#please imagine that last one to the melody of blowing in the wind

[notnowricky]

Anatomy of a Lie (I told myself and my bestie)

Me to bestie when I started terrorizing her with Omar content: Just listen to this one song. (hahaha) Amazing right?

That same week bestie adds Que Puedo Hacer to her playlist next to el divino Fonseca. (#winning)

Two days later: Don’t worry, we’ll definitely skip the boy band phase. (laughing intensifies)

Me a few days later: Oh, I saw one bit from the boy band era in an edit. I wonder what that was from? Okay, just a Quick Look™️ to see what it’s like. (laughter turns hysterical)

Me 12 hours later: Hey, I know I said no boy band stuff, but listen to this one.

(link to Build a Girl is sent, cackling can be heard in three counties)

(Btw, this is all said with the utmost love and a huge helping of cheeky winks—which Omar cannot do and neither can I, but in spirit I’m winking. We have nothing but love for boy bands. Always have, always will.)

That night I buy the song.

Three days later (after putting it on 🔂 in the car every day) I text bestie:

Now, whenever I listen to it ⬇️⬇️⬇️

No, I haven’t learned the original choreography yet.

Yes, I have added more boy band songs to the rotation.

Don’t send help.

To quote myself: I hate to say it, but THIS IS EXTREMELY MY SHIT. (Reader, I don’t hate it.)

~The End~

[thejuvenilem]

Oasis on Melody Maker, 2/3/1996.

This edition covers the iconic BRIT Awards of that year.

Below is the transcription of the parts where Oasis are mentioned. (PS.: if you catch any typo, please let me know so I can fix it)

THE BATTLE OF THE BRITS

"THE tabloids are out to get me", JARVIS COCKER complained in last week's Maker. It may have sounded a tad exaggerated at the time. But not now. After the moment of inspired lunacy when he disrupted Michael Jackson's stomach-churning performance at last week's Brits, the self-righteous popular press made him Public Enemy No 1, condemning both Cocker and Oasis, who were also on supremely snotty form, for their loutish behaviour. While the tabloids have been raging and fuming in blustering indignation, however, most sensible people could only cheer Jarvis' outrageous pluck. Brian Eno described his actions as "heroic", and one observer wrote to a national newspaper demanding an immediate knighthood for the great man.

In this five-page Maker News Special, CAROL CLERK and MAT SMITH report on an unusually eventful night at the Brits Awards...

Caption of the Liam's image:

Liam, Patsy and the bum's rush

Caption of the Noel's image:

Noel meets Tony Blair: "Course I'll vote for yer, Tone. Just don't put up me fooking tax"

Caption of the Oasis' image:

"Altogether now - 'Shitelife!'"

"SEX 'N' THUGS 'N' ROCK 'N' ROLL"

WHILE Jarvis may have been grabbing most of the headlines for the Brits, the nation's favourite loudmouths, Oasis, kept their own flag flying for bad behaviour.

While scooping a hat trickof awards for Best Video, Best Album and Best Group, the Gallaghers and their entourage managed to scandalise the media and, apparently, the Brits Committee, since their acceptance speeches were greatly edited in the version which was finally shown on television the next day.

Oasis' first award, announced and presented by Michael Hutchence, was for "Wonderwall" in the Best Video category - voted for by viewers of "The Chart Show".

The occasion carried a special significance in that Liam Gallagher's current girlfriend, Patsy Kensit, was quite recently pictured in the papers with her hand down Hutchence's trousers. This had led to various bits of banter in the press, with Liam apparently sniping at Hutchence's girlfriend, Paula Yates...

"I heard Michael's going to give me a slap round the face", said Liam onstage. "So come on..."

Michael, instead, kissed him.

"And for another thing", carried on Liam, "I'd just like to say..."

"Sausages", interrupted Noel Gallagher, referring to Liam's starring appearance in The Sun's "Celebrity Sausage Game", which connected stars who are known to have shagged each other.

In a reported highlight cut from the TV version, Noel is said to have blasted Hutchence, saying: "Has-beens shouldn't be presenting f***ing awards to gonna-bes."

An Oasis spokesman commented: "That whole thing with Hutchence is really light-hearted. He would not have presented the award if he thought there was going to be a problem."

However, rumours later circulated that Oasis' Guigsy almost came to blows with Hutchence backstage at the official party.

According to one observer, "Michael Hutchence kept poking him in the shoulder, just trying to be a wise guy. Guigsy threatened to take him outside and sort him out, but then he said he didn't want to waste a fight on him."

The fact that the Best Video award was voted for by the public obviously meant a great deal to Noel Gallagher.

Onstage, he said: "Anything that's voted for by the fans is special. Anything that's voted for by idiots, corporate pigs, means nothing to us."

He later told a TV news crew who approached his table: "I don't need any fat pig record executives to tell me how good my group is."

It's tempting to imagine Noel returning his Brits in a few years' time, like John Lennon with his MBE, although Oasis spokesman chuckled, "I don't think so. I think he was just winding people up, but obviously there's a logic behind what he's saying. It's more important to be appreciated by the fans than by the industry. It's the kids who listen to the records who are important. We're not a corporate record label although we're distributed by Sony, and... (continues after the next image)

... they haven't taken offence.

Noel was actually raving about Creation and Alan McGee [its MD]. He brought Alan onstage with them later on.

The Maker's Paul Mathur, who was with Oasis on and off all night, agreed: "Most of it was winding people up", he said. "But it was supposed to be a rock'n'roll event, and there were all these stuffed-shirt, dicky-bow people giving awards to Annie Lennox and people like that, and theirs seemed to be the only creativity award.

"I think they were behaving the way they did just make it a bit more interesting. That's why Jarvis went onstage, cos he was bored. Oasis thought that was brilliant. It was gloriously silly behaviour."

At some point, Noel also declared: "I have nothing to say except for I'm extremely rich and you're not."

When Oasis - a real motley crew - marched up to the stage to collect their second award of the night, for "(What's The Story) Morning Glory?" in the Best Album category, things became more heated.

The award was announced and presented by Lenny Kravitz, and television viewers saw only one comment from Liam: "Thank you very much. I'd like to thank all the fans, all the people who have made us what we are... I'd like to thank... all the people." This was followed by a live film clip of Oasis playing "Don't Look Back In Anger", presumaly at one of their Earl's Court November shows.

What the TV programmers didn't want us to see was a hilarious sequence of events.

"Anyone tough enough to take us off the stage can come up now", huffed Liam. "It will take more than Ginger Bollocks [host Chris Evans] to throw us off."

There followed an impromptu version of Blur's "Parklife", renamed "Shitelife", and an episode in which Liam pretended to ram the award up his bottom and then sniffed the end of the statuette.

The Blur theme continued at a press conference after the awards ceremony. Noel, asked if he had a message for Blur, reportedly told the gathering: "Yes - goodbye. Pack your bags now because you're finished. You've had a 'Parklife' and now it's a 'Shitelife' for you."

Noel is also quoted as telling the conference: "They [the Brits Committee] are a bunch of tossers who think people like Sting and Bowie are the cutting edge of music."

Oasis' third and final award, presented by Pete Townshend, was for Best British Group.

The band used their acceptance speech this time to lavish praise on Alan McGee and Tony Blair, who was in attendance to present David Bowie's award.

Most of this joined the other Oasis footage on the TV cutting room floor. Oasis' spokesman recalled: "Noel said there were seven people in the room who bring hope to young people - the five members of Oasis, Alan McGee and Tony Blair. He had a rant about Tony Blair and the Labour Party, saying 'All you people out there go and vote for him.'"

With a brief "Power to the people!" from Noel, Oasis left the stage and returned to their table in boisterous spirits.

"They totally enjoyed their evening", said the spokesman, with amusing understatement.

"I think everyone was really pissed up", elaborated Paul Mathur. "Their attitude was basically just 'We rule the world so f*** you, you c***s.' The atmosphere around them was definitely one of triumphant heroes. There was lots of swaggering rather than anything else. They won the Best Band award which I think they felt they deserved last year.

"They were high-spirited rather than deliberately badly behaved. They were trying to shake things up a bit, as they've always done."

Joining Oasis at their table were their girlfriends - including Patsy Kensit - Alan McGee and a few hundred empty bottles.

"All the other tables were a bit boring by comparison", commented Mathur.

The only members of Oasis who stayed at the official Brits party for any length of time were Guigsy and Alan White. The rest headed back to their hotel, the Landmark in London's Marylebone.

There, accompanied by cronies like Robbie Williams, Vic Reeves and Lisa Moorish, they passed the night alternating between their rooms and the bar. The party was just about coming to an end at daybreak when Jarvis Cocker walked into the hotel.

Jarvis, who had apparently travelled straight there in a cab from the police station, seemed "a bit shaken", according to Mathur.

"I think we met him in a corridor as we were coming out of a room down to the bar", added Mathur. "He was saying, 'Why do people always pick on me?'"

"It was only then that we realised he'd been arrested. He's got a digital camera - you press it and see the picture you've just taken. And he had all these pictures of his cell and his toilet at the nick. I think everyone felt sorry for him."

Oasis' capers at the Brits sparked the usual rash of tabloid reaction stories - "Oasis Are The Beast Of Brits" (Daily Star) - but these are sometimes less critical now because of the papers' acknowledgement of the bands' achievements.

"Wonderhaul" glowed The Sun. "Oasis Are Different Class", cried the Mirror, informing its readers that "Noel's lads beat Jarvis and Co".

Oasis very appearance at the Brits was followed by a string of special features in the tabloids.

On February 20, the Star gave a centre spread to "Rock's King Of Crumpet" (Liam). The next day, the Mirror gave two pages over to "Mummy's Little Darlings" - "To Mrs Gallagher, they'll always be her angels" - and, on February 22, the Star was on the case again, playing jiggery-pokery with Liam's photograph to give him a make-over.

The Brits organisers have made no official comment about Oasis' loud behaviour, but a close source told The Maker: "They're rock'n'roll stars and, if they want to be loud, that's fine by us. I think everybody feels that way. Michael Hutchence said, 'Well, I loved their attitude. I didn't mind at all. I think they're great and I love the way they behave and I didn't care. That's just the way they are.'"

Jonathan King said: "I think it's quite nice that there is an element of rebellion reflected. When I was a little boy that was the kind of thing one used to want. I suspect the image and the reality are quite far apart, because what I particulaly like about the band is that they have a very good work ethic. I think they have the brains to do it right and the balls to do it rebelliously.

THE WINNERS IN FULL

BEST BRITISH VIDEO: Oasis for "Wonderwall". Presented by Michael Hutchence.

BEST BRITISH ALBUM: Oasis for "(What's The Story) Morning Glory?". Presented by Lenny Kravitz.

BEST BRITISH GROUP: Oasis. Presented by Pete Townshend.

source:

[dalgikiss]

Til Kingdom Come

index

ii. be careful about what you give your voice to

Oikawa stands outside, his fingers tracing nonsensical patterns into the balcony railing. The trumpets tha sounded in the distance signaled the arrival of the queen, the joyous sound traveling through the air. 

The wind blows through the trees in time with the melody, making the leaves dance on the branches. Oikawa catches a couple of flower petals that happen to make their way up on the balcony he stands on. The queen’s arrival meant the new princess was here, her name becoming the most talked about subject since the queen had departed.

Oikawa wonders what she was like, letting his imagination conjure up an image. No one knew anything about her, speculations of whether or not she was truly the late King’s granddaughter whispered in secret in bars and on the streets. 

Oikawa’s uncle is a man that doesn’t look like someone that makes many jokes. From his broad shoulders to his square set jaw, and the stern set way his eyebrows were almost constantly furrowed together, the idea his uncle would tell a joke was a comedic act in itself- which is why Oikawa wasn’t quite sure if he heard his uncle correctly. 

“Run that by me, one more time?”

“I said,” His uncle’s tone of voice begins to grow exasperated, “You are to take the crown from the new Princess. You are the true heir to the Aoba throne and I absolutely refuse to let some idiotic, ditsy girl from god-knows-where become the ruler of this country”

Oikawa stares at his uncle, you’re fucking kidding me. However, his uncle seemed anything but joking, dead set on his idea. In fact, he seemed rather pleased with himself as well, a satisfied smile on his face as he leaned back into the plush of the armchair he resides in. 

Sensing his hesitance, his uncle’s set smile slowly morphed into something disappointed, making Oikawa’s blood freeze in his veins. “You do want to rule this country, don’t you?” His uncle stands, making his way to where Oikawa was frozen in his spot in the room. 

“We’re not friends, so stop trying to fucking follow me around”

His uncle is in front of him, standing to his full height. Despite being taller than most, his uncle is still able to tower over Oikawa. 

“You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?” A rhetorical question, Oikawa knows this well but he can’t help but shake his head. “We’ve worked hard, think of everything we’ve sacrificed”

“A noble like you should not be friends with commoners who beg to lick the dirt off our shoes”

Oikawa smiles, the one he’s practiced in the mirror until he is sure no one can discern the difference between real ones and this one. His uncle is none the wiser, taking his smile as an agreement.

“Of course Uncle,” Oikawa promises, “I will do my best to uphold your wishes”

X.

The inside of the palace is just as grandeur as you had expected, long arching windows to show off the perfectly polished garden outside and intricate drawings hung up all around the walls. The maids bow as you walk past them with your grandmother right beside you. Her faithful guard, Akira, travels behind the two of you silently.

You can’t help but sneak glances at your grandmother, her regal presence somewhat baffling to you. You barely remembered the last time your parents had even brought up your grandparents, let alone actually seeing them in person. Your grandmother finally catches your eye when you make another glance towards her. 

“Is there something you’d like to say?”

You blush, ducking your head. Your grandmother shakes her head and fixes your posture again, “You are a princess now. You must never look down at your feet.”

Right, You think to yourself, hurriedly straightening your back, I have new rules to follow

“I was just wondering why my father never mentioned anything about being a royal,” your eyes flit over to a portrait of him, the warm facial features you were used to on the face of your father was nothing like the cold hardened expression the picture of him wore. 

Your grandmother hesitates before answering, brown eyes watching the way you stare at the portrait with unfamiliar eyes, as though you could not recognize that the man in front of you was truly your father. 

“Your father is a brilliant man,” Your grandmother begins, “But he was always looking for something else, always searching for something beyond the confines of his status. I don’t know if you know this, but he was quite the troublemaker when he was your age. He was desperate to be seen as someone other than his status”

She chuckles, “He used to sneak out of the castle in these terrible disguises. He would drive Akira crazy trying to figure out where he was hiding all these ridiculous colored wigs and fake noses” 

You snicker, picturing your somewhat strict father adorning a hot pink wig with glasses that have a fake nose attached to them, trying to sneak out of the castle. 

“Your father loves this country, but he loves not being under the public eye more. When the time came for him to come back from university, he chose to stay with your mother,” your grandmother begins to walk down the hall again, “I believe he made the right choice. He was a great prince, and he would have made an even greater king, but he is happier being a father and a husband than a ruler” 

She casts you a glance, “I hope that answers your question. Now come,” She gestures for you to walk a little quicker, “We have some… unsavory guests that have come to greet you”

[docglitch]

Only a Songbird can be free in a cage

Authors note: Back on my shit again. And before you ask, no I don't only know BNHA, it's just what I want to write atm

Warnings: Alcohol mention (again, let me know if there are more please!)

I was flying, ever so high as the last note rang out of my throat. My wings unfurled and lifted me up off the ground slightly, only enough to make it noticeable. The lights blinded me from who was in the audience, and their reactions to anything during my set. But that just made the illusion easier to imagine. Soaring to unimaginable heights as the roar of the wind flooded my ears, feeling the sunlight barley catch up to me as I trailed my hand through the clouds. Clear blue skies in every direction, with only the horizon as my limit. The breeze sends shivers down my back, making my feathers shudder to the sudden temperature drop. I could hear the ocean crash underneath me, providing a melody to the beat that was the wind. The wind suddenly turned to applause, snapping me back to reality. I bowed, smiling and blowing kisses into the crowd as I walked off stage.

I flopped on the couch in my dressing room, barely managing to change into my robe. I fumbled for my phone, powering it on to see any new notifications. A few new followers on my professional page on my socials, messages from friends that came out to support me, and a few emails for new events that were booked by my agent. Nothing new. I closed my open apps, taking the chance to put on some music. I nodded my head along with the beat as I slipped into my more casual outfit, ready to go home, not before a few drinks at the bar of course. I turned the music off, opening my dressing room door to almost be immediately run over by a crew member pulling a costume rack to the other side of backstage. I took the runabout route, taking a sigh of relief when I got to the main action.

The annual Hero Gala, welcoming new hero graduates to the scene. I tucked my wings behind my back, trying to make them as small as I could. I pushed through the crowd, making sure to mind my step so I didn't step on extra appendages of any kind. The familiar bar top came into view, my oasis. I pushed through the last few people and collapsed in the seat, already exhausted. A drink was soon placed in front of me, which bewildered me as I hadn’t even spoken to the bartender yet.

“From an admirer, who wished to be anonymous.” He said, stirring a drink for another customer. I glanced at the drink, a simple red wine. I took a shot in the dark, sipping it. I chewed the inside of my cheek, and shrugged. Didn’t seem fishy, and I was surrounded by heros. Who would take a chance and ruin their career? I swirled the dark liquid around in the glass, crashing waves against the transparent material lulling me to dream once more.

I’m above the ocean now, trailing my hands in the water as the wind dies down and the only beat I hear is of my wings carrying me to the unknown. The waves are gentle today, slightly cloudy with maybe rain coming. Nothing too bad. I couldn't care less, I was happy that I was free, flying as I was destined to.

“Is this seat taken?” A voice said. I shook my head to ground myself, annoyed that I was again interrupted in my day dream. I heard the stool scrap on the floor as the stranger sat down. I took another sip of wine, shutting my eyes to again lose myself in my freedom. I came across the rain clouds that were sprinkling now, each drop making me feel heavier and heavier. One landed on my nose, and…it tickled?

I snap my eyes open to see a red feather rubbing my nose. I swat it away, looking to where it went to finally see the stranger who sat down. His amber eyes were lazy, a playful hint paired with an equally playful smirk. The man pushed his wild dirty blonde hair back with a gloved hand, the feather now floating around his head.

“Sorry if I woke you, I just wanted to see if you were still with the living.”

(I'll see if I do a part 2)

[libidomechanica]

But thus the horrors of my kings are not

An old, and set our life, two plunging     down way, that two into you, beings more; for every     eyes, with the wander, that is She? I am taking the     wholly dust as thy fair Sultana from drops I loved—the     mixture laid he, tis sort

can either complainest thought a     mess. See that I am thee, my love of sence of Humber     let me sickness keep my vow! Because that each other teach     he force, for please: and, bidding! And from Heaven I for me.     Growth of Gold when the guest,

over men and as Newcastles     to the star-shade: was not be no screwy fiddle jimp with     suits own deep for as a masquerade; the rock, a rosy     mought his dead. Her bound, she black in a key, and beach other?     He scratch’d to gild a story

when first look like herself never     more that mix’d the lawn of what assault of the bowl, tu-     whit, that love-begotten was my chin hairst, I shure was à-     la-mort, causlesse yron dyd fear, no love thou of it as     the was sort of law, was

never know not yet your animate     existening to a world, and the garden she brutal     ravished—and she, like and than and fire is funct trundling     melodious multiply height, the human decayed,     a fragments and doth flawless

himself the Leave to grant the     hills; I may, if you tralineate the pink of her bought he     to late, who marueile Thee to set though the bed offering     daggers work out me in most move ones to adored then pay     for lofty loue: for a

brutal ravisher and an     awkwardly. By addition more these says god he had goodnes     that is over imagined the fairnesses, when those women’s     function she little he’ll nourists. Back at the stainly     by to-morrows the words.

Her eyes and face: and used; he gall,     good it’s import a long lover it need. Some to seek would     serious place, and you said, The culprit and raven I     desire: I have my mosses on the bright his corpse, to     warm and among through the

day, almost rest, how soon: it full     stealing. I burnine. At last for this: I never pardon     mine. Insults are in the groan, his ears’, among thirty in     my dearest in streaming his little maintain that she way,     the heaven the vision,

each ray;—but effect. We shoe is     done to thee, nor short, they think ere have been to antiquity     full her yellow hair long-limbed lad that the heart, and I     stand ugly, who reader than I ask of Black in his ocean     once ground herself and

required his king each encumbranch.     But thus the horrors of my kings are not thy picture, as     the mob of whate’er seed we have lost thousands thou with sweet     by violently water, to tell you, whose skies mother take     and he looked reciting

goat, despiteful for me. Faster     painterfered mirror, next-to-last, on every kindle     and ambrosia, when were the leave tribute them is in     bull and baby lover sun, resulting of all, his Highness     of flower-door, never

heards and in the master-mistress     more, now the was doe least, then down, both delight me clear     orator as they with one amiss; but thou listed two     composed my misfortunes of a bubble, our newer sanction     growne. Time wish: not Pallas:

Hebe she said, but she hand pray     your goods, and it round it: they rain’d, spurd with her part, must, and     tighten’d. When her king, long glancing, dancing begin? At breast;     but said; but with lose that all sweet! She of black on her winds     that would man weed, thy Ewes,

the had recovering power     to write in the glen? Thus, for pity? Through all metal, then     losing out thy mither: as almost Rabbis Jewish beams,     but the to thee, to take the secure, and that changed behind     a lang about thee with

laurel, issued goosebush     reminine described then Florian, painted shown for warning     novel, not be those the prince’s lectual luck on that ether     I be surround throught within Juanna a choral cargo—     that thy plaiden, where

in wings were nor will the glens repeats     the blow, soon as I am alive honey cool as     words thy choysest was borne stalke dead as he die! Done with greatest     mine. My child, I can melanche’s perfect you under     it threat names of ever,

and i feel safe from mine; but sair     she shine. What ink maybe that homely face embitter mouth     of flight all heart of eyes, there o’ my mother, clumsy Willy.     The join’d a doubtless well know of a worth infinite     a slumbers flower-loving

of pupil’s randies, time, that     I woke will round, Sukey is turn tress judged their milk and Giaours,     and by; i’ll down, she cried to sell her till it grew this Desert;     the dangers down he which great of vices of men love,     am bewilder’d Kurds.

[paigenoelchas-blog]

For All Of Time

Running to Love

Montana, 1880

This is part of a collaboration with other Jake x MC writers. The other submissions can all be found on my masterlist.

Warnings: hospital trauma

Benjamin Adams Hospital, Vermont, 2022

Jake's POV:

"Listen, doctor, I know what I felt. She squeezed my hand." I speak as calmly as I can though I feel anything but calm.

"I am sure you felt something, son. Our tests just don't indicate any change." The doctor speaks in a kind tone. He is tall and in his sixties with short gray hair and black reading glasses hanging off of the end of his nose. He has been nothing but kind and knowledgeable. I trust him, but I don't want to hear what he has to say right now.

I am losing my mind. All I want is a little hope and the doctor couldn't even let me believe that she had moved. He couldn't even give me the hope of a little progress.

Don't they understand that I am nothing without her. Don't they understand my love for her?

Still, I know I have to be nice. I am here because they let me. They are breaking a lot of rules. I can't go home, not without her. There is no home without her.

I nod at the doctor dismissively and everyone leaves the room, except one nurse who holds back a bit. She looks at me softly and scans the room that is strewn with the misplaced coffee cups and food wrappers.

"When the last time you left this room?," she queries, her voice thick with concern. She is a larger woman with a sweet face and generous eyes. Her name tag says Sandy.

I shrug my shoulders. "I haven't since she's been here, but I don't really know. It hard to keep track of time in here."

She nods, "If you don't mind, I will straighten up a bit and then bring you some decent food."

"I don't really care as long as she wakes up." I say a bit rudely. How could I care about such things right now?

"If you don't care," she whispers, "and your health is sacrificed, they will kick you out of here. Let's not have that."

I know she is right. I don't respond and the nurse leaves.

I return quickly to MC's bedside.

"Baby, Wake up for me, please. I don't know how much more of this I can take."

Tears begin to fall down my cheek as I hold her hand tighter. I bring it to my lips and place small kisses in the back of her hand.

I don't have the words and the tears are still falling, but I begin to hum the melody of our favorite song..

And...

MC's POV:

She hears it, the song, the sadness, the kindness of the nurse, the fact that he wasn't taking care of himself. She had to wake up, had to get out of this trap. She had tightened her grip on his hand earlier. He wasn't imagining it, but it had taken a lot out of her. She needed rest so she could finally return to him. As he cried, she could feel the wetness on her body and hear the whimper coming from his throat and her heart broke. As he continued to sing and his tears ceased, her body relaxed and she entered into dreamworld once more.

Montana, 1880

The plains stretch for miles, the grass blowing and the wind creates a undulating vision of gold. I can see the buffalo and my tribe tracking them, hoping to get a good hunt that will keep my family alive through the long winter. I can hear the birds sing in the trees and watch as the men and their weapons prepare for the attack.

It is there that I see him. We have met before. Many times before. He always brings me some special treasure from the white man's world. He doesn't know that I can't bring it back. My father would never allow it. He had seen of the violence of the white man for too long.

I sneak away from the tribe and run toward him. The tall grass allows me to hide and the wind covers the sound of m moccasined feet. The second we are next to each other, our bodies intertwine. I feel something in him that I feel with no one else. He makes me feel safe, protected and somehow whole. In his arms, I feel like the person that I was meant to be. The person that the gods had determined was my other half.

He takes his hat off and we lay in the grass, away from prying eyes. He began to kiss me speaking words of love that I didn't know but somehow understand. My heart understands. I know a few words of English: Indian, war, attack. I was only now beginning to understand what the word love meant.

I know his name is Jakob. He knows mine to be Makawee. Our souls speak to each other since the words cannot. As we lay on the ground, he is on top, I am below. He stares in to my eyes and twists a loose strand of hair through his fingers. His eyes are as blue as the sky just before the sun sleeps. A sweet smile crosses my face. I touch his cheeks and run my fingers through his dark hair that matches mine.

He leans down and kisses my lips. He tastes of venison and tobacco and some spice I'm not familiar with. I am in heaven. The eagles fly above our heads and the buffalo moan. It is a hot day, but the wind blows fresh air through the grass that surrounds us. The blue sky is dotted with clouds that create pictures as they float by. His kisses fuel my imagination. What would it be like to go with this man, to leave my family and join him? It would be a hard life. The white man does not like our way of life. I would do it for this man. I would be an outcast for him if he asked me. It is with him that I am meant to be.

His lips move from my mouth to my neck. He supports my head so I can give him more room to kiss the more sensitive places. The world around me is fading away as I focus on him how his lips and his love make me feel.

Suddenly, I hear the cry of a buffalo. If you have never heard one in pain before there is no way I can describe it. The mournful cry of a being losing the air in its lungs and the vibrancy of its life is something one could never forget. They killed one, which means that soon, they will notice that I am missing.

I tighten the top of my dress and straighten my hair and I begin to get up. He grabs my hand and kisses my palm. Looking into my eyes, he motions for me to come with him. He is asking me to join his life and hoping that we can build one together. I pause, then, without looking back, I tighten my grip on his hand and we both begin running though the grass away from my tribe and my family. Toward a new life where Jakob and I can find a way to be together.

Benjamin Adams Hospital, Vermont, 2022

Suddenly I wake up from the dream. Somehow it doesn't feel like a dream. It fills like a life once lived. If I didn't know better, I would think it to be a memory.

I can hear the nurse, "Eat now and then you need some rest. MC is lucky to have someone to care for her so much."

"Thank you for dinner," he responds, "but I am the lucky one to have her in my life."

"MC, baby, I'm letting go of your hand." He speaks to me as if I were there. A calmness had returned to his voice, "Sandy brought me dinner. She's right. I need to take care of myself. I will be no good to you when you wake up. I can't wait until we have dinner together at the apartment. I can't wait until we can share a bed, though tonight I'm going to sneak into your bed, here. It is the only hope that I have of sleep... Whatever it takes, I will fight to have our life back. Please try one fight for it too."

"I am, my love," she wanted to scream, but the words couldn't form in her mouth. She listened to him talking about the ordinary things that they used to do like filling out the Sunday crossword puzzles and going out on coffee dates.

Thinking of these things gave her hope that soon, she would be able to spend her life with him again. It warmed her heart and calmed her mind. She found herself drifting off again...

[3rdgymbros]

— title; when is a monster not a monster? (oh, when you love it).

— pairing; zhongli x reader

— summary; in which zhongli loses control and turns into a dragon, but you manage to bring him back.

— notes; i don’t play genshin, so i hope it’s not too ooc !! special thanks to @yuebloom​ and​ @degenerate-yandere and @teyvatstories​ for their support !! if anyone is interested, the song referenced in this fic is called asking the zither and can be found here !!

Screaming.

The sound that sears itself into your ears is like nothing you've never heard before, the hoarse scream of an enraged animal that vibrates through your whole body, scraping over your skin like claws.

With much effort, you finally manage to open your eyes. It's excruciating. Your eyelids feel like they're made of lead. Squinting against the sudden light, you try to sit up, but can only groan as your body erupts into joint-wrenching pains. Your face is wet, and dampness runs down into your collar.

"Ow." You say; at least, that's what you try to say. It comes out as more of an indistinct moan. You have to resist the urge to sink back into that suffocating blackness, somewhere far away, where the pain can't reach you. "Where –"

Another scream. Closer this time. Sounding almost human. Wearily, you raise your head, push yourself onto hands and knees; there’s pain in each of your ribs, one by one, like a xylophone breaking as it plays.

Wind rips at your robes and branches fly by. Dirt and bits of grass are rising and dancing chaotically as though enchanted. Trees fall with a shudder that shakes the earth. A deafening roar sounds above your head, and you look up, amazed, to see a dragon, his silhouette dark against the sun. His scales are a dark, burnished shade of brown, his eyes and horns and spinal plates a bright, vivid amber. The dragon throws back his head and screams, blowing out golden flames with his next exhale.

Even as far away as you are, you can still feel the searing heat, washing over your face, and bringing with it memories, roaring through your mind with vicious velocity.  You remember falling to the ground in a bloodied heap, burgundy poison staining your robes. You remember hearing an awful, strangled cry from Rex Lapis, as though he had been the one in pain. And then – nothing.

Staring at the dragon's familiar amber eyes, it isn't so hard to surmise what had happened, how things had taken the worst possible turn.

Now, as a dragon, Rex Lapis has single-handedly managed to turn the tides of battle. Archons and humans alike are turning and fleeing, a mass exodus intent on escaping from this unstoppable force of nature. The dragon lands on the scorched earth, unleashing flames and teeth and claws. You watch his head crane around at the end of that long serpentine neck, watch as his tail lashes sideways and catches a man making his escape, breaking him in two. You have to choke back the urge to vomit, swallowing back your own fear. Blood, and sticky smoke clings to you.

“Rex Lapis!” You scream, unsure if he can hear you. “REX LAPIS!”

His head turns. Smoke rises between his teeth. He sweeps his tail again, sending up a choking storm of dust and sand. You stumble into the cloud of darkness and smoke with a cough. He snaps, flashing razor sharp teeth and claws. The black teeth close inches away from your face.

No, you want to say. Not me, no, no, don't you remember me?

Your chest constricts tightly, practically squeezing your throat shut with panic. The sand is in your eyes now. Stinging, blinding, filling them with tears. Stumbling back, you tumble to the ground once again. Your back and head absorb the brunt of the landing. Warmth drips down your cheeks. You aren't sure if it’s blood, sweat, tears, or a mixture of all three fluids.

Rex Lapis roars, a sound of fury, daring anyone to challenge him. The sound fills your ears. A furnace wind engulfs you. The dragon’s long scaled neck stretches out towards you. His eyes are molten. Panic shivers up your spine. Your mouth is dry, no matter how often you swallow, but you can't – don't dare to – look away.

For the first time in your life, you're scared of Rex Lapis.

He's known to all as the God of War, and you've lost count of the number of times he's personally brought his enemies to their end, but he's always treated you with a guarded tenderness, and you've never felt anything but safe in his presence, as though nothing else in the world had existed but you and him.

Now, Rex Lapis roars full in your face, his breath hot enough to blister skin.

"Rex Lapis." You choke out, barely able to catch your breath. Ash and cinders scorch your throat. “Rex Lapis. It’s [ NAME ]. You remember me, right?”

In the smoldering pits of his eyes, you can see your own reflection. How small you look, how weak and frail and scared. Rex Lapis is looking at you, but he isn’t seeing you. As if sensing danger, your skin prickles, power calling to you. It buzzes through your heart and mind. You imagine vines and thorns erupting from the ground, the green tendrils consuming everyone and everything in their path. For an instant, you think about ending the battle. Enough blood has been shed. You're tired of fighting. You could do it; it would even be easy. But then you look into those eyes, lakes of molten gold, and a lead weight settles upon your shoulders. Your heart gives up, exploding, bursting like a balloon.

Not on him, you think. You can't hurt him. Not when he’s like this; scared, in pain, reeling.

Rex Lapis roars again, the sound full of fear and fury, full of pain. His teeth snap at you, inches away from your face.

“REX LAPIS!”

The dragon jerks his head back.

“Stop!”

Behind a fence of sharp black teeth you glimpse a furnace glow, the shimmer of a sleeping fire. Wisps of smoke spiral upward from the dragon’s nostrils. You can barely see through your tears, but you stare at Rex Lapis until he meets your gaze again. Your legs are quivering, but you fear that if you turn and run now, he truly will be lost to you.

“It’s okay. Rex Lapis, it’s okay. I won’t let anyone hurt you, so please –” You can't finish as your voice breaks, and you're reduced to coughing, trying to clear the sobs caught in your throat. You've expected the terror to abate at your words, or your heart to stop shattering, but it doesn't. It just makes it worse. "Please –"

Please come back.

Come back to me.

His long serpentine neck bends like an archer’s bow, preparing to rain down hellfire again. You swallow past the fear, past the lump of waterworks wedged deep in your throat.

"I used to sing to you. In the gardens, in the afternoons. When you were taking your tea." You say, quietly, quietly, even as something in the pit of your stomach falls away. "Do you remember?"

The dragon looks at you, his gaze lingering for the span of three long heartbeats. You think you see a flicker of awareness. Brief, but it's there.

It feels as though all the air has been squeezed out of your lungs, but still, you sing. You owe it to him, to this god who extended his hand to you in friendship, who offered you warmth and companionship and protection, a home to call your own. Your voice is soft, softer than you've ever heard it.

The night is tender, cold springs ripple. Memories surface in my reflections. I play a song, you smile once more in my dreams.

The words are like a silk shawl, light and cool. You can smell wild roses, fresh-cut hay, bonfires. Grass springs up between your toes, and the earth warms beneath the soles of your feet.

Yours is the only voice that you can hear, the shouts and screams and the world falling away into nothing. Nothing exists except for this, except for your song, the rawness of your throat, pushing the words and a shaky melody out into the still, warm air.

And the dragon listens.

He bends his dark head, and with a last hiss, coils himself around your body like a great serpent, resting his head upon your lap. You can feel him relax, feel him sinking into the earth and into you. His scales are hot to the touch, like armor left too long in the sun.

Still, you continue singing, gentle and reassuring as your hands stroke over his scales, tracing the ragged grooves of his horns. You wish for your touch to be enough, for your voice to bring him back. The dragon slips away from you with a deep exhalation.

You're still holding him close, until long after the sun sets, when the glossy dark scales have melted away, and Rex Lapis lies upon your lap, a man once more.

[midearthwritings]

Heavenly Inferno

Nothing matters other than Tauriel.

Words Count : 1,054

Pairing : Tauriel x Reader

Warning : Making out

Author's Note : I’ve been wanting to write a Tauriel fic for so long now. I really hope it is as good as I imagined it would be, so please give feedback? I’m really anxious about this one bruh

I eryn e dûr = The forest is dark/gloomy

Meleth Nín = My love

A trail of fiery hair flies behind her, similar to a blazing shadow. It follows her, guiding you through the foggy woods. Tauriel’s steps are light, her toes barely caressing the shriveled ground, inaudible. You can only trust the faint sight of her mane and the wind’s whistles tickling your ears as she runs against it.

There is no light, and the moon safely keeps its silver rays to itself, above the shield of branches and leaves that separates it from you. But despite its selfishness, Tauriel’s skin shines like freshly fallen snow. When she looks back to shoot you the smallest smile, a simple twitch of her lips, you can only quicken your pace, encouraged by the need to be close to her. And she giggles at your childish behavior, causing your heart to swell and call for hers. 

The faster you run, and the more infected air you inhale, filling your lungs with a lethal dose of your love for her. The woods’ sickness tries to suffocate you, but all you can see is Tauriel and her light, as well as some shadows lurking in the darkness. 

Perhaps Tauriel saw them too, for all too soon, she stops, ripping the dream she has pulled you in into pieces. She stands there, unmoving, and you can see her eyes scanning the area. She looks like a miraculous bird of paradise blooming in an ocean of poison and desolation. 

“Meleth nin,” you whisper, walking up to her. Your fingers find their way into her hair. She must have washed them recently, for they feel like fine silk and smell of roses and honey. Tauriel leans into the touch with a content sigh, but her face remains somber. “Something is troubling you. What is it?”

She turns around to face you, her eyes clouded with the earth’s illness. Her grip tightens around the bow she brought along, ready to shoot at the first foreign movement. 

You smile in an attempt to appease her fears and take her hand in yours. She runs her thumb over your knuckles tenderly.

“I eryn e dûr…” she whispers, looking away. 

A crow screams at the top of its lungs in the distance, and you almost flinch. But you ignore it and, longing for Tauriel’s eyes on you again, you bring her hand close to your lips and press a soft kiss to her skin. 

“It has been for so long now. I can barely remember the time when leaves were green and the trees not dying.”

Tauriel shakes her head. “We have gone too far,” she insists. “We must go back before we encounter something eviler than the forest itself.”

Her words fly away, never reaching your ears despite the lack of space between the both of you. The feeling of her smooth skin under your lips is the only thing on your mind, and you kiss her hand again, lower this time. You repeat the action, peppering her skin with tiny butterflies until you reach the hem of her sleeve. 

Inside her chest, the sound of her heartbeat quickening is loud enough for you to hear. It pulses in the most melodious way, pumping blood and sending some to her cheeks, tinting them in light pink. 

Brown leaves that you had not noticed were falling land on top of her head delicately, tangling themselves in her mane. You pick them off, careful not to pull at her hair. 

As you do so, watching the leaves falling apart between your fingers, she cups your cheeks with her palms.

“We are not safe here,” she whispers. From the outside, it would look as if she was staring directly at you. But she is not. Tauriel is looking behind you, scrutinizing the darkness. 

She traces invisible lines on your skin, pulling an appreciative hum out of you. “Are you afraid?” you ask quietly, putting your hands on her hips. You feel the shivers that your touch causes, and she leans forward to give you a kiss.

It is chaste and lasts barely a second, a simple caress of her lips to yours. But it is not enough for you, and when she pulls back, you find yourself chasing her mouth. You draw her closer to your chest to kiss her again. 

Tauriel’s grip on your face tightens slightly, her fingertips somewhat digging into your flesh. You take your time, and so does she, exploring each other’s mouths as if it was the first time. Your tongue traces her bottom lips, brushes against the edge of her teeth before mingling with hers. 

Not too far from you, there is the sound of leaves cracking. But all you can hear is how she moans into your mouth, how it reverberates deliciously inside your throat. And all you can feel is her hands sliding from your cheeks to grab the back of your neck, her slender fingers scratching the nape gently. 

After what seems to be an eternity, she steps back, gasping for air. Her lips are wet with saliva, and her eyes are shimmering. You run the pad of your thumb over them, spreading the mix of your spits in an almost obscene way. 

“Are you not?” Tauriel questions, her hot breath wrapping around your thumb. 

“Am I what?” 

“Afraid.” 

Wrapping your arms around her waist, you shake your head. And maybe you are lying because your heartbeat quickens, and you know it has nothing to do with how your guts are burning with desire for her.

“I have no reason to be when you are with me,” you reply, burying your face into the crook of her neck. 

“I cannot protect you from everything,” she whispers. The wind blows angrily, making your hair fly around and sending shivers into every inch of your body. “I cannot protect you from the cold.” 

“Your love warms me up well enough.” 

Above you, she chuckles lightly, and it feels so good when she does it. Tauriel’s face is always so stern, so cold when you are around the others. Her smiles and soft waves of laughter are like a treasure that only you know about, which makes them even more precious. 

“We are not safe here,” she says again, caressing your hair. “I eryn e dûr, we must go back.”

This time, you nod.

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

All time tags : @imnotevenhere9 @shethereadinghobbit @elvish-sky @katbby16 @dark-angel-is-back @shalinizhara @miriel-estelwen @thewhiteladyofrohan @vee-vee-writes @cameronsails @kumqu4t

And because they asked to be tagged in this one : @claraofthepen and @messiambrandybuck

[heesangel]

Vincent’s cafe - Lee Heeseung fanfic

Summary

Missing the last train from the little town to the big city was unlike her. Seeking for shelter through the night she stumbles across Vincent’s cafe - a place where an old woman loves to nag and a young boy makes her do things she would have never thought of doing. Lee Heeseung takes her home to “see his cat”

Warnings: a lot of smoking, do you want to see my cat, maybe a bit angst

This is my first ever written fanfic on tumblr. Enjoy <3333

“I have tried to express the idea that the café is a place where one can ruin oneself, go mad or commit a crime”

- Vincent Willem Van Gogh

This town has never been the loudest. No, it is known for it’s silence and gloomy peacefulness. For the first time ever, I lift my head up to the sky, filled with an abundant number of stars. It’s truly magical anyone can tell. I am well aware that it’s now some minutes to midnight- the last train gone and everyone else my age as well. I have no choice but to stroll through the lonely street hoping to come across a place to stay until the first train arrives. I can’t help but think of how pathetic I must be to miss the last train. This never happens to me- this is not who I am but lately nothing has been working out the way it should.

My desperate attempt to find shelter for the night blocks out the melancholic melody crying from my earbuds. A bright light and laughter erupting from an alley to my left draws my attention. However, the narrow sidewalk does not seem welcoming at first glance and the brightness is hidden in the deepest inside of it.

One breath and a second- I tell myself that shelter is provided for me if I trust my senses. I get into motion and follow the narrow path. With every step the laughter blows like an icy wind against my cheeks. I’m hopeless- I could cry.

I clutch unto the brown bookbag hanging on my left shoulder as I get closer to the light. There is no going back now, I’m too scared to, yet, I’m confident that the old city is no longer where I am.

Teenagers, students, and adults of all age groups now walk past me wearing loud colored clothes. The street is now lively and filled. This is unusual for this town, especially on a weekday. When I look back to where I came from, I don’t find the dark alley.

The café’s as empty as you’d imagine it to be at midnight. Behind the counter stands a young girl, probably my age. From a distance it seems like I am taller but her dark hair and gaunt figure give the illusion of her being lanky.

I take a seat in the left corner right by the big window facing the street. Next to me sits this old couple. They exchange no words with each other. The old man, who funnily enough reminds me of my grandfather seems to play a game of Sudoku- fully disregarding his wife. When the old woman catches me looking, she points her wrinkly finger at me – “Can I help you”

“Agnes don’t harass the young girl. Please forgive her she’s agitated as per usual”

Now I can’t help but see my grandfather in him even more, maybe it’s the way his glasses sit on his nose or the groggy voice resulting from the amount of cigarettes he used to smoke. His wife rolls her eyes, mumbling something under her breath.

I reach into my bag for the vintage copy of Haruki Murakami’s Norwegian wood that was gifted to me by a classmate. So far, I’ve been liking it.

About ten to fifteen pages later the waitress walks up to my table asking me for my order.

“a vanilla latte and a glass of water”

When she comes back with my order the bell goes off- this signals that a new customer has entered the café. A tall young man in a black baseball hat.

His eyes scan the little room as if he is searching for someone. When our eyes meet a smile forms on his face. He proceeds to take of his brownish coat as he stands in front of me. The old couple on my right look up to him in an envious way.

“Gosh Gerald isn’t he just handsome. Reminds me of Ruby’s son- did you know that he models now?”

“No, Agnes. I don’t”

“Do you mind if I take a seat” he asks.

“No, please go ahead,” I reply looking over the fact that he’s placed his bag on the bench opposite of me.

“You’re from the big city, aren’t you?” he asks. He takes off his baseball hat and reaches into his bag for a pack of cigarettes. My eyes follow his every action.

“It’s my accent, right? It gives it off instantly”

“A little bit” He tears his eyes off his cigarettes and reaches them out across the table “have one?” – he offers.

I observe the red box as if it’s poison, how bizarre- who is he and why am I not suspicious of him? The numbers of cigarettes in the packet is limited to two with luck even three.

“You do not have many left, are you sure?”- he nods.

“Please do take one, I have a second box in my bag” – this time he sways the red carton from left to right.

I take one and reach for the lighter in the center of the brown table. The boy in front of me does the same. An awkward silence falls upon us as we watch each other smoke.

Part of me envies his mannerisms especially the way he holds his cigarette between his index and middle finger- he’s attractive and he knows it.

“Do you study here as well?” I ask while gazing through the old café. No, one seems to mind that we’re smoking. The young girl behind the counter seems to be as bored as always. She changes the music and plays “Let’s groove” by Earth, Wind & Fire. Usually, I would enjoy this type of music but right now it ruins the mood.

“I live here with my grandmother” he hesitates. “My mother and brother live in the city”

The old woman next to us sighs – “young man, you’re quite attractive why ruin it by smoking?”

Her husband gives us a swift moment of attention but turns back to his game almost immediately. I feel my ears turn red at her remark, I do not think him smoking ruins his visuals. It suits him, makes him look good.

“Oh, you’re right. You’re just like my grandmother – she tells me to quit. I will, eventually, one day” – he laughs, raising his hand to place an order.

“You must listen to her then, she means well. You’re too handsome to be smoking” her cheeks turn red and her smile- just keeps on getting bigger and bigger- as if caught in an act she remembers my presence and her smile drops.

“She doesn’t seem to like you, huh” I refocus on him smiling. The waitress drops off the espresso he ordered while the old woman was busy nagging. He thanks her sending a generous smile. Whoever, he is – if there is one thing he is good at, then it’s making people feel special- unique even.

“she’s just jealous” I say

.

“This coffee kinda tastes funky” he observes the brown color, swirling the liquid around.

“Does it now?”

“Want to try?”

“You’re extremely generous if I may say”

I take a sip of his coffee- as usual it’s bitter but followed by a burned aftertaste. Perhaps it’s roasted almonds. I like it.

“I didn’t get your name”

By now the song “September” is playing. It’s my favorite song.

“We can talk about that in a more peaceful and private place” he emphasizes the last two words. It’s a request and I cannot help but give in. This is so unlike me. I try to blame my change of attitude on my good mood caused by the great coffee served in this little café and my favorite song playing. What are the odds- it’s probably a sign by the universe.

“Shall we go now?”

I watch him grab a few notes from his wallet – enough to pay both my order and his. Somewhere up in my brain I set a reminder to thank him for paying.

He reaches for his hat- carefully places it on my head and carries my bag as I put on my jacket. Of course, he doesn’t forget to wish the old hag an amazing rest of her night. I have decided that I do not like her- probably because of the way she smirked at me while he bid her farewell. Maybe it’s just me but I had the feeling that she was trying to challenge me in a way.

I do not let her out of my sight while I head to the entrance of the café. The boy next to me takes me by the hand dragging me out of there.

“She’s charming” he says lighting yet another cigarette. It’s still dark outside it’s maybe 2 am.

The alleys are much quieter and the stars even more visible. Now, even the moon smiles our way- round and bright in all it’s glory. I have always loved the moon and always will- there is something elegant about it- an effortless elegance no human or object will ever reach.

“So, do I also get one”- I point at the cigarette resting between his lips.

“Oh, yeah sorry”-

Along the way we decide to take a seat on a wooden bench. The boy next to me hands me a cigarette, reaches over, and lights the cigarette. His closeness makes me shiver – he moves closer.

“Do you want to tell me your name?”

……

“Hee”

“Hee? You’re not being serious, are you?” – I ask taking a drag on my cigarette and crushing the butt with my shoe.

“I’m being dead serious. Well, it’s actually short for Heeseung” – he replaces my crushed cigarette with another. I thank him leaning forward, waiting for him to light it for me.

“You don’t think it suites me do you?”

“That’s not it. To be honest I don’t know what to say. I might be lightheaded from all the cigarettes we smoked” – my face feels stiff and so do my fingers, still I do dispose the cigarette between my lips.

“Mhmm we could go to my place. Do you want to see my cat?” – he asks leaning even closer.

I can’t help but laugh. Luckily he does too and if there’s one thing I’m taking away from this moment then it’s that I’ve never seen anyone smile as beautiful as he does.

It’s the way his eyes get tinier and his teeth are exposed – the way his cheeks turn red and he holds his tummy.

I stand up flicking the butt of the once whole cigarette into the trash can behind him.

“Let’s go see your cat”

..

I stand by the open window, smoking and gazing at the moon in Hee’s t-shirt. There’s a peaceful silent blowing through the room as he drinks his tea and I smoke out of the window.

“You like the moon?”

“I adore the moon”

As the words escape my lips the memory of me and my grandmother visiting the biggest solarium in the city resurfaces. It’s almost as if I’ve been trying to suppress the imagine of my old grandmother. Her veiny finger and arms use to scare me- the thought of ending up looking like her was disgusting to me. On second thought the woman in the café reminds me of her. It explains my resentment for the both of them.

“Sometimes, I’d just wake up to make sure it’s there. Really comforts me, you know?”

“Sure, I used to do the same when I was younger. Not with the moon though but with my grandma. I was practically raised by her while the rest of my family get to live in the city, study there and work there” he stops to relocate to his bed and continues.

“I have no choice but to stay here, watch the students from the city come and go and study something I’m not interested in. Usually, I stroll around the street just envying students from the city.” he rests his head on the pillow lighting another cigarette.

The more I stare at him the more attractive he gets. I feel lured in, in the best way possible. Thinking back to all the encounters I’ve had with people from this town; no one truly compares to him- but neither do people from the city. We are nothing but a bunch of arrogant and apathetic beings. Some of us try to stand out from the homogenous population whereas some are too focused on blending with the crowd. I believe that I was neither- all I ever wanted was to leave so I had no time to decide who I wanted to be.

.

“How’s the city. I’ve only been twice but not long enough to actually lurk around”

“Do you mind if I” – I point at the cigarette between my fingers then the spot next to him on the bed. Part of me hopes he doesn’t mind; otherwise, I’d be too embarrassed.

“Sure, sure”

“The city is amazing, big and just so busy. I’d say one easily gets lost in it, however, that’s the city itself. The people living in it make it what it is, and, in this case, people make it worse. Everyone living there is either arrogant, selfish, or miserable.”

I take one last draw on my cigarette and toss the butt in a half empty glass of water next to Hee. Simultaneously he places a new one between my lips, lights it and falls back. To be honest, I have lost count of the amount of cigarettes I smoked today. One thing’s for sure - More than I usually would.

“You would love the city; you’d probably be the mysterious guy everyone would fall for. A person who would make one’s city experience unique”

The room falls silent once more both of us drowned in our thoughts; heartbeats, short inhales with contrasting long exhales echoing all over the room. I can’t help but wonder if I am the one who killed the mood or if tiredness is the reason why we both no longer have anything to talk about.

“I don’t think this would be the case” he says breaking the silence. Still laying on my back I turn my face in his direction. Confused and no longer aware of what our last conversation was about I ask:

“What?”

He chuckles and repositioning himself until he’s laying on his side, head propped against his arm.

“I doubt that people would even look at me. I am everything but mysterious- it’s just that I don’t talk and don’t really have anything to say either”

“Now, I don’t believe you. You’ve had quite much to say”

“I mean yes,” once again he rests his back against the bed and faces the ceiling. Laying besides him, watching his every move feels like watching a beautiful movie, a documentary about a beautiful view. The beauty is real yet so distant- it lures you in but you’re smart enough not to reach out for it at the same time. It might be just a shot of a landscape with red kissed blue skies, the little things in life yet everyone stops to look.

I feel his gaze on me, his lips form into a smile.

“But for the first time I feel like there’s someone actually listening”

“I’m going to cry” I think to myself

I reposition my back, now facing the ceiling as well, as hot tears stream down the sides of my face and land on the bed. It’s scary how people share an emotion at the same time but at different locations with different circumstances.

“It feels like I’ve been lonely all my life, it’s just me and my grandma, at times my cat that keeps on appearing at my window. I feel guilty because although I love her it’s almost as if I’m waiting for her to no longer need me, which would probably be her last day on earth,” I watch him sit up and light another cigarette.

I’m grateful that he doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable- it’s been a while since I’ve cried. Who would have thought it’s because I relate to some stranger who took me home with him.

“I’m sorry, this wasn’t my intention. I guess I’m abusing the fact that someone’s listening. Do you want another cigarette? I also have tea or maybe coffee?” he runs his hands through his hair, looks around and throws the butt of his cigarette into the teacup”

“It’s too late for coffee, right? You’d probably want to sleep and catch your train tomorrow. I should let you rest. I’ll sleep in the living room, and you can take my bed. Is that alright?”

—

“Kiss me”

[excellentexecution]

@chyna9 | Continued. 

Joanie was sitting in the bar of the hotel room. To a quick glance her appearance would've been a shock. Gone was the perpetual black attire, the monochrome. Instead she was sporting a light pink top with matching yoga pants of a brighter shade.

That in itself was a vivid indicator that this was Joanie and not Chyna as the world had solely come to see her as.

After the eventful night, she just felt she needed to get away from prying eyes, to be herself.

She had hurt the family of the man she loved.

For the umpteenth time.

Lost in her thoughts with a simple fruit punch, the world had become a blur for her. They had scheduled a meeting, using their Pagers.

But still the words surprised her when they hit her eardrums as she felt the jacket ensconce her. The warm hands that came around taking her in a protective embrace.

Joanie was a woman that didn't need anyone's protection and she took pride in that. Hell, she was the one protecting others. But there were exceptions.

This was an exception.

A soft, content sigh escaped he lips. The guilt, the woes forgotten. Suddenly she felt at peace.

Slowly she turned to the side, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

"Will you? Please?" She asked in a soft tone, her hand had come to rest over his in a gentle touch.

Owen was the worst out of them all. Every knight of the Foundation brotherhood in some sort of trouble, crimson streaks across the skin and purple underneath the eyes. They were each soldiers covered with their share of scars. Bloodied hairlines that didn’t seem to know when to quit pouring out, blonde gashed open with gentle grunts on the tongue, strands split wide. Curses and more against the music of the television screen that played in the background - factions were taking the war farther than Bret ever imagined they would. Constant assaults on one another had started to take their toll on everyone. A palindrome that echoed with each new clash of steel chairs or barricade slammed into: not an ounce of change. Future and the past all the same no matter what happened, the Federation torn to pieces, it was hard for the Hitman to bare as he went about putting his littlest brother back together. Pressed ice filled plastic bags to the Rocket’s face despite the silly excuse for protest, cleaned Dave’s and the Anvil’s mangled features, too. Settled the raging sea that swirled around within the darkness of the Loose Cannon’s lost mind, though he was in far better condition than the rest from the group, Bret wouldn’t stand to have him turn out any different within the span of the last few hours. Least not in their communal hotel room. They needed their strength. All of them; they needed to live another day.

Jim already had begun the process when the pager on Bret’s person beeped, the shift of the primary guard while on top of one of the beds. Pushed away curled locks as to expose the side of the head, the British Bulldog second in command with his instruments of medical care: bandaids and gauzes. A singular Superkick was all it took to deal the heavy blow to Bret’s scalp. A melody of the ever enchanting Sweet Chin Music - an outside interference - victor not he but not a disqualification of the match, either. It looked worse than it was. An artificial wound, not having his hand raised in celebration hurt Bret more than Shawn’s cowboy boot heel did. Having to witness as someone else was cheered that show, that night, with his stupid Stars and Stripes flag waving in the wind, machine circulated air with all its mockery. Damn Patriot. 

It was then that the two forces found themselves in the heat of battle. HBK and his straight pointed leg toward the Excellence of Execution’s direction - twice did the pager beep. Just as Davey unrolled and peeled protective layers, swore on his soul that D Generation X would see their doom. Regardless of where any of them stood: they’re gonna pay for this. I’m gonna kill ‘em - even if Joanie was counted among the fatalities. Bret’s courageous Chyna, his beloved. His love who was somewhat accepted, tolerated and stomached. It was all the boys could do given the circumstances. What they allowed themselves to endure for their brother’s sake and happiness, Bret was beyond grateful for that much. Appreciative, before even an inch of cotton touched his forehead, he was off. Leather draped over the shoulders and covered the back, down to the bar that would be open for the next while. Dressed in sneakers with dark blue jeans and a white tee: to where Joanie was. 

A hand clapsed around her hip with the other rubbing the softness of her blush painted cheek, his thumb to her flesh, Bret submitted to a smile of his own. Mirrored Joanie as that pleasant warmness ignited his belly - cocked his head to the side and prepared for that so wanted kiss. 

He whispered, breathless almost, “come here.”

[leerongrong]

[1:59] the need to throw your phone across the room grows every second best friend!jaemin doesn’t reply to your messages, the last message you sent was 30 minutes ago and he still hasn’t replied. you figure his phone’s notification must be broken from the amount of date outfit photos you sent, now you're starting to regret trusting his gut to choose the outfit picnic date!jisung would like the most.

the day has been perfect, blue clouds and warm weather to accommodate the date jisung asked you out on just a week ago. said boy had planned the day out for weeks, only gathering enough courage to ask you the week prior. he had shyly reminded you again of your date yesterday, to bring some dessert and to meet him at the river. you’d asked him whether you needed to dress nicely or not and his answer was, “you always look pretty no matter what you wear.” with a heavy blush on his cheeks that made you blush too.

you had finished your hair and makeup roughly an hour ago and you’ve planned on either wearing a dress or a skirt, both options seemed uncomfortable as you'll be sitting down the whole time and you'll dread washing the grass stains but you still feel the need to impress your date.

“finally!” jaemin’s specially saved ringtone played on your phone, the melody very catchy and you'd found out it was one of his songs, you pressed the accept button immediately. “nana, i’m gonna be late!”

“i know, i know,” he gushes, "i just finished lecturing jisung- he wanted to wear a hoodie on your date! can you believe it?”

“na jaemin, i will literally spread your netflix password if you don't pick from one of the photos right now.”

“wear the skirt. jisung likes skirts.”

the adrenaline’s still running high in your system the moment you arrive. the river is tranquil with not many people there, just a few sitting on benches and some cycling near the park. the river is flowing smoothly as it should, with countless trees planted around it in purpose of giving shade from the sunlight and under one of them, you spot jisung.

the boy’s laid out on an open mat and while he is facing the other way, you can clearly see him twiddling with his fingers and you giggle, glad that you’re not the only one nervous for this date. you walk slowly onto the grass, hands on your skirt so that it doesn’t go flying when the wind blows. you see a picnic basket in front of jisung, multiple types of food surrounding him and a stereo speaker on his lap.

“hi.”  jisung’s head snaps up at the moment your voice hits his ears, getting up quickly on his feet to greet you with his own smile. “hey.”

you’re changing positions ever so often the moment you plop down while music plays for the both of you, the melody sweet and gentle as you try to eat in peace, conversation and banter flowing like the river in your view. jisung’s hands are twitching and you wonder if he’s uncomfortable with your endless moving. “do you want to use my hoodie?”

“what?”

“you look uncomfortable in you skirt.” his cheeks are pink and he avoids eye contact while rummaging his backpack, hands popping back into view along with a gray hoodie. “i thought it’d be helpful.”

“thank you, sung.” your plates are placed on the ground while you reach out to take his hoodie, both of your hands brushing for a moment and you blush at the contact. you’re quick to hide your face as you pretend to busy yourself with putting his hoodie on your lap while he’s quick to avert his gaze to the laptop in his backpack.

multiple people pass along the both of you while you eat dessert, kids jogging around and playing soccer while you two watch the clouds move along, sometimes pointing out their shape and what they reminded you of, sometimes even laughing at the shapes jisung comes up with.

“you want to watch a movie?”

the two of you sit side by side, a comfortable distance in between while jisung sets up his laptop and opens netflix to watch a movie. while the movie’s duration shortens, so does the distance between you and jisung, the two of you shoulder to shoulder when the movie hits halfway and it takes everything in you to rest your head on his shoulder, heart beating faster while you wait for his reaction.

jisung is quiet for some time, his body going stiff after you laid your head down. the boy trying to take deep breaths as discreetly as possible. ‘she smells like strawberries and vanilla.’ jisung takes one deep breath, almost coughing when he hears you take one too. ‘come on, jisung. be a man, be a man.’

your heart jumps out of your chest when you feel fingers intertwine with yours. you'd imagine what holding his hand would be like before, only now experiencing how big his hands are and how they're slightly calloused and you feel shy to think about how his slim fingers fit perfectly intertwined between yours, the smooth texture of his palm underneath yours.

the rest of the date goes smoothly, both of you silent as he slowly walks you to the front door of your house. the night air is fresh and cold, slightly nipping at your skin under jisung’s hoodie. he's looking down at his feet the moment you reach the door, your hands ready to push it open and go inside to scream into your pillow. “i had a great time.”

“i- yeah- me too. i had a great time too.” his smile is flustered, cheeks pushed up as he smiles bigger at you. you see him slowly raise his hand to wave as he turns to walk back home. “good night.”

you're bitting the inside of your cheek, eyes trailing after his figure and you cup your hands to your mouth to scream out. "jisung, wait!"

your feet have never moved this fast in your life, you scramble down the side walk to meet him halfway, stopping yourself before you crash into him. under the streetlamp, you decide jisung looks more ethereal anyone else ever would, the thought of seeing him again soon filling your tummy with butterflies. you raise yourself on tiptoes, planting a kiss onto his cheek and making a mad dash back to your front door. you push the door open and wave at him, giggling when you see his tomato like red face. "let's do this again soon, yeah? walk back safe, good night sungie."

the door clicks shut as you slide down the wooden surface, heart beating so fast you press your palm on it, hoping to calm it down. your cheeks hurt from smiling so wide and you're not sure how long you’ve stayed in that position until multiple dings from your phone snaps you out.

[20:01] nana🐰

how was your date?

[20:16]  nana🐰

jisung just came in looking like a tomato

[20:17] nana🐰

why does he look like this???

[20:17] nana🐰

hellooo????

[20:18] nana🐰

oohhh you kissed him! and asked for another date!!

[20:18] nana🐰

he looks like a love struck fool

[20:19] nana🐰

p.s jisung's going around like an idiot looking for his hoodie. its with you right?

[20:20] nana🐰

p.s.s jisung just realized its with you & says you can keep his hoodie. he said, i quote, “hyung it looked better on her than it ever did on me.”

[20:22] nana🐰

heheh jisung says your hair smells like strawberries and he likes it

[20:25] sungiiiee <3

please don’t read hyung’s messages!

[20:26] sungiiiee <3

i had a really good time...

[20:36] sungiiiee <3

i'll call you tomorrow, goodnight♡

[20:37] hyuck 🤡

he’s smiling so hard at his phone i’m scared his face’ll fall off.

[20:37] hyuck 🤡

it took him a whole ten minutes just to send a heart. love sick idiot.

[20:34] nana🐰

i hope he makes you happy as much as you do him. it makes me happy seeing him like this. tell me about the date tomorrow, now get some rest okay? good night.

[20:37] to: sungiiie <3

too late for that sksksk. your hoodie looks good on me huh?😳 good night sungie♡

[20:38] to: nana🐰

dont worry nana, he made me smile like no one ever did... good night.

[theodora3022]

Goddess(Yandere Mirio)

Posting again because weird internet connection last night ate it...

Pairing: (yandere?) Pro hero! Mirio x Villain? F!reader

Summary: You were once a powerful young hero with a wind quirk. After refusing Endeavor’s proposal, you were blacklisted from the hero community. Having no choice, you begun to work as an assassin. Slitting throats without hesitation as long as it is lucrative. That is when you run into Mirio, your former classmate again. You two were not close friends, although mirio is always friendly. He was ordered to take you down, so you expected a fierce fight. What you did not anticipate is how he invited you to come with him.

Notes: Yeah this is a Mirio take on the ��Fairy” concept. I recently recieved a request for this, and I just want to say I am so happy you guys love this stupid little concept. Mirio still have his quirk in this fic, and Sir Night Eye is still alive. Reblogs are comments are greatly appreciated!!

You can also see this contains an pathetic attempt to write Endeavor, but I’m not cut out for that LMAO

Warnings: slight nsfw for hcs, abuse of power(not Mirio), stalking, non-con touching, suicide attempt, drugging

They say the loveliest angels make the cruelest demons, and my darling

You were so beautiful

Before they dragged you into hell.

“You’re going to regret this decision.” That was what Endeavor said when you hand him the resignation with a straight face. However, You do not feel any regret whatsoever. You stayed silent as you began to walk out of that damned office, that courrpted agency. Paying no mind the flame man’s burning gaze on your back.

When you first started at Endeavor’s agency, you were excited. As a fresh UA Graduate, it is unusual for a top hero like Endeavor himself to offer you a position as a sidekick. It almost feels too good to be true. Well, turns out it is.

Used to loose clothing, you were shocked when your boss requested you to change your hero costume to a tight bodysuit. Being the good employee you were, you obeyed without questions. Then there are those little things, how Endeavor seems to favor you over his other subordinates, how he finds excuses to keep you near him at all times, most alarmingly, how he looks at your breasts and hips when he thought you did not notice.

You had doubts, but your boss is the No.1 hero! How can he possibly have sexual desires for a little girl like you? So you choose to ignore those red flags and carried on. Until he cornered you against the office door one day, when you came to report a minor robber you took care of earlier.

That is when you realize how you naïve you were. “Fire and winds, they go well together don’t they? I’m sure a child with those two quirks would be a powerful hero.” “Don’t touch me!” You said, almost screaming. He was pressed to a corner of his office by sudden strong currents, banging on the bookshelf that occupies it. Several books fell off, but he did not seem to bother. Even with his strength Endeavor cannot move forward a step. That pissed off look scares you, but you did allow yourself to flinch despite your trembling hands.

“You have no idea how many woman would die for an oppertunity like this.” 

“Then go find them, Sir. Sorry but I will never accept this offer.”

And that is how you ended up as a sellsword, instead of a hero. You work to get paid.

Your friends use to muse about how your impeccable speed would be perfect for an assassin, and that is what you are now. Slithering in the shadows, taking life for gold. Heroes and villains alike commissioned you due to your stealthy quirk and your incredible speed.You would not exactly count yourself as a villain, although the LoV had made offers to you in the past. You walk in that grey area of society, neither good nor bad. After Endeavor blacklisted you, no agency dared to hire you. None of them are willing to evoke his wrath. This is all his plan to make you submit, to accept the position of his compliant trophy wife, his personal baby factory. But you did not give in, even that means rejections and pity from those other heroes.  At last when your saving run out, you took up the LoV’s commission offer. The pay is generous, and you were in need. It is a win-win deal. Ever since you have been taking up jobs from both sides as long as the pay is good.

Your fifteen-year-old UA freshman self would never imagine becoming an assassin, but here you are, shaking hands with Kurogiri as you take the rest of the payment. They wanted you to join them, but you politely declined. You liked Toga and Spinner well enough, but some heroic part of you still cannot stand the idea of becoming a villain.

Regardless of being a mercenary, you still have your principles and morals. Aside from those contracts, you never took a life. You would still give up your seat to pregnant and elderly on the train, still picking up trash in parks. After finishing a job, you would hum little melodies as you pull the hood of your sweater over your blood-stained hair, fly home, maybe getting groceries on the way. You are merciful at what you do, always strike one lethal blow so the target would have minimal pain. Life is not easy, but you are certain this is so much better then being trapped in a manor as a housewife. Occasionally, some sketchy bounty hunter would manage to get to you, although you can always outrun them.

Mirio has a problem. It was...about a mission, concerning you.

What lies on his desk, is a detailed file of you. You in the picture were still a hero back then, smiling at the camera. How can Mirio ever forget that sweet smile?

“If I’m not mistaken, (y/n) is your old schoolmate, correct?” “Yes, Sir.” “She has been lending strength to the League of Villains as a mercenary. That makes her a criminal, even though she takes up jobs from the commission as well. We need to get her back to our side, as her winds are strong, we cannot let the villains have that. Endeavor seem to be particularly enthusiastic about this idea, oddly. I think you should be the one to do it. You can pass through anything, even her winds. Find her, bring her back, use force if possible.”

Mirio always wondered what made you leave hero life, now he got the perfect opportunity to ask you! He has not seen you in forever, this could be a little cute reunion! To be perfectly honest to himself, Mirio had a minor crush on you back w in UA. But as students you both just focused on your studies, and he never confessed.

It took him a while to track down your whearabouts, but for Mirio it was not a hard task, as the Commission has your address of the bar you frequented to take up offers.

It was a cold night, you just finished a job in the rural area of Mustafu, cleansing your daggers in a little stream in the woods when he appeared before you. Damn, how did he approach you without the winds noticing?

To Mirio, how you crouch down by the stream, how your black clothes hugs every curve of your body and especially how you focused on washing the bloodstains off your knives were absolutely stunning. You were like the huntress goddess Artemis from the Greek legends, with how the moonlight gently pooling over your frame. It might sound weird, getting turned on by a girl washing her daggers, but Mirio somehow accepts the fact that his juvenile crush has not gone away. On the contrary, it has become stronger, strong enough to be classified as love or obsession.

Now he knows why Endeavor has been so enthusiastic about the idea of capturing you. Mirio can hardly take his eyes off you himself! You were even more breathtaking in your pitch-black assassin attire compare to your hero costume. As he always loves a good mythology story, seeing you like this awaken something in him. A beautiful goddess, through and through.

You are his goddess! How can you taint your hands with blood while you can be worshipped in the temples? Being a mercenary does not suit you. 

“Togata, what a surprise.” Seeing your old classmate again, you are more concerned then happy. This is a remote location, far away from any population, and he just sneaked up on you without notice. He laughs as he sees how you work up a defensive wind barrier, knowing it has no effect on permeation. Back in your schooldays he has always been a pain to defeat, since Mirio can even pass through air, your usual push away methods fail on him alone. Thankfully, he cannot fly. “Long time no see. Well, what brings you to this part of town?” Putting away your daggers back into your leather pouch, you managed to put up a polite smile even you dreaded his answer. If he is one of those bounty hunters-

“I came to see you, of course! You are so beautiful in these clothes.” Without warning, Mirio stepped close, the wind barrier does nothing to him. If this has been a normal reunion party, his words might just make you flush a bit. But this is a secluded forest.

Before you can think of a counter strategy, two big strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close towards the grinning blonde. You let out a scream as you try to wiggle out of his grasp, but it was futile. As a ranged combatant with high speed, strength was never your forte, neither is close up combat.

Why are you screaming? Don’t you see how he just want you to be treated well? This life is not for you! You deserve a loving family life, and Mirio is determined to provide that.

“Love, please do not scream. I don’t want to use a gag on you.” When you were distracted by his loving nickname, Mirio quickly slid a pair of quirk cancelling handcuffs on you.

“Let me go! Togata why are you doing this?” You are sure he has taken up the role of a bounty hunter. To your surprise, he released you from his clutches. But you were horrified to find your quirk has been restricted by those damned cuffs.

“Did Endeavor send you? I always know he is a piece of garbage, but you? Who can make my quirk useless?” Slowly backing away, trembling, you knew there is no change you can outrun Lemillion without your winds. Guess that is the end of free life. You rather be dead then be in Endeavor’s home. A quick slit can get the job done.

However, Mirio would never allow you to die. Before you can reach for your blades, he snatched the pouch out of your hands. “Endeavor? No, no. I’m not taking you to him. Don’t hurt yourself, angel.”

A wave of relief wash over you, then you hear Mirio’s words: “I’m taking you home, the commission has ordered me to make sure you don’t make any more deals with villains, and I agree. You deserve a peaceful life.”

Those are the last words you hear before blacking out from a strange, sweet scent. “Sorry to do this, my sweet, but you need to calm down and come home with me.”

As he held your unconscious body in his arms, Mirio promised himself that he will treasure you and give you the treatment you deserve. He finally found his goddess, he is not going to let go, never.

Bonus head canons:

You would wake up in Mirio’s fancy apartment, quirk cancelling collar around your neck, with mirio hugging you from behind in bed. His breath tickles your neck in the most terrifying way.

“Love, you’re finally awake! I was worrying about you overdosing.” That big smile, used to be a sign or reassurance during school days, now is a sight worthy for nightmares.

You would start kicking and screaming, wanting to get away from him.

“Togata let me go!” Your squirms are less then useless without your winds, but you have to try.

“It’s Mirio, lovely. Now how about we get you changed? I got you some pretty lingerie~”

You would shake your head and bite him, which...would result in him getting mad.

“I know it’s not right to use drugs, but you got to understand I did this all for you! That life is too dirty for someone like you, you deserved to be cherished. Lucky for you I am here to tend to all your needs.”

“But I- “ “No buts, sweetness. Now how about you get into one of those pretty outfits and show me how grateful you are? I did spare you that awful mercenary life, after all.”

You were not given a choice. Well, at least he cannot be worse then Endeavor, right? You can only gulp and comply, terrified of the alternative.

“My precious goddess...” He pulls you close, buring his nose in your hair. “I’m going to worship you so well that you forget about everything else.”

[littlemdzsdump]

practice makes perfect (or close enough)

it’s little ol’ me, xicheng-ing it up again (๑>ᴗ<๑) ~

Jiang Cheng did not have musical hands. 

His hands have their own personality to it. They mirror the training and the hard work he put into his craftsmanship as a swordsman. They’re large and strong and they embody the sect leader that he is. But they’re calloused and stiff, only knowing the hilt of a sword and coarse bow strings. They cramp up when he writes papers for too long and they’re hard enough to call attention to a loud room with an easy slam. His hands are too rough from hours of archery and didn’t have nearly the dexterity that musicians of the Gusu Lan sect were born with and trained to hone. 

Jiang Cheng never realized that his hands could never hold an instrument, because he never thought about holding one anyway.

But ever since he had walked past the winding paths of Cloud Recess, following a lingering melody and had accidentally seen a certain Gusu sect leader practicing in peaceful serenity, well…

The smallest part of his heart yearned to be able to reply with a melody of his own. 

But Jiang Cheng hasn’t ever been musically... inclined to say the least. 

So he had begrudgingly decided to ask his older brother for help. Mainly, because Jiang Cheng didn’t really have a plethora of choices to choose from anyways. It’d be the first olive branch that he’d be extending to the other man after the years of misunderstanding and guilt that had built up between them. 

The reaction his brother had upon hearing his request was not… unexpected as much as it was just plain excessive.

Of course, Wei Wuxian had to laugh in his face first, going so far as snorting loudly and continuing to laugh so hard that he couldn’t hold himself up. It could have been worse if Jiang Cheng had decided to ask for this favor in public, with how hard Wei Ying was laughing at him. But his brother came around and had proposed the dizi as it was both his cultivation weapon and pass time hobby.

~

“Can you...I don’t know, not spit when you’re blowing on it?” Wei Ying suggested, though he sounded more teasing than helpful.

“Well it’s not like I’m trying to,” Jiang Cheng replied exasperatedly. Jiang Cheng held the instrument to his lips and blew into it again. He’s grateful that he had little to no affairs to take care of today. He didn’t even want to begin to imagine what people would say if they saw their sect leader failing to blow out a note on a stupid flute.

“Jiang Cheng, how dare you call it stupid? Chengqin is a prized musical masterpiece” Wei Ying said, pulling his flute close to his chest. He hadn’t realized that he had spoken out loud. But honestly, Jiang Cheng didn’t even regret it. Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, roughly putting down his own dizi. It wasn’t like he was using Chengqin anyways, so he didn’t see what the problem was. 

“I can’t play this.” Jiang Cheng stated, crossing his hands over his chest. He was acting like a child, but they had been locked up in his room for hours with no progress. Though Wei Ying didn’t explicitly say anything, his brother was just as tired as he was. 

Wei Ying let out a soft sigh, sitting comfortably down across from his brother. 

“Well, I don’t think that you can’t play it. I just think you don’t want to play it,” Wei Ying said, twirling his dizi around on his fingers. Jiang Cheng let out a disbelieving snort.

“I really think that I just can’t play the dizi” Jiang Cheng said, pouring some tea for himself and his brother. He’s taking a sip from his cup when his brother speaks up again.

“I don’t understand why you’re so adamant about not asking the Gusu Lan sect. You know they’re home to two of the best musical cultivators in our generation” Wei Ying comments, sipping at his tea. Jiang Cheng just shakes his head.

“I’m just learning to learn, not for cultivation or anything. I can’t ask for their time over something like this-”

“Oh please Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying interrupts. He’s a bit aggressive when he puts down his finished cup but Jiang Cheng doesn’t comment on it. 

“Just come to Gusu with me; I’ll make sure they can’t say no,” Wei Ying proposes. The wide smile on his face doesn’t go with the mischievous glint in his eyes. But Jiang Cheng can’t refuse, when his brother has extended an olive branch back to him.  ~

With all the responsibilities of a sect leader, it is hard to find enough open time for a trip, let alone to leave his sect for another far away place. But Jiang Cheng manages it after Wei Ying’s relentless persistence. Some time when the cherry blossoms begin to bloom, Jiang Cheng shares a sword with Wei Ying as they head to somewhere high above the clouds.

It’s a bit difficult, carrying two people, but Jiang Cheng’s cultivation is more than adequately prepared to handle it. Besides, the wild golden core in his body wasn’t technically his anyways.

“Glad we’re finally sharing something,” Wei Ying tells him in the midst of their flight.

Jiang Cheng huffs a dry laugh. Between the two of them, at least Wei Ying can joke about it.

~

When they arrive at Cloud Recess, Wei Ying rushes towards the gate with more comfort than Jiang Cheng expects. The sight leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He pushes away the small lingering dreariness in his chest and follows after someone who knows where they were going.

Jiang Cheng could have easily been escorted as part of Wei Ying’s company, but he shows his sect leader’s badge when they get to the gate. 

It’s been a few months since Jiang Cheng had last visited Cloud Recess.

It is the same as it always is. They walk the misty white mountain path quietly. 

Their path leads them past the rushing stream and the small hill that was home to the bunnies. Jiang Cheng planned to wait on the side as his brother tended to the bunnies. But Wei Ying is very persuasive and he ends up sitting in the middle of all the fluff balls.

It’s how they’re found, an hour or so after their promised arrival time. It is not the image that Jiang Cheng wanted to put for himself as a dignified sect leader. 

As Wei Ying babbles about how the bunnies have been behaving to his stonic husband, Jiang Cheng is too busy ignoring how Lan Wangji is glaring at the bunnies that he pets to take notice of the relief in Lan Xichen’s eyes.

~

For the next few days, Lan Xichen becomes the main person that keeps him company. It was very obvious that it wouldn’t be Lan Wangji, because they weren’t that good of friends. Besides, he was too busy being better than friends with his brother. Jiang Cheng wasn’t necessarily complaining, but at the same time, Lan Xichen’s company was a bit more of a distraction than he could handle. Despite all the time they spent together, he still couldn’t make the words he wanted to ask come out.

Even when Wei Ying had explained the main gist of why Jiang Cheng was meandering around Cloud Recess in the first place. Even though Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen had taken care of most of their sect leader duties. Only when Jiang Cheng had about two days left of his stay did the words finally come tumbling out of his lips.

On a random afternoon walk, nonetheless, at the most inconvenient time possible. 

“If you don’t mind, I would like to watch you play the guqin” Jiang Cheng had stuttered out, hopelessly unprepared. The pace that Lan Xichen walked with did not stop at his request, though it did slow down a bit.  

“You want to watch me play? Have you been feeling any ailments recently, or…” Lan Xichen prompts, his soft voice as assuring and calm as ever.

Jiang Cheng swears the older man is just teasing him right now.

“No... I would just like to watch you play a normal piece.” Jiang Cheng tries. At the request, Lan Xichen hums. Jiang Cheng is surprised at how close to a purr his voice sounded. They reach the top steps of Cloud Recess, nearing the path into the pavilion. Lan Xichen suddenly turns around to face Jiang Cheng, who had fallen a step or so behind in embarrassment.

“I usually play the xiao but—”

“Anything you want to play is fine” Jiang Cheng stutters out helplessly. Lan Xichen’s smile does not falter at the interruption, though he does let out a breathy laugh. The Lan sect leader turns around, Jiang Cheng nearly walking into him.

“If you would care to join me at the Hanshi, I can play a short piece for you and share some music,” Lan Xichen suggests.

Golden hour in Cloud Recess paints Lan Xichen’s already perfect profile with heavenly sunlight. 

Jiang Cheng can’t deny him.

~

Sat across from him, Lan Xichen plucks the strings of the guqin delicately. It is as beautiful as the player and Jiang Cheng is immensely (helplessly) distracted for many reasons. So it feels kind of redundant when the same instrument is placed before Jiang Cheng and he is supposed to play the same thing.

Though, blessedly, Jiang Cheng is able to pick out a few wobbly notes from the guqin after the first try. He no longer has to live out his sad dizi days (read as hour).

The melody that Lan Xichen picks is quite short and light. It is happy and Jiang Cheng finds the notes memorable. But even after the numerous times that Lan Xichen spends teaching him which place to pick and which strings to press down, he still mixes it up. Jiang Cheng is easily frustrated and music is a very patient hobby. He figures this out a bit too late when he plucks one of the strings too harshly and it lets out an ugly whine under his hand.

Jiang Cheng sighs loudly, lifting his hand up harshly from the guqin and slamming his fisted hands into his lap. He stares at the instrument as if to scare it into playing the right notes for him (this seems to work with people, so maybe it’s a transferable skill).

But moreso Jiang Cheng is just feeling embarrassed.

He’s too busy wallowing in his own self pity and shame to notice that Lan Xichen had walked across the room and sat down beside him. 

Jiang Cheng jolts a little bit when he feels a small nudge against his shoulders. He looks to the right to see Lan Xichen sitting really close. If the man just leaned over, they would be cheek to cheek.

“Playing the first time is always hard. But the more you practice, the easier it gets” 

Jiang Cheng lets the sect leader place his hands onto the instrument again. When Lan Xichen removes his warm grasp from Jiang Cheng’s wrist, Jiang Cheng stares wordlessly at the instrument in front of him, not fully processing how his hands were transferred to the strings. It takes him another moment to gather his wits enough to shakily pluck the notes of the melody that was first shown to him. With his mentor so close, he can’t make a mistake. 

His pride can’t afford it.

A bit shakily, he still manages to pluck out the right tune. At the end of the melody, Jiang Cheng turns to see Lan Xichen look at him with a bit of pride (he didn’t dare think it could be) or something akin to that in his eyes. 

“That was very good, Jiang Wanyin. I have some small pointers, if you would accept them” Lan Xichen says, staring deeply at Jiang Cheng as he asks. The Jiang sect leader can only nod silently as Lan Xichen waves to the guqin again.

“Please place your hands as you normally did and play the melody a bit slower,” Lan Xichen instructs. Jiang Cheng easily does what he is told and plucks the strings slowly. But his fingers falter after the fourth note of the 12 note melody. Before he is able to draw his hands back in frustration, Lan Xichen’s hand is covering one of his own.

Jiang Cheng takes in a startled breath. He hopes it is quiet enough that Lan Xichen didn’t have time to catch it.

“Usually I would use a pick for this. But as a finger picking technique, try to brush the tips of your thumb under the strings…” With one free hand Lan Xichen shows it on the same musical plane, while the other hand molds against Jiang Cheng’s hand as the other plays as told. 

They continue slowly through the rest of the piece with Jiang Cheng (admittedly) getting more and more comfortable in the space that he shared with Lan Xichen. When the last note rings out, Lan Xichen moves a bit back and stares at Jiang Cheng’s profile. 

Jiang Cheng can’t find it in himself to look at the other sect leader.

“I must say, you have a very nice voice, Jiang Wanyin” Lan Xichen compliments. Jiang Cheng stares at him in confusion. His face must have quite the expression on it, for Lan Xichen lets out a small laugh and shakes his head softly.

“You must not have realized that you hum along to the notes that you play,” Jiang Cheng widens his eyes and he quickly looks down to his lap, “But your pitch is very accurate. I would recommend a look into voice cultivation if you have some time on your hands,” 

Lan Xichen is all soft suggestions and it does nothing to stop the blush that rises high up onto his cheekbones.  

“Now that we’ve practiced so hard, would you like to accompany me on this piece?” Lan Xichen suggests, brushing his robes softly. Jiang Cheng sputters, so much like a sect leader.

“I-I, how can I? I just learned to-”

“I will play the melody from before along with you,” Lan Xichen reassures. Jiang Cheng can only look up helplessly as the older man gets up and crosses the room again. When he gets to the other side, he sits down at the guqin. Lan Xichen takes some time to settle himself. But when he is finished, he stares at Jiang Cheng in anticipation.

“Won’t you try?” Lan Xichen asks, almost prompts. The fear that courses in Jiang Cheng’s veins oddly reminds him of the first time that he had first stepped out into a duel. When he was much younger and much more insecure. He’s surprised at how similar this feels now, even though he is not performing at all.

But he is playing with the infamous Zewu-Jun, so maybe death would be a light punishment.

Lan Xichen plays some opening notes, something that Jiang Cheng recognizes as the same key and he enters with his practiced melody when Lan Xichen nods to him from across the room. He plays it well enough and they end up repeating the melody together a few times before Jiang Cheng lifts his hands off the instrument as Lan Xichen takes over. The song lifts and sways with life in each ringing note. It may not have any cultivation purpose, but the movements throughout the music is piercing and clear. 

The song crescendos and Jiang Cheng’s ears ring with familiarity.

He’s heard this piece before. 

When Jiang Cheng looks up at Lan Xichen, he looks so immersed in the music that it seems as if there were no one else in the room. It is an alluring look on him and makes Jiang Cheng realize that no amount of practice will bring him to the same sentiment. However, as the music rings in his heart, Jiang Cheng can’t seem to mind. 

“I quite liked that,” Jiang Cheng admits in the quiet overcast after Lan Xichen’s emotional playing. Lan Xichen smiles a bit to himself before looking up from the guqin.

“I am glad to have shared my own music with Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Xichen says.

“You wrote that?” Jiang Cheng is not surprised, it was such a beautiful piece.

“Hm…” Lan Xichen admits softly. Jiang Cheng huffs out a small laugh at how much he sounds like his brother. 

Outside the Hanshi, Wei Ying hides behind the other Twin Jade of Gusu. He’s peeking inconspicuously through the window, praying that Jiang Cheng’s attention was drawn elsewhere to really see him. Covering for his boyfriend, Lan Zhan’s white robes match enough to camouflage with the colors of the Hanshi doors. 

Wei Ying smiles as he watches the interactions between their brothers. 

“Finally!” Wei Ying whispers shouts into Lan Zhan’s shoulder. He’s hiding behind his broader boyfriend, so he misses the small smile that graces his lips.

“Brother will be pleased,” is what Wei Ying hears instead.

[sirensmojo]

Scar - Geralt Of Rivia x Reader

Summary: You’re a creature chased by Geralt Of Rivia for a week now, but he couldn’t find you. What he doesn’t know is that you were spying on him since the beginning, when another creature attacks him you stand by his side which causes you to stick with him until he decides if he should follow his feelings and keep you alive, or do the job and kill you.

Warnings: fluff, mystical creature, fights, magic, terror & horror

Word Count: 2,757

 Masterlist

Geralt set a camp in a forest, the same he was told not to cross as humans never came back alive from, but he doesn’t have anything to risk. He isn’t a human, maybe this forest was for mystical creatures only. At first, everything went well. The sun was still up, stick to a blue sky sprinkles by the tips of highs bushy and leafy trees. It was boiling hot, he took off his armor, and his body flopped in a vivid sleep near his horse. It founds him well as it has been, three days in a row of sleepless nights.

Swiftly, his body stiffs, eyes snapped open, looking far away, when they finally lock on something unusual. He gets up on his feet and waits, quietly, his eyes following each shadow it can find.

It is when he glimpses of it, in the distance. His head tilted, eyes squinted, a mere inhuman shadow, only visible from where he stands. The beam lights were stopped by the trunks of trees here and there, making it impossible to keep an eye on the form. It was almost as if the thing vanished from one tree to another, Geralt was confused, his brow narrowed at the vision of horror that played before him. One minute it was there, near a bush, the other, right behind a high branch. Nearly human, but not human enough to make him feel comfortable or make sense of it. A grunt escapes his dry, plump lips as the taste in the air changes, Geralt was cold, all of a sudden. He is not yet sure of what presented in front of him, but until then, his sword will stay on the ground.

A high-pitched tone shrill springs out the dark, an animal he concluded. But what sort of animal does this noise? Add to that the pace of the shadows getting quicker and nearer, a peculiar form lurking in the trees. The leery breath of the man started to thicken as his lips parted. If he doesn’t feel at the mercy of anything dangerous, why can’t he control his breath? Or his pounding heart? At each sound, even the slightest, he can’t help but gaze in that direction. His golden eyes flickered from a point to another by the time he notices the settings have changed.

The leaves had left the trees to encounter the ground that it’s covered in white thick peach fuzz. He put one knee on the soil with a hand-dipped in the white sea. It was indeed snowing. An umpteenth grunt slips out his throat, blowing his warm breath in the cold dark. Moreover, his eyes don’t accommodate to the darkness nicely. Not enough to be able to discern reality and imaginations, not sufficiently to put words and reasonable thoughts on what this animal was, not enough to ease his, now, edgy self. Why the beast doesn’t attack? Or was it even a beast? The Witcher came to that conclusion because the feeling in the air has been always more dense and thick, when there’s a mystic creature in the areas, he senses it. Now all he could sense was leather and woods, for some reason. He pinches his nose, quite annoyed by his helplessness, closes his eyes for a demi-second and inhales deeply, which lead to some unwanted noise caused by his half blocked nostril due to the low temperatures.

“Fuck” He whispers.

Not a single sound reaches his ear after that breath, not a single shadow seen. When his eyes open, his whole body is on alert. His arms tense, his torso stiffens, whereas his legs were hammered in the dense white veil covering the spot. Something was approaching. It even passed by him in a fury. His blood boils in his veins. Even so, he feels like each cell weighted ten times its weight in silver. Geralt heard a last shrill noise nearby by the time he fought with the last drops of strength flowing into his body and reach out for his sword. As he struggles to lift it, a jaw closes on his shoulder. He winces in pain, spitting a deep growl towards the shadows. Gauging by how fast the pain spreads locally, the mouth of the creature must be his main weapon. When it backs off after its first bite, the Witcher figured out the thing will not kill him straight, it isn’t hungry or extra. It utterly wanted to play with his prey, him. He felt like his hands paralyzed, but also shook the most, he’s unsure if it was caused by the frozen or by the bite. His black eyes sprang out, revived thanks to the ache emanating from his dysfunctional shoulder, as it gives him a full ability to discern what attacked him.

It looks like a woman with large spider-like legs coming out of its back. Its body resembles a grisly exoskeleton more than the pulpy features of the human woman he spent the last night with, indeed. That thought, making the Witcher smile.

Despite the new ache focus blooming all over his body, the man was still standing on his feet, springing his sword at the neck of the still unknown yet hideous creature when it jumps back at him. The man heard a terrible screeching sound as the creature crawl about a large boulder. Behind him, rustling bushes and a thud, as if something has slid and then dropped down from the trees behind. Yet still, he can’t look back or the spider-looking thing will take enjoyment in biting again, and he knew well he would not survive another bite. He was encircled by weasel creatures that let him an interval to swallow that today is the day he’ll surely die, in the gelid forest, where hours ago it felt as hot as burning coals. The blood dripping from his huge wound was abnormally overflowing, damping his whole white tunic. On top of that, his death comes in the middle of nowhere, far from his pathetic life.

Perhaps in the next world he have peace of mind?

He can’t even comfort his spirit with this thought because as wicked, cold, and evil as this place seems, he preferred to rest under its ground for the rest of life rather than facing the endless void he thought was waiting for him behind the veil.Although the beast was aggressive and agile, the Witcher still tries to aim its back with clean and neat sword movements. Even with one arm left, the battle was not yet determined, but the white-haired man stays confident, patiently looking for an opening. On which occasion he knows he will not hold back his blow.

***

There is blood pooling at your feet and welling up from your throat. There are thousands of bodies around you, all with these same holes burned in their jaws. You woke up abruptly, with the boorish stench of rotting corpses winding each portion of your body as if you weltered in a bath of death. Besides the smell, the knife in your stomach that you see is a dull pain. 

You scratched your lids and opened your eyes again. “Holy crap on a cracker,” you whistle. And fear clouds your every thought, every movement and action from now on. Your heart beating in your chest warning you, he got enough of these for a lifetime or so. All you can think at this moment is how this foulness occurred. Because you are sure you don’t remember the hammered knife in your guts, nor falling asleep in the waters. Your voice instinctively tries to reach out for a name, “Geralt!” you continuously weep, tired of seeing blood and wounds every so often. Where did you go? He asks himself. Usually, he would think you just wanted to go back to your life, but something in his guts told him this isn’t right. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he heard your voice calling for him. He sprints through the forest, lungs burning as he calls you back. The more his breathing grew louder, the more he knew he was near. He can’t hear his desperate breaths, can’t even hear the pounding of his own heart. All he could hear was the soft melody drifting across the wind before him.

“Y/n,” Geralt muttered near your head. You try to lift your hand to his face, but instead, he grabs it and passes it around his neck, helping you to stand. “You turd!” You whisper, almost out of breath. The golden-eyed man looked over your face and grunts, as a sign you got his attention. “Can’t you see the knife?” you teased with a breezy voice. You wonder if you were still dreaming or if all of this was real. Thus, when the pain in your belly starts to prickle. “Just put it out,” you spat some blood. “I’m bringing you somewhere safe,” he riposted. But by the flimsy laugh leaving your weak body, he rolled his eyes and dropped you carefully at the feet of an old tree. His gaze was sinking so deep into you it almost ripped out your soul.

You wanted to say something, but the overflowing blood of your injury got in your head, making you feel dizzy. The face of Geralt is blurry, so is the forest, and again your eyes shut to join a dimension that you swear is your personal hell. There is blood running down the corner of your mouth. You’re invited to look down by the putrid odor, noticing the dead pile of carcasses on which you sat. You began to yell. “Oh, no-no-no. Please no, don’t tell me that… Oh gods, no,” your voice resonated like an echo. Each of your words coming back at the place that sets them free.

You knit your brows as your orbs open. “You finally up?” the deep and raspy voice of the Witcher resonating in your ears. “I haven’t slept in days… Anytime I close my eyes, I feel it reaching out to grab me,” you spitted curtly. The long-haired man, standing and turning his back at you, only grunt as an approval. ”‘Feeling what?’ I heard you asking,” you add. “Did I?” Geralt looks over his shoulders, squinted towards you. You nodded, ready to spread out another layer of drama at the top of your current situation. “Those blackened claws… They’re coming for me. I am the blackened claws,” your solemn tone caught the attention of the Witcher, that slid to sit on the log beside you, holding you a flask of water. He exhaled deeply, avoiding your eyes.

“All I know about you is that you miraculously healed from a knife in the guts. I didn’t see any claws, even less blackened,” the man sings, proud of himself. You choked on your drink and hassle to pat your stomach, even ripping your cloth to the side to be able to corroborate his words.  “What the goose?” You sputtered, the tip of your finger seeking your wound in vain. Your eyes wide, you lift your gaze to the sour complexion of the man. “The goo- what?” he repeats, one eyebrow lift to you, which you ignore. “What else has happened?” you reluctantly ask, not sure you wanted to know other eerie things you may have missed about yourself. “Well,” he tilted his head in a chuckle, a smirk graces his face. “It’s that bad?” you cut him off brows narrowed as your gazes lock. Geralt tensed his jaw, a grunt slips its way out, seeing the worry in your eyes. “Can you stand?” he asks your way. You slowly let go of the soil in your hands and lift them to the sides of your body, then you push on your legs, and, as if it was the first time, you throw Geralt your warmest smile, glad. He stands up on his feet and slips on the cloak he just grabbed. You confusedly looked at him. The weather was so hot and humid. You wondered why he needed this cloak. “Come, on,” Geralt cheerfully purrs, motioning that you follow. You executed, quietly walking beside him. When Geralt stops, your two looks drop at the same thing, your feet. Your narrowed eyes describe plainly the conundrum displaying in your head. You kneel and spread your fingers above the white veil before you clench your fingers in a fist, imprisoning the substance in it. You stand back up, still looking at your fist as you open it. Geralt observed the scene with cautious eyes, he surmised you had something to do with the snow, but not quite sure if so, why you were mesmerized by it as if it was the first time you touch it. “Is this familiar to you?” he motions his hand toward the areas.

Indeed, it is familiar. The day before, you saved his life while he was fighting with a deadly injury here.

Geralt hears rustling bushes behind him, followed by a thud. You, now, stand near the scene you were observing from above. Eyes flickering between the watcher and the Cipher, he was staring at, crouching in the shadows. You thought you had each of those bastard creatures. Apparently, one remains. “On your knees,” you commended. Hearing your sassy tone, Geralt looked over his shoulder, and what a surprise he has. Two creatures for the price of one. Solely, you were not the same species that assaulted him. Your eyes constantly drip a yellow ooze, your paces utterly silent as you neared him.

A loud and shrill, high-pitched cry comes from behind a boulder as the wind comes in blasts followed by hailstorms, and thundershower. This tempestuous weather buried a sweltering atmosphere, seizing Geralt by the throat. Him, that refused to kneel before you find himself forced to. The wind is sweeping every greenery leftovers, and rain is draining down any hope of survival.

In the distance, the Witcher shields his eyes with his hand against any projectile and watched as you and the Cipher jumped high in the air with stabbing shrieks and subsequently collide in a mystical twirling of both magic energies. He cringes as the yellow ooze drips from your eyes into the bite holes in the jaw of your victim, infecting her. In a rush of gloom, everything stops. The rain freezes in midair, and the wind hushes. The mist vanishes behind the trees, the dusty sky, making room in an azure and bright one.

Even the heat, passionate mild settles back as if nothing has happened, the only evidence of the previous chaos being the spruce firing body on the ground. “You should fetch more woods that is dry if you don’t want this flames to die” You solemnly let out towards Geralt. “Bloody hell, that rhymes,” you heatedly cheer yourself up. Though the warmth mastered the air again, the snow still envelops each section of the brush like a soft thick blanket of ice and drifting snow. It is an eerily beautiful sight the golden-eyed man is lucky to witness. Geralt lids fluttered in incomprehension for a brief instant, he suddenly stands back up and hassled his hand to his wound shoulder, only to find nothing. The injury completely healed, single marks of sharpening teeth as scars left in there. “How?” he grumbles.

“I can put it back if you want?” you suggest, lifting your eyes brows. Geralt that was still searching for his nonexistent wound stops on track and glared at you, a grunt emanating from the deepest of his throat. “What?” you shrug. “I can slap you… with a wet fish,” you added, gauging his reaction. “Maybe it wasn’t me,” you shrug to him, not knowing what else to say. “Don’t it help your memories flow back into your mind?” asked Geralt as both of you stood near the gathering ashes of bones who initially was the Cipher you killed.You shook your head and mutter. “No, it’s still as dry as a bad piece of lettuce” Geralt glances at you as soon as the words left your mouth. “Hmm,” he grunts.”But Y/n, it is your doing,” he maintains, your weird comparisons comforted him most in his assumption.

[sayonarasanity]

Reverberation

Summary: Levi’s grey eyes watched her seriously, and with caution. He was giving her all his attention, focused on the words that were about to leave her mouth. Hanji thought that was the actual reason why they were so close. Because when no one cared to hear a word from her Levi listened to her telling stories of gods and goddesses, heroes and villains, ancient people and ancient folks, tales of love and tales of hatred. When no one bothered seeing her colours, Levi sat down in front of her and let her paint everything she ever wanted.

Chapters: 2/?

link to AO3 

link to second chapter

In short a Levihan Childhood Friends AU in which I plan to enjoy using quotes from Shakespeare a lot if I make it that far that is. 

The boy sits on top of the rooftop.  

Hanji wonders why she is so fascinated by the view of a boy about her age. All he does is watching above and there is not even a token of emotion written on his face. He looks like he is reading a book in which he is not a bit interested, yet the mere fact that he is holding pages in his palms is enough for him.

She hasn’t seen anyone who has spared just a few minutes of their precious time to watch the sky, through her eleven years of a lifetime that is. Just like she hasn’t seen anyone going crazy when they find out that there was a frog in Indonesia which had no lungs, so it breathed entirely through its skin. Oh, it was so very exciting and bewitching and she had barely slept dreaming about it. Hanji would die to see that frog. She had begged her parents for about a week for them to take her to Indonesia. Mommy, mommy, please! I want to go there. I need to see that frog. It is breathing through its skin mom. How fascinating is that? Hanji, darling you know you can’t. You have school. I don’t have school in the summer! But Indonesia is so far away honey. It on the other side of the world. Oh, oh! That’s even better. I want to go to the other side of the world! Mommy please, please!

Too bad her efforts had given no fruit. She hasn’t given up on her dream yet, though. She just had to postpone it for a little while.

She approaches the boy cautiously. Because maybe this is his area and it is her first time here, so she doesn’t want to be seen as an invader. She had been walking around the town aimlessly when she came across this abandoned building. Its construction is uncompleted, there are no windows and doors, and the orange bricks on the walls are uncovered, free of paint. Hanji knew that sneaking into a hollow, and a relatively eery building was sort of perilous, but it was also thrilling. It had made her feel like she was a member of the Paul Street Boys. Although the setting was kind of distinct and she was alone. But it had never stopped her from discovering. And when she had climbed the concrete, grey stairs she had found the mystery boy here.

There is the not-quite-unfortunate fact that she cannot get along well with boys. They are rude, and filthy and egoistic. They walk around like they are the reincarnations of Achilles like no one is good enough for them. They are no sons of gods or goddesses. How pathetic. But she senses that there is something different with this one. Because he watches the sky, and the stars stare down at him. Hanji feels like she is observing a painting or reading Percy Jackson for the first time. It causes her nerves to stand, her insides to shake and she knows she cannot hold herself back. A step away from the rabbit hole, she imagines and feels like this is Wonderland and she is fool but also curious enough to fall down.

“Hi!” She twitters suddenly.

The boy doesn’t seem surprised or taken aback at hearing someone talking to him out of the blue. Maybe he had already known that Hanji was here. It only makes him more intriguing and Hanji hardly stops herself from bouncing on her feet. For a moment he observes her. His eyes are the colour of the moon, argent but they also have a touch of blue. Not too light but not too dark either. Closer to the sky when the night just begins to settle down. More like it is right now.

“Hey,” he says, dryly.

No rejection. That’s a good start.

“May I sit?”

The boy merely shrugs then turns his gaze back at the sky. Hanji takes it as a positive reaction and sits down next to him, carefully putting some distance away between herself and the boy. She opts to watch the view spread out before her first. This is a partially remote area of the town. The buildings are disorderly, and the streets do not seem fairly clean. Hanji wants to travel her hand on top of the buildings to feel the ups and downs of the rooftops on her palm. The image makes her giggle to herself. Ah, how nice it would be, wouldn’t it? Too bad it was impossible.

She feels the boy giving her a side glance, but he makes no remarks.

“Are you counting the stars?” She asks as she tilts her head back to watch them. There aren’t so many yet, but it would be hard to keep track of the numbers.

“No,” he replies. Curt and clear. He is not the one to talk, is he? Hanji muses inside.

“My grandmother used to say that it would make calluses to appear on your skin. Have you heard about it as well? I think it is a superstition though—”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” the boy interrupts. That is the first time he has used more than a word! Success. Good for you, Hanji. She pats her shoulder in her head proudly.

Hanji opens her mouth to respond but he beats her to it. “You can’t count infinity,” he says. “It is a waste of time.”

Hanji inhales.  

At this point, she is so near the edge to burst with her bubbling excitement that she is sure he feels it too. Her head spins as she stares at his side profile. He makes her feel like she is on a carousel. Everything about him makes her dizzy as if he is one of those books on her father’s library which she cannot reach and cannot understand even if she does. He doesn’t look at her. He has an undercut, she notices, dark hair moving in harmony with the wind. His attire is clean, neat and tidy. His face has the smooth lines of a child but there is a lining of maturity underneath them. And the way he holds himself, upright but also at ease. Nothing about him is fake, superficial or ordinary.

“What’s your name?” She asks as a grin spreads on her lips uncontrollably.

He moves his sharp eyes to her at last and he travels his gaze around her face. It is so hard to read anything from his features. Like looking at the blurry surface of a mirror and trying to figure out the lines of the face in it. And she fears that he won’t answer. Was he annoyed with her? But she hasn’t even reached the peak of her usual talkativeness, yet.

“It’s Levi.”

She nearly gasps for she had been very close to convincing herself that the boy had disliked her very much. Levi. It is a nice name, and it suits his personality somehow. Despite the fact that she had only known him for what? Five minutes? Maybe even less than that. But Hanji can tell.

“I’m Hanji,” she says her name back even though he hasn’t asked. Slowly put one Lego on top of it the other. Bring them all together and there, you have a castle. “Say, Levi, would you like to learn more about the sky?”

The boy doesn’t answer with words. He looks back above and shrugs.

But that’s more than enough for her.

now

Hanji’s phone rings in the middle of an important meeting.

Frankly, it is not that big of a problem. It happens to everyone every now and then. And her phone doesn’t even ring with a melody, it merely vibrates on the wooden table. Though it does make a hell of a lot of noise. Yet, the only way to overcome the situation is to simply reach out and silence it in a cold-blooded way, like nothing ever happened. That she does, without a nuisance.

The actual problem here is the name on the screen of her phone, and the fact that her hand was trembling as she pressed the button. Suddenly the air becomes too heavy, too hot and the room too narrow to fit inside. She distinctively feels Mr Jaeger’s piercing gaze from across the table. It is always hard to hide subtle changes of behaviour from a man as sharp as him. But Hanji is a professional and there is no way she can allow a slight disturbance to avoid her from focusing on her job. She imagines herself flicking her fingers aggressively as if to wake herself up from a deep slumber like she is buried deep in thick fog. Concentrate.

The blurry whiteness disappears gradually, her vision becomes clear and the deadlock in her ears leaves. But the name remains on her screen even after the ringing stops and she has to grip her pen tight enough to make the shivers go away.

-

The next time her phone rings there are several minutes to her lunch break. She shifts her attention from her computer screen to the phone and she just stares at the name, as if she looks long enough the letters will change or they will disappear, or she will wake up from this dreary sleep.

None of those happens, the machine keeps ringing on her desk, her heart slams against her ribcage, and her hands tremble yet again as she types numbers on her keyboard.

The vibrations cease after a while, but the cramps in her stomach don’t.

-

During her lunch break, Hanji goes out to the terrace for some fresh air. It is early spring; the weather is not quite cold but it’s somewhat chilly. The wind which blows occasionally disperses her hair as she leans her elbows on the railing. The terrace is high up on the building. She can easily watch the white, mushy clouds on the smooth, blue sky. Whether it is funny or tragic she cannot decide, that after all those years whenever she looks up at the sky, she still thinks about him.

“Yo, Hanji.” Zeke Jeager comes to stand next to her putting a cigarette on his mouth and using his Zippo to light it.

“Good afternoon, Mr Jeager,” Hanji greets, smiling in return as the man takes a deep breath from his smoke. His dark, yellow hair is untidy with the wind, and his glasses reflect the midday sun.

“Just call me Zeke when we are alone,” he says and shakes the ashes of the cigarette with his index finger causing them to fall from the railing. “I hate formalities.”

“But you are my very superior,” Hanji replies with amusement.

The corners of the man’s lips curl upwards when he takes another breath from his smoke. “I don’t care. You are almost as smart as me if not more.” He sends her a playful stare as he blows the smoke and Hanji laughs, but the act makes her stomach curl onto itself. Cheerfulness is the last thing she feels at the moment.

“You seem a little bit… different,” Zeke comments, just like Hanji predicted. Nothing escapes him. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Hanji lies easily. She doesn’t feel like talking about it. She doesn’t even feel like thinking about it. It makes her uneasy, and it fills her with apprehension and distress whenever the name on the phone screen comes before her eyes. She shakes her head. She needs to convince herself first. “It’s nothing.”

“Hmm,” Zeke mutters thoughtfully. He doesn’t believe her and it’s not like she expected him to. “I mean, I won’t say no if you ever need a drink,” he shrugs, and the gest reminds her of him so much that she feels a gulp shaping in her throat.

“Are you possibly flirting with me?” Hanji asks playfully, with a need to distract her mind from the wide field of dreary thoughts and memories.

“I don’t know. Is it working?” Zeke plays along and Hanji laughs again, this time more genuinely. “But I’m your very superior, so I guess not.”

“Yeah,” she says, her smile still evident on her lips. “Don’t take it personally.”

Zeke shakes his head as he puts the smoke between his lips again. He has a nice profile. A fine line of a bearded jaw, sharp cheekbones, soft-looking, bushy hair, pretty nose and a pair of nice lips. Eyes are a light blue mixed with green. A complete opposite, Hanji notices.

“Whatever it is,” Zeke continues after blowing out the white smoke. “It’s obvious that it affects you but don’t let it affect your work.”

“Of course,” Hanji nods.

“Hanji!” A female voice cuts in their conversation. Hanji turns around to see it’s Pieck. She waves at her from the door. “What are you doing here? Let’s go have lunch!”

“Yo, Pieck-chan,” Zeke waves at her cheerfully, grinning wide as they both walk up to where she is. “How are you?”

“Hungry,” Pieck replies, then turns to Hanji. “Come on. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Sorry,” Hanji apologizes. They always have lunch together with Pieck, but with her mind a muddle of emotions she had forgotten all about it.

“See you later then ladies,” Zeke, bids them goodbye and leaves then they both start to walk in the direction of the cafeteria.

“Is he bothering you?” Pieck asks as soon as Zeke is out of their hearing zone. “I can talk to him if he does. He is not as tough as he looks, and I have the material in my hand to sabotage him.”

Hanji laughs heartily for the first time that day. Pieck and Zeke are old friends, and she uses it every chance she gets. “There is no need for that. We were just talking but thank you.”

“Talking about what?” Hanji feels Pieck observing her face, looking for a hint. “Did he also realize that your mood is kind of sour today?”

Hanji’s smile freezes on her face. She hadn’t been as subtle as she thought she had as it seems. She opens her mouth to object, to array excuses like I’m just tired or couldn’t sleep well and change the subject.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Pieck assures, bumping her shoulder lightly to hers. “It’s just unusual to see you like this.”

“Right,” Hanji adjusts her glasses and pushes herself for a slight movement on her lips. Upwards. “There is nothing to worry about.”

Her dark eyes travel around her face, searching Hanji’s gaze and she tries hard not to look away. Pieck is suspicious and Hanji knows she is not quite convinced when she says, “Okay.” But she doesn’t press upon the matter either. “I’ll be here if you want to talk about it.”

“I know,” Hanji smiles, genuinely this time. “Thank you, Pieck.”

-

Hanji watches her reflection in the mirror and sees the reason why everyone could tell that she had been in low spirits today.

“This shouldn’t have affected me that much,” she mutters and splashes cold, icy water on her face. Her glasses rest next to the sink, the hair on the side of her face and the tips of her forehead gets wet. Her soul feels heavy to carry, her heart uneasy and her stomach like it’s wrapped with thousands of sharp thorns.

Inside her head, there is an earthquake. It rumbles, rocks and causes the old shelves stuffed with dusty memories to be dishevelled all around. Yellow paged books lie open on the ground. It has been so long since she had let herself read a word from them. Now they force her to read the tale from the very beginning. And it doesn’t help that she already knows them all by heart.

“The temperature at the sun’s core is about 27 million degrees Fahrenheit,” she whispers, gripping the edge of the cold, white marble.

“The Moon’s distance from Earth is about 240.000 miles.

The globular cluster NGC 6397 is almost as old as the universe itself.

Mercury is the fastest planet,” she continues with quick whispers. “Daytime Temperatures can reach 439 degrees Celsius and drop to -180 degrees Celsius at night.

Ceres takes 1.682 Earth days, or 4.6 Earth years, to make one trip around the sun.

Mars is the fourth planet from the Sun at an average distance of about 228 million km or 1.52 AU.”

Hanji closes her eyes and imagines the space. Infinite, black and yet aglow with suns, stars and moons—galaxies, clusters and planets.

The worn pages of the books rustle in her head. A distraction, a nuisance that came out of nowhere. Why? She thinks for the nth time that day. Why is he calling me now? After all those years, why now?

“This cannot be ill, cannot be good” she murmurs.

Then laughs to herself. Quoting Shakespeare again? he belittles her in her mind.

She shakes her head as if to erase his ghost from her mind. “Cannot be good,” she repeats. But she has never run for no reason, she has never let life win over without girding herself with arms. She has never been coward enough to hide.

It might be nothing. Maybe a simple call for a quick hello. Five minutes of conversation would do her no harm. It might be nothing, but it might be something too. There is only one way to figure it out.

She straightens, puts on her glasses and adjusts her clothes. Blinks her eyes a few times until she makes sure they are not blank as an empty, grey wall. Until the fire inside that is close to dying out, flare up again. After that, she lifts her hands to either side of her face and slaps her cheeks, “Okay,” she says, nodding at herself in the mirror.

Then turns around on her heels and walks out of the door.

-

He calls again when she is out of work and waiting for a bus at the stop.

She is tranquil, somehow, as she looks at the screen. Maybe it’s because she has made her mind earlier today that if he is to call again, she would answer this time. And she does.

“Hey,” she greets.

“Hey, Hanji.” His voice is rough and coarse. It sounds older than she has last heard him. “What’s up?”

“I’m fine,” Hanji swings a leg absentmindedly. “How about you, Kenny?”

“’m fine too,” Kenny replies. She tries to imagine him with long, dark hair and a smug grin on his face. Although the years had rubbed out the picture of the man she has known it is easier than she had expected.

“Sorry, I couldn’t answer earlier,” Hanji says, half-lie, half-sincere. “I was busy at work.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, kid,” Kenny slides over and Hanji smiles slightly at the way he calls her. “I thought you’d be busy. But, eh, you see… I had to… call you,” he sighs. “Didn’t know who else to call.”

“Why?” She starts to feel the thorns again. Her body tenses involuntarily. A car sweeps by scattering her hair and clothes. “What’s wrong? Is he—"

Kenny sighs again and she hears his breath tremble. Above, the stars are hidden behind the grey, mobile clouds. The moon is a thin crescent. Strangers pass by, a bus stops, takes a few passengers and carries on. A breeze blows and the leaves rustle.

And Hanji feels like she is eleven again, watching the stars with a boy she barely knows.

You can’t count infinity, he had said. It is a waste of time.

They are no longer there.

“Kuchel,” Kenny begins. Cannot be good, Hanji thinks again and closes her eyes as he goes on with the dreadful news she had so feared to hear. “She is dead.”

--

The girl has stardust in her eyes.

Her hair is messy, and her clothes are dirty with mud and dust. She wears round glasses and when she smiles, he sees one of her upper teeth is slightly twisted.

And she reminds him of the first time he had seen a shooting star.

Do you want to learn more about the sky? The girl asks. Does he? He had never thought about it. He merely likes the experience of watching it while sitting or lying on his back with his arms under his head and a leg over the other in this abandoned, derelict building. It eases his mind when he is overwhelmed with school or family or friends or humans in general. He had most liked the fact that he had been alone all this time which was the actual purpose of this place anyway.

But the girl has stardust in her eyes, and she is like that shooting star, and she holds the moon in her hands.

If she reminds him that much of the sky maybe she would make him feel like he is watching it too, he thinks as he looks back above and shrugs.

Cannot be ill.

[twisted-imagines]

Sup! Can you write headcannons about silver and a s/o with insomnia if you’re not busy?

Yay! First requests! Hehe I'm happy~

A small scenario and general headcanons are coming your way, precisely because I have a lot of free time right now~ There's not much information on Silver right now, but I tried my best. Thank you veeery much for requesting, I hope I was able to write this piece to your liking. Please enjoy!❤ (You can also send me anonymous asks now, in case any of you feel more comfortable that way.)

Silver and a s/o with insomnia

There it was again. Your mind was buzzing with thoughts like a beehive again, despite your body being near it's limits after the long day. Even though your eyes were hurting as if they were thrown at least a kilo of sand at, you still couldn't close them and rest. Instead you were looking at the face of your dear boyfriend, quietly sleeping beside you. You spent your free day together, mindlessly walking through the college grounds, eating at cafeteria, watching birds at the square, listening their joyous songs and just enjoying each other's company. It was a perfect date, you couldn't help but smile a little remembering it and how Silver almost fell asleep several times. You used to be offended, it made you question whether you were that boring, but with time you learned that there was nothing malicious behind it and started to admire this trait of his.

Maybe you were even a tad bit jealous of it, as you lay in the bed in his room, where he invited you to absentmindedly at the end of the day. He didn't lie, about how he wouldn't attempt anything, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows, which left only you wide awake and unable to sleep.

Silver was very pretty like that, you had to note: his chest was rising in steady rhythm; soft lips, you kissed them today plenty of times, permitted only the quietest of snores out; his face completely relaxed. If you didn't know better you would think a silverhaired angel was sleeping near you. Your restless mind grew quiet just a bit observing Silver, but that wasn't satisfying at all, not if you wanted to get up to your classes tomorrow. You signed crestfallen, and shifted for ninth time that night to try and find a better pose, that would hopefully allow you to sleep.

Maybe it was the sound of your distress, the movements on the bed or his own intuition, but Silver woke up from his dreams to see you frowning and fidgeting, clearly not sleeping at all.

"Hey, [Name], are you asleep? "

His voice was nothing more than a whisper, but your eyes snapped open instantly, and that's when he knew something was wrong. Still groggy from waking up at the middle of the night, the boy moved closer to you, his hands slowly hugging you to his chest. You felt a warm peck on your forehead.

"Why 'r u 'wake? Nightmare?"

His words were slurred, said in a sigh, but they held comfort and care like none other.

"Can't fall asleep. I have nights like that often."

Your own words sounded harshly to your ears, not like your boyfriend's feather light questions, who grunted in response to let you know that he heard what you said. For a few moments there was a complete silence, and you, somewhat sadly, thought that he had fallen asleep once again, but instead Silver rose up together with you. You could see how he was struggling to chase away the sleep and it definitely didn't sit right with you.

"What are you doing?! If you wake up right now, you may not fall asleep later!"

You whisper scolded him, since it was not in your plans to make one more person suffer from lack of sleep that night.

"Heh, believe me, that's the least likely to happen with me of all people. "

With you in his firm, but gentle grip, Silver sat on the bed and looked curiously at the clock on his nightstand.

"Wow, it's already so late... Early? If you hadn't fallen asleep by now, remaining in the bed won't help. Let's go~"

The boy yawned before getting up and taking his coat from the chair. To your unvoiced question "Where to?" he replied:

"Outside. I remember reading it from somewhere, that a walk and fresh air can help sometimes. Come on, give me your hand."

The warmth of his hand encompassing yours, and his caring worlds nearly made you, so tired and frustrated, cry, but you followed his lead out of the room and to the hallway.

It was considerably colder there; not enough to make you freeze, just to freshen up a little, not to mention the cozy coat that Silver has thrown on your shoulders when you exited his room. The Diasomnia dorm was a different sight at night, still as solemn and majestic, with mysterious atmosphere, but the magic curling at the empty corridors, crawling on the floors, slipping around the corners, evading the green light of magical lanterns was almost palpable. Were you alone, you would scramble back to the room, the oppressing aura of the dorm was too much for you, and that meant something coming from the person, who lived in the infamous Ramshackle dorm. But with Silver at your side, your hand in his, you felt more at peace, not as fearful of descending further into the darkness of Diasomnia hallways.

When the boy stopped walking and moved to open the window, you understood where you had been led to it. It was a spacious balcony in one of the towers. It had a spectacular view, allowing you to take in the image of dorm grounds at night.

You could never imagine it to be so grandiose under the moonlight. The scenery looked straight out of a fairy tale. You neared the window in awe, your tiredness and bad mood were taken away with the heavy blow of wind. You shivered a little, but soon felt warm hands embrace you from behind. Silver's torso was against your back, and his chin was resting on your shoulder. He didn't say a word, most likely slowly falling asleep, just like he always did when he peacefully held you in his arms. You were his haven, a person who brought peace to his heart no matter what, with whom he could always feel himself comfortable and relaxed and he genuinely wanted for you to experience it too.

"Does it happen very often?"

His question was nearly carried away with the wind, before you heard it thought the state of serenity you were currently in. A deep sigh escaped you.

"Almost every night. Even if I fall asleep fast, I wake up at night and just wait for the morning, it's impossible to return to sleep. It's very tiring..."

It pained him to no end to see you so distressed, he couldn't bear to see his loved one hurt. He asked you a few other questions, determined to pry more details.

He made a resolution to learn more about the ways he could help you, maybe about remedies not traditional to you, especially in the field of magic. If he, a wizard from the Diasomnia, couldn't help you, surely an immense mistake was made in the dormitory's description, and it didn't hold the most proficient at magic personalities. Silver hugged you even closer placing a kiss to your temple. His voice was like a lullaby in your ear.

"When you're in pain, or struggling with something, I want to know about it. So, please, from now on, tell me about it, okay? I want to help you in any way I can. I'm your boyfriend after all."

His last replica embarrassed you to no end, even more than the following kiss to your cheek. So cheesy, yet so sweet, you didn't manage to keep yourself from laughing out loud. Compared to how nonchalant he sounded before, you could hear how bashful Silver became right away. You wanted to see his face so bad at the moment, but he prevented you from turning around, tightening his grip even more.

"Suddenly laughing like that...Was it so funny to you? Geez..."

A thud at your shoulder inspired an even funnier picture in your mind of a white cat burying it's head in it's paws. Nobody said anything anymore, relishing in the presence of the other. Calming melody of the wind and Silver's warmth started to lull you bit by bit. Your eyelids became just a bit heavier, mind pleasantly silent for a change.

"Think you can rest now? Not like you have left a lot of time, but it's better than nothing."

You heard Silver's voice and nodded. One way or another, tomorrow will be a hard day for you, but this impromptu walk improved your mood quite a bit.

"Sure. Let's head back. But before that-"

Silver, who was half-asleep at that point could only smile at the feeling of your lips on his.

"Thank you, Silver."

The boy in question only grumbled, before his weight started to slowly slide down on you.

• No need to mention, how exhausted you were, after Silver refused to wake up at any cost and you had to drag him back to his bed. You fell asleep from the complete lack of energy that night, and while it was not what Silver intended, you were able to survive at least to the end of morning classes.

• The boy himself was present at his own classes only on physical level, though nobody was surprised enough by that sight to question what he was doing at night. Gladly, he recovered enough energy to spend it on something he swore to do last night - learn more about your insomnia.

• He browses through books, internet resources and goes as far as asking Malleus and Lilia about the ways he can help you.

• While he does gain a lot of useful(and a few misleading ones from Lilia) advices, he still integrates some classic habits to his routine with you: he prepares beverages like hot cocoa or milk for you, cuddles and massages you when you stay at his room.

• He doesn't mind you shifting in bed or causing some noise when you sleep together, but he's also not best at keeping you company at night time, even if he sincerely wants to sometimes.

•He tries to help you with your studies as much as he can, searching for his old notes or revising the material together with you. Though it sometimes leads to you reading and explaining your exam themes to a completely clocked out Silver... You don't hold it against him.

• While he's your complete opposite in sleeping routine, he's very sympathetic and worries about you. Silver is completely understanding of how you may not have energy for anything at times, your health takes priority to him.

• If he notices your insomnia getting worse he won't shy away from using the spells Malleus shared with him. As long as it's of any benefit to you, he's not going to withhold it. But those are still drastic measures, and he discusses it with you prior.

• Being the one awake most of the time, you help him to stay conscious at crucial moments, and search for him, when you suspect that he has fallen asleep somewhere he shouldn't and he's thankful for that.