#pls keep in mind that this is very unfinished

[myrandom-fandomlife]

Okay I decided I’m just gonna post my cooliver fic as is and if you want more i’ll attempt to provide so ummm here’s my cooliver fic loosely based on wish you were sober by conan gray but title is from illicit affairs by taylor swift because it was supposed to be more than this

Warnings: underage drinking, cursing, making out (???), angst

for you i would ruin myself (a million little times)

They’re at a party they shouldn’t be at, drinking just a little too much, and dancing with girls that look like they came out of a victoria secret advertisement. They’re living every seventeen year old boy’s dream, so why can’t they stop looking at each other?

Oliver knew he was fucked the moment Cooper suggested they sneak out to attend some rich douchebag’s party who lived within walking distance of the Otto home. It goes the same way every time. They sneak out of their basement apartment together (which is shockingly easier than he expected), get drunk, and something happens.

That’s how he finds himself with a sweaty girl rubbing all over him while he’s making blazing eye contact with Cooper across the room. It’s the kind of look that means something more, sparking heat and making his gut twist. It’s the kind of look that should not be shared between two best friends while they’re drunk and dancing with women.

Cooper quirks a brow almost imperceptibly, but Oliver knows what it means: “Cut the bullshit– let’s bounce.”

Oliver gives a small nod and dismisses the girl in front of him with a brief whisper, starting toward where Cooper is already waiting for him at the door. It’s clear to him already that Cooper is much more intoxicated than he is. His cheeks are flushed, his hair is curling and sticking to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes are shining in a silent plea to hurry so they can get home. Oliver thinks he’s never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.

Oliver has an arm around Cooper’s waist, supporting him as he stumbles along. Oliver is more of a lightweight, but Cooper likes this. He likes not drinking so much that he forgets everything, but just enough that he can lean his head on Oliver’s shoulder without overthinking too much. He likes the way it makes him feel weightless, but there’s something a little sultry about him when he’s just the right amount of tipsy.

When the two boys arrive at the front door to the Otto’s house, Oliver gives Cooper his usual spiel on sneaking in quietly. He places both his hands on Cooper’s shoulders, forcing him to make eye contact, “Keep quiet until we are in the basement, okay? No stumbling, talking, giggling, anything that could wake mom.”

“I’m not that drunk, mi amor, I know the drill,” Cooper says lowly, and Oliver’s cheeks flush at the nickname.

Cooper smirks and Oliver rolls his eyes with a huff, “Really?”

“Really,” Cooper says faintly, because he’s leaning in and closing the distance between them before Oliver has the chance to react. When he does react, he’s kissing back enthusiastically, tongue poking out slightly to brush against Cooper’s lips.

This happens often now, when one or both of them are drunk. They make out sloppily, get themselves worked up, stop before it can do further, and then go to bed like nothing happened. They wake up the next day and don’t talk about it.

Cooper starts trailing kisses down the other boy’s jaw, causing Oliver to snap out of the haze he can never avoid when it comes to Cooper.

“Let’s take this inside, yeah?” He says softly, taking Cooper’s hand and leading him quietly into the home they now share.

When the door to the basement is shut, Cooper pushes Oliver into it, attacking his mouth once again. Oliver lets out a small noise of shock before melting into the kiss.

Cooper sighs into his mouth, “Missed this,” and then he starts kissing across his jaw again. Oliver’s head falls back at his words, and Cooper takes advantage of the access to his neck.

“No-” he pants, “No marks, Cooper.”

Cooper groans, “Love when you say my name.”

“Cooper,” he makes another noise at that, “Lets go to the bed.”

By the time they’ve stumbled over, their shirts are off and Cooper is on top of Oliver. He’s peppering kisses down Oliver’s chest and Oliver is trying very hard not to enjoy it so much. Cooper gets to his waistband and tries to tug it down, but is stopped by the other boy.

“Coop, we’re not doing this when you’re drunk.”

“I told you, I’m not that drunk.”

“This doesn’t happen when you’re sober,” Oliver snaps, immediately regretting his words.

Cooper recoils slightly, but doesn’t disagree. Instead, he rolls off of Oliver and on to his pillow.

Oliver starts to get up and go to his own bed but he’s stopped by a hand on his wrist, “Stay with me, Ollie, please?” Cooper says it in a small voice like he knows he’s asking for something he shouldn’t. He also knows that Oliver can’t say no to him.

Oliver stays.

[singukieee]

—my all time favourite bts fics (pt. 2) ᯓᡣ𐭩

consists of my personal favourite bts fics that I've read countless of times. including those from other platforms, such as Wattpad, AO3, and Patreon.

For some works that are cross-posted between tumblr and wp/ao3, I'd only link them to the latters bcs I find it easier to read and navigate the stories on those. but I also tagged all the authors I know are here and linked the rest so you can check their blogs out yourself!

I'll also separate this list into several parts simply because there's too many... So it'd be easier for you guys to navigate!

red means unfinished

blue means finished

🗯️ curator's note

(sorted by alphabetical order)

Dreams of You by seoktishie

You are a theater actress who dreams of becoming a successful Broadway star. You’ve dedicated your whole life hustling for the show, surrounded by a supportive family and friends you never thought you would lose your best friend and boyfriend on the same day. This puts your dreams to a halt, and you decide to take a break and a soul-searching trip to Korea, where you meet a successful artist that reconnects your love for the arts. OR You accidentally meet Kim Namjoon of BTS, and you had no idea of how an amazing person he is nor how he is the leader of the biggest boyband to date!

🗯️ the yearning and pining *chef's kiss*

Epiphany by 2stanornot2stan

Your soulmate mark seemed self-centred to you "I'm the one I should love" Who would ever want to love someone with that as their soulmate mark?

🗯️ this one is painful. but writing's so good, doesn't fail in pulling my heartstrings.

Escapade by bonnehh_

"Where the hell am I?!" He shrieked, stumbling over his feet like a newborn deer. He was a panicking mess, spinning around in circles to see the unfamiliar sight of giant trees and bushy plants covering the land. The forest was heavily rich with greenery, vegetation and strange fruits. Fallen leaves covered the ground, creating a crunching sound after every step he took. "Calm down, Sweets." I calmly voiced amidst his loud screeches. My words cut through his mess of a mind making him freeze on his spot. Turning on his heel, he noticed me. He stumbled back immediately, possibly because I was covered in angry, red scratches and the bandages covering my arms alerted the male. "What the fudge?!!?! Who- who are you??" He shouted, alarmed by my…seemingly beaten-up figure. "I'm Diana. Welcome to the game." I smiled softly. Hoping my excitement can keep a hold of itself for the sake of keeping the man from getting scared. Dumbfounded, He could only let one word out, "Huh?". Oh boy.

🗯️ a cool one! many adventures and mc has freakishly good survival skills. this honestly cured my longing for that one fic that's no more that was also survival, adventure and game themed with slight crack. I think it was called 'Ready Player One'? (not that famous book and movie). but I think it was a translated ver of a chinese ff on another platform. Idk I still missed it very much, it was also very good. (If you know anything abt this, pls dm me!)

Ethereal by @purpleyoonn

After leaving your home in need of a fresh start, you open a bookstore with the hopes that the words you read could bring you solace. You never realized that the books you loved would bring you home instead.

🗯️ I love soulmate stories, this author also has good writing so

Euphoric Endeavours by haveagreatday

Through a series of curious happenstances, the Boys of Bangtan - your campus' most popular and most handsome group of individuals - set their sights on you, a regular student with a stubborn streak and a wayward mouth. Strangely enough, the mere sight of them sets your instincts off, red-lights flashing in your brain - danger, danger, danger, danger. It's too bad that they can't seem to leave you alone, though. They like you too much.

🗯️ enemies to lovers, anyone?

Everything Falls (Into Place) by Hiromi_20 / @blog-name-idk

"I… I might know someone who has a spare room," your brother finally muttered hesitantly. You perked up from where the couch had been swallowing you. "What! And you didn't tell me?" You accused. "You'd be living with a bunch of dudes." "Oh my god Jackson," you groaned, rolling your eyes. "The fact that you're even suggesting them means that you know them all and they're good people, right? It's not like they're gonna murder me and hide my body in the walls or something." "Well, yeah, but…" "But WHAT?" you almost screamed in frustration. "They're all… hot." Silence for several moments. Then you started guffawing uncontrollably, unladylike snorts escaping from your lips. "You are such a dork," you gasped between laughs, tears coming to your eyes. "If I promise not to let them gangbang me, will you please ask?"

🗯️ another really well-written crack fic! goshhh this one's so goood! this one's the real friends to lovers, gosh the pining is just *chef's kiss*

Finding My Pack by @untaemedqueen (paid on Patreon but so worth it)

In which an all-alpha pack unexpectedly found their mate isolated in a sterile room. So the only right thing would be to pamper and love her to make up for all those years she spent alone and lonely.

🗯️ spicyy 🥵 but also cute. I love protective mates

Flaw in The System by Strayberry_

She has 8 moons on her wrist. So do they.

🗯️ honestly Idk what to say about this one. just prepare your tissues for this family of misfits that fit so well together.

Full House by fillomina

Y/N has a steady job and lives alone, that is, until she tags along with her friend to the shelter. Jimin, Hobi, and Yoongi have been waiting to get adopted, and their chance has finally arrived. With the small hybrid pack now living with Y/N, her life never has a dull moment. As Y/N gets used to her new family, she also begins learning more about old friends, making new ones, and getting a very full house.

🗯️ I'd say that I don't like the fact that yn's kinda treated as a doormat at some parts, but it's still good and quite well-written found family fic.

Getting Back Into The Swing of Things by @jellifysh

Hearing her voice now, Namjoon was reminded of the times when she was all he had. How she was his everything, supported him with everything she had, even if it meant giving him the shirt off her back. "Joon?" Y/n sniffled. "I know it sounds crazy, you don't even have to, its been years," "No," Namjoon was agreeing before he could even think, before he could even remember the other people who lived in the house just the next room over. "No, its okay, I mean, we promised each other right? We'd never turn our backs on each other?" "You can stay with us, it'll be fine I promise, I'll handle everything, don't worry at all, it'll be great! Like, old times, okay?" Namjoon was tripping over his words now, he just felt like if he didn't see her now, he would be too late for… something. What, he wasn't sure, but there was an urgent need to have her home safe.

🗯️ just re-read this one again literally yesterday, still as good as the first time. I love strangers to friends to lovers.

Her by untouchablerave

The question hangs between you, and you’re desperate to ask it. Usually, you don’t mind much who is on the other end of the appointment, as you’re so focused on a list of kinks, trying to map out a scene in your head, but this time, the ‘who’ is all you can focus on. Your boss looks at you. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this but… do you know BTS?” Your head snaps up in shock. “You’re fucking with me,” you gasp. “I’m dead serious,” your boss replies. “Jeon Jungkook just came of age. He wants to lose it right away.”

🗯️ spicy but soft soft softtt

Hidden Marks series by Havenesa

❶ Hidden Marks

What does it mean to be soulmates? What do I love about her? What is the reason? Does there need to be a rational reason to love someone? Maybe I love her amber eyes, or the way she tries to hide her smile whenever we get into playful arguments, or her love for just living. Maybe I just love her because she is simply just Han Sera.

🗯️ This one's so angsty yet so good, the writing's also so good at making the characters so human that I'd always end up sobbing at every re-read.

❷ Connecting Hearts

What defines a soulmate? Is it the mark that you were born with, only shared with a selected few? Or a bond which was created through pain and suffering? You'll have to read to find out.

Highlight by Alphathyx

Hana attends Atlas Academy of Arts also known as the AAA to pursue her passions in Hiphop with best friend Hoseok and Prince Charming Jimin. The school gets selected along with other arts schools to compete in an inter-school competition which prize could open doors to any arts students dreams. She along with seven boys, discover what it means to love, but a tragic incident spirals the competition and them into a mystery no one saw coming.

🗯️ friendship and struggle to success <3

Hotel California by Deliebre

You are a badass business guru that works for a huge gaming company. Your home is Korea but you travel often. You are in California for work but keep bumping into hot Korean men, which makes you want to do more than bumping...

🗯️ immediate connection... yes please!

In The Dark by BearPawBeach

"How can that be? I am looking right at you. I am speaking to you right now." "That's the thing. I don't know! That's why I came here today. Yesterday, when you laughed at me, you laughed at me. I almost didn't believe it myself, but the more I thought about it, the crazier it sounded. So I came here to see you and to know if you can see me!" she blurted out. He could not believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. "Look, you don't need to lie to me. There is no need to make up some crazy excuse to meet someone." "I'm not lying! I really am invisible," she argued back. The man just threw his hands up to concede and turned to walk away from her again, walking right out of the building. The girl followed in hot pursuit. "Do you really not believe me? Why would I make something like that up? Yes, I know it sounds crazy. If I were you, I would probably think it's nuts too, but I am telling you the truth!"

🗯️ mc is invisible in this one, story's kinda sad and cute!

In Your Roots by sweetinsanityy

Jungkook is the perfect alpha, a little too perfect. Being the youngest in Bangtan, a group full of alpha's, friction has been happening between him and the boys. He's too strong, too dominating, too wild, and too much for Bangtan to handle. The perfect solution? An omega just for himself. You happen to be the perfect candidate. But the other boys want a taste of you as well. Or, you're hired to be an omega for Jungkook to take care of, and maybe he and the rest of the boys get too attached.

🗯️ another one about the boys being absolute simps!

Iridescent Love by @imnotlauriane

From a fated meeting to a life filled with wonders, the path of discovery is much, much harder than what I had prepared myself for. Especially when my identity, the only one I knew of ends up being a total lie.

🗯️ sad... but it got better. and what did I say abt imnotlauriane's stories? they're all good!

It's a Little Complex? by Infired_Mochi

Starting college and moving into a new apartment with complete independence has been your goal. Due to all the hard work at the cafe during your high school years, and your parents pitching in a few dollars, you can afford to stay in the apartment that is just the right size. However, did you get more than you bargained for? A few other college students occupy the rooms next to yours, seven to be exact. Eight rooms reside on the third floor of the apartment complex and yours is on the farthest right wing, apartment number 308. Just wait until you meet them.

🗯️ sooo it's a little complex... just read it!

Late Bloomer by basicwitch13

Despite growing up in a wolf pack, you were never able to shift nor had a second gender present itself. It seemed, by all accounts, that you were a typical human. So you carried on, burying yourself in your work as a sociology professor—until one of your students introduces you to his pack and changes everything.

🗯️ yes to yearning, pining, and healing.

Like Crazy by @euphoricfilter

The story of seven loves across eight lives.

🗯️ so freakin well-written

Little Do You Know... by @yoongiofmine

In a world where idols and actors can’t date, whether it be because of contracts, lack of time, or the dangers that involve having your personal life leaked, the market opened up for a new work field. Playmate Agencies emerged to supply the entertainment world with highly trained companions for hire. Bangtan is looking for new playmates. And you just happen to be the one all of them choose.

🗯️ another idk what to sayy, just read bcs it's so gooood.

Magic Shop by AriZedd

In which Yn is meeting new friends (and an old one) getting charmed day by day.

🗯️ just read this crack fic, strangers to friends to ... I'm obsessed.

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4 | NAVI

[kazucee]

! CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT (to) ౨ৎ

—In which your relationship with Albedo gets broken down into three paradigms accompanied by overarching assumptions, overthinking, and sweet memories.

Pairings: Albedo x gn!Reader

Dedicated to my very Albedo-coded spouse @luvether 𐙚 Dare I say these are my marriage vows to you /lh but in all seriousness, I wrote this with you in mind (because I think the silence between us need no words + all the little silly conversations are worth everything to me)! You mean so much to me and I adore every little thing you do. Guys if you spot any mistakes pls for my honor ignore it.

wc: 1.3k || lovely art by: @/jotto75 on twt !

Painter!Albedo is often described by his peers as closed off, detached from this plane of reality, a brilliant mind with a pair of watercolour eyes muddied with powder blue and hazel hues.

To put it bluntly, you didn't care about the hearsay that surrounded the artist.

To put it bluntly, you can't help the small endeared feeling you'd get when you see how dedicated he was to his craft and how he would go for days without end in his studio whenever he’d paint, how his mind worked like a self-tuning piano—functioning properly without the need for human interference. But what good is a self-tuning piano without a pianist's calloused hands to play it?

You cannot really put a label as to what exactly you are to Albedo, no that would be far too restrictive for whatever type of relationship said or unsaid.

During those days where he'd locked himself in his studio, you were the only one permitted to enter, the only one permitted to stay, the only one he’d allow to make idle chatter whilst he painted the next Renaissance masterpiece (though he hates it when you describe his works as so.)

The best label you could assume would be that your relationship with him were like his often unfinished paintings:

It is chaotic—a flurry of colour, the smear of paint brush strokes, a collage of hues—Like when you and him snuck into the Louvre to admire their newest impressionist collection without the bothersome crowds and flash photography.

That had been the best night of your life, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making your skin prickle in excitement, your heart pumped rapidly and till this day you convince yourself that it was because of the thought of getting caught and not the way his gloved hand had expertly held onto yours as he guided you through the timeless halls of the museum.

Like the mess of his milky blonde locks when he had asked you to cut it, you were terrified, no, mortified, to say the least when your bewildered look was met with his signature blasé expression, the press of the cool metal scissors against the palm of your hand a small request wrapped with ribbons of unwavering faith.

You thought you did a pretty good job despite your only experience being cutting your own bangs during the 7th grade. Whether he liked it or not you could not quite figure out but considering that up until now he’d approached you whenever he felt like his hair was getting in the way of his work, you’d count it as a win.

It is abstract— like his gaze, those irises of his that shifted hues depending on the light of day (if you could chart eye colours under the sunlight Albedo would definitely be the first candidate on your list).

It was abstract like the way he’d stare as you kneaded the dough, like you were an enigmatic puzzle he was trying to solve or take apart piece by piece.

His gaze as intense as it was confusing.

Those times when he presumed you were preoccupied with the novel perched between your delicate hands or the rom-com you were rewatching for the nth time, those times when he’d stare at you as if you were one of the most bewitching pieces of art to ever have caught his fancy, one he'd like to steal away from the world and keep in the alcoves of his person for him and him only.

His stare had a feeling of its own, you could almost feel the caress of his hands against the curve of your cheeks and the soft brush of fingers against the furrow of your brow, his stare felt like an artist memorizing every tendon and every muscle under your skin, piecing together how they worked.

Then you’d turn to catch him in the act only for him to give you the faintest smile, a small quirk of his lips all innocent and beguiling like he hadn't just stolen your breath, soul, and heart with all but one rouge glance.

Oftentimes you wonder how he thought of you; if you were just one of the meddlers in his daily routine who didn't cause him much ire, if you were just another warm body for him to keep as a means to ward off the cold.

But then he’d press tender kisses against your knuckles whenever you’d bake him something sweet, kisses that felt like honeydew and intricate snowflakes falling upon flesh, it had the ability to render your heart to something weak, something soft and plush-like, and make you feel guilty for ever having such thoughts cross your mind.

Him and his soft melodic voice calling you his muse just to see the incipient flush of your cheeks, he smiles at that because he knows how to unlock that small part of your heart you desperately want no one to find.

Him and his habit of sketching you first as an absent-minded practice before starting yet another painting.

Him and his undying love tracing the lines of your figure whenever he has the chance. It’s him and him and him.

It is enchanting—you can’t look away, you can’t stop listening, you can't stop your heart from quickening its pulse whenever he gets closer, from the way your head would tilt in his direction ever so slightly, your movements purely muscle memory when it came to him.

You can't stop from pulling at the seams of the relationship and wishing for it to simply unravel. You often didn't think of yourself as high pride, you're quiet when the world was loud, loud when there was nothing but silence, but with Albedo it was constant silence, a sort of silence that was loud in its own convoluted way.

It was comforting almost, the way you both can sit in each other's orbit and simply be contented with each other's existence, body heat, and soft breathing.

The artist was a silent man in nature but when you'd prod endlessly at him to teach you about the different types of butterfly wings, he'd go on and on without ceasing and you'd let him.

There was something about the way those watercolour eyes turned a little less muddled, a little less murky, more clear and bright whenever he shared his latest fascination with you.

You could feel it, how much he liked to talk despite being classified as quiet all the time. It was one time during autumn with its warm patchwork of colours and cool breezes when you realized, just as he finished explaining the fascinating facts he had learned about honey bees that Albedo liked to speak when he had something to say when he knew that his words had some sort of weight when they meant something to someone.

So you made it a point to ask him about anything and everything because to you hearing him speak was akin to listening to the most well-practised symphony, the way he articulated his words, the brief pauses whenever he had to remember something, listening to him was like entering his world that he had expertly shut everyone out of.

There were times when he'd quiet down and you'd think he had finally had enough of talking but then he'd turn to you eyes sincere as he asks for your own thoughts about the topic. It wasn't that he was done talking, it was that he had wanted to listen, listen to you.

Albedo was an enigma to you.

You understand so much yet know so little at the same time. The blonde had mastered the art of withdrawing specific bits and pieces of himself to keep you on your toes, toeing that invisible line between you two that neither wanted to cross just yet. Call it self-preservation, call it cowardice. All is fair when it comes to love, paintings, and a blonde sun-kissed boy and his kaleidoscope eyes.

Small AN: WOAH A X READER FIC? FROM ME? this is the first one that I've posted and in all honesty I'm bloody terrified hehe~ Actually critiques are super welcomed (in DMS ofc) I swear idk if half of what I write makes sense and connects properly (I struggle with that even in school essays smh.) OH AND SPACING. WHY DO I ALWAYS STRUGGLE WITH THAT. reblogs, likes and comments are much appreciated ♡

[sorcerersseestars]

just like you <3

warnings: Gojo makes inappropriate jokes. Reader is gender neutral but refers to Gojo as “such a boy” once and is called princess by Gojo thrice. (it’s part of the story, I’m sorry ;-;). Kissing, suggestiveness, & confessions! Gojo is wearing his shades but I was too lazy to keep writing that in…

word count: 2.1k

I feel like Gojo and reader are in their late teens/early 20s in this! Also, I think this feels like more of a snapshot of one moment than a complete oneshot…I guess it’s a drabble then?? Not sure haha pls let me know if there’s a term for this

Gojo hates classical music. Growing up, his parents would drag him to so many ballets and operas, especially around the holidays. He can’t count on both hands how many performances of the Nutcracker he has seen, which was always such a snooze fest for him—he used to point and laugh at the poor child who had to play the rat, which is usually how he got out of seeing the rest of the performance, since the ushers would quickly kick out him and his family for his behavior.

In essence, Gojo has always gone about his life convinced that classical music is horribly boring and that he abhors it.

That is, until you reintroduce him to it. When you ask him if you mind listening to a piece with him, he’s a bit surprised—and of course, apprehensive. How is he going to break it to you that he hates something you hold so dear? But it’s you, so he relents—how could he ever say no to you?

“It’s called Scheherazade,” You say, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s based on a Thousand and One Nights, y’know, the really old story. Do you know it?”

You’re both sitting on your bed. You are sitting cross-legged, while Gojo rudely stretches out his legs (manspreads!), leaving little room for you. You don’t complain, though—you like being this close to him, even if you can’t admit it to yourself.

“I haven’t heard of it,” He admits. He feels so relaxed with you that he yawns even though he isn’t necessarily sleepy. You seem to take this the wrong way, though.

You become embarrassed. “Oh shit, this stuff is kinda nerdy, huh? I don’t want to bore you-”

“You won’t,” He says immediately, firmly. His blue eyes seem to look right through you, making you nervous under his persistent gaze. Maybe if this was music history class, he’d sigh and moan, but since you’re the one telling the story, there’s no possible way he could get bored.

“Oh, r-really?” You stammer out, quickly looking away from his bold gaze (does he always look at you like that?) “Okay then. Uh, so basically, this king found his wife in bed with another man, so he uh– killed her and all of her servants. He kinda went crazy after that and took revenge on women by summoning one virgin to his chamber every night and executing her before the night was up.”

He shifts from his position, leaning in toward you to whisper, “I don’t think he was a very nice king, but don’t tell him I said that.”

You laugh at his lame joke, which makes him feel warm inside.

“Well, one night, a woman named Scheherazade volunteered to be the virgin to go to him one night. Her family was distraught, thinking they were going to lose their daughter to their insane king. But after the first night was up, everyone was surprised to see she was still alive in the morning. This repeated on and on. She was really clever and told him an unfinished story every night, telling him that he would have to wait until the next night to hear the ending. And she did that One Thousand and One times, hence the name of the story.”

“So you’re telling me that she edged him with the same story for one thousand and one nights and he never noticed? Seems kinda gullible, if ya ask me.”

“Why do you have to put it like that?” You say, flustered by his wording. “Ugh, you’re such a boy sometimes.”

“Am I wrong, princess?” He smiles. Your heart skips a beat at his use of a pet name, but you try not to make it obvious.

You roll your eyes. “W-whatever! Anyway, he eventually fell for her and made her his queen. That’s what this piece is based on—or that’s the simple version of it, at least.”

“So, let me get this straight—she tamed an actual virgin-killer?”

“Satoru!” You try to sigh, but can’t hold back your laughter. “That’s not the point!”

“It kinda is though, isn’t it?” He playfully argues. “Actually, I’d argue that’s the climax of the story. After that, everything gets resolved!”

You make a face when he calls it the ‘climax’. In turn, he pokes your cheek.

“What, you don’t like my literary terminology? C’mon, that’s literally what it’s called!”

“You’re such a perv! Virgin killer this, climax that,” You wrinkle your nose in semi-faux disgust. “Just shut up and listen, I’m going to turn it on.”

“Oooo, you’re gonna turn it on!” Gojo says, waggling his fingers and doing jazz hands.

You cross your arms and put on your sternest look. “Do you want to listen to it or not?”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, officer, I’ll behave now!”

You giggle. “Okay, enough. I’m gonna start it now, for real. It’s kinda long, so sit tight.”

You press play on your device, fiddling with the volume for a bit since classical music has such high highs and low lows. You’re still nervous if he’s going to like it or not, so you aren’t as immersed in the music as you usually are. You keep glancing at Gojo out of the corner of your eye, praying you’re not boring him to death.

As the music plays on, you begin to relax and imagine the story in your head. You close your eyes, savoring the colorful tones of the different instruments and the singing melodies.

You open your eyes at the start of the second movement, and are surprised to find Gojo’s eyes completely on you. The solo violin sings beautifully iand the harp tugs at your heartstrings in the background, making the sensation of his eyes on yours all the more evocative. You lose your breath; neither of you look away. It should be awkward, but it isn’t.

“D-do you like it?” You stupidly ask.

“It’s beautiful,” He says softly, eyes still on you. Just like you are the words left lingering on his tongue, right there yet left unsaid.

“Really?!” You answer excitedly—but again, stupidly. “I- uh, I’m gl–”

You cut yourself off with a yelp as the mood in the music suddenly changes. You had turned it up during the quiet opening, since you could hardly hear, so this loud and sudden start to a stormy section catches you off guard. You instinctively flinch and grip the nearest thing around you for comfort…

…That ‘thing’ being your friend, Satoru Gojo. You’re holding his thick biceps tightly, not realizing your blunder in your haste.

He smirks at you but doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in to you. “Aw, did you get scared? It’s just vibrations wiggling the air, there’s nothing to be scared of.”

You instantly let go. He laughs at how quickly you back away, and you can only hope he doesn’t sense the heat on your cheeks. So embarrassing.

“You–! Ugh! I was just caught off guard!” You say, brushing your hands off just for show. "It just suddenly got so loud that I got startled.”

“That sounds like an excuse to me,” He jests.

“Think whatever you like,” You sigh, exasperated. “But c’mon, we have to finish it! We’re only halfway and we just missed some.”

“Okay, okay, let’s keep going then.” He says, motioning for you to continue. “Just so you know, it’s fine if you need to hold onto something—or should I say somebody—at the next ‘scary’ cymbals crash…”

You glare at him and harshly press the volume up button. You smile as the music returns to your ears, and you slightly sway to the melody. You’re too into the music to notice how Satoru gazes affectionately at your gentle swaying, a small smile gracing his lips.

By around the middle of the third movement, The Young Prince and the Young Princess, you check back in on Gojo. This movement is calmer and slower, not as exciting as the first two, so you worry he may not find it engaging enough.

“What do you think about this movement?” You ask him quietly.

“This one?” He responds, and you nod. “I like it, maybe more than the others. It’s very romantic. And it’s kinda fitting.”

You have no idea what that could mean. You freeze, worrying that it’s a joke that you’ll fall for and get hurt over.

But you ask anyway. “Fitting?”

“Mmhmm,” He rumbles. “The Young Prince and the Young Princess. That’s the title of the movement, isn’t it?”

“It…it is,” You confirm hesitantly, afraid to misunderstand him. “A-and…?”

“Well, princess,” He says, and you again practically melt at the pet name. “I think this movement is very pretty.”

“Pretty?” You echo back. “Yes, I guess it is.”

“Yep, pretty,” He says. “Just like you.”

“I–huh?!”

He said it so casually and with so much ease that you practically missed it.

Just like…you?

“What did you just say?” You ask with wide eyes. You’re trembling and your face feels so hot.

He inches closer to you. You have to fight not to react—whether that would be to lean in or back away, you do not know. You like him so much that it scares you—he practically holds the reins to your emotions.

“I said that this movement is pretty, just like you,” He says, eyes flickering down to your lips then back up to your eyes. “Is there something wrong about that? You can’t crucify me for telling the truth.”

You brain cells start to fizzle out. All you can think to say is, “Crucify you?”

Gojo chuckles. “I call you pretty, and you’re focusing on my wording?”

“Well, I- you’re talking like it’s biblical times or something!”

“Maybe your story reminded me of that. You were the one talking about executing virgins,” He says, then comes closer still. “Pretty.”

He’s so close that you’re sure he can feel your quick breaths fanning his face. You’re so nervous that your breathing comes fast and shallow.

You swallow your fears. It’s now or never.

“Satoru,” You start shakily, then steady yourself with a big breath. “I think…I think you’re pretty, too.”

He blinks. You blink.

You’re so sure that he’s about to make fun of you for what you said—is it weird to call a boy pretty?—and you’re so sure that he’s going to boisterously laugh in your face and reveal that it’s all one big joke that everyone else was in on.

You’re so embarrassed. You cover your face with your hands, mortified by your own actions. The laughter is coming, you know it.

And it does. But it’s different than you imagined.

He’s laughing softly. You peek through your fingers. He seems to be…amused?

“You’re so cute,” He says. “So pretty. So endearing, d’ya know that?”

Your voice comes out so small and vulnerable. “Really?”

“Really,” He affirms. “And I…I really want to kiss you, pretty.”

Your eyes meet his. You’re electrified by the genuine want and need in his gaze. He’s serious.

“Then kiss me, Satoru.”

Ah, so there’s the sassy tone you usually have towards him. He chuckles and traces your jawline with his fingers. He savors in the way you squirm and how your breath hitches when his fingers reach your neck.

He leans in and circles his arms around your waist, pulling you into a deep kiss. You hold onto his biceps again for support, which flex under your palms as he takes the kiss deeper. You feel even hotter than before, if that was even possible.

He finally breaks the kiss, and you’re surprised to hear his equally shaky breathing. “I really like you, princess. I really like you.”

You laugh softly, pressing a hand against his firm chest. “Satoru, I like you too. If it wasn’t obvious.”

“Maybe it was with the way you practically fell into my lap when you got scared–”

“I did not!!” You bury your face in your hands again.

“Kidding, princess!” He kisses your cheek. “You’re so easy to rile up…Oh, by the way, did you know that I hate classical music?”

“You do? Really? Oh, god, you must have been so bored the whole time, I knew it–!”

“No, no I really enjoyed this. Seriously.” He says with conviction. “I wasn’t faking anything. Ever. It just feels so different with you…”

“Satoru…” You whisper.

He starts leaving kisses on your jawline, causing you to shiver. “You just drive me crazy, princess. ‘Couldn’t stop thinking of you while we were listening. I wanted to kiss you so bad the whole time.”

“Then we gotta make up for the lost time, huh?” You say, pulling him into another kiss.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He sighs, letting himself get lost in you.

Scheherazade continues playing in the background, but it’s on neither of your minds now. You barely even hear it, even though you had been so insistent on listening to the whole thing through before. Even when the ending chords fade out, both you and Satoru are trying to catch your breath, craving more.

Fin.

Thank you for reading!! I don’t feel like it’s my best work, but i hope it’s still a little enjoyable! 🥹 I got the urge to write this out of NOWHERE and wrote it all today…I never do that haha so that was quite the surprise for me.

Note: To all the fellow classical music nerds out there, I’m aware that Scheherazade isn’t actually classical, but…let’s just put that aside, shall we? :) I’m just using layman’s terms so that everyone can understand and enjoy!

[linearao3]

Do you have any recommendations for the best fanfics you’ve read? Reylo or Six of Crows

Thanks so much and happy thanksgiving

Thank you! Sorry to be late answering but I hope you also had a happy Thanksgiving/Thursday.

As to recs— well, I am waiting to travel so I will try to keep things brief. Reylo favorites: Tactical Surrender by @destiniesfic has A+ action and very faithful characterization, as well as very fun OCs and excellent chapter structure. the Sword of Prince Hector by @englishable brings to the surface and wrestles with some of the latent moral questions of Star Wars as well as larger questions of punitive justice and atonement. (Their modern AU, Janus, is also what brought me around to modern AUs in general.) @again-pls has an unfinished canonverse AU, Ego Eris, that is wonderfully light on its feet and has some of the best depictions of the Force I’ve seen. (I don’t believe there are currently plans to finish it, but it remains a very enjoyable reading experience and there are elements of this fic I have genuinely mistaken for canon.) Take Me by @slipgoingunder makes excellent use of country music, both lyrically and as a scene, to create an immersive AU. Honestly, the reylo fanfic pool is so enormous that sheer numbers dictate an excess of writing talent. I do recommend bookmark-hopping over sorting-by-kudos for finding what you want.

In Six of Crows, I must of course immediately mention @whatanybodygets; I was slow getting to Adagio but now I blab about it to people who aren’t even in the fandom, and save the undone years is also absolutely smashing and makes me weep. (I also really like how the AU translation of Inej’s relationship with Heleen focuses on sexual control as the violation of autonomy.) @darol’s The DeKappel Heist (and other tales) does a truly delightful job of reminding us that Kaz and Inej are streetwise, savvy, talented, and also idiot fucking teenagers, god bless. @rainstormdragon has many excellent fics but I will call out in particular Wraith, which looks directly at the ugliness of the violence that Kaz and Inej inflict and throws it into relief by changing the balance. There are a number of fics by @alltheworldsinmyhead expressly designed to fuck you up but I’m very partial to pour away the ocean. Often fanfic relationships can find themselves falling into preset lines of behavior and reaction, and I love the rawness of Inej’s jealousy. I could go on, but I’ll just wrap up with @pyrrhlc’s fic hybrid signal, which features some wildly inventive and evocative magic, and a Kaz who can have his feathers stroked.

I don’t know why Tumblr won’t let me add the Tactical Surrender link! But I hope you find some good reads, and I’m sorry if you’ve already read all this; it’s kind of just what was top of mind.

[bleed-more]

My Updated Headcanons for Seth Wilson

Since a lot of my attention is on Seth right now, I'm writing some updated headcanons for him with things I've learned over the past 4 years! I'm starting with my HCs with evidence and will write my HCs without evidence later >:3c

HEADCANONS WITH EVIDENCE:

- Seth's dog name is Link (Joseph mentioned in a livestream that's Seth the actor's dog's name so in typical MH fashion I imagine dog actor Link also plays dog character Link)

- Seth is about as tall as Brian (this isn't even really a hc but I used to draw him short so I wanted to clear that up)

- Seth did all the TTA entries that include fried images and red motifs (based off of Night Mind's theory that Tim-themed entries are black and white, Brian-themed entries are stereoscopic, and Seth-themed entries are deep-fried/red. They used these colors to both communicate who's speaking AND to let the recipient know who the message is for.)

- Seth used to be Christian but fell out of it by Season 2 (I think Seth is responsible for all the Christian iconography in the first season i.e. stigmata, ark, deluge, etc. considering neither Brian nor Tim were part of TTA yet, and he slowly abandons that faith because.......)

- ...Seth thinks he is a messiah of some kind (from TTA's "Forecast" where he says "AMIAPROPHET." [TW DEAD ANIMALS & ANIMAL CRUELTY FR PLS READ WITH CAUTION] Forecast uses footage from the USSR's "Experiments in the Revival of Organisms: 1940" in which you see a disembodied dog's lung being inflated and deflated by a machine in an effort to keep a dismembered dog's head alive. I don't think it's a coincidence TTA used a dismembered dog to refer to Seth ((or what Seth has become)) and that Seth is both alive(-ish) and has saved others from death, but only in the same fucked up corrupted way you see in the USSR's footage. Which leads me to...)

[END TW]

- ...Seth is trapped somewhere between the line of life and death and is sticking around for the unfinished business of revenge killing Alex (in the TTA entries, while many things are convoluted and unclear, one thing that is very consistent is TTA's hatred of Alex. Seth is vengeful for the death of himself, the attempted and successful murders of his friends. From TTA's "Decay" where Seth is clearly addressing Alex, he says "HE[Jay] WILL LEAD ME[Seth] TO YOU[Alex], LEAD ME TO DEATH[because his job will be done then], LEAD ME TO THE ARK[salvation and an end to his and Alex's suffering])

- Seth is the one responsible for Brian, Tim, and Jay surviving during Alex's first murder attempt (Alex couldn't bring himself to *actually* kill his friends back in 2006, so he lured them to the park and used blunt force trauma to knock them unconscious hoping leaving them for dead out in the park would be enough. Seth, however, had already caught on that something was wrong after Sarah's disappearance (I am going to write a whole thing about this eventually hehehe) and so he knew to be at the park, and after Alex left them, Seth made sure they were safe (there is also info I have here about a lake but that's worth a whole other post, send an ask if you're curious <3)

- And finally, Seth had been well ahead of everyone else in figuring out what was going on (Seth was the camera and tech guy, so it would make sense he would be the first to see what's happening on these cameras, and investigating what might be causing all of this. Seth was the one who coined the term OPERATOR. He understood Alex's actions were being influenced by this creature Seth was seeing while editing Marble Hornets. And I also think Alex knew Seth was catching onto his murder attempts, and that's why Alex took no chances and shot Seth (the first instance of Alex using a gun in the series) instead of hitting him over the head with a pipe and leaving him for the Operator like the others.)

I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK AND IF YOU GUYS HAVE ANY OF YOUR OWN THEORIES THIS WAS REALLY FUN TO WRITE AND I CANT WAIT TO MAKE PART 2 <3

[dykekarkat]

hey I’ve seated myself on your couch PLEASE tell me more of your ghost andreil au it is beautiful and Oscar worthy to me

omg hi yes pls be seated im sorry this got slightly long and also took a bit!! also unsure if this even makes sense or is smth u will like but alas, i just kinda went wild. anyway thank you so much for the ask :)

i love getting a chance to talk about any and all of my aus. ghost andreil came about bcus im not a huge fan of the ghost x human relationship trope thing so i thought what if instead they were both ghosts...love beyond living is just so perfect for andreil...anyway long ramble ahead so ill put it under the cut <3

basic world building in my head is that ghosts are basically humans who are living on the Wrong Layer of the universe because they refuse to let go of their lives or have some unfinished business (normal ghost things). the supernatural isn't widely known about or believed in but there are ppl aware (like renee for instance). ghosts can touch other ghosts but not humans (duh) bcus i want andreil to fist fight and also to eventually have a physical relationship bcus it is important to me. too much interaction w physical objects depletes their energy, but the more will a ghost has the more energy they have (and by god are andreil willful little assholes).

renee and jean are both mediums! renee's been involved w the spiritual realm forever (gang related) while jean just thinks he's losing his mind slowly ^-^ renee is on a quest to help andrew move on (he hates this) but theyre still besties. meanwhile neil is desperately trying to prove that no he's not a hallucination (lol) and no jean should Not kill himself to join him. tbh idk if i want the moriyamas to be in the know or not, heavily debating over whether neil should be able to escape them through death or if he's forever cursed to be in debt to the mafia (depending on how angsty i want this to get).

NOW ON TO THE RELATIONSHIPS AKA THE FUN PART

- aaron is NOT having a good time in the beginning of this au. actively going through hell after losing a brother he just found and his mother. he's getting high most of the time, barely going to school, fully given up on himself, and Super Fucking Angry at Andrew. To Be Clear andrew didn't commit suicide but his normal canon i dont care about what happens to me attitude led to him dying while killing tilda. aaron DOES NOT KNOW that andrew killed her on purpose, but he's suspicious and angry as fuck anyway because andrew broke the deal (of staying together for high school). nicky still takes aaron in but nicky hadnt met andrew before his death so the tragedy for him is that andrew never rlly got a chance. andrew himself doesnt mind being dead (in his opinion its the same monotonous apathetic existence as he had living. which changes once he meets neil) but he's Pissed bcus he thinks aaron is throwing away his life. which in Andrew's opinion he did the hard part by getting rid of tilda (the problem). so andrew takes to haunting him by hiding his drugs and being a general nuisance to try and get him to school. i have not quite figured out how to get aaron to kick the drugs and get on palmetto w/o andrew ngl ^-^

- neil dies at the same time kevin broke his hand. riko snapped and neil pushed his buttons and refused to agree that riko was the best, so riko basically beats him to death and kevin gets his hand broken trying to stop it. a very tragic skiing accident indeed :(. kevin feels Extremely guilty over neil's death and jean practically forces him out of the nest, jean himself is basically resigned to joining his partner in death (smth neil is Not About). at this point andrew's been dead for two years? ish? and aaron is on the foxes as a freshman. neil splits his death time between trying to make things easier for jean and keep him from dying, and thwart kevin's attempts to go back to the nest in increasingly comical ways. meanwhile andrew is pissed about kevin bringing danger to aaron, so andreil are Fighting, i mean full on ghost fights where shit is levitating and lights are flickering and ppl are screaming because andrew wants kevon gone. eventually they do that line drawn across the center of the room to try and stay civil.

- eventually kevaaron start bonding and processing their grief over the loss of their brothers and fall in love at the same time, while andreil are also falling in love through asshole ghost mating rituals. major plot point would be renee using her séance powers to make kevaaron aware of their ghost protectors and a lot of drama unfolds from there (andrew reveals the murder stuff, aaron gets more pissed he died, aaron wants to banish him exorcise him in anger etc etc). the catalyst to andreils romantic relationship occurs bcus riko brings drake into the picture to hurt aaron(similar to canon), and neil basically almost ghost kills himself stopping him (expends too much energy in a short period of time) --> their relationship still doesnt start until a few months after this but it is the turning point for andrew being able to trust neil.

other small things:

lola is a contracted demon to nathan (unsure if moriyamas are aware).

nathan kills riko for killing neil (its a pride thing) and basically starts a war within the moriyamas. that neil Really does not know how to feel about, still terrified his father will be able to hurt him due to his knowledge of the occult (which may or may not be reasonable)

mary died trying to escape w neil so he went to the nest at 10 as planned. when he died and realized he was a ghost he looked for her immediately but she had moved on. it was probably more crushing to see that she could've stayed and watched over him and didnt than to witness her actual death.

tilda and mary moved on immediately after death (does heaven exist in this world??? hell?? dont ask me idk either)

pre andreil reveal nicky starts a channel to document their haunted college dorm. its one of the first things andreil bond over bcus they love starting shit nicky is so reactive. post andreil reveal nicky stops posting on it bcus it feels too weird to him, until neil is like hey i wanted to spell dick with the ouija board again :( and then nicky brings it back with gusto

[st4rry4543]

Okay, so there's something I want to share with you all. An au of mine that I have been working on for quite a while now( since chapter 3).

POPPY'S NEIGHBORHOOD AU��️

So I mentioned this in a previous post, but I'm finally sharing some info on this au with you guys

Warning: lots, and I mean LOTS of yapping, which makes me think no one is really going to read all this, but oh well.

Quick summary of this au:

Basically, this au is focused on the cartoon adventures of the playtime co crew. The only difference is that they are all human in this au(or at least have a human appearance) and that they all live in a neighborhood together in what I think I'm going to the call the city "playtime city" but I'm unsure right now.

Roles:

•Miss delight(teacher)

• Mommy long legs(daycare Attendant/ volunteer)

• Huggy wuggy( security guard at the playtime toy factory)

• Yarnaby( zoo keeper)

• Doey the doughman( babysitter)

•The doctor( Scientist/ surgeon)

• The prototype( stay at home dad lol)

(Some) critters info:

All the critters( smiling and nightmare) are 8-14 years old in this au, but their ages are really close to each other's.

•Catnap and dogday are best friends

•Simon smoke and kickin chicken have a small rivalry

• Hoppy and kickin are both very competitive

Family info/ tree: The catnap was originally adopted by the prototype and mommy long legs at the time mll, and the prototype had two kids already( huggy and boxy) long legs and 1006 divorced and shared custody of ( formally) Theodore( his name was changed after adoption) but huggy and boxy stayed with the prototype. Harley then moved in with the prototype, and Miss delight moved in with long legs. Catnaps family (on the prototypes side) are kind of all goth or emo idk😭. The prototype & Harley live in this really big metal like house with goth(ish) decor and in some rooms brightly colored walls toy, etc for the kids. Baba chops is catnap's emo Cousin.

Everyone in this au is an adult apart from poppy, boogie bot, catbee, candycat, the smiling critters, and the nightmare critters.

And also just for my shipper ahh yarnaby and doey live together bc yeah ig.( keep in mind these are human cartoon versions)

Anyways, art for this au will be coming soon(hopefully). Thanks for reading this whole thing if you did, lol

Oh, and here's a sneak peek of a draft for this au I'm working on( I have no idea how to write, so pls don't come after me, lol. Also this is a very, VERY unfinished draft)

I'm thinking of doing animations for this au, but idk. BYE GUYS

[fatuismooches]

I'M GIGGLING SO HARD LOOKIGN AT WHAT I CAUSED JUST BY SAYING YOU NEED TO WASH DOTTORE😭😭

But this also gave me a brainrot aboit bathing with harbingers

YES PANTALONE IS A RICH BASTARD and uses tons of skin and hair caring products. He enjoys being taken care of and will do the same in return, that's a fair exchange. Just wash his hair and listen to him complaining about his co-workers asking for budget raise for 10th time this month I think he's very stressed and tired by the end of the day, he might even doze off right in bath, since it's warm here and you gently stroke his hair (he looks cute-but wake him up please or he'll end up with sore neck)

Columbina gives me vibe of a person, who uses a lot of silly stuff, like bath bombs or salt. She's playful and will splash you, which will turn into a war with water being all over the floor (poor people who'll have to clean it up..). She's another one to possibly fall asleep in bathtub, so wake her up too. She also sings in shower

We should stop slandering only Dottore, bc Childe is also a type of person to give you a biiig hug, while covered in blood. But, well, he's easier to get to wash himself. Like Bina, he's also playful and will summon small water animals to entertain both of you (he will create a small narval and gently bup it on your nose... Before breaking it, so you'll have water over your face, bc you're so adorable when flushed!! You're allowed to splash him for this)

I think Sandrone forgets about bathing, drowned in her work and if you invite her, Sandrone will say she'll take a quick shower to return to her work. Please convince her to come with you, she needs rest. In bathtub, all of her thoughts are about unfinished projects :(

YEA STINKYTTORE IS SOMETHING ELSE 😭😭💀 AND OMG THANK YOU FOR THESE BRAINROTS💖💖💖

Hehe YES it's obvious Pantalone only uses the most exquisite, high-end products (have you seen his hair? absolutely LUSCIOUS) He probably made a deal with the company to have the stuff delivered to him regularly so he doesn't need to keep buying it lol, but YES he lovesss to pamper you but he also adores being pampered in return. But you gotta make sure you're a pro at it, don't tug or pull on his hair too roughly, be gentle when washing him, you know what I mean. Make sure to sympathize with him and be very soft as he complains to you about how that doctor is using up his funds with no progress. Make sure to give him lots of kisses when he decides the perfect napping place is laying on your chest in the middle of the big af bath tub 😭 (Also get him out of there because a sore Pantalone is a grumpy Pantalone) But he'd also be the kind of guy to be romantic as hell and put candles around the bath and have a book to read in there too :3

AND OMFGG 100% AGREE ON COLUMBINA SHE LOVES TO DO STUFF LIKE THAT. You two always try out new things to put in the bath, I feel like she's really one of those self-care people so your skin is gonna be ultra soft. Though she is extra silly and loves to set you up for literal ATTACKS by her (throw the rubber duckies at her pls) And yea she can fall asleep literally anywhere so try your best to get her out 😭 OMG the singing in the shower😭😭 I love her she definitely gets the best song ideas in there with you... it's brainstorm time

I HATE TO SAY IT BUT YOU'RE 100% RIGHT ON CHILDE...😭😭 Bro comes back after destroying multiple Hilichurl and Treasure Hoarder camps and is ready to hug you to death... baby i love u but CLEAN UP FIRST. But at least he actually loves the baths/the water in general so it's actually quite fun (you're just sad for the person who needs to wash his clothes 💀) He's actually so cute after a shower because his hair is all damp but then you get to see it fluff up back to life with that long ahoge 😭 He's also extra cuddly and won't let go of you <3

SANDRONE BABY NO... get her robots to turn against her. Don't let her leave until she's had a long, warm bath. Her mind will still probably drift to her robots and incomplete puppets... but give her a really good scrub and wash (she won't admit it but she feels way better after working nonstop) (she dives back right into working nonstop again though) Though i feel like she secretly likes to be pampered, lol she doesn't even walk by herself, her robot carries her. So though she doesn't express her gratitude much verbally she is thankful deep down.

[mochiwrites]

last life au

in light of third life turning two years old today, I offer a wip I've had sitting in my google drive since february! if any of you remember this post I made a while back, all you need to know is that third life!grian has swapped places with last life!grian somehow. without further ado, here's my very unfinished and very rough last life au wip (pls don't judge it too harshly LOL)

happy two years to the series that changed me as a person! :D (edit: now posted on ao3! read here)

if you enjoyed, please reblog! reblogs do more than likes <3

To Grian, the desert was once a home.

It wasn’t perfect, not really. Perfection is nearly impossible in a game of death, but what he and Scar had came close. The desert was the farthest thing from a good location, all things considered. The days were hot, far too hot, and the nights were so cold that it left Scar and Grian curling up close for warmth. There was nothing but sand for miles, which made gathering materials a constant challenge. 

But they had their home. Their tower, their place of respite. Dogwarts was a constant threat barreling down their door, but together they made it work. Their home was far from perfect, but it was theirs and that’s what Grian came to love about it. 

Except now, as he stands in a ring of cacti, he has destroyed his home. 

His home is filled with lava and craters, a reminder of what they did to survive. Their desert was ruined days ago in what they had hoped to be the final showdown with Dogwarts and The Red King. They blew up their desert for a win they never achieved. 

Maybe that was the first sign that things were going wrong. Their desert, their home, their small temporary sanctuary in this hellish game was blown apart. 

Ends justifies the means, no?

After all, to Grian, their home was more than just the desert. Their home was with each other. The desert never mattered much to him, not when he had Scar, and vice versa. The desert was a symbol, more than anything. Of Grian’s debt, his guilt. He’ll never admit it, but it felt a bit liberating to destroy it. 

And maybe that’s why things went oh so horribly wrong. 

Maybe that is why his fists are shaking, knuckles raw and covered in blood. Maybe that is why he stares down at the bloodied corpse of what was once his partner, his other half. His insides twist and turn, creating a mangled mess of emotions within him. The sun beats down on him, sweat and blood mixing together as one. His hair is in his eyes, but he doesn’t care much. His tank top feels like too much but also too little all at once.

His knuckles ache, his body is sore. He’s hardly covered in bruises and scratches, and yet he still feels like he’s just been beaten half to death anyways. 

He can’t bear to look at Scar, to meet his gaze and see his own brightly shining eyes reflected in lifeless, empty ones. 

“For everything you’ve done to keep me alive this long, you may slay me and take the enchanter.” 

Scar’s words ring in his head, accompanied by his laughter. Grian puts a bloodied hand up to his mouth as a wave of nausea rolls over him. He doesn’t pay any mind to the copper twinge that fills his mouth. He tears his gaze away from anywhere remotely near Scar, instead turning and looking over the mountain. 

Their home is in ruins. Their home is gone. The last of their home has been destroyed by his own two hands, killed for the sake of winning some pointless game. 

His victory feels hollow. Empty. 

He had wanted to win together. Winning without Scar felt… wrong. It feels wrong. After all they’ve been through, after establishing something between them, winning alone just… didn’t look as appealing anymore. 

“I’m getting you! I’m getting you good!” “I don’t think you are!” 

His hands ache. His chest feels tight, as if his ribs have been coiled tightly around his lungs to constrict his air flow. He takes a slow step back, as if trying to escape the scene of the crime. His legs shake from the weight of both his body and his actions. Grian takes a shaky breath. 

“Can we win together?” 

He stumbles as he walks backwards, his world dipping and tilting. 

Grian won alone. 

He doesn’t feel like a winner. 

He doesn’t even want that title. 

The guilt is eating at him. Why? Why is he the one that survived? The point of all of this was so that Scar could win! That’s why Grian stayed with him! 

(He won’t admit to himself that there’s more to it than that. He won’t admit to himself that somewhere along the way his feelings changed. No longer was he staying by Scar’s side out of guilt or obligation. Without Grian even noticing, Scar grew on him. Scar broke through his walls with his ridiculous yet charming nature, and Grian found himself wanting to stay with Scar because he wanted to see him win. Because somehow, somewhere, Grian’s heart had been swayed and stolen. Somewhere, he had fallen in love.) 

For a moment, he’s angry. He’s angry at the blood lusting ghosts for demanding a final fight. He’s angry at Scar for letting him win, for making him win. Frustrated, bitter words lay on his tongue as he turns around to admonish the man, emotions getting the better of him. 

Only to turn and be met with his corpse. Blood pools around Scar’s body, bruises littering his face and chest. Grian had been throwing punches wildly. 

His stomach lurches, and he covers his mouth again. Copper fills his nostrils, heavy and thick. “Oh… I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, but there’s no one around to hear him. 

He tears his gaze away, instead surveying the desert around him. His blood is rushing in his ears, making it hard to hear. His head swims as he stands still, looking over at the rivers of lava throughout the desert. 

Grian’s eyes settle on the cliff face.  

This desert isn’t a home anymore. It’s vacant, empty. Pointless. His home doesn’t exist, not without Scar. 

He walks toward the cliff. 

“Scar, I’m so sorry!”

“I’m sorry too!”

The desert is unfamiliar, morphing and twisting into something dark and unwelcoming. It has become  a monster of Grian’s own creation. It has become something that Grian has ripped apart with his own two hands. Something that once brought him warmth is now cold and barren. The desert is a shadow, a weak imitation of what it once was. 

He stands on the ledge. 

He wonders what was going through Scar’s mind during all of this. What was he thinking? Does he hate Grian for being the one to survive? Is he at peace, having been the one to die? Does he hate Grian for killing him? Does he hate Grian for ruining their home? Or is he happy with the way that things have gone? Grian supposes he’ll never get to know. 

He shuts his eyes and jumps. 

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

Muffled noises surround him.

He can’t quite make out what the noises are, not when it feels like his head has been submerged under water. One by one, his senses return to him and huh, that’s weird. He’s dead, yet he can feel his body? That… shouldn’t be normal. Granted, Grian has never been permanently dead before. Do most dead people still feel their body? Is that even possible? 

The next thing he feels is something soft underneath him. Now Grian knows that isn’t right. The last thing he remembers feeling is his body slamming into the hard ground below, shattering his bones. The pain had only lasted a few seconds before Grian fell unconscious, but it had been excruciating while he could still feel. Darkness had come to claim him quite swiftly. 

But whatever he’s laying on… it feels nothing like the harsh sand. It’s softer, almost silky. Plush. It only serves to confuse Grian more, seeing as once more, he isn’t sure if feeling things still is normal for a dead person. 

Ever so slowly, Grian slowly opens his eyes. His eyes are met with a stone ceiling, which… is that supposed to be there? 

Grian had a few ideas of what the afterlife would be like – if he even has one. An empty void, or maybe the End. Perhaps he’d return to the wasteland that was once his home and haunt it as a ghost. (A kinder part of him had hoped that he’d reunite with his friends, and they could all cry and hug one another. And maybe he could see Scar again, and shake him around for making Grian kill him, and then hold onto the man so that he’d never lose him again.)

Experimentally, he wiggles a finger or two. Yup, there’s still a body attached to him. Alright. Though to his surprise, he isn’t in any sort of pain. Maybe that shouldn’t be surprising, all things considered. 

Something wet touches his hand then, and Grian leaps up with a shriek. He pulls his hand back and looks at whatever touched him, finding a dog sitting on the ground. “Huh?” He looks at the dog, seeing a red collar around its neck. “Why is there a dog here?” The animal simply tilts its head to the side in response. 

It’s then that Grian actually takes the time to look around at where he is, and he pauses. The first thing he notices is that he’s laying in a white bed. There’s a chest and a crafting table in front of the bed, and there are dogs just about everywhere. Ah, so that’s what all the noise was. A furnace is set on the floor against the wall, and Grian finds himself feeling very confused. 

This is… definitely not the afterlife, that’s for sure. 

Did someone rescue him? How? Grian was the only one left on Third Life, everyone else was… 

Lips curling in a frown, he moves to slide off of the bed. Just as his foot touches the ground, he pauses, recognizing the extra weight on his body. Looking down at himself, Grian finds iron armor on him, which only worsens his confusion. Why is he in armor? 

Standing from the bed, he looks around at the room. He’s certain that he’s underground, if the walls of stone and dirt are anything to go by. He watches as one of the dogs (a pup) clambers onto the bed and circles the pillow before curling up and laying down. 

It leaves him feeling very confused. 

He casts a glance around at the stone box he’s in, looking at each of the dogs. Some of them don’t pay him any mind, and others are staring right at him. Who’s dogs are these? And why are they here, wherever here is. They seem friendly with him at least, but Grian doesn’t know if that makes him relaxed or more nervous. He remembers Joel’s pack of wolves. 

While looking around, he spots a ladder tucked against the wall leading down. He doesn’t go toward it, in case it’s trapped. Instead, he looks at the pickaxe he has on him and uses that to cautiously dig a little staircase up. 

It takes him a few minutes to get to the surface, considering he’s trying to dig out and also listen to his surroundings. When he finally pops his head out from the dirt, he does so carefully, peeking out to look around him. There’s no one around him besides trees and mountains. He sighs softly in relief. Though he still has to remain vigilant. 

Climbing out of the hole, he covers it back up with dirt (just in case if he was saved by someone, they won’t immediately notice he’s gone). Standing at full height, Grian takes a look around. The first thing he notices is how the landscape is completely different to Third Life. What is this place, he wonders. The terrain all looks different.

Lips dipping in a frown, he sets his hands on his hips, “Definitely not in Kansas anymore…” he mumbles to himself. If this is the afterlife, it’s quite odd, that’s for sure. 

While looking around, he catches sight of something in the distance. It looks like some kind of cobblestone building with roofs of dark oak. From where he is, he can spot four of them. One is at the very top of a mountain, being the most visible. 

The idea of approaching it leaves Grian hesitant, but maybe a little investigation wouldn’t hurt. He’s going to have to check it out if he wants any answers as to what this place is. So he makes a journey toward the direction of the towers. Trekking through the trees, he uses the branches for coverage. 

And when he gets to the big entrance of the four towers, he pauses. 

Grian stares at the front entrance, watching as pistons move up and down in front of him. Watching it, his eyes follow the movements curiously. Surrounding the entrance are walls of dark oak and cobble, wrapping around the base completely. He considers walking inside, maybe exploring whatever this new structure is. There was nothing inside the chest within the bunker for him. 

His inventory is an assortment of different items, none of which Grian knows what’s important and what isn’t. By now he’s ascertained that he’s in fact not dead. Which is… confusing. How is he alive? And where is he?

“Oh, Grian!” Someone’s calling his name, and the sound of someone else’s voice makes him jump. He looks up, seeing a familiar blue and red jump suit and dirty blond hair. 

Grian’s eyes widen, “Tim..?” The name escapes him with a sharp breath. No longer does his skin look sickly and gray, instead healthy and free of blood. His hair is vibrant, as are his brown eyes. A diamond chest plate sits over his upper body, iron leggings and boots. Grian almost feels like he’s seeing a ghost. The last time he saw Jimmy, it had been in the desert. Right before he died. 

It feels weird to see him again, considering he wasn’t meant to die in that fight. He was meant to stay safe. With Scar. 

Grief and regret crashes into him at once, nearly knocking him over. Images of that battle flicker in his mind, as well as the aftermath. They hadn’t spent long at Jimmy’s grave. 

(Grian paid Jimmy’s grave a visit late that night. He had been fully aware of the risks, knowing that anyone from Dogwarts could attack him. But Grian could bet with certainty they were too busy enjoying a perceived victory against the Desert. 

Jimmy’s grave was nothing fancy. Extravagance was a privilege they didn’t have there. Simple cobblestone walls and a poppy planted in the ground was all Scott could give him. 

Grian sat down, and apologized. He hadn’t even been there for Jimmy’s death. Jimmy wasn’t supposed to die. And Grian hadn’t even been there to help him. He apologized for that. He promised revenge. His death would not be in vain. 

At some point, someone had joined him. A warmth slotted against his side, and the smell of sweat, burnt sand, and summer heat filled his senses. He relaxed. 

Neither of them spoke for a while. Grian leaned against Scar, letting his thoughts wander. 

“I’m sorry the trap got messed up.” Scar apologized with a low mutter. 

Grian huffed quietly, gently knocking his head against his arm,“I don’t care about that. I mean, I do since the only one it got was me, but — I’m more thankful you survived.” 

“…I’m sorry you died,” was Scar’s response, “But on the bright side, your debt’s been repaid! You’re a free man!” Grian knew Scar well enough by then to know when he was forcing himself to act cheerful. He could hear the underlying sadness in his voice, the way he was holding something back. But most of all he could hear the fear. 

To that, Grian only pressed himself more firmly against him. “Then my first act as a free man is to see this through with you until the end.” 

He heard Scar take a breath; shaky and rough. An arm wrapped around him, and he heard a murmured, “Thank you.”)

Jimmy looks a little nervous as he stands on the other side of the pistons, “What’re you doing all the way over there for? Get in ‘ere already!” he exclaims, gesturing for him to come in. “Mumbo disabled the trap!” 

His body moves as if it’s on autopilot, legs carrying him toward the gate. He clumsily hops over the pistons and line of stone bricks, landing on the other side. His footing is a bit clumsy as he hits the ground, wobbling slightly. Jimmy laughs at him, and Grian tries to process the sound. 

Jimmy isn’t dead. He’s alive. 

What in the world is going on? 

Grian goes over to him, staring at him with something akin to marvel. Jimmy turns to him, still looking nervous. “So uh… I’m not going to be kicked out, right? I know we had the vote and all yesterday but just wanted to triple check you didn’t change your mind overnight,” he rambles to Grian, shifting back and forth on his feet. 

“What?” Blinking in confusion, Grian looks at him. “Why would I be—”

“Oi, Tim! Give the man some space to breathe, would ya?” Another voice joins them, and Grian tenses at the familiarity. “He only just got back last night. At least wait an extra five minutes before you start pestering ‘im.”

Glancing to his side, he spots The Red King’s right hand man approaching them. He’s dressed in iron, a shield attached to his arm. The familiar black bandana peeks out from underneath his hair and his blue eyes are creased with amusement as he looks at the pair. “Martyn?!” The exclamation escapes him before he can stop it. He takes a small step in front of Jimmy, knowing that Scott would be crushed if he lost him a second time (The memory of Scott in his mind would be, anyways). He keeps himself on guard. 

Martyn smiles at the pair, “Good morning to you too, fellow Southlander!” He grins. “How’s it feel to be yellow again, eh Grian?” he questions, which makes Grian bristle slightly. He remembers Martyn taking his first life very clearly.

“I’m–”

“Watch out!” A voice calls out, followed by the sounds of feet hitting the ground. Grian jumps as someone barrels past himself and Martyn, cutting right through them in a blur of black. “Hot lava bucket in my hands!” 

“I told you to wear gloves!” A second voice follows, and Grian catches a glimpse of yellow and black. He turns his head in the direction the two voices went, seeing them both by the entrance of the fort. Almost instantly, Grian recognizes Impulse from behind. But the one next to him… 

Grian feels his entire body freeze. His breath is punched out of him, eyes widening. 

The man next to Impulse is setting the bucket of lava down with a large sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. He straightens up, taking a moment to glance around. His eyes lock with Grian’s, and Grian feels rooted to his spot. His throat feels dry, as if he hasn’t drank anything in weeks. He swallows, but it does little to rid the feeling. 

Oblivious to Grian’s freezing, the man smiles wide at him, hurrying over. “Grian!” he exclaims, “Glad you got here before I reset the trap, mate, “ he greets cheerfully, but Grian feels too stunned to speak. 

Why is Mumbo here? Why? 

A multitude of emotions crash into Grian’s chest at the sight of his best friend. Relief, horror, guilt. They each roll over him, loud and vicious as they threaten to overwhelm him. He can’t look away from the man, the feeling of confusion holding his head above water. 

(“Do you think Mumbo would be proud?” The question had been half nonchalant as the pair ran through the desert, digging deep underground. The true meaning of the question was a secret, one between only himself and Scar.

Scar paused to consider it. He had lifted a finger to his chin as he thought, “Oh! Mumbo would be crying from happiness!”

“Be honest with me.” Grian had said. 

Scar hadn’t been.) 

Standing in front of the man, Grian does not share the thought. Not after the blood staining his hands. And isn’t that ironic? In a game where your aim is to kill and survive, he feels guilty over killing. But maybe that’s because of who his final kill was. Because of how it all ended. Grian had hoped he’d never have to face Mumbo after that, but apparently fate had other plans. 

“Speaking of getting here early,” Martyn’s voice cuts through the fog of confusion settling over Grian’s mind, causing him to look over at the other. Grian forces his gaze away from Mumbo with a painful pang, meeting Martyn’s eyes, “I see you’ve gone and scored another life on your way back from Scar’s.” He wiggles his brows.

Just hearing Scar’s name causes Grian’s stomach to curl with grief, “W-What?” he asks, the shock of Martyn’s statement sending him back a small step. 

“Don’t you try and fool me, G, the last time we saw you you were on yellow life. And now you’re green!” Martyn points at his wrist, and naturally, Grian’s gaze follows. 

His heart squeezes uncomfortably tight as he sees the familiar line of hearts down his wrist. There’s three hearts on his wrist, green, yellow, and red. Nausea rolls over him like a blanket, wrapping around him and tightening around his neck. He feels sick. Why? Why?! He thought he was done with all of this! Was killing Scar not enough? Was winning an empty, meaningless victory not enough?! 

Is this his punishment? Or some sick kind of joke?! 

He clenches his fists, watching the way they shake from how tightly he clenches them. Burning hot anger runs through him like lava, melting his insides. The warmth goes from top to bottom, engulfing him in an angry, vicious flame. He feels too much, yet too little all at once. He wants to scream. To cry. Maybe break something, or blow something up. Blood is pumping in his ears; his heart feels like it’s going to burst. 

This isn’t the afterlife. This is hell. 

“Grian?” Mumbo’s gentle, concerned voice breaks through the anger threatening to overtake him like a light. The sound of his voice snaps him from his spiraling thoughts, and he notices how his fingers dig uncomfortably into his skin. As if his nails can break the hearts on his wrist, shatter them. He lets go instantly, seeing angry red lines left behind. 

Lifting his gaze, Grian sees four pairs of eyes watching him. Yet the only eyes he focuses on are Mumbo’s, it’s been so long since he’s seen the man. His presence is normally a comfort for Grian, something grounding. But right now, all Grian feels is conflict. His grief and guilt is suffocating, and Mumbo’s presence does little to help that feeling. Mumbo looks at him with nothing but concern and kindness, with the way his eyebrows dip and lower, a worried frown marring his face.

Mumbo takes a step closer, hand reaching out to him, “You alright, mate?” Looking down, Grian sees the man’s wrist. Four hearts go down his wrist in a line. Two of them are already gone, looking faded and cracked. The sight of the hearts on his wrist sends his stomach dropping, heart lodging in his throat.  

Grian recoils from his outstretched hand as if it were a weapon, and Mumbo freezes in place. He pulls his hand back. His face falls, and Grian pretends he doesn’t see. 

“I’m fine.” Grian hastily replies, ignoring the burst of pain in his chest. He scans the people around him. Mumbo, Impulse, Jimmy, and… Martyn. He takes a breath. So he’s stuck in another life game. Great. And it looks like these four are his… alliance. 

A sudden thought strikes him. If those four are here then… who else is here?

His communicator pings, and he pulls it up, heart still firmly lodged in his throat.

<GoodTimeWithScar> oh team BEST~

<GoodTimeWithScar> A wizard *never* forgets his promise.

If seeing Mumbo made him sick, then seeing Scar’s message in chat plunges him into freezing cold water. Scar’s name is red (of course it is), and it sends nostalgia and grief tearing through him all at once. Everything suddenly feels like it’s too much, his head swimming. He stumbles slightly, nearly falling if it hadn’t been for Jimmy taking hold of him. “Seriously, you alright?” Jimmy questions, and Grian… Grian doesn’t know. 

All he can think about is his final moments with Scar leading up to that stupid duel. The splashing of water below him as he jumped down to meet him in that shallow pond. 

“Betrayer!” he had screamed. 

Well look who’s laughing now. 

Grian had thought about it very briefly, in his final moments, what it’d be like if he ever met Scar again. He had wondered if Scar would scorn him, or if Scar would pull him into his arms and congratulate him on a battle well fought. He had also considered keeping his distance, as far away as possible, as to never hurt Scar again. 

And yet, just as usual, his heart never listens to his brain. 

Because as he looks at his communicator, watching the others reply in chat, his eyes only focus on Scar’s name. There’s a part of him, a very deep part within, that cries out for him. It sees Scar’s name, and it reaches. It reaches far and wide, and it doesn’t concern itself with the logical side of Grian’s brain. No, it simply sees the fact that Scar is clearly alive and well and it wants to run right toward him. 

Seeing Scar’s name makes Grian’s chest ache with a deep yearning that he knows can never be satisfied. There is an ache in him that he knows will only continue to eat away at himself, until he is rotting and reaching. His soul is crying, begging for Scar at his side, and though Grian knows that he will only be the catalyst to Scar’s ultimate demise, he is weak to the pull of his emotions. 

Grian’s other half is alive! He is alive and that part of Grian feels incomplete without him. Empty. His heart aches at the thought of being with Scar again, of being able to give him the apology he deserves. Just the thought of being able to apologize to him is enough to break Grian down. 

“S-Scar,” he stammers, completely forgetting that Jimmy even asked him a question. “He’s – I have to get to him,” he says, turning to the others. 

He’s met with varying expressions of confusion, though it’s Impulse who says something, “Didn’t you already bring him his stuff after he died?” he questions, and Grian quickly shakes his head. 

“No I just – where is he? I-I need to see him, I–” he stammers, thoughts running far too quickly for him to actually think coherently. 

“Up north dude, where he always is.” Martyn replies, though he’s looking at Grian with… something. If he weren’t so distracted by the thought of Scar, he’d probably look closer into that. However, distraction is the card he’s been dealt, and he lets it play. He spins on his heel for the exit, walking briskly with purpose. “Make sure he doesn’t kill you!” Martyn calls after him, “Remember the guy’s on red!"

Grian knows he won’t. 

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

If Grian is being honest with himself, he probably should have put more thought into this. He didn’t even come here with a plan! He had just heard that Scar was north, so north is where he went. He was moving too fast for his brain to actually catch up. 

It was a bit of a journey, getting from the cobbled towers (the Southlanders, his mind supplies) to the big mountain in the north. But the second he saw the hut on top of the mountain, he knew exactly who lived there. 

Maybe what made the journey so difficult was the thoughts that accompanied him. 

Grian won’t say that he ran to Scar’s — because he didn’t. Not really. He had walked. And his thoughts consumed him with every step. 

He’s stuck in another life game. Scar is here. Mumbo is here. He doesn’t know what it means. This game isn’t Third Life, he knows that much. His mind is scrambling, trying to come up with some kind of plan. A strategy. He’s trying to lay out a safety net for himself but he should’ve known from the start it’d be pointless. 

There are no safety nets in a game of death. There are no “plans”, despite how badly Grian may want to use one. He learned in Third Life that plans don’t work, even the most carefully planned strategy blows up in his face. It won’t stop him though. A plan gives him something to fall back on, a faux comfort. 

A plan keeps him from running headfirst into danger, a plan keeps him alive.  

Which is why he probably should’ve come up with a plan before going to Scar. He doesn’t know what kind of state the man will be in. He isn’t sure how to even approach a reunion with him. It’s obvious that he’s in some kind of… who even knows where. Obviously his friends all know him here, but he isn’t sure if they remember him. Who he is. What he’s done. What they’ve all done. 

It doesn’t help that he’s apparently been dropped right in the middle of this new game. 

He doesn’t know how to handle an approach to Scar. Hug him? Smack him? Ask him if he knows who he is? A no on that last one, Jimmy and the others have already answered that. Besides, Grian isn’t sure if he could handle Scar looking at him like Grian was a stranger in every sense of the word except the literal one. 

He settles on just seeing what happens. Sometimes no plan is the best plan! 

But just — not in a death game. 

His thoughts trail off as he approaches the bottom of the mountain, and he looks up. He grimaces as he gets a clearer view of the hut up top, sighing. “Of course Scar had to put his base in the most precarious spot ever,” he grumbles before beginning to make his way up the mountain. He makes sure to be careful with each step, keeping himself aware of where he’s stepping. 

When he makes it to the top of the mountain, he’s rather out of breath, chest heaving from exertion. This mountain is a lot bigger than the one back in the desert. But he reaches the top, and is face to face with a hut made of wood and dark stone. The roof on top looks like a wizard’s hat, and Grian can’t help his fond huff. 

He focuses his gaze on the entryway, finding it wide open. This is it. Scar is beyond that doorway. Grian’s hands shake just at the thought of seeing him again. Anxiety runs through his blood like water, filling him completely. His heart picks up, beating against his ribcage. He swallows thickly. 

A small part of him wants to run away. A small part of him wants to turn around and head right back down the mountain and forget that he even came here. A small part of him is afraid to look Scar in the eyes. It makes him feel like a coward. 

And yet despite that small part of him, Grian walks forward. 

He walks right into the hut, and promptly stops. Right in front of him is none other than Scar. He’s digging around in a barrel, humming to himself. Grian isn’t sure what the tune is, or where it’s from, but the scene feels familiar. His chest aches. 

“Scar?” he says, causing the man to yell out. 

He jumps up in surprise, letting out the typical fearful scream he does whenever he’s snuck up on. It makes Grian smile softly, and god he misses this man. Scar spins around on his heels, turning to look at Grian. Grian gets a good look at his eyes, and he sees a dark red haze swirling in them. There is not a hint of warmth in his eyes, no kind of recollection or even joy at seeing him. Grian isn’t sure what he sees in Scar’s eyes, but he knows that there is anger in them. Bloodlust. 

(He thinks he might see hatred. And that is a thought that shakes him right to his core. He does not want to live in a world where Scar hates him, even if it is justified. Does that make him selfish?) 

“Oh, Grian,” Scar eventually says, and his voice is cold. Empty. He takes a step forward, something whimsical about his footing. Scar is dressed in dark robes, stark white hair peeking out from underneath. “If you’re here to nab another life from me, Grian, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. There is a promise of a threat in his voice. 

Grian frowns at that, chest panging. “I’m not interested in your life, Scar,” he says matter of factly. He’s already taken one (two, if his guilt counts the creeper), he doesn’t want another one. 

A laugh spills from Scar, something lacking any real humor. “Oh, don’t you play with me!” he exclaims, voice sharp and angular. The sound of it causes Grian to jolt in surprise. “You can fool me once or twice! Or…” he trails off, thinking. “Three times, whatever, it doesn’t matter!” 

“Scar…” Grian says, and he quickly realizes that he probably should’ve prepared himself a bit more. He lets the other approach him. There’s something different about him compared to Third Life. Something bitter, cynical. Grian isn’t sure if it’s because of the nature of this new game, or if it’s simply because Scar is on red. 

“No, Grian!” Scar exclaims, reaching for his diamond sword. “You know, I was planning on hitting Team BEST first, give ‘em a real good thrashing. Send a message and all that! Can’t mess with ol’ Scar! Not anymore, no sir!” He takes another step toward Grian. 

It’s the instinct of green life, Grian knows, that has him backing away slowly. He takes a few tiny steps backwards. 

Scar looks at him, something angry and hurt in his gaze, “But I think you’ll make a good first message to the masses. You were the first to take advantage of me, after all.” 

Grian’s back slams into the wall behind him, crushing his wings. He cringes at the feeling, but he doesn’t move. Scar is cornering him, holding the blade to his throat. He easily towers over Grian, putting just enough pressure on his sword to spill a bit of blood. 

Looking at him, Grian doesn’t see a hint of the Scar he once knew. He isn’t quite sure what’s going on here, what the Grian of this game has done to wrong Scar, but what he does know is this. 

He killed Scar. 

And the hatred in Scar’s eyes isn’t misplaced or even misdirected. 

He doesn’t fight back against the blade on his throat, the blade that is spilling his blood. He simply stands there and meets Scar’s hazy red eyes. To Grian, he thinks this is good retribution for the cactus ring. He sees no point in fighting against Scar when this is something he believes he deserves. 

Yet Scar thinks otherwise. 

See, he had expected a lot out of today. He’s on red now, and he had a goal in mind. He was going to make everyone on this forsaken server regret thinking they could just use Scar as they please. He was going to start with BEST, and then work his way to the others. But then Grian just came waltzing in like they were old buddies and Scar wasn’t going to let a golden opportunity slip past him. 

He has a whole separate issue with Grian, after all. 

But as he stares into Grian’s eyes, he sees something odd. Firstly he stares up at Scar with blatant confusion and hurt. It makes him want to laugh. What does Grian possibly have to be hurt over? 

Though that isn’t what makes him pause. No, what makes him truly falter is the guilt he sees in Grian’s eyes. 

He observes the green life in front of him (Wasn’t Grian yellow? Did he swindle someone else out of a life?) and notices that there’s no fight. Grian isn’t pushing back against him. He’s not arguing or drawing his own weapon. Not even as Scar draws blood and pushes the blade harder. 

Suddenly the appeal of killing Grian leaves him. What fun is a kill that rolls over and exposes their weak point? 

Scar scoffs at him before making up his mind and taking a step back. So much for that perfect message in chat. Looks like Team BEST is back as his number one target. He lowers his sword completely. 

Grian watches him with confusion, “Scar?” 

The red life meets his gaze, a deep frown settling on his lips. “Who are you?”

[candycrypt1d]

Please share the beef between Kyouya and Yaalon again. It's one of my favorite dynamics of your ocs. Like I can see them fighting in my head constantly. They're awful /aff <3. What is up with these two lmao

ohhhh my god them. the guys ever. yeah they sure do have A Thing huh

for those unaware yaalon is my beyblade oc. this fella

he’s very angsty and emo if you couldn’t immediately tell and he has a lot of lore that I won’t get into for this post (tho pls ask if you want to Know 👀)

anyways the actual answer to the question is under the cut!

To make a long story short, Yaalon is a sub member for Team Starbreaker, though he’s not really a part of Hades Inc. He’s trying to stop Ziggurat’s plans from within basically, but he’s not an undercover agent or anything either. Like I said before it’s a whole thing. Anyways Yaalon has a very abrasive and loud personality when you get him riled up. Otherwise he seems very reclusive and quiet, mostly keeping to himself.

Yaalon and Kyouya meet each other during Metal Masters. Wild Fang is leaving for Japan and Starbreaker happens to have a match in the same city. Yaalon and Kyouya are walking down the same street and they run into each other, Yaalon mumbles an apology and starts to walk away.

Though Kyouya’s interest is piqued because, in all of the battles so far though, Yaalon hasn’t fought in any of them. His other teammates clean up the competition so quickly they don’t need him, so his abilities and skills are all secret. Which means Kyouya is like “if I fight him then I will give myself a tactical advantage and this isn’t an excuse to battle someone new, what do you mean?” so being the person is he challenges Yaalon, half expecting to be ignored. But to his surprise, Yaalon accepts.

They have their battle but it ends up being unfinished for some reason, haven’t worked out those specifics. Kyouya doesn’t like having unfinished battles so that ticks him off, but also the two of them just…have very similar personalities so they don’t play off each other well at first lmao.

I can see them actually getting along when they do sort out their differences, but when you have two very anger-prone people in the same room it’s only a matter of time before they get pissed off. Yaalon’s attitude in general just makes Kyouya mad because he acts so aloof and uncaring and Kyouya can’t stand not getting a reaction out of him.

And Yaalon doesn’t like being bothered in that way so when Kyouya pushes his buttons, he *really* pushes them. I think they’d get into useless arguments or just be like “ugh I can’t STAND him” while actually not minding each other’s company all that much. They’d just have to sit in silence for things to work fjfnsng

They have a begrudging respect for each other but that doesn’t mean they like it. I can absolutely see them riling each other up and picking at each other’s nerves like siblings LMAO. theyre so dumb i love them.

thanks for the ask and thanks for letting me ramble about my oc <3 and thank you if you read this far lmao

[cecropiacrown]

Reminder this is very unfinished and is most likely going to remain that way. It doesn't end at a very satisfying part either so pls read at your own discretion.

Word count: 4585

TW: descriptions of a self inflicted injury/blood

Hua Cheng is elated to see the familiar shambly vessel anchor itself in the cove. He had been wading in the shallow water, bored, for quite some time, the blistering sun now beating down from its midpoint in the sky. He feels his chest swell with sweet anticipation and it spreads warmth to his face as a sharp smile tugs on his lips.

His Xie Lian has returned.

He mentally chides himself for being so excited, but he truly can’t help it. With as much reservation as he can muster, he stays hidden beneath the water, simply watching the small boat as it bobs up and down with the lull of the sea. He waits, ever patient, to be called upon.

The sight of Xie Lian as he appears at the edge of the boat feeds something in Hua Cheng. He thinks briefly that he could live on this, sustained in hunger and enrichment only by a glimpse of the heavenly beauty who peers down at the waves. Xie Lian reaches his hand down to just graze the water’s surface and Hua Cheng nearly trembles as he watches on. Xie Lian just being here, sharing the same waters as Hua Cheng, is already a blessing in and of itself. The fact that Xie Lian is looking for and reaching out just for him is certainly more than Hua Cheng could ever deserve.

Hua Cheng lets Xie Lian spend a few more moments dipping his fingers into the water before he allows himself to swim over to greet him. He lets his head and shoulders breach the water just near Xie Lian’s hand and smiles up at the man. Xie Lian, ever benevolent, offers a smile right back.

“Hello, sweet one, it’s been a while. I’m so glad to see you.”

Of all Hua Cheng’s accomplishments and accolades, none have made him feel as powerful as when Xie Lian speaks to him. His voice fuels a fire in Hua Cheng’s middle that spreads like rain, ever searching for hollowed out places to settle, filling him up until he’s consumed by it.

The two of them have been meeting like this for many weeks now.

Their meetings mostly follow the same structure. Xie Lian will anchor his boat and reach out to the water to notify Hua Cheng of his arrival; beckoning him to spend some time together. It’s not every day, but it is most, and no matter the day, their meetings are the single most important thing Hua Cheng has the privilege to participate in.

The two spend their time together mostly in silence, just enjoying the other’s presence. Hua Cheng will often pull himself to the edge of Xie Lian’s boat and lay his arms across the wood so that he may have a cool place to rest his face as he watches the fisherman. If Hua Cheng is lucky, Xie Lian will offer him glimpses into his life on shore; detailing peculiar human goings-ons or explaining the contents of a favored meal or just letting Hua Cheng know how he’s feeling that day. Hua Cheng is grateful just to listen and he brings Xie Lian small treasures from the ocean in hopes to retain the other man’s attention.

Of course, he also catches plenty of fish for Xie Lian, which is undoubtedly helping him maintain his relevance. Selfishly, he prays that Xie Lian would come regardless of what Hua Cheng has to offer him. If he was to never gift him another pearl or string him up another fish, would he still return? Is Hua Cheng’s company enough to keep him coming back? Hua Cheng desperately hopes so. And somewhere in his heart he believes it to be true. Xie Lian gazes at him with such genuine affection and interest, the intensity of the attention could dissolve Hua Cheng into mist. Yet, somewhere in his mind, he dreads a future where Xie Lian tires of him. That’s a future he refuses to live in-- so he’s been practicing something else he can offer.

Despite their many meetings, Hua Cheng has yet to use his voice for Xie Lian.

He tries his best to communicate his comprehension with facial expressions and gestures and Xie Lian, thankfully, understands him most times. But other than his small movements and many lavish gifts, Hua Cheng has been unable to convey more intricate concepts to his precious Prince. He tried once, to scrawl human script in the sand, but the characters were difficult to form and Xie Lian had been perplexed at best. Ultimately, his Prince gave him a sheepish smile and admitted that he couldn’t read the merpeople’s language. Hua Cheng practiced daily but made no noticeable progress. He ended up being too embarrassed to try to write for Xie Lian again.

Hua Cheng sighs, pressing his cool cheek further onto his forearm as he stares at the man gathering rope on the deck. Xie Lian has been so patient, so merciful, but his wants are clear to Hua Cheng, clear like a pool of water cradled on a slate shore: when he speaks, he wishes Hua Cheng would respond.

Hua Cheng struggled with using his voice at first. Out of the ocean, the sounds seemed to come out all wrong. Too harsh. Too brash. Too angular. But with practice, he has refined his tone to something he is confident offering up to Xie Lian. He has crafted his voice to fall from his lips in an easy, sultry hum - disarming - not a tone that strikes fear in the soul like he’s used to using beneath the water.

The rope finally coils in a neat pile at Xie Lian’s feet and he leans back against the opposite side of the boat from Hua Cheng to rest. He uses the back of his smooth, warm hand to brush sweat off his brow and Hua Cheng finds himself yearning to reach out his empty palms in prayer, if just for a chance Xie Lian may be gracious enough to offer him a drop.

He wants to drink it from him. He wants to wrap himself in everything Xie Lian is kind enough to offer. His benevolent Prince need only ask for whatever he wants, and Hua Cheng will stop at nothing to provide. If Xie Lian wants the world, then it is his - if he wants the world destroyed, Hua Cheng would burn it all to ash. He would thank the flames that would lay him asunder, as long as that smile was offered only to him.

Xie Lian slicks his hair away from his face and suddenly those amber eyes meet Hua Cheng’s own mismatched ones, and the soft lips of his Prince turn up at him. Warmth roils through his chest and he shivers at the sensation.

His Prince needs only to ask and he shall receive.

“Xie Lian.”

Hua Cheng has said his name many, many times before this moment. Always in secret, secluded spaces, either in his private chambers far below the sea or here on the shore of this cove, a snail or two being his only audience. The sound of his voice as it echoes off of the wood is much more tender than he ever planned for and he can only hope the sound of it is pleasing to Xie Lian’s ears.

Xie Lian’s eyes go wide and his smile spreads unhidden across his face. He scrambles up from the other side of the boat and hurriedly approaches Hua Cheng. He slides on a slick spot of wood and comes down surprisingly gracefully onto his knees near the edge of the boat, putting himself at eye-level with Hua Cheng.

“Sweet one! Your voice is so lovely. Might I be so lucky as to hear it again?”

In a quick instant Xie Lian’s palm finds its way to Hua Cheng’s cheek, cradling it with such care but also with surprising urgency-- as if Xie Lian has no choice but to hold Hua Cheng-- as if holding Hua Cheng came as naturally to him as breathing. The touch is so gentle, like Xie Lian thinks he is something fragile, to be handled delicately. The thought is silly-- Hua Cheng is the King of the Sea, known for his competence, his strength, and his stern rule. But here, in the palm of his Prince, he feels as though he may shatter completely.

“Perhaps, we could start with your name?” Xie Lian’s thumb grazes over Hua Cheng’s high cheek bone and the Sea King can feel his heart hammering in his chest.

He feels breathless, forcing himself to hold Xie Lian’s intense gaze. He hadn’t thought to practice saying his own name and even as the sound begins to curl on the tip of his tongue, a nervousness bubbles in his throat. He swallows it down.

“Hua Cheng.”

Xie Lian’s whole face lights up in response and he absently tucks some of Hua Cheng’s hair behind his pointed ear. The touch is so genuine and effortless, he seems to not even think twice about it.

“Hua Cheng.”

The name comes quietly from his mouth, as if he’s testing the feel of it on his tongue. Then he says it again, this time with confidence and ease, as if the combination of sounds has belonged to him since their invention.

“Hua Cheng.”

If Hua Cheng was to die this very moment, it would be at the happiest he’s ever been and with no regrets in his soul. Hearing his name from Xie Lian’s mouth is like hearing the voice of God. He feels the urge to weep and prostrate before him. To ask for forgiveness for ever being so bold as to want this. His Prince has given him more than a lowly servant such as himself could ever dream of.

Yet, it’s not quite right.

He’s spent so long being called something so tender, so familiar, that having Xie Lian say his actual name almost feels too formal. Like the two of them have reverted back to strangers.

Xie Lian, having been so used to picking up on Hua Cheng’s facial expressions, immediately notices the shift in the merman. His pretty brows knit together and his mouth twists as he thinks. He looks regretful and the sight makes Hua Cheng’s heart pulse in his ears.

“Ah, maybe I'm not saying it right?”

Before Hua Cheng can stop himself, he tries to comfort Xie Lian, his words coming out quickly and his tone laced with anxiety.

“No! No, that’s not it at all! You say it perfectly.” Hua Cheng can’t seem to find his usual composure and inwardly cringes at the animated way his hands move as he talks. “You say it the most correct out of anyone who has ever said it. It's just--” to hear his thoughts fumbling out of his lips and to know Xie Lian is bearing witness to all of it is incredibly overwhelming. Xie Lian is staring at him wide-eyed and mouth agape, his hand having stilled on Hua Cheng’s cheek. Hua Cheng wonders if maybe he would have been better off bloated and dry from death on the beach. Still, he can’t pull back now that he’s begun.

“It’s not as intimate… as when you call me sweet one.”

Xie Lian pulls his hand away from Hua Cheng's cheek and quickly covers his own mouth. Wetness wells up in his eyes and, to Hua Cheng's horror, he recognizes it as tears. Humans shed them when they're sad or in pain. What has he done?

“I've done something wrong.” He states more than asks, “Please, let me fix it. I am so sorry--”

“No!” Xie Lian interrupts, pulling his hand away from his mouth. Hua Cheng is surprised to find that he was hiding a smile. Xie Lian laughs and messily wipes his hands down his cheeks, brushing away the tears.

“You’ve done nothing wrong. I'm just happy. I'm so happy.” He sniffles and gingerly wipes his eyes, smiling brighter now, the warmth of it directed right at Hua Cheng.

“I never thought I'd hear your voice and here you are,” Xie Lian gestures to Hua Cheng with his open palms, his eyes flitting across every piece of him. The gaze makes a warm jolt of pleasure shoot through Hua Cheng’s middle, and he briefly wonders if he's been struck by lightning.

“You're speaking more words than I could have ever expected from you. And I--” he moves to grasp one of Hua Cheng's hands with both of his own. He strokes his fingers over the back of Hua Cheng's cool palm, squeezing ever so gently. “I never doubted that you found our… friendship important. But it's so reassuring to hear you acknowledge the bond between us.” In a fluid motion, Xie Lian brings Hua Cheng’s hand up to his face and affectionately presses his forehead to the Sea King’s knuckles. He pulls away far too soon and commands Hua Cheng’s eye contact.

“For a while there, I was beginning to fear I had imagined it.” A breathy laugh falls from those perfect lips and Hua Cheng is enraptured. He must find every way to make Xie Lian make that sound again.

Xie Lian continues quietly, “I thought maybe I had willed affection to be where it truly had not been.” He offers a small shrug and settles more comfortably on his knees, keeping Hua Cheng’s cool hand in his own warm ones.

“I have a suggestion, if you’re willing.” Hua Cheng nods and Xie Lian goes on. “You and I will both know you are my sweet one, but I think we should each come up with new nicknames for each other now that we are finally, properly introduced. What do you say to that?”

Hua Cheng doesn’t know how he manages to recover from hearing Xie Lian say he is his sweet one, but he does, somehow. The potential meaning behind the words fills him with such joy he has no space to grieve the imminent loss of the title as he agrees.

“Yes, I would like to try that.”

“Perfect! Hml, let me think.” Xie Lian’s mouth twists in thought and Hua Cheng struggles to tear his eyes away from the pink lips.

“Ah, I know! Do you have siblings?”

Hua Cheng nods, “Yes. Two brothers.”

“Where do you fall in birth order?”

Hua Cheng doesn’t know why it embarrasses him but he wills away a blush as he replies, “I am the youngest.”

Xie Lian smiles mischievously at this and tilts his head in thought, scrutinizing Hua Cheng. His eyes light up after a moment and he says excitedly, “San Lang!”

Hua Cheng turns the nickname over in his brain and his stomach somersaults with it. He feels cool and hot all over simultaneously.

“What do you think of that? Do you feel it suits you?”

“If you feel it suits this one, then yes. I like it very much."

[Something about Hua Cheng picking out the name gege and then the two move from the ship to sit at the shore and talk. The majority of Hua Cheng's tail is in the water but he's leaned back on his forearms, lounging halfway in the sand. Xia Lian left his shoes on the ship and has his feet extended towards the water but is sitting back a bit further so his pants don't get soaked.]

Without warning, Xie Lian presses Hua Cheng down, hard, into the sand, and pins his hands above his head. Hua Cheng is surprised at the force of it and he finds he can’t get out of the grasp. Xie Lian is deceptively strong and an embarrassed heat flushes over Hua Cheng at the way his wrists are captured in Xie Lian’s hands. Xie Lian leans down to his ear and murmurs in a low voice, “Stay still. Trust me.”

Xie Lian flips Hua Cheng over so his chest hits the sand, then Hua Cheng is being dragged up the beach by his arms, away from the water, and fear strikes him in the heart. Xie Lian wouldn’t hurt him. He has always believed this. But as they inch further away from the water, his heart and mind swim with dread.

What in the world is going on?

_________________________________

Chapter 2

A warm gust of summer air whips through the jagged rocks that jut out of the water surrounding the cove. The drag of the sand against Hua Cheng’s lower scales is uncomfortable and he almost whines at the sharp hold Xie Lian has on his wrists.

When the two are quite a ways away from the water, Xie Lian unceremoniously releases Hua Cheng from his hold and the merman is barely able to stop his face from crashing into the ground. Xie Lian looms above him and Hua Cheng hears the distinct sound of a dagger being pulled from its sheath. Blood rushes in his ears and even though he’s no longer being pinned, he feels frozen in place on the sand. He is completely at his Prince’s mercy.

He squeezes his eyes shut. The rustle of Xie Lian’s robes fills his ears, then the sound of blade on flesh followed by a seething hiss that passes through his Prince’s lips. He tries to turn to look at Xie Lian but he’s knocked back down gently by the tip of the man’s boot.

Xie Lian is suddenly at his side again, kneeling in the damp sand, and then there is warmth on his back. Xie Lian uses his hand to spread the warmth down Hua Cheng’s flank and then up his shoulder and onto his neck.

The smell is sweet.

The smell is blood.

A fresh wave of anxiety and confusion roils through Hua Cheng and makes him feel dizzy.

Xie Lian’s hot breath hits Hua Cheng’s face and he whispers almost soothingly in his ear, “Please, just stay still. I will protect you.”

There is the sound of tearing cloth and out of the corner of his eye, Hua Cheng can see Xie Lian tightly wrapping a strip of fabric torn from his pants around the mess of bright red on his forearm. The sleeve of his robe is quickly pulled back down to cover the wound completely.

Xie Lian’s hand is in Hua Cheng’s hair now, pressing his face gently into the sand and mussing up the black strands to cover any feature of his face that is still visible. Those deft hands then travel to his torso and Hua Cheng feels the grit of wet sand being brushed over his skin, then up into his hair. He stays obediently still, even halting his breathing for the time being.

As quickly as Xie Lian is crowding his space, he is gone again, kneeling a few paces away. Hua Cheng can just barely see what’s happening through the sand-laden strands of hair that cover his eyes. Xie Lian’s hands curl into the sand and he begins to dig a hole.

That’s when Hua Cheng hears it.

The sound of waves lapping at an obstacle that hadn’t been there previously. The sound of that obstacle sidling up to the shore and pressing into the wet sand to dock.

Another boat.

“You there! Fisherman! Do you need assistance?” An authoritative voice shouts from the boat. Hua Cheng remains deathly still, realization dawning on him. How careless he had been. He was so taken with Xie Lian’s presence and conversation that he hadn’t noticed the ship approaching. If not for Xie Lian’s quick reflexes, they would have surely been discovered and Hua Cheng would have either been captured or killed on the spot. Even worse, Xie Lian could have been jailed or even put to death for treason simply for associating with him.

Hua Cheng’s eyes flutter closed and he remains as still as the dead, playing this role with all the sincerity he can muster. Xie Lian told Hua Cheng to trust him, and trusting his Prince has always come easily to him.

“Ah, General Shi Wudu. I appreciate the offer, but all is well.”

Footsteps approach and the other man’s voice is much closer. He must be standing just behind where Hua Cheng’s tailfin lies limp in the sand.

“Daozhang, what a pleasure.” The General sounds much more relaxed and almost familiar in the way he addresses Xie Lian. He huffs, appearing to take in Hua Cheng’s presence, and spits out in a tone riddled with disgust, “I see you have captured a beast.”

“Killed, actually.” Xie Lian says matter of factly. “ It was injured here in the cove and I mistakenly rammed it with my boat. I anchored here to finish it off with my blade.” Xie Lian’s shadow drapes over Hua Cheng as he stands. He brushes the sand off of his clothes and moves toward the General’s voice, stopping to stand just beside Hua Cheng. The shadow shifts and Hua Cheng realizes Xie Lian is bowing. Just the thought of his Prince feeling the need to subjugate himself to this brute makes Hua Cheng feel sick with rage.

“May I offer to burn it for you?” A boot connects with Hua Cheng’s tail in a half-hearted kick, but Hua Cheng remains motionless.

“Again, your generosity is much appreciated, but as per my cultivation, any creature I kill must be given proper burial. I beg your understanding.”

“Hm. Such is the way of a pious man. Please, allow me to assist.”

The man calls back in the direction of the boat and a second set of footsteps bounds toward them. An item seems to have been exchanged and then those footsteps retreat back to the shoreline.

The ‘shink’ of metal piercing the sand directly next to Hua Cheng’s head nearly makes him flinch. Thankfully, Xie Lian is ever vigilant and has placed his hand on the middle of Hua Cheng’s back, as if to support himself as he reaches across his body for the discarded tool. If Hua Cheng had reacted with any movement, it was surely hidden by Xie Lian’s own.

“This should make digging the grave much easier for you, Daozhang.”

Ah, a shovel.

“Your generosity knows no bounds.” Xie Lian’s reply is cooly measured but bordering on sarcastic. Another shift of shadow dances across Hua Cheng as Xie Lian rights himself, only to bow again. “May I return it to you when I’m back ashore?”

“No need. You may keep it.”

Hua Cheng feels the burning eyes of the General on his back and then it takes all of his willpower to contain his shock and rage as warm spit jets out from the man’s mouth and onto Hua Cheng’s backside. The absolute audacity of the act is infuriating.

The General continues with vicious finality, “Thank you for your contribution to the extermination of these vile creatures.” He plants one more kick onto Hua Cheng’s tail, then swivels on his heel to return to his boat. Over his shoulder he casually adds, “Peace be to Yong’an.”

“Peace be to Yong’an,” comes Xie Lian’s deferential reply.

There are more footsteps that squelch in the wet sand on the edge of the shore, and then the sound of the boat as it trudges back out into the water.

Meanwhile, Xie Lian has made a convincing show of deepening and widening the hole with the shovel. He exhales with each heave of the tool as it sinks into the sand, and then grunts when he flings the sand into a pile nearby.

Several minutes pass like this; Hua Cheng still lying unmoving and dirty on the ground as Xie Lian dutifully moves shovelful after shovelful of sand from the hole.

The shovel tucks back into the sand again but there is no sound of it pulling out.

Xie Lian’s quiet voice draws Hua Cheng back to the moment and he finally dares to open his eyes.

“I think they are far enough away now.”

Xie Lian kneels beside Hua Cheng’s head and carefully brushes his hair away from his face. Hua Cheng rolls to his side and peers up at Xie Lian, surely looking every bit as pitiful and disheveled as he feels. Xie Lian grimaces.

“I am so very sorry I had to do that. I acted on instinct as there wasn’t time to form another plan…” He strokes Hua Cheng’s sullied cheek and smiles sheepishly down at him, “I do hope you forgive me.”

Hua Cheng pushes himself up into a sitting position and slowly shakes his head. Xie Lian looks startled and a deep frown tugs at his lips. Many emotions swirl through his eyes before finally settling on unflinching sorrow. He starts to pull his hand away from Hua Cheng’s cheek, but Hua Cheng delicately seizes his wrist and pulls his arm closer to inspect it. With reverent caution, he tugs the sleeve up Xie Lian’s arm and stares at the blood soaked cloth that binds his wound.

Hua Cheng painfully tears his eyes from the vivid red of Xie Lian’s injury and looks up to meet the man’s broken gaze.

“Do not ever hurt yourself for my sake again.”

Xie Lian searches Hua Cheng’s eyes and then nods numbly. A thick swallow rolls down his throat.

“I forgive you. Of course I forgive you.” Hua Cheng’s voice is hoarse with something bordering on grief, “But I could never forgive myself if you were to come to harm because of me. Call me selfish-- but I must have you safe at all costs. Do you understand?”

Xie Lian smiles woefully at this and nods his head, “Yes, I understand. I’m sorry.”

And then, his tone low and serious, “But the same goes for you. I also need you to be safe at all costs. I did what I had to do to ensure that today. I hope you can understand that.”

Hua Cheng’s heart is a throbbing, rattling thing in his chest.

He squeezes Xie Lian’s wrist tenderly, keeping his eyes glued to Xie Lian’s. He glides his hand up the backside of Xie Lian’s forearm and unwinds the makeshift dressing with care. He lets the piece of fabric fall between them and then allows his eyes to drift down to take in the damage.

He sucks in a breath and winces at the sight.

At least the blade was sharp.

He cradles the back of Xie Lian’s forearm with one hand and steels himself. He wipes off his free hand on Xie Lian’s clothed calf, ridding himself of all the sand and grit. The action feels wrong, but Hua Cheng has to make sure his hand is clean before he continues. He then takes his clean hand and presses it cautiously over the wound. He breathes out and closes his eyes, bending down to press his forehead to the back of his palm overtop the wound. Slowly, he filters in restorative energy; trickle by trickle as to not cause Xie Lian anymore pain or discomfort.

Xie Lian gasps at first, surprised by the new feeling, but does not act as if the touch hurts him. All is still between the two of them save for Hua Cheng's quiet whispers as he guides the energy to the cut. After a few moments, Xie Lian sighs pleasurably, and the sound curls in Hua Cheng's chest, tugging at his heart.

I have an incredibly self indulgent Hualian mermaid au that will probably remain unfinished forever, but maybe I could post what I have of it here for the end of mermay 👀 just a heads-up that Hua Cheng is at such an unprecedented level of simp for Xie Lian that he's been lost to sea in ooc territory lmao

[youareunbearable]

Headcannon that Celebrimbor and Thranduil were childhood Frenemies because I don't like how the Mirkwood Elves were left out of everything that happened so pls enjoy this fliclet

---

Once the Feanorians touched down in Hithlum, Thingol sent his younger brother's brother in law Oropher to be his ambassador. Oropher, of course, brings his son Thranduil along because this is a great chance for diplomatic training

Maedhros, this is during the time Morgoth is sending his own persistent ambassadors, thinks it would also be a great time to start Celebrimbor on diplomatic training, because before this he was just in the forge with Curufin and Feanor. And it doesn't look like the rest of the Sons of Feanor are going to have kids so he'll be inheriting the crown one day.

So Celebrimbor and Thranduil are pushed together on children "play dates"

They hate it, they always fight with each other and have competitions and as soon as they see each other they will throw down and scream new insults they learned since the last time they met. Sometimes they spent entire visits only speaking to each other in their own native tounges and mock the other for not properly understanding what they are saying. This particular game didn't last long, but Tyelpe did become the first of the Noldor to speak Sindarin fluently with no accent and Thranduil enjoys the annoyed tick in Galadriel's typical serene expression when she hears him speak flawless Quenya with a Feanorian lisp

Oropher is concerned, being the youngest of 4 he never had an antagonistic relationship with any of them. But Maglor (the new depressed Noldor High King) just gives a small smile and shrugs. He grew up with 6 brothers and even more half cousins. Little Tyelpe and Thrandy are just playing like boys and future best friends do

And they keep up this frenenimes relationship even after Curufin moves them to Himland. When it gets sacked during Dagor Bragollach and Curufin, Celegorm, and Celebrimbor all flee south to their cousins home, Thranduil sends them some relief supplies. When Celebrimbor disown his father, Thranduil comes to visit and generally be annoying until Celebrimbor can stop feeling like shit

When Thranduil, his parents, and their people leave eastward after Thingol's death but before the second Kinslaying (for Oropher is older then the Sun and Moon, he is not about to be led by a boy not even in his 30th year, Maiar blood or not, and many Sindar agree with him) Celebrimbor travels with them and secures them safe passage through the Blue Mountains.

They both grieve when they hear of the Second Kinslaying, then the Third, and then when the East sinks under the waves. Not many in Lindon support Celebrimbor wearing the eight pointed star again, but Thranduil just rolls his eyes and tells him red looks dreadful with his complexion

During the Second Age when Thranduil gets married, Celebrimbor is invited to the wedding and vis versa when Celebrimbor marries Narvi

(Both marriages involve lots of teasing over their partners of choice. Thranduil laughs over the fact that of course a Noldor would marry a Dwarf, they are basically the same, what with their love of rocks and metal work. Celebrimbor rolls his eyes and snorts that he's surprised Thranduil didn't end up marrying an Ent, what with his love of trees, but he supposes that marrying a lady named "tree maid" is close enough. What next? Will he name his children "sapling" or "twig" or "leaf"? Thranduil shoves him off his chair, spilling wine all over the table and floor and growls that at least his children will have original names, and not share a name with two of his forefathers like Men)

They visit each other a lot during the second age, and Thranduil tries to help him as best he can during the fallout of Narvi's death, and when Celebrimbor is designing his rings of Power with that suspicious Maiar of his (who Celebrimbor SWEARS is helping him craft to work through the grief he has no other intentions) he had Thranduil (or Oropher) in mind when he created Vilya

When Thranduil heard about what happened to his friend and his land during the War of Elves and Sauron he grieved deeply. The only thing he had to remember his friend by was some forgotten blueprints of unfinished jewelry, an Age worth of letters (mostly written in Quenya, he of course had replied in proper Sindarin), a clumsy eight pointed star he laughingly embroidered onto the breast of Thranduil's favourite robe, a set of Sindarin long knives overly embellished with Noldorian swirls, and a box of white gems Celebrimbor hand crafted and left with a promise to come back once he finished his rings and use them to make a matching crown set for Thranduil and his wife to wear whenever he inherited the crown

("There may be even enough left over for a third crown. For your 'little leaf' to grow into whenever you two get around making one." Thranduil's wife laughed with Celebrimbor and sent her husband a leer that set his ears ablaze and Tyelpe's laughter began anew)

And enough regrets to haunt him for Ages. It seemed like bad things always came in three. Celebrimbor, his father, his new homeland. Thranduil led his people north, away from everything he had loved, and kept what remained close to his chest. After his wife was slain shortly after the birth of his son, he refused to lose anyone else. Greenwood the Great began to mirror his grief and became Mirkwood

It was almost another another Age before he decided to commission the Dwarves of Erebor to turn those precious white gems into the crowns Celebrimbor intended. Not for him and his now dead wife, but maybe for Legolas and his future partner. (His little leaf, he could hear Celebrimbor's laughter every time Legolas calls himself "Legolas Greenleaf" with that cheeky grin of his) And if Celebrimbor couldn't make them himself, he would be happy to let his Dwarven friends do the job for him

Thranduil almost burned down the mountain himself when they withheld those gems and one of the last pieces of his dear friend from him

Under the bone deep fear of watching a dragon from his nightmares sack the kingdom, he was a little pleased. Jewel thieves get their due

(He knows that Celebrimbor never swore his grandfather's Oath, but sometimes late at night he wonders if he still carried the curse of it. If that Oath and the Curse of Feanor are the reason his dearest friend died that awful way he did)

It was the beginning of a forth age when those sparking white gems were finally turned into the crowns they were destined to be. And Thranduil could almost hear Celebrimbor's delighted laughter as he watched his only son and heir, his little leaf, marry a dwarf.

When it came time to sail, Thranduil stayed with his people, he has coveted them for so long he now refused to leave unless he was forced too. Legolas, who had somehow made a small boat that could barely withhold the waves of the Western Sea, was greeted with a welcoming and joyful embrace by the Elf he only heard stories about

"Hail Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion, Crafter of the Rings Of Power, Husband of Narvi son of Vilarvi of Durin's Folk, and most importantly, the dearest friend of my father!" Legolas greeted in flawless Quenya with a very noticeable Feanorian lisp. The gathered crowd twitched a little and Elrond (who was hoping of news of his sons) gave a sigh. "I have much to say, and so does my husband Gimli, but first I must give you my father's message!"

Legolas cleared his throat, and then with mock superior expression, one that made him look just like Thranduil, he said: "Celebrimbor you Spider Spawn of the Shadow, if you worked on my crown instead of those thrice damned Rings like you said, my son would never have married a Dwarf. Once I am reborn you better start running because I am going to burry you in my forest and chop down the tree you become with my anger alone!"

There was a startled gasp of silence on the shores of Valinor, before Celebrimbor burst into peels of joyful laughter. Legolas smiled at his honorary uncle and laughed with him

"As you can see, father missed you very much"

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Brawl Over Hallucinogens [1]

A/N: IT IS DONE!!! Oh, and btw, happy HP22 Event everyone! I’ve been anticipating the finals of your team project for so long, and they are finally out. And I cannot be any more proud of all of my mutuals who engaged in writing this non-smut content for our lovely Draco community! A big thank you to @draconisxcaput​ who was a chief organizer of the event and arranged everything so wonderfully! Also, @drawlfoy​ and @war-sword​ who came up with the idea and pulled it all together to make it look all fancy and professional;) I hope we’d be able to repeat such a huge project, and yeah, that’s all about the event as for now...

A new series I came up with. And I know, I know, I leave Summer Nights unfinished and so forth, BUT I have a very good forecast for this series because I have the whole thing planned out in my head and I just know that it’s gonna flick. I’d be posting the second part of BOH in 4 days I think, for the next day of HP22E. But I also thought of posting every new chapter once a week, so that’d be able to breathe, squeeze some fic writing into my schedule, and still could keep up with my school stuff, etc. 

Okay, so not prolonging too much, let’s dip into some Draco-non-smut fiction!!! Pls, also, don’t forget to check out other wonderful masterpieces prepared by my friends for THE EVENT! I’ll be reblogging them, however, in the link you’ll find the whole index for each of the pieces!

Enjoy:)

Index

Warnings: No specific, I think?? Just some langauge but you’ll survive;)

Wc: 3.1k 

Tags: @draconisxcaput

“Have you heard?” Susan entered their mutual room and, without preamble, started off with a question. Sparing her a glance, Y/N could easily detect the exhilaration and curiosity all over her face, which was a typical reaction of Susan’s at every mystery-involving news, as Y/N thought about it. She bit her cheek, preventing herself from letting out an amused giggle.

“No, I wasn’t at the feast today.” Y/N turned her sight back to the magazine she had been reading previously, somehow not expecting her roommate to say anything up to the minute. “So what’s that?”

“Today’s pre-meal speech belonged to Snape actually,” said Susan, and Y/N made deer-in-the-headlights-like eyes, diverting the attention back to her friend. “He said some vials of potions had been missing from the storeroom, and no matter what a thief’s purpose was, the consequences will be dragged out. And they’ll be severe.”

Y/N gulped. “And did he mention what kind of potions are missing?”

“Just mentioned a few of them. But I can only remember the tranquilizer and… —um— a sleeping potion.” Flipping on one of the pillows next to Y/N, Susan sighed and took off her auburn slip-ons as to locate herself comfortably on a bed. “I don’t get it really, why would anyone steal those? I mean, you can easily get them without such an effort, in Hogsmeade, for instance, right? Or simply ask Madam Pomfrey for some. It’s not like they aren’t available or something…” Still getting no response from her friend, she continued. “Do you think that it could have been Ron Weasley, perhaps? Or his siblings? The rumors say their father had recently dropped off the work in the Ministry. So now they have to behave on the cheap.”  

“The Ministry is the rotten place, but Weasleys would have to be out of their mind to cut off their only source of income. You shouldn’t be judging them by their wealth, you know?” Y/N peeked at her friend from the corner of her eye, simultaneously flipping the page of her ‘Weekly Witch’ magazine. “I think it could have been anyone. And besides, you know how rumors can be — depending on nothing more than lies. Do you remember the one time when a Gryffindor gal accused you of being a Squib just because you couldn’t operate with your wand properly?”

“I hexed her for that.”

Y/N laughed at Susan’s sudden gloom. “Yeah, but you know what I’m going for.”

“I agree, but it still bothers me, like…” She threw herself in the pile of pillows and imitated the angry yelp, causing Y/N to continue with her laugher. When Susan didn’t stop with her act-out after a while, Y/N grabbed her by the shoulders forcing her to lift up, all hair ruffled and soaring in different directions, and she looked her straight in the eyes with a serious mien.

“Don’t you bother your pretty head with all those thoughts, alright? The Slytherins organize a grand party today as to celebrate, you know, the opening of another year of tortures. Same old drill. And I think we could visit at least for an hour…” Noticing the idea didn’t quite appeal to Susan, she proceeded. “Oh, come on, that’s our only chance to get ripped throughout this semester. And we haven’t seen our friends in forever. What do you say?”

“Under one condition.”

“And what’s that exactly?”

Sudden mischief appeared in Susan’s eyes, and it instantly occurred to Y/N that she wasn’t up for too much good with her inventory of ideas. Something in terms of a smug smile appeared on Susan’s lips, and before she could utter a word, Y/N interrupted. “Okay, just an FYA, I’m not going for some crazy-ass shit if it’s that what you’re thinking of.”

“No, it’s not that,” Susan chortled, wiggling her eyebrows in an opposite-suggesting manner. “I- I mean, we could kick off with the investigation about those potions. You know, to find out how’s snicking them out and what for. Satisfying the curiosity is one thing, but how many points we’d be able to obtain for Hufflepuff, can you imagine?”

“Susan…” Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Before you say anything,” she covered her friend’s mouth, apparently finding it the best way to mute her down. “I know that the House Cup doesn’t really matter to you, but it’s such an honor to finally get it for the first time in a few decades. It was always either Slytherin or Gryffindor to get it, and for once we’d get some fame out of that. Merlin, we would even go down in history for something like that.”

“Don’t exaggerate it.” Quite a pause there. “But if it’s that what you want, yeah, sure we can do that.”

“Really?!” Susan’s loud squeak carried over the entire room, which got Y/N very startled with her roommate’s sudden change of heart.

“Sure.” She smiled, nodding. “The key question, though — how are we supposed to, you know, find the suspect?”

“We will find our way. Looking at the clues, observing people, and so forth.” Frowning, she shrugged her arms, jumped off the bed, and walked over to her wardrobe. “I presume, I’m going to choose this glittery dress you gave me on my birthday. Can you do the curls for me? I’d appreciate that.”

XOXOXOX

As much as Y/N tried to make an impression of insouciant, she couldn’t get the taboo topic about the potions disappearance out of her head for days. Obviously, Susan broached the subject as well, not once nor twice, but numerous counts of times, which made Y/N reflect even more on the case. Why would anyone need those vials? What was the use of them? Has Susan really remembered all the relevant details back from the feast speech that she hadn’t bothered enough to attend to? She now contemplated how matters would have been different if she could change her past life decisions, and in lieu, go on the fucking feast that night. Things could have been different by now — she could have caught much more out of Snape’s diatribe than could Susan; she could have noticed other students reacting to the news. Maybe not so new to some after all. But that didn’t matter anymore…

She had attempted, in various ways, to pursue her detective-like role and, following Susan’s advice, tried to look out for any kind of hints that could help out in their common investigation. Until now, however, everything was for no use because every piece of information that was found only led to a blind alley. One time she thought she had even caught a suspect in the act, as she espied the widely-opened door to the Potions Stock and found a black-haired Slytherin inside it, however, as it later turned out, he was only collecting the ingredients for his lessons with Snape.

So that was the next failure on her account, unfortunately.

Currently, Y/N was bracing herself to go for her night shift as a Prefect she was involuntarily elected to be (her parents forced her to submit herself), and she put on several layers of clothes due to a freezing temperature in the corridors, especially in dungeons. She was supposed to meet up with a Ravenclaw boy who would be making rounds with her in a few minutes on a third floor, and she hadn’t yet left her dormitory, much more made her way to the appointed spot. That’s why she tried to gather herself in a great hurry, causing tremendous mayhem all around.

But she couldn’t care less at that moment, because she finally tracked down the pair of shoes she was looking for, thus she swiftly put them on, and almost sprinted out of the room.

‘I’m not gonna make it, I’m not gonna make it…’ Y/N thought to herself, criticism swirling in her head. ‘I’m not gonna mak—‘

“You don’t fucking understand, do you?” Y/N halted in her steps. Breathing like a sore rhinoceros, she succeeded in reaching the fourth floor with her best speed time yet. She didn’t have enough audacity, however, to think about her achievement because the conversation she happened to overhear particularly gripped her interest. “I needed to have them.”

Y/N recognized that voice. Harsh. Bold. Very masculine. Derogatory. She had encountered it too many times in her life as not to detect who the person was — Draco Malfoy, it deemed to her instantly. From what could Y/N detect, he sounded very agitated and vexed, even for himself.

“Watch your tone, Mr. Malfoy,” a man, apparently Snape, scolded him. He too seemed to be a little over the edge, however, could master his temper much better than his interlocutor. “If you needed my help, you should have given a sign. That would provoke much less trouble for both of us. Dumbledore and other professors are getting suspicious, Malfoy, so the next time you try to pull something like that, contemplate twice.”

“I don’t need the advice from you!” Although he lowered his voice a few timbres, Draco huffed and made an impression even angrier than before. “I told you, I’m perfectly capable of doing the whole thing by myself. I don’t need you leeched to my glory.”

“Say that again, and you are going to lose my assistance for once. I pay no interest in acquiring the glory whatsoever,” Snape warned him, sternly. "If it wasn’t for me, everything would have leaked out already. Dumbledore is not foolish. I had to offer him a very far-fetched story to clean you up from the suspicion after the last turn of events.”

Y/N peeked from behind the wall, and indeed, got a hold of a very perplexing scenery. Draco bristled and, with a scorn on his lips, stood with his back pinned to the cobblestone wall whilst Severus Snape, hovering over him with his bat-like garments and greasy hair, stared him blankly in the eyes, disclosing no rage nor irritation. No emotion, really. Draco, on a contrary, had a death-lust painted all over his face.

Wanting to get a better view of the whole situation, Y/N wriggled a little more to get a more favorable position. However, Draco’s gaze suddenly snatched in her direction, and Y/N could only wish that it was too dim for him to perceive her in the cheaply-lit corridor.

‘Don’t move, just don’t move,’ she repeated to herself, withdrawing her breath and deeply praying to come off unnoticed.

His eyes were piercing through her mind, pupils dilated, and what could have been said even from afar was that he wasn’t the same mocking, adolescent Slytherin he had been a year ago. He had the oddest air rising up around him. And his posture was slightly but noticeably hunched, with his ink-black suit hanging on his slender arms. Truthfully saying, he looked more than sick in her opinion and probably must have skipped a few nights of sleep, judging by the bags under his eyes and the extremely pale complexion.

Try as might to suppress it, Y/N felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

“I’m not sure whether you are aware of a weight of the task you have been given, Mr. Malfoy.” Snape turned Draco’s attention back to the conversation. “Dark Lord expects you to perform the task to the nines, and from what I have heard, the progress of your work is hardly perceptible.”

“I told you, I’m handling it,” said Draco with his jaw tightly clenched.  "I’m trying to mend a fucking cupboard up. But I need more time.”

“I can be patient Draco,” said Snape. “However, the Dark Lord won’t be.” And with a swift sweep of his cloak, he vanished into the vast darkness of the corridor, leaving flustered and annoyed Draco behind, who had an apparent influx of anger because he hit a wall with his fist with the greatest force he could gather.

Using the advantage of a momentary lack of Draco’s attention, Y/N tried to escape a place of witnessing the scene between a platinum Slytherin and her, what she had reckoned in the beginning, not so innocent Potions teacher.

Thoughts were swirling in her head like a tornado. What were the two of them talking about? Was their conversation related to the latest potions pilfering, and if so, why would Snape make such a fuss about it during the feats if he had had a clue of a potential robber? Why wouldn’t they use more secluded area to talk over such matters?

Nothing made a coherent answer in her head.

Y/N acted as quietly as she could, withdrawing her breath and hoping that Draco was far gone in the other direction of the school so that she could reach her room with no disturbance. However, before she could make a second step, a voice carried over, leaving a great echo behind. “Come out. I know someone is out there.”

What she could say was an act of desperation, Y/N collected herself to the fastest dart she could manage, feeling a little bit jittery and panicked. She couldn’t be caught by him. She wouldn’t bear standing with him eye to eye, especially after what she had overheard. Her plan was to run over back to the Hufflepuff Tower. But if she couldn’t make it, she would hide behind one of the old tapestries (after wandering alone around the school at night, she had discovered a lot of interesting spots she could make use of). Then, after waiting a while, she would return to her dormitory and, in the following day, she would offer a far-fetched lie to the Ravenclaw boy about not being able to make it to her Prefect shift due to the sudden flu. Or a cold?

Yes, that was a good plan.

His hasty footsteps were approaching her from behind, and Y/N couldn’t be less surprised — he was a head taller over her. With this height, he could beat her up in the race three times, if not more. Not yet losing her determination, Y/N ran further with an unsteady breath and an extremely high heart rate. She had bunked off her Quidditch lessons many times in her life, and she had never thought she would wish to participate in them again.

Y/N could swear her run prolonged from minutes to hours. But she couldn’t stop. Not now, when her destination was finally so close — the tapestry next to the Great Hall that she was the only one who knew about.

A few more steps.

A few more steps.

Y/N felt a sudden yank, and before she could get a grip of what was happening, she was pinioned to the wall by an unimaginable strength she hadn’t known Draco owned. She gasped from bewilderment. Draco was holding both of her hands above her head, and the approximation of their faces made Y/N startled because their noses were almost touching, and she could smell his sandalwood cologne from a little distance. With his breath puffing on her skin, she could feel her cheeks burning from the blush and, suddenly, she was very thankful for the darkness that surrounded them.

“Why were you running away?” he asked, his buzzing eyes inspecting her every flinch.

“Why were you chasing me?” Y/N couldn’t articulate the reason she was running away because she had no particular one. It was her common sense telling her that what she had done, eavesdropped, was inappropriate and should act as she had never witnessed anything. Apparently, that didn’t work out.

“Don’t give me that shit,” he said, huffing. “How much have you heard?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Somehow, Y/N felt even tenser than before, and she had an instantaneous urge to kick him in the guts and flee.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I saw you peeking.” A next sneer. “Nosy Hufflepuffs, can’t just mind their own business, can they?”

“It’s not that I did it on purpose!” she defended herself instantly, knitting her eyebrows together. “I was only doing my rounds as a Prefect. It’s not like you couldn’t go to the more private area or something.”

“Again, how much have you heard?”

Y/N deflated, sinking in her chest becoming sharper every minute. “I-um... Not much, all right? I only heard something about the task. Nothing specific… I swear, I didn’t know someone was there! I was only patrolling, you know, with my Prefect duty.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that already.” Draco removed his hands, releasing Y/N from his grip and, try as might to suppress it, she felt partly wistful because she oddly enjoyed the heat radiating from Draco’s body. He, however, didn’t seem to notice her swift change of mood, and with a little sigh, he continued. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

“About what?”

“About this night. The quarrel, this conversation. Nothing. Understood?”

“Bu—“

“Please, just don’t make me explain that,” he cut her off. “I know this might be confusing but believe me, you don’t want to be mingled into this shithole. Just keep your nose out of it, and nothing bad’s going to happen.”

What did he mean? Did he view her as that oblivious as to not ask questions?

“I—“

“Y/N?” A different voice rang from the opposite side of a hall. Stamps approached Y/N and Draco in surprisingly fast time, and out of nowhere, Terry Boot was standing right in front of them, staring at them in awe. “What are you doing here? We were supposed to meet with each other an hour ago.”

She scratched her head nervously. “I overslept. Took a too-long nap.” Avoiding any eye contact, she let out a neurotic laugh, wishing to have this whole chatty-chat situation behind her.

“And him?” Terry took a suspicious glance at Draco.

“Oh, um — he was just walking back to his dormitory, I assisted him.”

“A little late for a stroll, ain’t it?” Terry asked, folding arms and directing his suspicious gaze back to Draco.

“That’s why I was walking back to dungeons, Boot,” Draco sent him an in-verbal warning, the intensity of his upsetness hovering around. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have early classes tomorrow.”

Uttering nothing more, he ambled away from the pair of them but not before sending Y/N the last caveat with his wary eyes over his shoulder. She should be feeling relieved, but instead, even more conflict arose in her head after her conversation with Draco. What she finally realized was that something much more dangerous than a student’s frolic was standing behind the potions' disappearance. And Draco could be one of those reasons.

“Are you sure you are alright?” Terry inquired when he had an assurance Draco disappeared off the horizon.

“Hm? Oh, ye-yeah, I’m fine…” she stuttered out, still gapping at the black void of darkness where Draco had been standing a few minutes ago.

XOXOXOXO

A/N: Thank u sm for reading and hoped you liked it!! yes, yes, our Terry Boot is returning back to the scenery [spoiler: ‘Turn’]. I’m sure that at least @drawlfoyknows what i’m alluding to hehe.. Idk what’s with the bad, secret boys but i always liked that image of Draco, so... I MADE IT. There’s not too much steam going on rn since, yk, it’s only the beggining. But expect some more heated-up scenes very shortly;) If you want to stay up-to-date with the series, don’t hesitate to ask me to be added to the taglist!

[nho-jungle]

DO YOU WRITE MCYT FIC?

DO YOU HAVE TROUBLE PROMOTING YOUR OWN WRITING?

DO YOU HAVE ONE FIC YOU’VE READ THAT YOU THINK EVERYONE NEEDS TO READ?

WELL HAVE I GOT THE EVENT FOR YOU!

hi my name’s mikey, you may have seen me around but im here in your screen rn to tell you about MIKEY’S 1 YEAR FIC REC EXCHANGE 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO! (no i will not change the name).

as of january 24th 2022, it will have been an entire year since I posted my first mcyt fic! absolutely bonkers!! i did an exchange like this back in 2020 for a different fandom, and i thought “hey, that went well last time. lets do it again!”

This exchange is for anyone who writes any sort of mcyt fic, as I know fic on tumblr often gets buried. under the cut you can read the rules, but here’s the tl:dr-

send me 2 fics/series’: 1 that you have written and 1 that someone else has written. i will be creating a moodboard and a rec post for every. single. submission. 

if you wish to take part, please reblog this post so that i know people are interested. even if you dont want to take part, it would be nice if you could reblog this post anyway, so more people can see it.

did that catch your interest? well here’s the full in-depth rules!!

HOW TO SUBMIT

send me the link/name + author of 1 fic/series that you have written that you are most proud of. this can be sent via an ask, a submission, or a dm. if you work via a sideblog or wish for me to tag a seperate blog, then give me that url too.

then, send me the link/name + author of 1 fic/series that you have read and you think everyone should read. if the author has a tumblr linked in an obvious place, then i will tag them in the post. 

you have until the 10th of january 2022 to send in your submissions.

GUIDELINES

1) while i am mainly a hermitcraft/empires smp focused blog, you can submit a work for any fandom, as long as it is mcyt! (althought i request that rpf is avoided. i know ao3′s tagging is a mess, but i trust your judgement.)

2) any genre, warnings, or rating is allowed. on the posts i make for each submission, each fic will be fully labelled with everyone you’d see on ao3. for tumblr fics, i will make my own judgement. 

3) no reader insert. i will allow oc’s, but reader insert is a huge personal squick for me. just a personal preference. 

4) fics must be available to read on ao3 or tumblr! i don’t get along with wattpad at all.

5) if you are the co-writer of a fic, you can count that as one of your own, or agree to a shared submission with your co-writer(s).

6) please keep in mind that i have to read every. single. one. of these fics. that’s not to say i am putting a limit on word count, but understand that if the fic is very long then i may only skim read it to get the general vibes.

7) likewise, please try to choose fics that have fairly obvious themes. at the end of the day, moodboards are pictures, and its very difficult to find 9 images to represent 500 words of domestic fluff.  

8) unfinished fics are allowed!! just be aware that if the fic is still in progress then the vibes might change. i am only human. i cant see the future.

9) anonymous submissions are allowed! if you post anonymously on ao3 and wish to remain anonymous, then pls submit your works via an anonymous ask (with an identifying emoji/name if possible). alternatively, you can dm me and state that you wish to remain anonymous. i am just a stranger on the internet, but i promise i wont tell.

10) if a fic has any fanart with it that isn’t linked obviously in the notes somewhere then please send that too. if not, i will be using either just images of the minecraft skins for the moodboards, or any art that i myself have drawn that i feel fits. 

PRIZE

(okay, it’s not a competition, but prize makes it sound more exciting)

each fic will get a rec post, featuring a moodboard made specifically for the fic. it’s obviously not mandatory, but if you take part in the exchange then it would be nice to not only rb your own moodboards, but some of the others as well. after all, this exchange is about promoting people’s hard work!

DEADLINE

moodboards will begin posting on the 24th of january. submissions will close on the 10th of january, as that gives me time to make sure everything is finished. 

please remember that i am only one guy, and a college student at that. i have a life outside of the internet and am, ultimetely, doing this for fun!

EXTRA

final moodboards, as well as any additional information will be posted under the #fr echange 2022 tag. the last time i did this was for bandom fics, but if you want to check out some examples then you can find those in the #fr exchange 2020 tag

[acidsaladd]

Wips!

hi!! i was tagged by @twigs-sprigs to do this so lets dive in (ty for the tag dude!! i think ur really cool too!! ur art is such an inspiration! :D )

rules!! "post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.  Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it!  And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.  I have deemed that this isn’t just for writing either.  Sketch titles?  Comics?  DnD campaigns?  If you have an unfinished project, it counts!!"

ok so i Do have a wip folder but i keep forgetting them so i also have a list on my notes app and an imaginary list in my head SO ill try my best to pile everything on here

amusement park chaos

the gang TM

eating at chen’s

v domestic breakfast

love languages

kai blacksmithing tiktok

fic scene redraw

httyd au :eyes:

post seabound angst

kai’s ninja-GOT YOU

jay and cole’s fall

rgb cuddles

nya,, why,,

worm

lilo and stitch

rgb cool epic posters

detectives

andd i think thats it? probably? yea. a bunch of these r just ideas and i dont have any sketches yet but they still count and r very present in my mind. pls send me an ask about any of them that ur curious about! :D

(no pressure at all!!) @sugarglider-s , @lille-scribbles , @pajamamen , @birdbound and anyone else who wants to participate >:]