything.” You cried softly, your face almost stoic from the poison coursing through your veins. 

     “No, no, darling. You can feel me, right?” Tom grabbed your limp hand and squeezed, expecting a squeeze in return. Yet nothing came, your hand remained cold and limp in his.

     You choked out a sob, “I can’t feel you.” Tears streamed down the side of your face, soaking the ground beneath your head, leaving small weeds in their wake. 

     Tom let out a painful whimper at your words. “Darling, it’s okay, we’re okay. Yeah? We’re gonna go home, and then you can lay down and get better, okay? I’ll bring you tea and flowers and Paddy will come over and play chess with you. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Tom’s tears soaked into your now cold skin, momentarily warming it. 

     “Yeah…” you mumbled softly, tears slowing and breath hitching. 

     “Yeah, and t-then Sam can come over and bring your favorite meal, o-or maybe a cake? And Harrison can work on your garden, so it won’t be limp when you get better. And I'll serenade you every night, even after you’re well, because I love you. And we’re gonna make it through this, just hold on.”

     His words faded in and out, beginning to sound muffled and underwater. Your head tilted to the side, clearly seeing the immeasurable pain etched onto his features. Tom caught your gaze and still, still tried to manage a small, hopeful smile. Deep down Tom knew this was pointless, he knew you wouldn’t ever make it home to see the villa, or the gift he left in the garden. The golden potted plant—an orchid—was now going to be a constant reminder to what he lost. But he could fake it, and fuck, he was going to fake it like it was real. 

     He would trick himself for the rest of his life until he truly believed you were okay. But he wouldn’t have to wait that long, because sitting there, holding your near lifeless body in his arms, he was ready to believe anything that even remotely implied you were okay. 

     Just past Tom you could see a figure watching you from the shadows. His suit was black and his white hair was gelled back. He stepped out of the shadows and tapped his foot impatiently, as if waiting for your time to be up. And then it hit you. You knew this man—or rather this god. 

     “Thanatos…” you whispered, eye’s finally glazing over with lifelessness. The now once bright and vibrant eyes, now dull and empty. A mere shell of what they once were. 

     “No, no, no!” Tom screamed, his painful wails being heard by the whole town. “No! (Y/N), come back! Please, please, please, please, please…” 

     You were now standing away, a lonely spectator to the happenings in the woods on this mortal realm. 

     “Come, child.” Thanatos held his hand out, ready to lead you away. 

     “But I never got to say goodbye.” Your eyes welled up with tears, seeing Tom frantically shake your body, trying to bring you back to life. “I never got to live my life with him.” 

     Thanatos gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze, “We must go now. Don’t worry, little one. You will see him again.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊

      Tom didn’t move. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep. He wished he didn’t even breathe. He sat in the villa and stared at the now dying orchid, limp and sickly, in the golden pot. You never even got to see it, he thought, you would’ve loved it. 

     All of Tom’s thought’s surrounded you, and how he could no longer hold you. He felt so cold, he found no joy in things he used to. And all he wanted to do was cry. But he couldn’t. He’d cried himself dry over the past three days. Now all he felt was pain, and he couldn’t even ease it with tears. 

     “Tom,” Harrison snapped him out of his daze, pulling his gaze away from the dying orchid. “It’s time.” 

     Tom let out a breath, pained and labored. Today was the day. The day your body would be laid to rest. The day that you would truly be lost to him. 

     “Come on, everyone’s waiting for you.” 

     Tom groggily pulled himself from the bed. He dressed slowly and carefully, wanting to look his best for the last time he’d see you. Every intake of breath hurt his head, another painful reminder that he was here and you weren’t. He was alive, and you were gone. 

     The clearing that he once found solace in was cold. The flowers around him were limp and dying, and the world just looked gray. The color was gone from his eyes and all he could think was, it should’ve been me.

     Paddy hadn’t spoken a word since he heard of your death. He hardly even looked at Tom, every time he did the young boy would tear up and look away, too embarrassed of his tears to let them be seen. But in the dark, in the comfort of his bed, he cried for you. His first encounter with death, and it had to be you. His heart hurt more than his young mind could comprehend; he could hardly imagine what Tom was feeling. 

     Harry and Sam were numb. They hardly knew how to feel. They loved you like a sister but only knew you for a few months. Was it appropriate to mourn the loss of someone you only knew for a moment? Was it ignorant to fein a stoic exterior when your sister was gone? In the comfort of each other, the boys mourned. They cried a bit, but mostly tried their best to remember the good times. Harry remembered how you always backed him up in an argument, even against Tom, and how you always expressed how blessed you felt getting to know their family. Sam remembered how you always volunteered to be his test subject for his dishes. How you were always sweet, but honest. You fit so well into their lives, it was almost impossible to imagine you wouldn’t be in them anymore. 

     Harrison couldn’t believe it, or rather he didn’t want to. He held Tom close, and tried to convince him that everything was okay. He was the rock the group leaned on in any way they could. 

     He was a rock, and he was cracking. He found himself alone in clearing multiple times, watering the flowers, doing his best to keep them afloat, and yet they still withered away. He tried to feel you there, so he could tell Tom that maybe you weren’t truly gone, but all he felt was the absence of your presence. 

     Tom looked at the patch of dirt you laid under. He looked at it and all he felt was anger. Anger at Aristaeus for leading you to your death, anger at the viper that sealed your fate, anger at the gods for letting you be taken, and anger at himself for living through it. 

     The ceremony was short; just him and his brothers, gathered around a patch of dirt, crying. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

     Everyone was forced to cope. They all had their tricks to make the pain ease. Paddy would play chess by himself, wishing you were there for him to beat, but mostly remembering how many times you praised his amazing chess skills and made him feel special. Harry and Sam took on the duty of attempting to fix your garden in the clearing. They took shifts watering the plants and picking out the weeds.

     Harrison smiled whenever he saw wild daisies. They always reminded him of you, partially for your pure innocence, but also because when you first met him, you gave him a flower crown made out of daisies. The crown was now limp and wilted, but he would treasure it until the day it withered away. 

     Tom suffered the most, though. He lost not only his soulmate, but his best friend. His coping consisted of copious amounts of alcohol to help him sleep, then he would see you in his dreams, and he’d have to drink more to stop from feeling the constant pit in his stomach growing with each baited breath. 

     “Tom, this isn’t healthy.” Harrison chided each time he walked into the murky depths of his bedroom; which was at least twice a day to check on the poor boy. 

     Harrison sat on Tom's bed as Tom laid on his stomach, facing away from him. Tom would grumble, then sniffle and completely ignore the presence of someone new in his room. The bed would be musty, his hair would be in knots, and his eyes would have a constant red rimmed appearance accentuated by the dark circles that resided underneath. 

     “Tom come on, let’s go for a walk. Sam and Harry fixed up the garden a bit; I think you’d like it.” Harrison shook Tom’s shoulder gently, prompting him to face the blonde. 

     “It won’t be the same.” Tom mumble, voice hoarse and wobbly.

     “I know, but they worked hard on it. They’re grieving too, y’know?” 

     “Of course I fucking know.” Tom snapped, swatting Harrison’s hand away, “You think I don’t know how much of an impact she had on all of us? You think I don’t hear Paddy crying at night when he thinks he’s alone, or the way he refuses to look at me?” 

     “Tom—”

     “You think I don’t know that this is my fault?” Tom sobbed, burning holes with his harsh gaze into Harrison. “I know, Haz. I know all too well how we’re all grieving.”

     Tom broke down, heaving and rambling about how it was his fault, about how helpless you looked, and how broken he was. All Harrison could do was listen. 

     “She died in my arms, Haz. S-she curled up and just… died.” Tom spoke barely above a whisper, his crying ruining his voice. “She looked so scared and I couldn't help her. I couldn’t save her.” 

     “I know.” Harrison was crying now too, tears falling from his diamond eyes. 

     “It was supposed to be me. The attacker was after me. I-I should’ve taken the hit, and then she’d be alive.” 

     “No, Tom. You don’t know that that would’ve saved her from this fate.” Harrison scolded Tom’s reckless words. “She could’ve died a day later, or minutes later. Life is not a guarantee. Tom.” 

     “At least we would’ve been together.” 

     Harrison frowned, “In the underworld? And what type of existence would that have been?” 

     Some turned away from Harrison, “One where we would at least have each other.” 

     Harrison softened his gaze and held Tom close before he could protest, “You still have us. I know it’s not what we want right now, but it’s what you need. You can’t go through this alone; I won’t let you.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

     As the weeks went by, Tom’s grief continued to eat away at him. Try all he might, he could never escape you. You were in all of his favorite things. His lyre now laid dusty and cold next to his bed, it hadn’t been touched since your wedding night. 

     He held it together as long as he could, but it was too much. The pain ripped away at him and ate him up. One day he reached his breaking point. He needed you to come home. He needed you in his arms. Nothing in this mortal world could ever compare to your sweet kisses and loving praises. Nothing would ever satiate him again. 

     How could this have happened? How could the gods have cursed him this way. He was a good man, he did all that was expected of him. He went above and beyond for his community, for others. He helped find and procure the fleece that placed Jason rightfully on the throne of Iolcus in Thessaly. His music cured lost souls, helped them find solitude and comfort in his songs. He did everything right. And yet the gods mock and torture him by taking you away. Ripping his other half from him, stealing you. The only comfort in his otherwise lonesome life. There’s no need for old age, sickness, or murder to take him away now; his grief will surely get the job done. 

     “Tom,” Harrison, spoke softly, taking in the man who’s broken soul was starting to shine through to his exterior appearance. His hair matted, eyes red and puffy, knuckles bruised from letting his anger out on the pillars over his home. What was supposed to be your home. Now the clay brick home was cold, your presence no longer there to bring natural warmth. “Tom, come on. You have to keep going.” Harrison put a hand on his friend's shoulder, giving it a hearty squeeze. “She wouldn’t want this for you. She loved you.”

     “Then why was she taken from me?” Tom burst, hands flying to his hair, gripping his unruly curls. “Why would the gods allow this pain? I’ve done it all. I was so good, I-I did all that they asked of me.” 

     “Tom, please just come—” 

     “No! Harrison, don’t you see? I can’t move on! I can’t think about anything other than what was lost, what I lost. There must be a way to get her back. I’d do anything, just to hold her one more time. To love her, like it’s all I was put here on this Earth to do.” Tom pushed Harrison’s hand away. “Help me. Please, find a way.” 

     Harrison sighed sadly, rubbing his face with his hands. Tom, the most deserving person of his happy ending had it ripped from him, and there was nothing that could be done. Almost as if it was fate, there were no loopholes. Expect maybe—no. It was too risky. The god of the underworld was not a merciful man. 

     “Harrison? You have something?” Tom looked at his friend, a glint of barely visible hope in his eyes, the type that only the thought of you could bring. The look on Harrison’s face clearly showed that the gears in his head were turning. This look always brought about Harrison’s best ideas, or in this case, his only one. 

     “I— well, it’s not plausible.” Harrison debated. “You’d need your father’s help, and even so,” he whispered the last part “you’d need to go to the Underworld and bargain with Hades.”

     Tom looked at his friend in shock? How could this be the only plan he’s come up with? A plan that would surely get Tom killed, or worse, turned into a lost soul. “What? No, no— there has to be another way. There are other gods—more merciful— who would help us.”

     Harrison shook his head, “I’m sorry, Tom. But death? That’s final. The only god with the power to bring (Y/N) back is Hades. And he always has a price.” 

     Tom debated his options, one being the clear winner. He knew he couldn’t go on without you, he wasn’t strong enough. If he were less selfish then maybe he’d find a way to find joy again. But he needed you more than he needed the air in his lungs. He didn’t care if he was being selfish, trying to bring you back to a world that had just gotten used to life without you. He spent his whole life being selfless, helping others. It was time to get what he was due, what he was owed: His happy ending. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

     Tom paced and pondered, his restless mind a futile assistance in this matter. His thoughts only focused on you and how to bring you home. In the beginning, he took into account all of the risks he’d be taking going to the underworld and bringing you back. He’d need to enlist the help of his father, to persuade Hades to listen to his pleas. He’d need to safely get in and out of the Underworld with you entow, and the hardest part of all; he’d need Hades permission for you to come home. 

     It was not that Hades was cruel or unjust; he was just simply too fair. Death is final and Hades followed that order to a tee. He scarcely made exceptions and when he did there was always a price that needed to be paid. Usually, that price was worth the life of the soul being returned, a hefty sum. 

     Tom hardly worked out the intricacies of his plan before Harrison caught him, bag packed and determination scrawled across his face. 

     “Tom, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Harrison chided, standing in between Tom and the doorway. 

     “I’m getting her back, Haz. I need her home. You guys may be able to move on and be okay, but I can’t. She meant more to me than any of you will ever know.” 

     “You’re gonna get yourself killed, Tom.” Harrison spoke in a hushed whisper as to not alert the others to what was going on, “What happens then, huh? How do you think we will feel then? We already lost (Y/N), Tom; we can’t afford to lose you too.”

     Tom’s eyes glistened with frustration and unshed tears, “but I’m not complete without her…” he whispered, sniffling. “I have to do what I can.” 

     “No, Tom. I’ve let this go on long enough.” Harrison spoke sternly, “You have to move on. I’m sorry because I know it’s not fair. I know that this shouldn’t have happened. It broke all of us. But you need to come back to us, okay? You need to move on with your life. Paddy is thirteen, Tom. He has no father-figure, he needs you. Harry and Sam have been by your side since they were babies, they need you. And you're my best friend, I need you. You don’t get to walk out on us because of your pain, because we never walked out on you. We were hurting, yet we stayed by your side. You need to do the same for us.” Harrison gave Tom a tightlipped smile, “Please, Tom. Just try.”

     Tom had never seen such anguish in Harrison's eyes. He knew him and his brothers had also been struggling and he knew he was being selfish. He needed to do better. 

     “Okay,” Tom choked out, tears streaming down his cheeks, “I’ll try.” Tom placed his bag down on the floor and sat on the bed. He placed his face in his hands and sniffled out sobs. It was time for him to let you go. 

     Harrison left Tom alone in his dark room, shaking with anger. Once again the anger had returned, tenfold. Tom just wished he’d held your hand tighter, maybe then he’d be in your arms right now. Instead he was alone in his room, mind clouded with guilt and exhaustion. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

     “Tom.” Your voice whispered in his ear, taunting him. Reminding him of what he lost. What he couldn’t save. The only one he couldn't save. The only one he needed to save. 

     “I’m right here, Tommy.” You never ceased. You constantly called to him as he tried his best to put his tortuous thoughts to rest. You stood over him, eyes wide in fear. You watched him, and you whispered. 

     “Tommy, why couldn’t you save me?” 

     You broke his heart all over again every night. 

     He sat up in his bed, body wet with sweat and eyes clouded with tears. 

     “(Y/N). Please, darling,” he begged, “I tried, please, I’m still trying.” You walked over and stood right above him, face inches apart. It was almost as if he could smell the sweet scent of flowers on you. The orchids and daisies you loved so much wafting over him, calming him. Until your cold, dead grip latched onto his shoulder. 

     “You failed, my love.” 

     Tom woke with a start, screaming and crying into the empty abyss of his room. You were nowhere to be found. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed you back. You needed to come home and never leave his side ever again. If he had to spend one more day without you, he’d lose it. He’d become the monster he felt like on the inside. All the dark, twisty despair holed up in his heart would rush out in acts of unchecked rage and violence. He was never the villain, but he would be. 

     He couldn’t follow through with his promise to Harrison. He couldn't just move on and pretend that life made any sense without you, because it didn’t. Nothing made sense, and everything hurt. 

     Zeus created humans to have another half, and they would spend the rest of their lives if they had to, searching for it. You were Tom’s, and you were ripped away from him. That just won’t do. 

     He couldn’t spend another night lying awake, thoughts ripping apart his mind. He couldn’t sleep either, or else he’d see you. See what you’ve become. A ghost of happier times. A reminder of what never was and never will be. A figment of his ill fated mind. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

     The next morning, Paddy went into Tom’s room to bring him breakfast, as usual. It’s been months since he’s eaten with his brothers, and the new normal was one of them toughing it out and giving him his food in his room, then listening to his cries form outside the door for a moment, just to gauge if he was getting better; he never was. 

     Paddy was about to knock but paused before, gently pressing his ear up against the door. He didn’t hear crying like he usually did, he didn’t even hear sniffles.

     Paddy hesitantly opened the door, afraid of what he might find. The silence was all too scary for the young boy. Once the door was fully opened Paddy got a good look around, not seeing Tom anywhere. 

     Paddy dropped the bowl of food on the floor and ran for Harrison. 

     “Harrison! Harrison! Sam! Harry! Anyone!” Paddy yelled out, running around the garden looking for the boys. He slammed into Harrison, who was just on his way to the garden. 

     The force knocked the wind out of a crying Paddy and slammed him into the ground. 

     “Woah,” Harrison breathed out, bending down to help Paddy up. Paddy gasped to catch his breath and attempted to stop the tears. 

     “What happened, kid?” Harrison rubbed his bruised back, “Come on, Paddy, breathe.” 

     “G-Gone…” Paddy wheezed out, “Tom’s gone.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

tags and moots: @justapurrcat @itsapeterthing @peterbenjiparker @kelieah @portraitoforion @ptersmj @princessofguineapigs @cherrytholland @waitimcomingtoo @rosyparkers @iovebug @hollandcrush @celestialbarnes @blissfulparker @starktonyx @asonofpeter @keithseabrook27 @devildisguiseasangel @felicityparkers​ @selfcarecap​

[va-3]

Part I

Second Half of my OC’s Information (the photo limit screwed me over)

The 1930s through the 1970s in Taika’s past is still a work in progress as well as the art soooo...probably a part three in the future?

Taika and Raspberry move to California the fall of 1986, although Raspberry finds a more permenant residence in Los Angeles while Taika finds herself on a more wandering path.

In the February of 1987 Taika wandered upon the town of Santa Carla, a town given credit for being home to those who wanted to disappear.

[side note: the jacket and jeans would be colored if only my damn markers hadn’t died]

Taika, a delinquent at heart as always, fit in like a puzzle piece. The punk-graffiti day life appealed to her like any adventure, and the smell of vampires lured her further into the town. She “cleared” a house (the act of killing the owners of a house and taking it for herself) as well as the garage. Taika acquired a 1987 Yamaha Virago via a rich douchebag she easily stole from and offed.

When the nightlife glowed at the boardwalk, it was apparent to the Santa Carla vampires that something was off, although they could not place it.

Taika did not make contact with the vampires for a while, seeming to distance herself just enough to make them curious about the uneasiness on the boardwalk since her arrival. Every now and then a body would turn up, a person snatched into an alleyway and partially eaten. It wasn’t until David met eyes with Taika across the boardwalk that it was clear to the Santa Carla vampires that there was another predator on their territory.

Taika’s aggressiveness and competitiveness are what pull the boys in first, that along with her scent, so much more intoxicating than any other human. A sort of playful rivalry grows between the calta and the vampires—who could last longer making trouble on the boardwalk without getting kicked off by Big Ed, who could score the biggest bonfire of surf nazis, and so on.

In the end it was Marko and Paul who put an end to the rivalry. Dwayne hadn’t thought he’d be able to really approach Taika and David was too prideful to do so. So the chaotic blonde duo took it upon themselves to invite her back to their cave as an act of trust as well as cease fire. David, no matter his pride, was quick to share about the fallen hotel made theirs. She was quick to catch on to the fact that they had been vampires much longer than they appeared. Dwayne brought it to her attention that she clearly knew what they were while they handn’t a single idea what she was.

With that question being asked, she explains what she is, and from there, their trusting relationship grows. The first time they hunt together is remotely terrifying to the vampires, considering she is a monster made for hunting them as well as other supernatural creatures.

The relationship between the boys and Taika blooms into something deeper, though it isn’t apparent to any of them at all at first. It was just small things they realized they loved about her, and her them. They fall in love with her odd little quirks, like how she always has change on her because it’s “shiny and distracting”, or how she’ll braid tiny braids into her hair and sometimes to boys’ hair, or how she makes beautifully delicate carvings out of the bones of their victims, or buys(steals) stuff for the cave while they all sleep, or organizes whatever she can anytime she comes the to cave, and really really likes coconut shrimp.

She steals the boy’s clothing whenever she leaves the cave during the day after a night of events, not that any of them complain. Marko’s crop tops are always her go to, while she wears Paul’s jewelry out and sometimes jeans that Dwayne doesn’t wear anymore. Sometimes Taika and David switch earrings, only because David is hesitant to give her any of his current clothing,. When he finds that he is more possesive of her than he’d openly admit, he gives her extra shirts of his to keep. Taika loves how the vampires smells mask her own; not only is it comforting, but it protects her from any lurking sevren(a post for another time).

Taika only needing three hours of sleep allows her to have a day life of her own, one that tends to breed chaos. Sometimes she’ll go surfing, something she’s become quite adept at, and show up the surf nazis on their own territory. Taika is the only member of the “biker gang” that the surfers ever see during the day, so they let out a lot of their aggression on her because they’re truly too cowardly to face the boys and her head on. The biggest mistake the surfers ever made was the day they decided it’d be humorous to steal her bike in broad daylight. She’d parked her bike(albeit illegally) on the boardwalk when she got to the beach, and when she returned later that day her bike was gone. Needless to say the surfers had invoked the wrath of someothing stronger than them on supernatural levels.

The boys knew something was up the instant they walked into the caves main area to find Taika waiting patiently at the exit. The only tthing she said was she needed a ride, one David gave happily. When the vampires had parked their bikes and Taika had muttered some words of reassurance to fill in her silence, she made a beeline for the carousel, following the ocean-spray smell of the asshole who’d taken her bike. He was standing in line with an arm draped over a girl who couldn’t have looked more trashy, his friends jostling one another as the line moved along. The four vampires followed behind the taller predator, their curiosity evident as they formed a half-crescent around her when she stopped. Taika was quick to clamp her arm onto the girl under the surfer and yank her out of the way, sending her flying onto her butt. Taika was mad, like, really mad. She hooked her hand into the collar of the surfers shirt, ignoring his protest when she yanked him to her.

“Where is it,” she hissed, putting forth minimal effort to keep herself from biting his face off in public. Marko watched in excitement, his thumb between his teeth as his eyes found the surfer’s. This guy was screwed. He raised his hands in surrender and feigned innocence, “Hey, I don’t know what your deal is lady, but I don’t know nothin about anything.”

His friends snickered behind Taika, clearly enjoying how angry they had made her. She narrowed her wild purple eyes, running her tongue over her teeth.

“Where’s my goddamn bike,” she demanded, her voice like ice down his spine. The vampires watched on, looking about occasionally to make sure Big Ed wouldn’t poke his nose where it didn’t belong. His friends burst into laughter again, shoving one another giddily. Taika had half the mind to throw the surfer in her hands at them like a bowling ball at pin, but she repressed her urges.

“You can make this easy or you can make it hard. Give my my bike and I won’t have to kill you.” He pressed his hands to the sides of his face and made a noise imitating a ghost. She stilled, silently in thought for a moment before she scoffed and let go of his shirt.

“Fine. I’ll find it myself. Boys,” she turned sharply on her heel and marched towards her vampires, hooking her hand into Dwayne’s in a way that was supposed to be gentle, but she was too mad. Paul slipped his hand into her back pocket and matched her pace.

“Yeah, run to your queers.”

The boys would swear on their lives that they’d never seen her spin around and tackle someone as fast as she tackled that surfer. He was in the ground in seconds, and Taika was planting hit after hit, taking the few blows he managed to land on her ribs like they were nothing. The surfers friends sprang into action, attacking the boys as well as trying to pry Taika from the much bigger surfer. The surfer’s face was bleeding all over, and he was fighting to stay awake. Taika wanted blood. Her bike’s absence was a small inconvenience that ensured a meal later that night, but the insult to her boys was a direct blow at her. They could trash talk her straight to her face, insult her, whatever made them feel powerful, but no one, no one, says anything about her boys. At last, she was whacked across the face by the baton belonging to Big Ed. The blow stunned her if anything, although she fell to the side and off of the offending surfer. Paul and Marko were quick to her side, helping her to her feet while also readying to catch her if she tried lunge out at the bleeding prick on the ground. “Off the boardwalk. All of you! Now!”

David was beaming with pride as Taika walked to him and Dwayne, wiping the surfers’ blood from her lip. The surfers backed from the bikers as they walked forwards, parting away from them to avoid Taika who walked in front, acting as an active threat to anyone who dared to even think about opposing them. When the five were clear of the crowd, Paul looped his arms around Taika and pulled her in for a smacking kiss. “That was awesome babe. Like, so fucking awesome.”

She burst into laughter, dropping her head onto his chest.

“Hell yeah it was,” added Marko, yanking her to him and spinning her like they were dancing. “I’m like two-hundred percent sure that guy pissed himself!”

Marko and Paul exchanged a highly energetic high-five, feeling the energy of the fight reigniting itself. Dwayne silently pulled her into him and kissed her forehead.

“Good to know you care, kitten,”at David’s words she beamed. Dwayne released her, and she bounced towards David, latching onto the lapels of his jacket. “I hope you know that I would do anything for you,” her sultry accent sent a delighted chill down his back. “All of you,” she sang, letting go of David’s jacket and spinning into Paul and Marko’s arms giggling like a school girl. From within the blond vampire sandwich, she raised her hand in the air to make a point. “Now, let’s go find my bike!”

The car belonging to the surfer who’d stolen Taika’s bike was found strung up in a junkyard the next day. The sight had been stupendous apparently, and ended up on the news. The owner of the car and his friends had a been absolutely delicious. After he’d returned Taika’s bike of course.

[janekfan]

Acceptance

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163367

“Jon’s hiding something.”

“Tim.” Martin was tired. And sad. And worried. Because he had the very same thought every time he caught a glimpse of the Archivist slipping between shadows in the stacks; furtive, haunted, hunted.

“You know I’m right.” He didn’t look up from the worn surface of his desk, tracing a stray mark with the pad of his finger, not even expending energy enough to pretend he had any interest in working. “He’s. He’s a monster, Martin.”

“Tim!”

“You know it, well as I do. This is all his fault.” His voice was made of raw edges, filled with grief and pain and sorrow. “Stay. Martin, promise me.” Eyes hollow in his scarred, handsome face, he looked up at Martin through dark lashes. “Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Martin had to look away, the weight of Tim’s gaze smothering and awful and full of hurt and anger and barely simmering rage. “He’s our friend. Even if he’s. Forgotten it a little.” Tim went back to his aimless pattern making.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Martin made sure to knock and knock gently. The few times he’d gotten even a partially clear look at his face it had been lined in pain, lips pressed into a thin, controlled line. It was clear he was purposely avoiding his eyes.

“Tea, Jon?” He heard him shift, a weary scraping of his soles sliding on the dusty floor, the light from the tiny desk lamp barely illuminating the space around it, let alone the rest of the office.

“Ah, y’yes. Pl’please.” Shaking hands materialized out of the dim, gripping the mug and holding it like a lifeline, flinching when the hot liquid sloshed over his fingers. “Thank you, Martin.” Thin and thready, Jon sounded exhausted and knowing he slept poorly at even the best of times, must have been getting even less sleep since the Prentiss incident.

“Jon?” Martin smiled a bit when he heard the sounds of him sipping the tea, a sigh of some unidentifiable emotion but he wanted to believe there was warmth in it. “When’s the last time you went home?”

Jon had taken his mandatory time off.

He had.

Thirty days of leave.

But it did not stop him from exploring the tunnels beneath the archives, even though exploring was a generous term for it. Wandering was more apt a description, and he’d paid something of a price, as fate would have it, because his hip ached badly where the worms had burrowed so deep and no amount of stretching or physical therapy or pain medication seemed able to touch it. He winced inwardly at Martin’s open worry and trepidation. He’s not been kind to any of his assistants, certainly didn’t deserve this attention or care when he was barely able to look after himself. At the Institute he’s kept how much the pain is affecting him as hidden as possible, mostly by avoiding everyone which he knew made him look more suspicious. Tim already made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with him or his histrionics and no good would come from trying to gain sympathy for something that was his fault to begin with. He was already a nuisance forced upon them, been so from day one. But if he could pretend to be normal, just. Go back to that normal because right now the tightening in his chest, the embarrassment, the urge to hide away, was only making things worse.

He was making things worse.

He didn’t mention the aching loneliness or the fear. How he jumped at every shadow and woke from the screams of his coworkers he failed over and over again to protect in his nightmares. Or how he kept a CO2 canister by the bed just in case. Even if they were gone. Just in case. Jon didn’t talk about his nightly excursions in that twisting, winding, changing place because he would have to admit that despite how it hurt, he had to push himself to the point of breaking to get his overactive mind to quiet even the smallest amount. Grant him even the smallest respite.

So, no. He didn’t want Martin’s concern except that he very much did, felt like he was starving for someone to notice him, how much he hurt, how much he was struggling to keep his unraveling threads together.

“Jon?” Worry. And the sense of shame he felt at hiding how much he’s healed wrong or scarred too deep or how the phantom sensation of the worms kept him awake. And how could he tell him that he feared to sleep alone? That his flat was both too familiar and horribly alien all at once, full of shadows coiling, branching, twining, crawling, spiraling.

The safest thing to do for all of them was to push him away.

“I was home for nearly a month, Martin.” Dry. Sardonic. It was easy to act irritated and tired and bothered even when his heart was pounding a too-fast tattoo against his breastbone, surely leaving bruises behind. If Martin came any closer he would hear it.

Martin saw straight through his poor attempt at deflection, saw the same pain echoed just behind his eyes that he saw in Tim. This would either go well or he would never be able to show his face again but he needed to try, Jon deserved that much.

“How can I help?” As soft as he could make it, sitting down on a box crammed full of statements so Jon didn’t have to crane his neck, so he didn’t seem so intimidating. “I want to help.” He smiled, hands relaxed on his knees and watched as Jon turned his face up to meet him like a withered plant kept too long in the dark when it reencountered the sun, hungry and reaching. Undone by a few kind words, before his expression closed off. As if he remembered this was something he wasn’t supposed to have.

Point of no return.

“Would you. Would you consider coming home with me?” Jon inhaled a sharp, short breath. Held it. “Just for a night! Just so. I’d like to help if I can, somehow.” He chuckled, trying to ease the tension practically thrumming through the man’s bones like an audible hum of electricity. “I’m a decent cook?” Jon exhaled slowly. Want, exhausting and desperate, in the way his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Yes.” Bare more than a ragged fragment of a whisper and before he could rescind that delicate consent, Martin was rambling about how lovely it would be to have company. Just nonsense, in the hope that Jon wouldn’t realize what he’d done and change his mind. It was already far beyond quitting time and Martin said he’d return to collect him once he’d gotten his coat, allowing him a little space to gather his thoughts, securing a nod of assent before heading quickly off.

Jon was standing when he returned, thin jacket hardly enough to protect him from the damp chill outside, and Martin wrapped his own scarf around his neck, heart melting when his lashes fluttered in contentment as he buried his nose into the well worn yarn. Swaying and unsteady on his feet, his stiff posture would be night imperceptible if you weren’t watching for it. But Martin was always watching. Knew his injuries were bothering him and that, at this point, whatever pain he had was most likely permanent.

He wondered if he had a cane. It would certainly help.

Jon stopped short before he left his office and Martin worried he was changing his mind, watching him tilt his head like a bird, listening, breath even and slow and quiet.

“Has.” He wet his lips as the word caught in his throat. “Tim?” Ah, that was the hangup, then.

“Gone home long before us.” He felt for him, for that fear and worry of facing down his past mistakes. He’d made himself a convenient target with his suspicions of them and the anxiety blooming in him cut deep.

He stood as close to Martin without touching him as he could, blaming the number of other patrons riding the train at this hour though truthfully they were nowhere near them. He had no choice, that’s all. He could stand even if he wanted desperately to sit down and rest his aching leg, refusing to even glance at the empty priority seating so close to him and instead burying his face in Martin’s scarf, closing his eyes and breathing through the hot flash that often accompanied these spells, the almost feverish chills. When the train lurched to a stop he stumbled into Martin, who caught him with an inquiring look.

“Just tired.” He offered up what he hoped was a reassuring smile before leading the way through the doors, holding himself stiff in an attempt to keep the pain at bay.

Martin was a good cook.

“Since I was mainly existing on take away and cup noodles, it’s been nice to make my own meals again.” He said by way of explanation, dishing up a healthy portion for Jon who tried not to worry about finishing it, not having had much of an appetite lately. But it’s good, and warm, and Martin doesn’t say anything about what he had to leave behind, passing him a cup of tea prepared just the way he liked it.

It warmed him up from the inside out.

It made him want to cook for Martin sometime.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Jon was on the couch with numerous blankets and pillows, dressed in Martin’s spare sleepwear, an oversized and soft tee that hung off his shoulder and drawstring pajama pants.

“This is perfect, Martin. Thank you.” He wished he could convey the true depth of it with just that, and as always, found himself sorely lacking but Martin just smiled bright, instructing him to wake him if he needed anything before bidding him good night. Surprisingly, Jon was already having trouble staying awake once he was settled into the cushions despite the overall ache. If he breathed slow and focused on the breath cycling through his body, into his blood, traveling along roadways mapped with veins and arteries and--

Agony.

Oh god, where was he? And why did it hurt?

All up his back and down his leg, his leg. Burning, blazing, blistering. Incandescent and stealing. Stealing.

Stealing.

Dark. Pitch black. Like the tunnels.

Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet or they'll hear you, see you, get you, take you and make you Not.

Winding, weaving, wandering. Lost, lost, lost.

The worms. Thoughts clicking into place when he managed to claw his way back to the surface of this roiling ocean of misery. Arm flailing to the side where he kept the canister but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t there and somebody must have taken it.

And his hip. Pulsing, throbbing, pounding through the whole of him and he had to be dying. Trapped in the tunnels and being eaten by worms.

He very nearly screams when something touches his arm, eyes flying open to realize that he can see. See. Shapes. Colors. Coalescing into Martin’s familiar face, worry splashed over it like his perfect freckles.

“Jon?” His voice is trembling, hand on his shoulder, gentle, a touchstone. “Jon, what’s wrong?” And stupid, stupid, stupid him clenches his teeth and grinds out a denial.

“N’nothing.” The fingers against his skin, his skin, Martin is touching his skin and he can’t focus. They tremble. Because he’s lying. Because Jon has always been and always will be a liar and all he wants to be is normal.

“Jon, is it.” His wide eyed stare flicks down and back to his. “Is it your leg?” How does he know. Of course he knows. Sometimes he thinks Martin knows him better than he’s ever known himself. That he might be the only person who ever has and he realizes he has a white knuckle grip on his thigh, trying to claw his way inside and rip out the hurting, as if it could ever be that simple. It’s spasming, twisted, he can’t stretch out the muscle and it’s so very painful and instinctively he knows it’s from the train and the walk, all longer than he was used to. And why does he keep doing this to himself?

He can’t slow his breathing, almost hyperventilating, chest heaving, eyes limned in tears and he thought he could pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it really did. That he was being dramatic and he didn’t want Martin to see how much of a wreck he is and regret inviting him into his home, sharing it with a nuisance, a burden, a bother.

“Jon.” There’s sorrow there. Pity. He’s pitying him and that’s the final straw that makes the tears fall hard and fast and Martin offers his hand and he grabs it like it’s his last connection to this physical realm because it hurts so badly he can’t barely breathe. “Can I help?” But there is no help. He’s beyond all and any and to let someone help him is to be vulnerable and Jon doesn’t like to be vulnerable, he can’t be.

But he hurts so badly and he wants to trust Martin, believe that he can make this awful reality even the tiniest bit better. And he wants him to know it.

So he nods. Almost hysterically because it feels like losing his mind and Martin’s hand in his is the only thing keeping him here.

“P’please.” A gasping whisper, begging. And Martin, beautiful, kind, patient Martin, cups his face and thumbs away his tears, palm so cool against his feverish skin.

“Okay, you are okay. I’m going to help.” Jon closes his eyes against a promise too good to be true. And when Martin removes his hands, his connection, he sobs and Martin soothes, digging his strong fingers into the rigid block of agony. “Hush, shh, I’ve got you, this will help, I promise.” Jon latches onto his words, tries to lose himself in them, clasping his own hands over his mouth to stifle his whining. When Martin straightens his leg it’s like a hot poker is jammed into his hip socket and he can’t help the low groan at the back of his throat. He’s never hurt like this, he’s sure. He’d have remembered. “Good, good. You’re doing so well, Jon. Breathe, shh, just like that.” Jon soaks up the praise like parched earth, and winds his fingers into the blankets at his side, as everything begins to relax, as Martin smooths warmth along the worst of the ache. Just an ache. Bearable now. Bearable. Just an ache and he sobs in relief. Martin disappears and reappears in the same moment, a bottle of paracetamol in his hand and a half glass of water. To appease, Jon takes a double dose even though they pale in comparison to the complete prescription of muscle relaxers minus one he had in his medicine cabinet at home and watched Martin keep his worry to himself.

“M’sorry. Martin.” He’s out of breath. Panting like he’d run a marathon and every part of him resonating with the aftermath of pushing himself too far. He studied Martin’s face. Waiting for derision or contempt or more pity to show itself. For him to say he needs to quit the job even though he’s quite sure he actually can’t.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Jon.” Calm and quiet and he passes him a cool flannel so he can wash his face and it is blissful. “I promise, nothing at all.” That can’t possibly be true. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about the walk.”

“It wasn’t that far.” Martin didn’t argue and Jon was grateful, refolding the cloth so he could press it against his eyes and let it absorb his tears of frustration and shame.

“I’ve got some dry clothes you can change into.” He heard Martin get up, calling from the other room. “The bed is big enough for two, if you don’t mind, I don’t.” Jon sat up, shaky, lightheaded, keeping his bad leg purposefully straight because he was afraid of what would happen if he bent it again. And Martin handed him another set of soft things, gathering up the spare bedclothes and spiriting them away while he changed. God he was dizzy. “Bed?” He blinked slowly, tired, certain he couldn’t stand on his own, and swallowed around the clot of emotion in his throat.

“Would y’you.” He looked down at his trembling hands, clasped them together in an attempt to stop them. “I don’t. C’can’t. Stand.” He could barely hear himself. Humiliation, hot and coursing through his blood. This was foolish. Couldn’t even--

“Of course.” Easy as that. As though it was that simple. And he supposed it was. When he let himself think about it. Martin took most of his weight, could’ve probably carried him outright, but as it was, just supported him as he hobbled forward, going so far as to lift his leg into the bed before flopping onto his side of the mattress and turning over to face him.

“I had. A. It was a nightmare.”

“The worms?”

“How did you know?” Martin shrugged.

“I have them too.” Jon chuffed a laugh in commiseration and saw Martin return it in a grin before letting himself fall back into the dark.

Martin watched as Jon slept deeply, breath even and slow and so peaceful in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window. Lips slightly parted and fingers curled loosely against his throat, the lines of pain usually carving their jagged way down his face had smoothed out and his cheek was so humanly smushed into Martin’s extra pillow.

“Mmmorning.” The way he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of an uncoordinated hand made his heart beat faster. And when his tired brown eyes rolled back beneath those dark fluttering lashes, black as ink, Martin remembered just how smitten he truly was. Deciding to let Jon get a few more moments of hardwon rest, he eased out of bed to go start breakfast, tucking the quilt over narrow shoulders.

Just when Martin was wondering if Jon might need some help maneuvering out of bed, quiet, uneven steps and the squeak of a chair moving across the floor drew his attention. A low, drawn out groan drifted from where his head was pillowed on folded arms and it seemed that one Jonathan Sims, was not a morning person. Still dressed in Martin’s oversized clothes, he could see the smooth skin of a shoulder blade when he placed his tea next to him, interpreting the grumbling as a garbled thank you. Two slices of toast with marmalade later and halfway through a second cup of strong tea, Jon seemed at least aware, sitting up and sipping on his mug.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Good. Pretty good.” He glanced shyly over the rim and back down again. “Thank you, Martin.” So soft, and Martin felt himself blush.

“You’re welcome, Jon.” Anytime. Always.

Jon was adjusting his collar and examining the purple bruises under his eyes in the hall mirror when Marin cleared his throat behind him.

“It was. Uh, my mum’s.” He held it out, worried he was overstepping in offering up a cane, not to mention one decorated in muted autumnal flowers. They were nearly the same height, in that Jon was a head shorter than Martin. For a full count he was stunned and Martin feared he’d made a grave miscalculation, pushed too hard, too soon. But Jon reached back, curling his fingers around the handle and taking a deep breath.

“Lovely pattern.” Martin grinned and Jon took an experimental step forward, steadier than he’d been since before Prentiss. “Shall we?”

[jaeminlore]

The Sun Shines in the Knight | Mark Lee

playlist

summary: golden, as i open my eyes. hold it, focus, hoping; take me back to the light. — golden, harry styles. / mark doesn't want to fall in love, but he doesn't want to be forgotten, either.

words: 4.05k+

category: knight!mark x gardener!reader, gender neutral reader, mark is on the ace/aro spectrum but idk how to label it, mark is in love with the sun.

warning(s): injuries, anxiety

a/n: this is lowkey inspired by me and my friend but its also taken a mind of it's own

The sun is the last think Mark sees on the battlefield. Just as his back hits the damp grass and his ears ring in the anticipation of a long nap (read: a concussion) he sees the sun pulse in his vision, brighter and brighter until he succumbs to his injury.

The sun is, coincidentally, the first thing he sees when he wakes up in the healer's room. There's a bandage around his bare torso to cover a particularly nasty blade wound, and a thin scab across his jaw. The only window in the room, high and arched, serves as a direct viewing of the sun in all of her glory. The rays warm his skin, and for a moment, he thinks about going back to sleep.

His head pounds when he closes his eyes, though, and he figures it'd be better to get up and force his blood to do some circulating.

The healer — Jaemin — isn't in the room, and so Mark decides he isn't under any important watch that would force him to stay cooped up all day.

He sits up, the anticipated curl of his spine sends an immediate zip of pain through his ribs, and Mark groans aloud, having forgot what a broken rib feels like. 

But the sun moves to his shoulders, and the feeling is euphoric, so he braves the pain in favor of visiting the garden. There has to be a hidden patch of grass somewhere, sun kissed and waiting to be slept upon.

Mark briefly pauses in his journey to take a detour into the kitchen, where he fills up a wooden cup with cool water directly from the pump. He drinks three full glasses before he decides he's properly hydrated, then he slowly makes his way to the back garden, side-stepping the noble children who run around the roses while their mothers attend afternoon tea.

The royal garden has many sections: a garden for the kitchen, where vegetables are grown, a flower garden for the royal florist, color coded for easy arrangements. There's an herbal garden just for Jaemin and his peers, for balms and potions alike. There's a fruit orchard too, but it's past the garden wall, closer to the abundance of the lake and the clear water it produces.

The garden wall itself is somewhat of a maze. While the outer is a high stone gate, made to keep intruders out, the following layers are made of thick shrubbery that are often clipped into different shapes. Then there are hedges, planted to be somewhat of a maze for privacy. It's often in the maze that nobles walk with their suitors, or where strategists discuss their, well, strategies.

Mark dives into the maze and searches for whatever empty landing he can find. After sidestepping a few appalled nobles (apparently a beaten-up knight dressed in nothing but bandages and cotton is not what one wants to see during tea time, but Mark doesn't exactly know where his shirt is, so) he finds a patch of clovers. The weeds are plentiful, and a bright emerald green that makes Mark feel happy for no reason. The sun shines down on the overgrown patch, and Mark realizes that the patch is already occupied by a small rabbit. It's a grey cottontail, one he's seen a few times in the garden. He's sure it belongs to one of the gardeners, or is at least comfortable enough with them to hang out so much. Mark knows rabbits don't particularly like people.

The rabbit in question is munching on a clover, it's little pink nose twitching as it does so. 

Mark decides that he'll risk it, so he approaches the patch anyways, and lies down on his back, letting the sun blanket him. 

(He can hear the rabbit's clicking as he falls asleep.)

-

"Oh, hi." It's your voice that wakes Mark up from his dreamless slumber. He's surprised to find that it's already sundown when he wakes, and his body is still just as weak as it was when he fell asleep. Maybe moreso now (what is Jaemin always chiding him for? Heat exhaustion?) At least he drank enough water to stay hydrated throughout everything.

It takes him a few moments to get reoriented with his surroundings. And finally, he remembers your presence; curves his neck to see where you've gone off to.

You're still there, in a shirt that's far too big for you. The collar nearly hangs off of your shoulder, showcasing your soil-stained collarbones. You're not paying attention to him anymore, not that Mark really expected you to.

You pick up the rabbit instead, chiding it in quiet an exasperated voice as you warn him about being in the sun for too long. (Maybe you and Jaemin would get along.)

"'M sorry," Mark mumbles out, stumbling over his dry mouth and his slow-to-rouse brain. He finally sits up, his ribs still screaming in protest, and he looks at you.

You gaze back at him, the grey rabbit snuggled close to your chest. You're not smiling. You look uncomfortable, if anything, and Mark hesitates to keep talking to you. 

But you speak first. "Why are you apologizing? You have every right to sleep outside."

The tone in your voice makes Mark feel warm inside. It's hardly judgmental, bordering between disconcertment and daring. There's hesitance in your words. Your voice wavers as you assure him he can hang out as long as he needs to, and Mark wonders if you're making up these rules for him, or for you.

"I should head back to Jaemin and get my bandages changed," he says matter-of-factly, like you care or asked.

"Okay." You blink at him, and although the sun is setting, Mark can still he it's reflection in your eyes. He wonders if you know that the sun is attracted to you.

(He thinks it'd be weird to ask. No one else thinks about the sun as much as him, so it might sound less like a compliment and more like a creepy overstep. Mark never wants to overstep.)

-

Getting back into training is harder than Mark thought it should be. Sure, it's been months, and his wounds have healed completely, but he still has visions of the battlefield, still gets anxious at the sound of a blade, and lately he's been longing for something more peaceful.

He's not trying to be selfish. Really, he loves knighthood. He loves protecting his kingdom and helping the innocent. It's all he ever wanted to do since he was young. And sure, he's gotten older and more solemn, but it doesn't change the fact that he's halfway there. He's still a young knight, just years past being a squire, and he still has so much to prove and so much to learn.

He absorbs information like a sponge. He practices his moves until daybreak, often slumping into his bed without so much as a bath or a meal to heal his aching bones. He does everything he can to please his captain and fellow teammates. The thought of their disappointment shatters him already. Anxiety floods his veins at the mere thought of them disapproving of his actions.

That's precisely why he doesn't tell anyone he's slowly breaking on the inside. It's nothing he can't handle. Nothing he hasn't been through before. Only this time it's not well hidden in the privacy of his bunk. This time it's starkly noticeable in the way he flinches at every swing of the blade, every clang of a shield against a suit, every shrill call to order from his captain.

He falls again, the sun both his enemy and closest friend as he's chided once again about the dangers of dehydration. 

His mouth is too dry to tell his captain that it isn't dehydration at all. It's anxiety, and the fear that this feeling is going to be his forever. He kind of wants to go to sleep and never wake up, but even that thought brings on shame.

He closes his eyes, feels the sun burn against his eyelids, and wills it to burn him up, if just to let him feel something.

-

You're in the clover patch again. Not again, because Mark hasn't seen you since the first time and it's been months, but again, because he sees you now, and the days blur so easily in his mind nowadays that he really feels like he just saw you yesterday.

You have a basket in your hand, and you're gathering bunches of clover with precise care, ignoring his presence. Mark figures you just don't hear him, but he sees your gaze flit to him and he realizes you're avoiding acknowledgment on purpose.

Mark supposed this is where he leaves. 

Only he doesn't, because he's drowsy beneath the afternoon sun, and this is the only place he can go where he won't be chided for his rash decisions.

(The sunburn on his chest is actually healing nicely, thank you very much.)

"What do you use so many clovers for?" He asks, eyes hesitant when they meet yours.

You look shocked that he's speaking to you. Not in an appalled way, but more like you expected him to ignore you altogether.

Mark doesn't want to ignore you; never really has. 

"Jaemin asked me to." So you already know Jaemin. "For cough syrup."

"Ah." Mark doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want you to think he's done talking to you, but he's horribly awkward at things like this. Talking. Friendship. Whatever is going on here.

"You fainted today," you say. "Maybe you shouldn't be out in the sun so much."

"Oh, it wasn't because of the sun," Mark amends. He sits down, away from the clover patch so he won't disrupt your progress. "I get anxious when I fight now. That's all."

"You were anxious enough to pass out?" You ask him, and then your voice gets lower as you seem to answer yourself, "Well yeah, I guess increased blood flow would make you pass out. That was stupid to ask."

"Not stupid," Mark says. He doesn't know what else to say though.

It's a weird in-between place of wanting to talk to you and having nothing to say. He decides maybe he should just dive into the deep end. "Ever since the last battle... it's been hard for me to keep up. I'm afraid of swords now, which shouldn't happen, but I guess something in my brain got triggered when I was wounded, and now swords connect with pain. They've always been connected with pain though, so it shouldn't be new. It's just new to me."

You hum. It's enough for Mark to know you listened. He thinks maybe you're good at listening, even if your only reply is a solemn hum. Then, "You can't help it if you have trauma in your life. It's expected since you're a knight, but don't push it down so much that you fall ill."

"Yeah." He says. "I won't."

(He doesn't. And sometimes he does. It really depends on the days, but he's trying, and somehow he thinks that's all you meant for him to do.)

-

Mark is always around so many people. He thinks about it on his birthday, when Jaemin takes him and all of his fellow knights to the nearby inn for drinks. Mark feels the numb sting of a person who has many companions but no one to confide in. He takes it in stride; always has, but it burns down his throat along with the whiskey.

He watches Johnny flirt with the innkeeper, and when the tall man comes back with keys to the nicest room, he gives them to Mark. A "Happy Birthday, man." on the top of his tongue.

Everyone howls, their minds going to dirty places, and Mark has to quiet them down by saying he doesn't want to have sex tonight. Or any night for that matter. Everything in his chest burns from the laughter he receives in turn, along with the assurance that he'll get intimate when the right person comes along.

He visits you the next morning and recounts the tale. 

"Some people don't want sex," you say. There's a surety in your voice that makes Mark wish you were with him last night, if only to defend him. He doesn't want to be selfish, though — doesn't want you to think he's only using you for his own benefit — so he leaves with his thoughts and the sun on his back.

-

Your schedules don't really coincide. Mark never sees you; not in the audience at jousts, or in the kitchen during meal time. He knows the both of you are in completely different sectors of the castle — your presence is really only mandatory in the garden, while Mark's is mandatory everywhere the king is.

But sometimes Mark thinks about you during jousting tournaments, when he gets a high score but no one praises him for it. It's just expected of him, and yet he wishes there was someone to praise him for his hard work. It's not easy doing what he does, especially when he has so much anxiety doing it.

He wants to find you. He wants to breathe in your presence— wants to ask you if you think about him too, in the spaces between obligation and freedom. In the moments where you can be whoever you wish.

He wonders if you picture him.

The sunburn on his shoulders makes his skin itch more than usual, and Mark thinks about taking a swim in the lake to clear his mind. 

He stands on the dock, mind foggy with the what-ifs and the how-tos and the imagine-if-Y/n-ever-thought-about-yous. He hesitates to take off his shirt, because left in only his cotton shorts he feels vulnerable. The scars that mark up his chest make him feel weak, like he's never been enough, and he'll never be enough so long as his skin doesn't clear. 

He doesn't feel like a man. Never really has. In his mind he is still a child playing pretend, and life is catching up to him, all too quickly and all too harshly for him to prepare for whats to come.

The sun reflects on the surface of the lake. Shadows of minnows and frogs pass beneath him, and Mark finally loses his shirt.

He dives in, feeling the slimy seaweed wrap around his ankles almost immediately. And yeah, it's uncomfortable, but it beats his leather boots and the sweat that builds up after a full day of practice.

A small frog hops onto his shoulder, frightening him, but it dives back into the water just as quickly, so Mark focuses on calming his breathing.

"Mark Lee," you call out. 

Mark slips on the seaweed and falls back into the water. He closes his eyes tightly and lets himself break the surface. He feels his cheeks flood with heat, and he wonders if the sun can penetrate the water.

"Hi," he says softly. Water drips off of his eyelashes. Drops land on his cupid's bow and stay there as he stares at you.

Maybe you could feel him thinking about you. Maybe he sent some kind of cosmic energy out into the world, and you sensed it.

Maybe fate just works in mysterious ways.

Mark doesn't know what to say. He watches you sit on the dock and take off your shoes. You dip your toes into the water and smile at him. It's a bigger smile than he normally receives, and Mark feels like maybe you're opening up to him. He feels really good, and he isn't sure if it's the sunny daze or your warm gaze.

Maybe it's both.

Mark decides that he wants to hold you. Maybe it's too romantic a thought; maybe it's not romantic enough, but it sears his eyelids, and when he closes his eyes he can feel his hands splayed at your waist.

Yes, it's too romantic of a thought.

The sun is glaring now, taunting him. It's as if he doesn't know that he's failing in every way, staring at you without saying anything. He wants to reach out and ask you for advice on anything. Everything. He wants to get you talking; thinking about him, even just for a few minutes, but it's hard when he can't find his voice.

His shoulders itch again. He takes it as a sign. "Do you know any- uh- plants to help with sunburn?"

You smile even brighter somehow, and the sun is behind you now, mocking him as it rings a halo over your head. The light romanticizes you in a way Mark doesn't think he can. He doesn't think he's capable of it, but he longs for you.

He longs for you harmlessly, and his heart aches at the thought of you out of his life. Despite your monthly appearances, they mean more to Mark than he realizes most of the time. And he wants to tell you that he'd like to see you more often. Monthly greetings could turn into weekly meetings. He could see you more— bask in your presence; your light. He wants to drown in the way your chest rises and falls as you breathe. He wants to fall apart at the sound of your laughter.

He wants to love you, and he knows he isn't quite capable of love. Not in the way his mother expects him to be. Not in the way his friends expect him to be. Certainly not in the way he expects of himself. And yet, some selfish part of him hopes it will be enough for you. He hopes more than anything that one day you might accept what little love he can offer amongst the busyness of his life. Amongst the closed doors of his heart.

"Aloe vera," you say. "There's some one the healer's room, even though Jaemin is out for the week."

Mark finds a piece of himself feelings rather jealous at the fact that you seem to always know Jaemin's schedule. Why can't you know his?

"Okay," he says. "I'll ask him for some when he returns."

"I have a key." You stand up. "Come on, I'll find you some."

Mark stumbles his way out of the water, slipping twice on seaweed and three times over his words. "You really don't have to." He buttons his shirt over his scars, ears burning red because he can sense you looking at him. Studying him like you're hoping to find something amiss.

Mark follows you to the healer's room. When you order him to sit down, he obeys.

"Here," you hand him a jar of clear goop. "Rub this on your burns until they go away. And if you need any more, come find me."

Come find me.

Your words still ring in his head that night, as he applies more aloe to his body. He wants to come find you tomorrow, and he wants you to stay with him the entire day. He wants to hear about what goes around in your head and in your heart.

He wants to break the wall between the two of you and reach out; touch your soul and find that his is the same.

Mark stays awake until the sun comes up.

-

Beneath the lemon tree, you lay half-asleep. You stroke your rabbit's head and hum a tune, something you heard a long time ago. Maybe in a lullaby or an old shanty.

The sun is far too hot for you, which is why you've found a place in the shade.

You can hear the sounds of swords clanking against each other. Despite your reluctance, you think of Mark, and you wonder if he's doing alright. With his anxiety, and the way he's prone to accidents, you tend to worry about him a lot.

As much as he might think he's hiding it, Mark is a perfectionist just as much as he's a worrier. The two are more than likely related, but they double up in your brain as reasons to reach out to the boy every so often.

You aren't even sure Mark likes you. Like, as in, just enjoying your presence. Mark always seems a little too nervous; a little too eager to leave when he's around you.

You're sure it's you: the only common denominator in every situation.

Mark has a lot on his plate; he's got so much to deal with and so much he puts on himself.

You want to help, but you aren't sure where your place is in Mark's life. You could just be a passing soul; not an actual friend. You don't know, and you don't know the protocol for asking.

You told him to come find you if he ran out of aloe, but does that mean he isn't allowed to find you otherwise? You've only given him an option, and yet it doesn't feel like enough. It feels like maybe he won't visit you at all.

The sound of practice ceases, though your mind doesn't know if it's because practice is over or if it's because you're nearly asleep.

You wake up, and Mark is sitting a little ways off, clicking his tongue at the rabbit. He doesn't notice you've waken up.

"Hi," you say. "You found me."

Mark looks up, mouth open in a shocked expression. His neck is still red from the sun; and it creeps down onto the skin of his bare collarbones. "I didn't- I didn't see you there. Your shirt is the same color as the grass."

"Huh?" In your sleepy daze, you look down at your sleeve and notice that is does match the ground. Maybe Mark really didn't notice you. Maybe this is all fate. "Oh. Sorry then."

"No!" Mark crosses his legs. "No! Uh, I wanted to find you. I just thought you wanted me to wait until I was finished with the aloe."

"That was just an excuse," you say sheepishly. 

Mark is in his uniform (sans the jerkin). Leather pants and a violet shirt, untied at the chest. His skin is still colored, but it seems a bit more pink than the bright red it was yesterday. "It's been working then?"

Mark looks down at his chest and clothed shoulders and nods. "Yeah, uh— It's been working. So, uh, what are you doing here?"

"I'm just taking a nap away from the sun," you say. You roll onto your back and look up, eyes locked at the giant star that shines through the lemon tree leaves. 

"Why would you want to be away from the sun?" Mark narrows his eyes, shoulders hunched over as he reaches for the rabbit. 

"Her name is Garnet," you say. "And the sun is harmful. It can hurt your skin and your eyes. It's better to stay cool."

Mark picks up Garnet and snuggles her into his chest. "I don't think I could ever stay away from the sun. I love the warmth."

"Seems so," you murmur. Mark seems to exude warmth. Seems to radiate the sun itself, like Apollo personally kissed his shoulders; his cheeks; his lips, and Mark shines more golden than the sun at times. Especially when he smile, he seems to personify the sunbeams. "You should stay here with me."

"In the shade?"

"Lay beneath the sun," you reach your hand out.

Mark looks surprised, his golden eyes shining with a sort of gleam that rivals the lake surface. He lays down beside you in the sun and takes your hand in his. "Okay."

You smile, heart full at the action, and even though Mark seems sleepy, you will yourself to stay awake and immortalize each moment in your memory. 

And when his breathing slows; when you think he's finally asleep, he turns on his side and faces you. "Is this... Is this enough for you?"

Something unsaid slips between his words, like finality. Like, this may be all you'll ever get, and he wants to know if it's enough.

You smile at him. You can the sun in the reflection of his eyes; feel the soft grass beneath your skin; the warmth of Mark's hand in yours. 

"This is more than enough."

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

we wake with the intent to find enlightenment

Eret was what any sensible Minecraft server would call a "player of games," descending from the first slayers of the Dragon that dreamed hard enough to achieve the highest level. He was the epitome of what the voices whispered in their little poem.

Well, he was supposed to be.

In a sudden new development of powers, Eret converses and looks back on conversations to finally figure himself out, to finally wake up.

(read on AO3)

chapter 1: and all those sparkles in my eyes still remain

When you talk with enough people, you are forced to think.

When you think hard enough, you are forced to change.

Eret did not mean to trim away (or make disappear, based on his witness) all the leaves from the trees in his castle garden with a flick of his hand, but he just did.

He neared one bald trunk and touched the branches. It was odd how clean the cut was.

He reckoned that something about his person changed that caused the phenomenon to happen.

That kind of change had not happened since he was still growing up when he was as young as the few children on the server, most of whom he loved fervently.

The first time he knew he was different from the other children, human or otherwise, was the white of his eyes, which were aglow perpetually and unnatural enough to make people, who didn’t have the family eyes, unnerved around him. At some point, people began to flee at the sight of him.

Perhaps it’s the legend that one relative of his that he had made for himself— yeah, that’s right.

That said relative had remarkable power and chose to make himself a nightmare amongst servers, which was a feat no one in his immediate family, with their own powers, chose to do. None of them had that kind of audacity.

Neither did he, who then just decided to chop down the naked trees, planting new ones in their place.

The mystery of the kin who had Eret’s blood could make monsters, villains, but also heroes, leaders, gods even! They’re the epitome of dreaming, of what man should be in the sandboxes that Minecraft offered. Eret, by blood, descended from those who lived fully through uncovering the hidden truths from that so-called poem, the poem a server would whisper to those who, when the dragon of that server’s End is slain, actually save the End in question.

Eret’s power gave him a particular knowledge when he first stepped into the Dream SMP, a knowledge that framed him as an alien god trapped in the fragile clay that was the average Dream SMP mortal. It’s knowledge of the End but knowing the art of respect (and in that knowledge, not breaking the rules concerning its restriction).

Despite all that, Eret was left still trying to figure whatever the fuck he was. She was? They were?

Eret was, as far as he knew, something .

Wilbur said he was a traitor.

Dream said he was a king.

Everyone else said he was a puppet.

He made himself a historian.

He was something. Some...things?

Eret knew that he and he alone dictated his identity. He did not know whether he was happy with what he gathered, with what he made, with what he was.

Blinking back into reality, Eret dropped his enchanted netherite axe, leaves now restored. He hadn’t even begun cutting down the trunks!

“Okay, this is getting weird,” He remarked, picking up his axe and placing it back in his inventory.

He then walked back into the quarters of his castle, heading into that hidden boudoir where he did his more private and intimate matters concerning his person.

Armor off, then after some consideration, robe off as well.

In his regality and decoration, Eret always felt most like himself wearing gray shirts and blue jeans. It was bland, (as one drunk Wilbur Soot once whispered to him playfully, during one of those nights before everything went wrong,) but it was comfortable.

The mirror of the boudoir was massive, reaching the room’s high ceilings, making Eret’s figure so small from within the room’s walls.

Eret picked up his crown from off his head and took a good look at it. The marks of enchantment on the golden material resembled blood splatter, the pretty, intricately-carved jewels covered in beautifully contrasting impurities.

Now, the SMP’s other known leaders, or at least those most fascinated by its powers? They were intriguing to Eret, many of them possessing skills he wished he himself had. In their crafts and games, it was odd how Eret never could hold his own against them.

Eret’s craft was a museum. Unlike symphonies, it had the right to remain forever unfinished. It depended on housing so many stories—there were too many stories left unsalvageable.

Eret’s game was the game of Jacks. As bad as he was at the game, it was the game he can’t help but choose to play. The ball is bouncy just as his crown is heavy, the bones in hands as little as the friends he actually had.

The (let’s be real here,) crown of thorns—the Crown which was currently in Eret’s possession—both allured and terrified, like a bomb waiting to be used, waiting to blow up.

Bombs made Eret remember a conversation with Tubbo and Captain Puffy on a visit to Snowchester.

“Independent?” Eret picked up the Declaration of Independence on the podium, reading the haphazard handwriting of the founder of Snowchester.

“Have you come to contest it, your majesty?” Tubbo approached from behind him with a snarking tone; pulling with him on a lead was a bay horse that Puffy was riding on.

“Well, no, as nothing of any harm is,” The nukes, ”um, well-“

“Yes, we are peaceful, aren’t we?” Tubbo maintained his tone.

“Besides the nukes, Tubbo?” Puffy interjected.

“It’s a deterrent!” The teen repeated, “Like I said earlier, Eret. I’ve got them decommissioned and we don’t want any trouble.”

“Yeah, I can see how you’d come to that kind of protection,” Eret remembered Doomsday, “though I would request—actually no, recommend you communicate with me if you are going to use them at any point.”

“For what?”

“The help would be needed. You never know.” Eret was reminded of an equally alien red. Tubbo had mentioned seeing some growths on his land during their earlier conversation.

“I never do know, don’t I?”

Eret chuckled lightly, “Well, Tub-”

Tubbo suddenly smacked the ewe off the horse, much to her dismay.

“Tubbo! That hurt!”

“Thank you for getting off my horse,” Tubbo said, absurdly and frankly.

“Are you alright, Puffy?” Eret quickly went to pick her up, only for Puffy to be standing when he was at a reasonable distance from her.

“I’m good, I’m good.”

Puffy was quite a character. Her request of resignation was something he happily allowed, as her disillusionment with the server certainly coincided with his. He made no public spectacle of it (though to be fair, he never made a spectacle of his knight table, to begin with,) but had a meal with Puffy for it.

This was the price of an unannounced excursion. You leave for a month to make sense of all the chaos you’ve had to endure healthily only to come back to an even worse Dream SMP.

You have come back negligent. Wasn’t the break supposed to make you a better ruler?

Eret remembered welcoming Puffy when she first arrived, disheveled and a bit of a klutz, though nonetheless friendly.

Of course, who wouldn’t be a mess joining the Greater SMP, most especially after a historical act of political terrorism?

Eret quickly repressed the thought of Wilbur, though the dead fellow’s charisma seemed to leak out of Puffy’s excitability. She acted much like him, much like he was before Eret had hurt him: quick to founding family, being a shoulder to cry on, quick to burn when necessary, being a paragon of hope against tyranny and towards peace.

Captain Puffy had long wooly locks, brown and highlighted with a prismatic shade of white. She hid her eyes behind glasses like his, enigmatic like himself, surely? This ewe walked into the server with a friendly, warm wool onesie of many colors, reflected in her horns and hooves.

Eret’s shock was reasonable when she came to their little arranged meal together in a brand new costume.

She looked so much like Wilbur, as attractive as him, even. This was the man who had the ambition to fight tyranny through a division Eret thought at the time as dangerous.

The reminder can no longer be avoided.

In some way, Eret felt he was correct about the effect of L’Manburg, of it being a further cause of division in a server that didn’t need to create factions but to simply negotiate with words—to coexist and be passive and not be so Goddamn stubborn.

Dream and Wilbur, in their disagreements, agreed they were both unbelievably stubborn. Too mortal, too measly, two mere men...Eret found it awful how they fashioned themselves as immovable objects. He, for one, belonged to a race of men far more powerful than that of the two, and yet they had the audacity! What are simple server owners and the children of angels to dreamers? To the descendants of those who had taken the universe’s whims to heart? To the same brood that begotten the nightmare known as Herobrine?

Eret was something, but that something was not Herobrine, that’s for sure.

Wilbur could only handle so much. L’Manburg could only handle so much.

The stains of betrayal still prod and cry at Eret before his very eyes.

Nevermind. Eret wasn’t as sure, now that he thought harder about it.

He huffed to himself. He was being fickle.

Captain Puffy was quite fickle. She bent and broke like him, if her resignation as a knight was of any indication. She mothers a god but is so ever mortal and yet is so humble. People and happiness mattered to her, and that was why Eret loved her.

The tricorn hat and the long coat, worn out by what seemed to be the waters of storms instead of the fires of war, were an ashen color, black like obsidian, and were punctuated with gold pads, embroidery, and buttons.

She wore glasses like his, in that through certain angles, semi-hid eyes of enchanted prismarine. As we know, Eret’s glasses hid a blinding, mythical pair of whites.

“That’s quite the look there,” Eret remarked at the sight of her, almost tempted to blush.

“Yeah,” Puffy failed to hide her hesitance, “I, um, thought I needed a wardrobe change.”

“You didn’t have to dress up for this, you know?”

“I know, I know,” Puffy put a lock behind her ear, “This is just—how do I put this? Um, a necessity.”

He was about to jokingly question whether she was going to war, but then stopped himself in realization.

“I see. Come,” He gestured to her to follow him towards the table and food he set up before her arrival.

[oceanera12]

“Are you sure you’re in the right Cabin?”

Chatting with my sister (again) and we were talking about Nico going from this sweet innocent child who was obsessed with fun card games to the literal son of Hades rocking the black t-shirt and skull ring look. Like, wow. Way to step into that role with little to no pressure (not necessarily bad, just interesting).

And that got us thinking more than it should have about the Olympians and the attributes their kids get from them. And also the attributes they DON’T get from them.

What if Child of “________”, but everyone thinks they’ve been claimed by the wrong parent because there is no way in Tartarus this kid is related to that Olympian.

[And we did the big three in Greek form just to keep it simple (and Percy needs a half-blood sibling, everyone else already has one, fight me on this) Also feel free to replace the names, we just used these as fillers because just saying “Adjective” child was getting confusing.]

First up: “Brandon” the son of Zeus. (Aka. Anxiety child)

First off: I’m thinking the kid is no more than ten years old (more like nine, in all honesty)

This kid is afraid of heights. No joke. He refuses to even climb a step stool because the idea of being off the ground terrifies him to no end.

He’s shy as heck and talks very softly. When he first shows up to camp everyone is convinced he’s the son of some minor god (maybe the god of sleep) because “What son? We can’t hear you. Speak up!” *mumbles under his breath a little louder*

Hates being the center of attention (the exact opposite of his Dad) and just wants to make it through the day without having an anxiety attack.

Fights with a knife (and when we say fight, we mean “hold the thing up, look for openings, take them, but otherwise hide in the background and let Angry child and Sunshine child take care of it”)

He’s just scared of a lot of things, okay? (I’m thinking Neville from Harry Potter) He tries to fight and do what he’s supposed to in training and just falls flat on his face.

But when it comes to battle tactics? Oh, this boy has got some ideas. It doesn’t come as naturally as it would to Ares and Athena kids, but he’s great to have in war councils around the ping-pong table (yes, the nine year old is good at chess, so sue me)

Also, since he’s always so quiet, when he actually does speak up EVERYONE pays attention.

When he panics/freaks out/has an anxiety attack he just sits down on the ground and rests his head in between his knees and tries to breathe. Most of the time that helps but sometimes it just gets worse and worse and that was how he figured out he could summon lightning bolts from the sky (no one was injured but now he’s terrified of accidently hitting someone so he’ll run off somewhere quiet when he needs to breathe)

The one time camp has seen him angry was when Pearl was hunted by some bullies and came back bruised and bloody. Everyone agrees they never speak of that time and to never have a repeat of that time.

Doesn’t really have an opinion on his half-siblings (both Jason and Thalia scared the heck out of him the first time they meet and the two take that as a sign to give the kid space). He doesn’t mind spending time around them, but he’d rather be with the “Big Three Mess-Ups”

Next: “Pearl” the daughter of Poseidon (Aka. Angry child)

This girl has zero chill, even for a thirteen year old who is going through that angry teenager phase. 

And I mean ZERO. Ten minutes in camp and she’s already challenged three people to a duel and been in two fist fights (which she won one and lost the other)

The Ares cabin was already making room for her (because who else could it be?) and suddenly there’s a blue trident hanging over her head at meal time and Percy ends up choking on his blue food

She doesn’t like the ocean. Or water. Or sand. Or outdoors. She can swim and climb and all that stuff, she’d just rather stay inside. All the time. It’s a problem.

And when she is outside she likes to climb a tree (because it’s away from people). When the nymphs start complaining she storms off (quite literally) and hides at the bottom of the lake for a week. That becomes her solitude spot, much to Brandon’s and Violet’s annoyance.

Will carry a book everywhere. And it’s not because she loves to read (she hates reading because of her dyslexia). She just uses the book to ignore everyone around her and get people to not talk to her. Sometimes the book is upside down and she doesn’t notice (and will get mad when people point it out)

The one thing she definitely got from her Dad is just pure strength. This gal can deck most everyone in camp even if she stands at a mesley five feet. Also, she’s got pretty good control on the whole “water controlling thing” which is nice (especially when it comes to slapping some manners into a bunch of bratty Hermes kids who thought it was a good idea to plant dead flowers outside of Violet’s cabin and blame her for spreading death around)

She hates horses and this includes pegusi (mainly because they talk too much) 

The one thing she claims to not “hate” is her fellow “Big Three Mess-Ups” (although secretly she really loves sappy soap operas, a secret that is never shared with anyone)

Fights with a spear, weirdly enough and isn’t bad at archery. Prefers fighting with weapons then with “water abilities”

She doesn’t like Percy for no particular reason. She just avoids him most of the time and when they do talk it’s mostly short awkward conversations. (“Sooo... How’s camp?” “Fine.” “Good.” “Great.” “Good.”) It’s hard to hate Tyson so she just avoids him as much as possible.

And last: “Violet” the daughter of Hades (Aka. Sunshine child)

She wears bright sunny colors, loves sunshine and rainbows and is basically the happiest fifteen year old you will ever meet.

And it’s not that forced happiness that’s creepy and everyone is like “Uh, this kid needs therapy” she is actually happy with her life and loves camp.

Also wears flowers in her hair. They start out the day cheerful and bright but by the end of the day, they are wilted and dead as can be. Everyone has learned not to bring up the dead flowers (she gets angry because DANG IT, SHE DOESN’T MEAN TO KILL THEM SO QUICKLY)

When everyone met her, they thought she was Demeter’s kid. 

When Hades’s claimed her, everyone thought she was Persephone’s and Hades was just covering his wife’s butt or something.

And then someone thought it was a good idea to pick on Brandon and the everyone remembers the screams from the Ares cabin as an army of skeleton soldiers chased them across camp because “You don’t tick off the Mom friend” (Chiron had to get her to call them off because “It’s been two hours, they are going to drop from exhaustion”)

The Ares cabin nicknamed her “Violent” after that and all are convinced she is haunting their cabin at night by having skeletons outside their window and stare in at them (which she is, but no one can prove it sooo...)

Also she’s claustrophobic so don’t stick her in a small space unless you want skeletons to start popping out of the ground.

She is very friendly and outgoing and gets along with pretty much everyone (As long as you’re not a bully). She’s basically the ultimate Mom Friend.

Doesn’t really fight with weapons and most would think she’s a pacifist. But in reality she just summons the army of skeletons to do the fighting for her. When she does actually have to fight it’s just her swinging around some kind of staff (maybe made of bone?).

Violet LOVES her half-siblings and wants to be friends with them very very badly. Nico gets a little freaked out by her and tries to run in the other direction but Hazel thinks she’s pretty chill. The two of them get along fine enough.

Random things the three do together:

These three are best friends/the new trio/“The Big Three Mess-Ups”/whatever you want to call them and will fight anyone for any of them.

“Anyone want to trade parents?” *All three raise their hands without looking at one another*

Sleep over’s in one another’s cabins because let’s be honest: their siblings are never around (if ever) and it’s lonely. They switch cabins every week to change the scenery. Violet loves it (”Sleepover with friends!”), Brandon is very appreciative of it (”I don’t like being alone.”) and Pearl pretends she hates it and puts up with it, but is secretly very grateful for it.

They also eat with one another at meal times and will do group projects together because everyone is a little terrified to try.

Once, for capture the flag, it was the three of them vs the whole camp (Pearl made a bet with the Hermes cabin that the three of them could beat all of them. The Hermes cabin just took it to a completely different level). Violet guarded the flag with her army of skeletons while Pearl and Brandon sneaked around. They ended up winning, but barely (it was the entire camp, seriously)

That’s all I really got at the moment but I’ve fallen in love with these three and want to see them get into some trouble.

[detectivedreameater]

You Like Jazzcuzzis?|| Tommy and Marley

TIMING: Happy Hour PARTIES: @wrightnotwrcng and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: Mara vs. Bugbear Ultimate Smackdown 2020! Tickets on sale today only! We’ll sell you the WHOLE SEAT but you’ll only need the edge!  CONTENT: Blood mentions, mara slander :/

It wasn’t often lately that Marley could catch enough of a break to enjoy a day off at the bar. She used to frequent all the ones down on Amity-- they were good places to pick people up, or even catch someone in an act that would leave them in her debt, sometimes both-- but lately, too much had been going on for her to want to. Usually, she’d just head home and flop onto her couch. She needed to go back there anyways to make sure JD was fed and hadn’t chewed through her furniture, and at that point, she’d either just call up Anita, or Jane, or Lydia. But now, most of them were out of commission and Marley still felt a strange burning feeling whenever she asked Anita over. So she’d opted for a bar today, on her day off. She’d practically forced herself to take today off, after everything that had happened with jane and the disastrous bowling excursion. There wasn’t much going on at Shanahan’s during the day, but she didn’t altogether mind the quiet. She did, however, notice the man in the corner that had been casting glances her way the entire time. With a sigh, she decided she did have the patience to take a man home today, and she picked up her drink, sauntering over. Slid into the seat next to him, not looking at him yet, before saying, “I see you’ve got an eye for the top shelf.” Pointedly not saying whether she meant his drink of choice or herself. Raised a brow, finally turning to look at him out of the corner of her eye, hidden well behind dark glasses. “Come here often?”

A cop had been digging into things she shouldn't have, and obviously that was nothing new for Tommy and Roy’s operation— but it was still something that needed to be addressed. So here he was at the same bar one Marley Stryder had decided to frequent in the day off from her work. If you could call it work. Tommy wasn’t entirely sure that being a narc was a job, probably more of a personality flaw. The repeated looks had thankfully done their job, bringing his prey to him as she walked her way over to the bugbear, and opened the conversation. You had to let the woman think it was her idea to start things like this. Otherwise, they’d never listen. “You saying I have good taste?” She’d be right. He had a decent eye for a good bit of flesh and bone. Tommy gave her a quick once over while he chewed on the toothpick stuck between his teeth. She did look like she’d make a nice little snack. Maybe a little tough or stringy if her demeanor was anything to go off of. But that’s what the toothpick was for. “Tommy,” he said simply, offering her a hand to shake in a cocky maneuver. “You like jacuzzis?”

The question struck her as odd at first, but she’d heard odder. Marley took his hand and shook it. His shake was firm, his palm slightly callous. Someone who liked to work with their hands. Well, that boded well for her, didn’t it? Settling into her seat, she took another sip of her drink before giving him a sidelong glance. “Jacuzzis can be nice,” she said, “if you have the right company.” The words still settled strangely in her stomach, like they were wrong, like saying them to someone else was wrong-- but she opted to ignore that feeling for now. She needed a goddamn break, and she wasn’t going to let anything take her out of that mindset. “I’m Marley. So what about you? Are you a jacuzzi enthusiast?”

About now would be when Tommy usually mentioned that he preferred jacuzzis filled with blood or some other vaguely unsettling substance, just to plant that first little seed of uneasiness to set someone on edge, to trigger that prickling along the neck of their spine. Then later— it would blossom into a full blown fear, and he’d have his meal for the night. But that wasn’t what he was here for on this particular evening. No, he was meant to reel this one in, not frighten her off. “Oh, it’s all to do with company.” If you got someone who didn’t scream enough, if just didn’t make for the same experience. Where was the thrill? The drama? “And you could say that,” he offered back with a smile that was always sharp. Grinning was one thing Tommy felt like he hadn’t entirely gotten down pat after making the switch from bear to human. “Do you wanna know what enthuses me even more, though?” 

A grin sat awkwardly on his face, almost as if it didn’t belong there. But his jaw was set and chiseled, and he had the kind of eyes that would draw anyone in. Marley saw these from an outside perspective and appreciated them. It didn’t even occur to her that there was anything else behind his intentions, the weariness of the week weighing down on her and closing her eyes to what she would have normally seen in plain view. Instead, she wanted to play with his wit and his words and possibly later, his sharp smile. “You know, I think I do,” she said back, with a lowered voice, keen and intrigued. Sometimes it was fun to play with your food first, despite what anyone said. Not that she entirely planned on feeding on him, but she found herself more lax with rules when it came to men. Food and fuck was easier to come by with them, after all. “Tell me?”

That strange grin on Tommy’s lips only grew wider as she continued to dive deeper into the conversation, the woman obviously thinking they were going to have a different sort of snack tonight. And though Tommy generally only slept with humans if he was planning on eating them, he might have made an exception for her. He didn’t feel any prickles of fear coming from her yet, which he supposed was a good sign. If she’d scared easily, she would have made a lousy operative for Roy. “Then I’ll tell you,” he echoed back in that same low voice, figuring that if she was having fun with the game she’d made of this back and forth, there was no reason to break it. “I love a woman who takes things into her own two hands, and isn’t afraid of the consequences.” Just like she’d done with the evidence and Erin Nichols. “But a person who knows how to deal with the consequences if they do come up. Like the jack in a box of consequences, you know? Who doesn’t love a good jack in the box? Would you know anything about that?” Then, as if he hadn’t just spoken about being a dirty cop, Tommy was ordering another drink from the bartender before looking towards Marley. “And what’ll it be for you?”

Marley liked a man that could keep up with her, too. She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of that satisfaction and say it, though, so she just listened. Until his tilted metaphor hit her ears and she felt her skin bristle. It was not fear, no-- she did not fear much-- but it was something close. It was an anxiety that made her heart thrum a little faster than she wanted it to. He was asking her what drink she wanted now and the bartender was standing in front of them and she blinked from her haze and tried to smile. “Another of the same,” she managed to say in time to make it not seem suspicious, to feign as if she weren’t thrown off-guard by his sudden words. When the bartender left to make their new drinks, she lowered her voice again and turned to face him more squarely. Was this a threat? How did he know? She wasn’t reading too into his words, was she? “I’m not entirely sure what you mean,” she said, “I find jack in the boxes to be rather boring, actually. Something so simple could never catch my attention.” 

This had to be a careful thing. Tommy didn’t want her to think he was accusing her of anything. “Don’t worry,” he said quickly, hands raised and open as if showing he didn’t have anything threatening within them. “Think of me as a fan, an admirer of your work, you know? I don’t know if I’d have been able to do what you did with the information. I’m not going to tattle on you. I just wanted to let you know that I thought it was almost as cool as a jacuzzi.” Then he leaned back into his chair, scratching at his beard with an almost pensive thought. “Nahh, jack in the boxes are so unpredictable they could never be boring. They get people when they least expect it, you know? They get that little spark of alarm and then they laugh. Isn’t it kinda funny? How everyone laughs right after they get scared?” Sometimes he just loved to bite down on someone right after they’d begun to laugh, to feel that last bit of fear draining away into relief, only for it to turn to fear again as their bones crunched under his jaws. A wistful sigh fell from the bugbear, as if he were already planning on how he’d make the daydreams come true once he was done here.

His words somehow brought little relief. Marley didn’t like the idea that anyone knew what she’d done, and her mind scratched through itself to try and figure out how he did. Unless he was someone else on the inside, it didn’t seem possible. Unless… She straightened in her chair. His demeanour was too relaxed, she realized. He must have thought he had the upper hand here. And it was with sound clarity that she remembered he did. Daylight trickled through the windows and aggravated her skin. She was not powerless, though. She would need to play this one carefully. “I’ve heard that it’s a natural response to fear,” she said slowly, taking her drink and sipping it. Squeezing the glass hard to hide the shake in her hand. “Laughing. Just as it is a response to pain.” She took one more drink. “So,” she then said, turning her eyes on him. “If you’re not here to rat me out, then what are you here for?”

It was hard for Tommy to remember a time when he’d feared someone or something. He wasn’t in the business of experiencing the lesser emotion, not when he was the one responsible for doling it out. “Hey, I’ve heard the same exact thing,” he replied with the smallest chuckle. “Still kinda funny though, isn’t it?” But it was time for them to get to the meat of the matter. “Like I said, I’m a big fan! I’d love to get to see some of your work up close and personal! Maybe even on some sort of tag team situation some time, you know? We could make it mutually beneficial for the both of us.” It’d be foolish to expose the entire underbelly of Roy’s organization off the bat, not when he didn’t have a single reason to trust the woman in front of him, even if she wasn’t exactly the most moral of cops, apparently. “So what do you say? You could show me some of your’s, and we could show you some of our’s, and I’m sure it’d be great fun! We’d make it worth your while obviously. Whatever you want it, you name it. We can get it for you.”

He wanted her on his side. After everything that had happened, Roy Chambers had really sent someone to ask her if she wanted to join his side. Marley’s hand tightened so hard around the glass she worried it might break in her hand. Through clenched teeth, she tried to smile. Play it cool. Play it cool. She drew in a breath and held it. “Very funny,” she answered, jaw clicking. “You know what else is funny?” She held herself up a little higher, sipping her drink casually now. Let the alcohol linger on her lips for a moment before she swallowed. “You boss thinking that I want anything to do with the people who killed my fucking partner.” So much for subtle. She slammed her glass on the counter, hard, and turned to look at him with a vicious stare, her eyes flickering as she looked into his. But nothing happened. There was no spark, no dissolving of the world around them as fear took over, and with a profound clarity, Marley realized she’d found herself face to face with the only creature who could resist her gaze. 

“Shit,” she muttered. In the next second, she had jumped out of her chair, spun it around, and kicked it at him, reaching down to draw her gun, hoping against all odds she could draw it faster than he could react. It wasn’t likely.

Another sigh dropped from Tommy as Marley dropped the word partner. He hadn’t told the bugbear that little detail. Or maybe he hadn’t realized. Either way, it was inconvenient— and probably not entirely conducive to bringing the woman onto their side. Oh well. Might as well have a bit of fun now, right? And fun there was to be had. As the mara’s eyes flickered in and out, a slow smile spread over Tommy’s lips? “A mara? Aww, are you sure you don’t wanna join?!” he yelled as he launched himself over the bar, landing behind it for cover at the moment. “Just think of all the fun we could have! Together!” Of course mara were inferior to bugbears, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t always a good time teaming up with one. Of all supernatural species, the hags understood best what it was to feel that glorious river of fear manifesting in a person. While her gun was raised, another delicious idea came over Tommy. “Get down, she’s crazy!” he yelled out to the other bar patrons, feeling their worry instantly spark. And then came the loud bang of gunshots, a few of them in quick succession as the auditory illusion rang out through the bar. Panic began to flare, sprouting on his tongue like a lovely and flirtatious appetizer. Now that was good. Like honey to a— well, a bear. With another flex of his abilities, fake flames sprang up in front of the exit to the bar, seemingly trapping those that were trying to escape. And then Tommy began his shift.

The man’s laugh rang out around her. Bugbear, of fucking course. Cheap, stupid animals, the lot of them. Thinking their parlor tricks and illusions were worth anything. His powers didn’t work on her, though. Marley did not see his fire or hear his fake gunshots. Her weapon was drawn, but she did not fire yet. People needed to get out, first. As she moved towards them, gun still trained on the man hiding behind the bar, people started moving out of the way. Hurriedly, frightened, tripping over themselves and the chairs in their way. “Get out, now!” she shouted, “Police!” They were screaming, stopping at the doorway. Shit. There must’ve been an illusion there. “Just go!” she shouted at them, shoving someone through, turning herself away from him for just a moment to get them out. “It’s not real!” 

Then she heard the ripping of cloth, the groan of wood being displaced. Glass shattering as a form too large to fit into a space a human once stood was filled with that of a bear. Fuck. Fuck. She stood her ground between the panicking people and the bear and for the first time, she felt a hiccup of fear. “Get down!” she shouted behind her, and fired. But bullets, she remembered, were nothing to a bear. She was nothing to a bear.

The droplet of fear working its way through Marley was all Tommy needed. He couldn’t harm creatures that weren’t afraid, but even an ounce of terror would be more than enough to do them in when it came to his teeth and caws. A grizzly bear the length of a truck bed, and the width of at least three people roared it’s way out from behind the bar, already lumbering towards Marley. A bullet caught him in the shoulder, but it wasn’t anything of major consequence at the moment. Another roar filled the bar, resulting in a direct spike of fear from those still trying to find a method of escape. Tommy drove the flames higher, the literal picture of a devil forming from them, and rushing itself into the faces of the ones closest to the door, and those that were heeding Marley’s words. A scream went up from them, and Tommy rushed the cop, raising a paw of razor-sharp claws to try and swipe across her face.

“Don’t look at it!” Marley shouted, twisting to push more people through whatever invisible fire they were shouting about. More intense screaming and Marley was scrambling. Something in her was urging her to stay where she was, even when she heard the roar and the entire bar shook. She needed to make sure these people go out first, that was her job, her duty. She’d never cared about something like this before, it had always just been about her. Her own survival. Her own self. The bear barreled straight through her warning shot and at the last moment, she moved to the side, away from the people, leading him off from them. Raised her gun, but-- claws swiped hard and angry across her face. It didn’t burn right away, but the sting of it was felt as soon as air rushed in. The crack of her neck as her head whipped to the side and her body was thrown against a booth, landing on the table, echoed in the bar. More glass shattered, plates flying off the table. Hot, sticky blood poured from her face. Her gun lay on the other side of the bear. She pressed a palm to her face and winced. People continued to scream. The bear was still here. She needed to get him away from them. 

Tommy hadn’t had a meal this good in weeks. All these people in the bar were just ripe for the plucking, and a very large part of him was considering abandoning Marley all together just to take a little nip of one of the establishment’s guests. Hold on, had that guy peed his pants? A strange and harh bark of bear laughter rumbled through Tommy as he took in the sight, absolutely reveling in the chaotic fear. The blood on his claws only added to the beauty of the symphony of fear, but it also served as a reminder. The mara was probably the biggest threat in the place, even if her abilities were rendered useless against him. So again he rushed her, another great bellow ripping itself from his maw as he aimed to chomp down on the arm that held her gun.

He was momentarily distracted by the rushing panic of the patrons. Most of them were outside now. Good. She could concentrate on this stupid fucking bear now. Marley pushed herself up with a groan. Blood was running down her face, her neck, staining her clothes. Thank god she wasn’t wearing white. Blue smeared across her dark skin, plastering her hair to her face. The bear was charging again and she extended her leg, heel kicking a chair into his path. It wouldn’t stop him, but slow him down. A chair, after all, was no match for a bear. And neither was she. She jumped from the table to the bar top, air wheezing from her lungs as she met the wood countertop hard, before flinging herself over. She heard the bear crash into just where she’d been, his jaw clicking closed so hard in the space where she’d just been she heard them. She grabbed a bottle from the shelf and winged it straight at his face. Then another. And another. Moving along the wall, searching for her gun. Inching towards the exit. Dammit, why didn’t she have her radio on her? She needed back up. She needed to get out of here. What she wouldn’t give to be able to turn intangible and escape, what she wouldn’t give to be like Felix and disappear into shadows.

Tommy barely noticed the chair, barreling through it as his jaws closed onto empty air. A small growl of frustration later, and he was beginning to question whether or not this woman was worth the trouble. Most of his snacks were gone now, and though he’d certainly hunt down a few of them later by scent— it would have been more fun if he’d gotten to maul them here, especially in front of the other patrons and Marley. She was trying for the exit, and he wasn’t about to let all of his little toys escape in this madness. Bolting for the door, he turned in front of it, using his giant bear mass to create a blockade of fur and teeth. Then he raised himself to his hind legs and full height, paws splayed with claws glistening in the low light of the bar as he launched the full force of his body towards the mara, aiming to crush her. 

The bottles smashed uselessly against his hide. Fucking bears. Marley dove down to reach for her gun but by the time she’d made her way to the end of the bar, the bear was there again. Fuck it. She wasn’t dying here. She dove to the gun and bear paws came down right where she’d been. The cool metal of her glock slid into her hand and she pressed it against his side and fired once. It echoed loud in her head and she managed, just barely, to move herself out of the way as the full weight of the bear came down. Something crunched in her leg and she cried out, struggling to move herself from under him. Used her other foot to push against him, trying to free herself. If those claws came swiping again, she wasn’t sure she could move in time to not meet their full ire. So instead, she took the preemptive and aimed the gun at his head, ready to pull the trigger, blood smearing over one eye, clouding her vision. “Get fucked!” she shouted, and pulled the trigger. Sirens wailed in the distance.

The sound of the detective crunching underneath Tommy was enough to bring another jubilant roar from his lungs, all too thrilled with the strikes he’d gotten in. As Marley’s foot caught purchase and pushed, he simply pushed back, leaning his weight on the leg he’d heard that glorious and telltale sound from. Hm. The gun was back. As it came into the corners of his sight, Tommy jerked his massive head to the side, avoiding a shot to the brain, but feeling a flicker of annoyance as the bullet singed a trail across his shoulder. It was times like these that he wished he could talk in his bear form. He would have loved reminding Marley that getting fucked was exactly what she’d been trying to do in the beginning of their encounter. Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be. The sound of sirens was enough to give Tommy pause, ears pricked to the sound of their approach. Marley would have been easy enough to handle, but an entire brigade of cops? It was most likely best if he scattered now, went after the cop another day when she was alone in some dark alley, and he could really savor the kill. Raising himself up once more, he tried to side-swipe Marley away, to bat her aside like a horse would bat a fly. Then he was making a break for the door of the bar, shattering through it with brute force.

The bear was much bigger and stronger than her, which was expected. But in all her life, Marley had never imagined herself having to fight one. She supposed she’d have to rethink her life plans at this point, then, and make sure she knew how to better fight a bear. She was actually a little disappointed in herself for not thinking of it earlier. Bugbears were a thorn in her side since she’d found out what she was, and even Peter had told her to beware of them and their ability to be unaffected by her own abilities. She loathed it in this moment, as she watched the bear swipe at her again. She was on her back, too vulnerable to move much more than curling into a ball to embrace some of the impact. Though claws did not dig into skin this time, the weight of just one paw soaring through the air was enough to toss her from the ground and into the bartop. She hung upside for a moment, though it felt like hours, before her body crashed back to the ground and the world came with it, spinning in every direction. She could feel hot blood pouring up her face now, smearing into her hair. Shit, she’d have to wash that off later. She heard wood splintering and glass breaking and more screams, and then loud sirens. But no more bear.

She stayed laying there for a long moment, waited until she saw the shoes of her comrades rushing in through the destroyed doors and into the desecrated bar. Someone was saying her name, but she couldn’t focus enough to hear them. They would see her blood if she didn’t move. She needed to get out of there. But when she tried to move, her body was too stiff and too bruised. She just needed to rest for a moment. Close her eyes just for a moment. And then, she’d get back up and she’d hunt that stupid fucking bear down and she’d shoot him in the face. See how he liked it.