#quarter moon ➼ ask box

[mccnstricken]

“ Don't lie to me. ” - Mike to Joker

4-Word Sentence Prompts

"Lie to you?"

Play the innocent, play the unsuspecting. In every instance where his own face is used against him, Joker finds himself relying on it in moments like this to save his skin. His brows knit further upwards, eyes staring wide— in such a way that makes him disgusted with himself. A grown man using tears as a weapon? That's just pathetic. But it's exactly what he needs to be right now: pathetic.

Just moments ago, Joker had been sitting alone in the dining hall. It makes him wonder if it was a chance meeting or if he had been followed, but he has no time to think further about it. What he needs to focus on is the current situation at hand: a confrontation that he had never truly been prepared to have. An encounter that had been waiting to happen, brewing silently with every second the two men co-exist within the walls of the manor. 

He blinks, to fake the look of trying to bat away any tears. "I know we never got along in the past, Mike, but... what makes you think I would lie to you?" He stays seated in his chair, looking up at the acrobat. It helps his illusion, it makes him small. 

Mike always liked family. Let's play with that angle. "For all the years we've known each other... you'd approach me like this after all this time? If you have something to say to me, you could at least have it in you to tell it to me straight..."

[kth1fics]

Twisted Fate (M) | MYG

Twisted Fate

⟶ Pairing: Min Yoongi x Female Reader (Y/N) ⟶ Genre: Oneshot, Smut, Rated R | 18+ ⟶ Tropes: Vampire!Yoongi, Strangers to Lovers, Royalty AU, Supernatural AU, Fantasy AU ⟶ WC: 4.7k+ ⟶ Warnings: blood (obviously), some degrading, biting / blood drinking, breast play, choking, sparkling jealousy, unprotected sex, there’s a third party at play, some bondage, fingering, oral (f), threats, reader has a nickname. ⟶ Beta: n/a (no beta just complete yolo - if it doesn't make sense don't worry about it) ⟶ Summary: A slice of vampiric lifestyle here inside the Briarwood Manor walls after you ultimately picked the Lord you wish to serve. ⟶ Author’s Note: I actually feel very bad that most of all my hosted collaborations are incomplete. It happens though, ya know? This Yoongi is a part of the Briarwood Manor Collab, hosted by myself! I never expected to be writing this fic, honestly. But I hope it does well and is good enough! Please leave any feedback or comments on a reblog, post, or even my ask box! ⟶ Song Recommendation: Sweet Sacrifice by Evanescence

Masterlist ◈ Mail Box ◈ AO3 ◈ Ko-Fi

“Hello, puppet, did you miss me?”

The low mischievous voice whispers a chill in your ear. His cold hand comes to rest on your bare shoulder, stroking your soft skin. If anyone were to see they’d think his touch is sincere and tender, a loving gesture to greet his lover, but they’d be so very wrong. 

A puppet is what you are to him, nothing more. To serve however he sees fit. The nickname is quick out of his mouth the moment you pick him under the shine of a blood moon. You aren’t so sure what drew you to him in the first place. Maybe his aura played a trick on you, taunted you with his beauty and looks. An elegant and stoic composure mixed in one. The most unresponsive to the personal sacrifice (you) during the ritual.

You still remember the lifeless blink of his eyes when he first looked at you. From there you should have known he didn’t see the life inside of you. The vampire whose fangs ghost over your neck and haunt your nights is far from a lover. He’s an obligation. A duty. The choice you were forced to make among the six other princes.

Some nights you question what would have been if you picked someone different. How would the others treat their Church’s generous gift? Would you be more than a puppet?

His hand sends a visible chill through you. The sickly sweet voice of Lord Yoongi that you dread has returned after weeks away. There’s no doubt in your mind that there’s a toothy-grin widening on his face when he inhales your scent. You were just starting to enjoy that temporary freedom from his demanding fangs. Oh, how you wish he was gone just a while longer.

Yoongi had been away visiting a nearby kingdom to the West for business. Both Lord Namjoon and Lord Hoseok accompanied him. You know very little of their endeavors. Council work if anything. Matters that a blood-bag, such as yourself, has no business knowing. You are thankful for the pleasant peace of the manor while you had it.

You remain quiet, but your heart pounds in your chest. Anyone in an earshot can probably hear it pumping through your veins. Yoongi sends a full attack to your nervous system and he hardly touches you.

“Let’s pretend that’s excitement,” he comments as a nimble finger runs along your neck.

“H-How was the trip?” You ignore his first question completely. Faking a soft smile to please him.

“Nonsense,” he mutters as his mouth hovers the crook of your next. Your body already expects the snag of his teeth any second now. “Take off that pathetic excuse of a dress the servants dressed you in. I want you in my quarters. Now,” Yoongi whispers with demand.

You feel that there’s no room for objections, you’ve learned the hard way once or twice before. Disobeying Yoongi only makes things harder for you.

The first step you take halts as you feel his hand tug at the lace to your bodice. It snaps easily, loosening the material for an easier escape. Yoongi trails you, watches you with a burning hunger, as one by one you shed your clothes on your way to his room. 

There’s no shame walking down the corridors of the manor, you’ve gotten used to these trips. Seen many others in the same position. It’s the way of life here.

Yoongi’s room is one of the furthest from the grand room. It requires walking the stairs and passing several other spaces before reaching the crystal knob of his door. On occasion, his impatience forces you into the music room where he lays you on the piano lid and does exactly what one can imagine. 

Although, tonight doesn’t feel like one of those nights.

“You haven’t answered me yet,” his voice hums, “did you miss me?”

You don’t loath the man, but you know what he does to you. How you are easily frail compared to him and fear slipping up. The sharpness in his fangs and in his words and the strength in his grip and demeanor. You do not miss his beastly moods when he sucks your blood savagely and brings you to the brink of tears. To where you fall far too weak to put up a fight.

There are no soft sides to Yoongi, not from what you’ve witnessed anyway. When he’s finished with you, you’re sure he’ll do it with no remorse.

You want to answer truthfully. Saying ‘no’ is on the very tip of your tongue. Maybe his absence did make you feel useless in a way. But you also felt relief by being away from the ruthless need of your body. And for that, you feel a tang of guilt. Making you question how you actually feel.

“Yes, my Lord,” you speak sweet yet flat. “Your presence was greatly missed.”

Finally, you’re met in the center of his room. The still cool air swallows you as you stand there awaiting his next command. The click to the door shutting behind you resounds out loud. It leaves you trapped inside the vampire’s chamber.

“Of course you did,” he smirks to himself as he slowly undos his cufflinks. His eyes continue to scan you, admiring the shape of your body and nudity. “Go on. Sit.”

You see the nod of his head from your peripheral as you stare blankly at the dark silk comforter. A canopy hangs from the ceiling above, draping thick charcoal black curtains. There’s a litter of candles scattered throughout, none of which are lit. You’re granted very little light from the cascading moon from outside the tall paneled windows. It’s darker than usual due to the storm clouds. 

Everyday his chamber is cleaned and dusted even when left unoccupied. Yoongi likes his stuff maintained, presetine if he could. If one thing is out of alignment he will notice it. They have workers for several reasons, many for pure enjoyment and food.

As you take a seat on the side of the bed, Yoongi hovers. He stands close, taking your chin in his hand and tilting your head up to look at him. His grip is menacing, you’re aware of how easily a man with his strength can break your bones.

“Whore,” he comments as he looks down on you.

His voice cuts through you like a knife. Clear and loud. He watches the way your eyes flicker in shock and widen. Heat plasters to your face as his grip tightens.

“Do you think I don’t know?” He huffed a laugh. “Why don’t you tell me what I'm speaking about?”

“Y-Yoongi I –”

He slips a finger into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue to prevent you from forming any more words.

“Take my name out of your dirty mouth or I'll do it for you,” he threatens.

“I’m sorry!,” you attempt to say out of pure reaction. 

Yoongi leans in flashing you a smile, revealing his sharpened canines. His eyes turn a blazing ruby red, popping out of his stark black hair.

“I’ll release your tongue and when the second I do, I expect you to tell me.”

He waits for your acknowledgement before his fingers find their way back to cradling your chin.

“Lord Jimin,” the name falls out of your mouth just as your eyes fall to the ground. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do,” you fester up.

How could you? With no guidance from the Lord you picked. He left you at the manor with very little discussion. There’s unspoken rules you’re still learning to this day. How are you supposed to know what Lord Yoongi wants when he doesn’t speak the words into existence?

“You’re not his,” Yoongi states. He rests one knee on the edge of the bed beside you. His other hand traces up your arm lightly all the way to the back of your neck. With his position, he brings your head back up to look at him. “I don’t care what he says. You picked me.”

“He would have killed me if I denied his advances,” you mention. Confusion and panic swells deeply in your eyes. “He only just –”

Yoongi snorts, displeased beyond belief. “He wouldn’t unless he wanted a war. He knows you belong to me and took the opportunity to take you when I was gone.”

“–Just bit me!,” you managed to get out.

“Hm?” Yoongi’s eyebrow quirks.

“He only just bit me. I swear there is nothing more!”

You plead with your eyes. You’ve never wanted to upset him in any way. The role you play is one you take seriously. If you were murdered by a fellow ally of your Lord, that would have madden him further, no?

Yoongi’s touch turns featherlight, nothing compared to how he touches you when he lays with you. Rough and demanding. Guiding you exactly how and when he wants it. It’s what you’re expecting from him.

He leans down close, slotting his head next to your neck as he breathes in your scent. “I’ll keep you locked up in my room.” Yoongi’s lips touch against your skin, you can’t help but shiver. “Spread your legs.”

Yoongi’s cool fingers ghost your core, leaving traces as they pass each inch. You feel the threat of his fangs against you, making your body heat up quickly. It is safe to say that you do miss the way he touches you. Feeling his grip all over your body, it brings you to places you’ve never – and will never – admit.

“But I'll have no property of mine” – he continues with his earlier words – “be shared like a whore on the street.”

You politely move your head to the side with his hand as direction, bracing for the impact of his teeth. They lightly drag along your jugular until he finds his desired spot before sinking them into your skin.

The feeling hurts like a razor sharp sting as you release a groan. Yoongi’s hand secures you in place as the other presses against your heated core. His fingers slip between your folds, gliding them across your clit and into your pussy. Drawing out the wetness he searches for.

There’s a trickle of blood that breaks through the seam of Yoongi’s lips, dripping down the front of your chest. He’s sloppy, unusual for him. Probably from the weeks away. You stay stagnant, letting Yoongi do as he pleases.

“Lay back,” Yoongi pushes you down before you feel his lips pressing kisses on your thighs. He continues to press two fingers into you while he reaches for your nipple, swirling around the hardening bud.

You close your eyes as you let out a shuddering breath. Your entire body is warming up, aching silently for more. Maybe he misses you?

“Do you want me to touch you more?” The voice is so low you can barely hear it over the heavy rain outside. When his touch does everything to ignite that burning sensation inside, how can you not want more?

“Yes,” you whimper when another kiss lands on your inner thigh. You feel your pussy tighten from the want, the need.

“Yes?” He questions, as his fingers pinch down hard on your nipple. It sends bolting zaps of pain through you, making you yelp at the action.

You feel his plunging fingers curl up inside you and drag against your walls. Your legs move on their own accord, body only reacting to the joyous sensation.

“Oh God, yes! Please touch me!” You plead.

Once your desperate words leave your mouth, he latches onto your clit, sucking the sweet tender bud eagerly. He pairs it well with the pace of his fingers in your aching core, possessive hand roaming your front as his body slots between your legs.

Your curious eyes travel downward to spy Yoongi’s black hair nuzzled between your thighs and feverishly licking at your leaking arousal. It takes everything in you to not place your hands in his hair, you know he doesn’t like being touched. But it looks so soft, so long and pretty. 

“I don’t want you to ever think about being bitten by anyone else,” he growls. “Your blood is mine and mine only.” You feel your leg being lifted enough for Yoongi’s fangs to pierce the skin on your inner thigh.

His words and actions make you whimper. Yoongi’s tongue laps over the bleeding blood on your skin.

“I won’t,” you affirm as you toss your head to the side. Absentmindedly your fingers thread through his hair, it feels like the finest of silks. “I only want you to bite me, Lord Yoongi.”

Your confession pleases him. He replaces his fingers with his tongue, diving it deep into your leaking hole. A moan slips from your mouth while your fingers fasten a lock in his hair. Lewd noises spill into the air from the vampire sucking and licking at your core, devouring the taste of you.

Doing what he says always grants you intense pleasure. Being good tends to satisfy you, you realized that a long time ago. Once Yoongi draws you agonizingly close to a climax, he withdraws his pursuit. Leaving you in a cloud of haze.

‘Is that it?’ you think to yourself. Why the sudden stop? Did you do something wrong?

Yoongi reluctantly pulls from you, forcing your hands off his hair with a sinister smile. Blood and arousal is smeared across his mouth and chin.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper the question.

You’re left huffing and puffing as you feel your orgasm slipping away from you. His menacing stare down doesn’t ease your mind and you feel your body shriveling up from under his scorching red eyes.

“Time to learn your lesson.”

Yoongi manages to pull your body up the bed to the headboard. Fastening two hard metal cuffs to each of your wrists. You’ve been here once before in a playful gig, but the motivation behind Yoongi’s tone sends a shiver to your spine.

You obey, as you should, while the darkness of the drapes shroud around the bed. You’re left with red glowing eyes staring straight down at you once again. His ethereal features, as beautiful as they are, frighten you to say the least. There's anger swirling inside of him. The angel you view Yoongi at shows how the cut of his eyes are deadly, the shape of his jaw is sharp and the curve of his lips stands against the casted shadows of the dark. You feel the anxious fear bubbling up inside your body, a spike of nerves setting aflame.

“What?”

He can read you like a book. Heart pinging higher than the normal rate. A confused quirk of your brows. Even the clearing of your throat and desperate breaths have him understanding your senses. Your body language tells him everything he needs to know about your fear.

“Brianne!” Yoongi snaps his fingers together as he calls upon a servant.

On cue, the door to his room opens and closes. She walks as punctually as ever, hands clasped in front of her apron as she curtsy bows to the vampire.

“My Lord,” she smiles. Paying you no mind as you lay naked and latched to Yoongi’s bed. “How may I aid you?”

“My puppet here is in need of a lesson. Care to participate?”

“It would be an honor,” Brianna bows.

Unspokenly, she begins to shed her clothes piece by piece. Yoongi hums to himself as he does the same. You are left strapped there, witnessing the entire event in confusion.

It’s as if this has been done before. You watch with worry as Brianne steps out of her skirt and pulls out the ties of her hair, allowing it to cascade around her shoulders. She steps toward the bed, eyes nearly lifeless, as she glances at you. There’s several, very visible, bite wounds on her body.

Quickly, Yoongi meets Brianne from behind. His hands guide her atop the mattress as she kneels near your feet. You curl up further, drawing your legs into yourself as your mind races with endless possibilities of what’s about to happen.

“Puppet?”

You flinch, very noticeably, at the bark of your nickname. You hadn’t realized how on edge your nerves are until now.

Yoongi follows behind Brianne, being sure to peer over her shoulder at you with his ruby eyes. Brianne is displayed before you, legs spread apart as she kneels, tits in full view. Yoongi’s crafty and daft hands sliding across her front and touching every piece of her. It’s a taunting scene, mentally riling you up inside.

“I want you to know,” Yoongi begins with a devilish low growl, “How easy it is,” he pushes aside Brianne’s hair to expose her neck, “For us to take a whore.”

Yoongi latches his mouth down on Brianne, forcing a muffled groan out of her throat. He bites, and bites, and bites, until there’s a chain of red leaking down her shoulder and arm. Some meet the mound of her breast, where Yoongi happily is cupping with his own hand while the other is gliding down her front and rubbing circles on her clit.

You watch in shame and fear. Seeing the way Brianne thrives from the mutilating hands and mouth of the Lord. Pleasure crosses her face, pain and ecstasy. She has no embarrassment with the noises that leak out of her. You swear you see her face mocking yours as you turn away.

“Look at me,” you hear the demanding growl of Yoongi.

But the burning heat of anger tingles your face. You fear disobeying him though. It only can make things worse.

“Puppet!” he growls over Brianne’s moans. Yoongi pushes Brianne down on her hands, her head closer to where you curl up against the headboard. “Look at what I am doing!”

You hesitantly glance over, hating the scene you see. Yoongi’s possessive hands scratch Brianne’s back as he lines himself behind her. There’s blood covering his front, smearing down his chest as his mouth gaps open. You squirm uncomfortably. As much as you loathe what’s happening, how your heart is thumping with disbelief and hatred, it bothers you even more that it turns you on.

Yoongi spits down at the junction between Brianna and himself and lathers his cock with his free hand. He slots himself inside her roughly, pulling out a loud moan from Brianne and forcing tears to swell in your eyes.

“Look at me!” He commands again, and this time you stare at his glowing eyes. 

Locked in and afraid to move. Sure you can see Brianne through the edges of your sight, you can see the way Yoongi’s abs flex with each harsh thrust he inflicts on her, the way her audible noises fill the room just like the way Yoongi’s cock fills her pussy.

He keeps his stare with you, eyes threatening. “How do you feel when I choose someone else? To make them feel this good while I feed and fuck them? Do you think you’re so special to go around and give yourself up like Brianne here?” He grunts between breaths, making sure to give Brianne a good ramming as her hips get pulled back into him. 

Yoongi continues to speak to you, “Do you want to end up like this?” He quizzes you again. He forces Brianne to flip over, revealing all those scattered bite marks on her body including his own. He arches her back by holding a hand under her. You can’t help but to flick your eyes down at it.

There’s a burning rage brewing inside of you, watching the way your Lord takes care of another. Bluntly in front of you as well. You don’t think you’re anything special, just a gift from the Church. There’s no doubt in your mind Yoongi has all the freedom to do what he pleases, but you’re mad that you aren’t the option when you were only raised to be such.

You remain silent and fear stricken. There’s upset and anger on your face and he can see that. Pathetically, you are his. You picked this. But desperately you want to only be his.

“No,” you whimper out. There’s a sad tear that rolls down the curve of your cheek.

“‘No’ what?”

There’s thorns forming inside of your throat, digging into it as if your voice doesn’t have freedom.

“No I don’t want this!”

Yoongi continues to thrust into Brianne, but his attention is on you. His hand closes down on her throat, squeezing slowly to prevent airflow.

“Have you learned?” His fingernails begin digging into Brianne and you hear her noticeable gasp. “That a whore is used by many and can be,” – he squeezes firmer, watching Brianne’s hands clasp around his wrist in protest – “killed with no feeling of guilt?”

There’s a gargle replacing the moans in Brianne’s mouth. Her eyes are bloodshot and full of tears. Yoongi pays no attention, he knows what he’s doing. But he keeps his ruby eyes on you, stalking your next actions.

“Yoongi, stop!” You shout with warning, “She’s going to die!”

“So?” His voice is cold.

“Stop!” you plead. “Stop it, stop it, stop it! I get it! I’m sorry! Just stop it!” Each hopeless syllable falling out of your mouth amplifies higher until you shout.

Yoongi finally halts his actions completely, releasing his grip on poor Brianne and pulling out of her. She gasps as her lungs fill with air, hands clutching her throat. Yoongi rolls her over, letting her legs hit the floor beside the bed and commands her to stand.

He analyzes her, wipes away the wet tears from her face before patting the side of her head. “Gather your things,” he beckons. “Please seek Lord Jimin and tell him you are but a gift from me.”

Brianne attempts a hoarse response but her throat is far too fragile to speak. She quickly gathers her belongings and rushes out of the room, holding her throat with a hand the entire time.

As the room falls silent, you can’t help but stare at the naked vampire in front of you. He’s thin, toned, skin milky pale due to his vampiric complexion and lack of sun. Cock stands out, still hardened as a hand runs along its length.

“Never become a whore, puppet. It’ll get you killed.”

Yoongi turns to look back at you, seeing how shriveled up you’ve become. He knows the power he holds and the loyalty you only wish to fulfill. It’s how you are raised. You want to act on your own actions, but Yoongi is the shotcaller. The owner of you.

“I’m only yours,” you state with a nod. 

Like lightning, Yoongi returns to you. Finger’s dipping into your cunt again. He groans with the seeping wet arousal leaking from you, making sure to comment on how you must have been turned on all along. He pushes deep inside your needy walls, stoking and thrusting his fingers at a quick pace almost as if he wants you to cum right then and there. His tongue works on your clit, swirling delicately around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pleasure between your legs causes you to tremble, Yoongi’s name falls out of your mouth as you tug on the cuffs chaining you to the bed. You’re beginning to feel the start of your delayed climax from before. Your breaths become shallow pants while you can’t help but ride Yoongi’s mouth desperately.

Your hazy mind takes away your active awareness and forces you to enjoy the senses you hear, feel, smell, taste, and see. Yoongi works his way up past your navel, peppering kisses on his pursuit to your clavicles. His teeth glide over your skin only enough to scratch you as you whimper from the loss of his tongue.

Somehow you end up on your knees and straddling Yoongi’s pelvis. He flipped you quickly to slide himself under you. The chains twist, forcing your wrists together. His hair fans out around his head as he rests on the pillow, eyes lazily looking up at your hanging breasts. You feel the cold hard hands on your hips as he leads you onto his cock, letting you slide against his length and spread your arousal on him.

You use your arm to muffle your moan as he slips his tip inside of you. The promise of his length inside of you makes you eager so you press down. Letting an inch deeper before he pulls you back up to begin the process again.

Yoongi leans up from under you to latch his mouth on one tit, sucking harshly at your nipple before sinking his fangs enough to draw blood. The sting hurts, you whine on the impact as he simultaneously draws your hips down onto him. Stuffing his thick cock inside your tight cunt.

You want to lean on him for support but those blasted chains hold your position high. In reaction, you bite your own arm as you feel the way Yoongi fills you up and feeds on you. The joyous satisfaction you gain from pleasing the Lord is soon to follow.

Yeah, there is no way you wish to be a whore. Yoongi is more than enough.

“You like it. Don’t you, puppet?” Yoongi chuckles. He pulls on your hair sharply, twisting your head to the side to admire his earlier bite mark. “You like being my little puppet and filled up like this, huh?” Yoongi grinds his hips into you, his other hand firmly guiding your body to ride him.

You’re left breathless, painfully in pleasure, but fully enjoying being filled to the brim by his cock. The recklessness of his grip on your hair and bleeding from his beautiful bites. It’s so devilishly good, you could never wish to be anything more than his puppet. 

“Ah, please,” you groan. The sound of skin against skin resonates throughout the darkened room. It’s mingled with your beautiful cries and his low guttural grunts. 

“I love it,” you confess.

You don’t ever want to be used to getting filled so well. You don’t want to be curious about the other princes and how they would treat you. Something about Yoongi is exactly what you need, you just never knew before. Is the lesson supposed to make you have this realization?

Yoongi releases a low groan against your skin, murmuring, “you feel so fucking good. You taste so fucking good.”

Once again, Yoongi sinks his teeth in you. The pain draws you closer to your impending orgasm and you yelp outloud. 

His thrusts become even more determined. Your chest arches into him as you tug on the cuffs that limit your hand movement. The noise from the headboard thuds rhythmically against the wall as your cunt clenches.

“Cum on me,” you hear the words tickle your ears. Yoongi’s hand wraps around your head and leads you into a bloody, searing kiss. He hushes your moans as his tongue dives past your teeth.

Metabolic tasting liquid seeps into your taste buds but you aren’t focused on the flavor. The cradling hand on your cheek and gentle soft strokes of his fingers on your hips are. The deepened kiss, full of lust and passion, sends you to overdrive as you whimper through your crashing orgasm.

Your legs shake against his sides in the same pace of your walls gripping his cock. Your blood trickles down on Yoongi’s chest as you ride out the waves of pleasure. Wet squelching sounds happen at the intersection between you and him as his thumb runs circles against your clit.

You feel your eyes fluttering shut as you groan. Your rolling orgasm kicks your body into realizing how much strain it’s handling. The harsh mixture of pain and pleasure. Your body is beginning to fall limp, the life and energy inside of you finally hitting their max. You want to collapse but Yoongi continues to thrust into you, perhaps chasing his own high.

“Ah,” you breathe as Yoongi’s mouth detaches from yours. His eyes focus on the mess of arousal on his lap, the way your cunt disappears his cock entirely. There’s a vice grip on your hips now, all you can do now  is be a toy for him.

A puppet, so he’d say.

Your head begins to spin as your vision fades into darkness. The last thing you see is the beautiful features of Yoongi, enjoying full on gratification from your body. Blood covered across his smooth poreless skin and black raven hair. 

moodboard credit: @kth1

© 2024 All rights reserved under @kth1​ - do not copy, repost, modify, edit, or translate any of my work without my direct consent. This TUMBLR and AO3 are the ONLY places my fics are posted.

[revelboo]

I need a continuation of that TFOne Starscream, you're writing is so so good

Thanks!

Inside Out Pt 4

TFO Starscream x Reader

• Entering his quarters, he vents softly to himself as he hears the silvery sound of the length of your leash sliding against his berth as you launch yourself from the nest of blankets he’d left you in and retreat closer to the wall where your leash is tethered. “Haven’t I asked you to greet me when I return?” He growls, setting the boxes he was carrying down and seizing the excess length of your leash to pull gently. Still hearing your startled yelp as you fall and are dragged closer by the cuff secured around your ankle. A necessity since he’d walked in on you tying your blankets into a rope with the intent to find a way to climb down and escape. “Well?” Sprawled on your back, your coverings rucked up to reveal soft skin, you scowl up at him.

• Reminding yourself that flipping off the giant alien jerk keeping you as a pet isn’t a good idea if you want to live, you bare your teeth at him instead. It’s not a smile by any means, but he likely doesn’t know the difference anyway. “Welcome home,” you hiss, sitting up and trying to tug the stupid leash out of his servos. Falling back and banging your head hard enough on the berth to make you bite your tongue when he yanks on it in retaliation. “Lord Starscream,” you add, tone venomous, tasting blood.

• “No fight today?” Optics narrowing as your jaw works and you don’t try to get back up, he reaches out a servo to stroke your cheek, down your neck, across your collarbone and then you finally stop playing at being obedient and submissive. Smirking as you roll and then kick at his servo, face red. And he cages you under his palm, almost laughing when you drop the act and scream at him, feet and little hands lashing out until you exhaust yourself. “And to think I brought you gifts.”

• Gifts. Things like the leash most likely. Furious, you wait as he reaches to unhook the end of your leash from its hook and curls his servos around you, lifting you to his chassis. Hating that your tension melts away when he presses you to him, that familiarity you despise calling to you until you lay your cheek against him. Feeling the thrum of his spark, that feeling of well-being that comes from contact with him spilling through you. “Go away,” you mutter, eyes closing as you soak in his heat. Needing him, but not wanting him.

• Venting as he cradles you to him, he uses a servo to examine the ankle your leash is attached to, the skin reddened under it and around your ankle. Trying to squirm out of the cuff attached to you or was it from where he’d pulled you out of hiding? Guilt twisting about his spark, he sits on the edge of the berth and pulls one of the little boxes closer. “You need this contact as much as I do,” he rasps, soaking in the beat of your little heart as that connection strengthens when he slides a servo under your covering to find warm skin. “We don’t have to be enemies.” He hasn’t been able to figure out the nature of his connection to you from searching the archives, but he isn’t about to ask Shockwave, either. While he’d likely figure it out, you probably wouldn’t survive his experiments. Servo stroking along your hair, he picks up a box and offers it in his hand. It’s bigger than you are and you squint up at him, expression suspicious. You don’t trust him and he doesn’t blame you. Knows it shouldn’t bother him, but it tears into his spark all the same. Because he knows this isn’t right, it shouldn’t be like this.

• Those red optics are staring down at you expectantly and you reluctantly lean away from his warmth, from that lie of safety and belonging and pick at the tape on the side of the box. “Did you steal this from an Amazon delivery truck?” His expression goes blank so you decide he absolutely did. Tearing into the box, it’s loaded with more boxes and packaging. All of it absolutely random. Laundry detergent, moon pies, flavored water, a body pillow, under eye masks, what might be a dog harness or bondage gear, the latter you decide as you find a ball gag and shudder, rainbow boba, instant coffee, a mix of men and women’s clothes, and a kid’s unicorn comforter and sheet set. “Thanks,” you mutter, burying the harness and gag at the bottom, because nope.

Previous

Next

[sometimesanalice]

A prompt party, Alexa? How in the world did I miss that? I'd be over the moon if you could write a little something for Bradley + "i’m gonna marry you one day." 🪩 ✨

Rebecca! Now you know I’m always down to write a little something for a smitten Bradley! I hope you enjoy!

It was a surprisingly quiet night at the Hard Deck.

You could actually hear the music playing out of Penny's old juke box, rather than just the faint essence of notes for whatever oldie was queued up over the usual rowdy ruckus. And there were more empty chairs scattered about than there were taken ones.

It was one of the rare rainy days they got in San Diego. The gray skies and drizzle driving even the best of Uncle Sam's finest under blankets and curled up on couches.

Bradley always liked the moody weather. He liked the way the clouds seemed to cling to the coastline. He liked the rough rolling waves as they broke against the shore with more force than they usually did.

But he wasn't look out the bank of windows out towards the beach, in fact, he had his back turned to it.

Because he was looking at you.

Bradley had been trying to ask you out for the better part of two months now. And he was starting to think that you were giving him the runaround.

He'd learned that first evening that you were only filling in as a favor to Penny- she and your mom went way back as sorority sisters- for a few months as Jimmy recovered from his knee replacement surgery.

Under normal circumstances, he’d take the hint and move on. And even if his mom hadn’t raised him right- which she had- Rooster knew that just because someone was nice didn’t mean they were interested. Especially when it was their job.

But he couldn’t kick the feeling that there was something there.

All he needed was one date to prove it.

It was more than the way you always seemed to catch him looking, because you were looking right back. Or the way you’d slip him a free drink every now and then, saying it was on the house. Or the way you found a way to brush past him a little too close whenever you'd swing by with more peanuts for Bob or a fresh round of drinks for his friends.

You were so damn smart and funny as hell. He’d taken to spending less time on his ESPN app and more time on the NYT trying to find interesting topics to get to spend a extra few minutes with you. Nothing felt better than earning a smile from you.

But any time he got close to asking you out or asking for your number, you were pulled away by something or another. The sound of broken glass. A pointed throat clearing from a thirsty patron. An emergency trip to the storage closet.

Rain was good luck in some places, and Bradley needed all the luck he could get. It hadn’t been on his side in the past two month, but tonight was his night. He was sure of it.

Especially considering he was the only person seated at the bar.

You'd been popping out and checking on people, delivering refills personally to the few people who had braved the elements instead of having them come up to the bar.

Rooster was patient, he didn't mind waiting his turn. After all, he had a shiny new NYT subscription to keep him company.

He smiles to himself when you work your way back to the bar, grabbing the bowl of limes and a cutting board, and setting up right in front of him. He watches as you deftly slice and quarter the limes into wedges, their bright scent clinging in the air.

“Why does it feel like I’ve seen less of you tonight than I do when this place is packed?” Bradley asks, saving the article he was midway through before closing out of the app completely.

“I’m just a one woman show here tonight, I told Penny to stay home." You're tidy and efficient in the way you store the prepped wedges and work to clean up the already immaculate bar. "It's means a bit more running around for me. But I don't mind, I like to keep busy."

"So I've noticed."

You look up at him from under your lashes, as you wipe down the prep space. "Have you been keeping tabs on me, Rooster?"

"Now I know you're teasing me." He sets his phone down and levels a look at you. "Because we both know you catch me looking often enough to know the answer to that."

You press your lips together, but the corners curl up anyways.

"Oh, Bradley," you say with a soft sigh. "Bradley, Bradley, Bradley..."

And then your eyes drop purposefully down.

The two of you stare at his phone sitting on the shiny bar top.

"You wouldn't," he rasps.

"I think I'm legally obligated to. There's a very official wood sign and everything." You look the picture of innocence, but you don't fool him.

"Sweetheart, c'mon."

"Are you asking me to bend the rules for you? Just because Penny isn't here?" You tsk, with a self-satisfied smile. "And here I thought you were a Boy Scout."

Bradley just shakes his head amused as you sashay up to the bell and give it a loud, long ring. A couple whoops go up in response, but no one gets up. Yet.

You walk back towards him with an all too pleased smile.

"I think you enjoyed that."

You smile wider and don't deny it. "I can't lie, it is a fun perk of the job."

He sighs. "And here I thought we had something special."

"Stop that, you're too pretty to pout," you tease. "You gave me no choice. I don't make the rules, I just follow them. And as much as I love Penny, I have a healthy dose of-"

"-fear-"

You smirk. "I was going to say respect. But also you're not wrong."

"And what about me?" he asks, sitting up straighter on his stool. "What are your impressions of me?"

"Oh you?" You tilt your head to the side, letting your gaze linger on his face as you muse. "You look like trouble."

"Do I now?"

"Mmhm. I thought it from the moment I saw you strut through that door." You say it like you're letting him in on a secret. "And there’s something you should probably know about me."

He leans in closer. "And what's that?"

You mirror him, leaning in as well and resting your elbows on the counter. Your face is just inches from his. “I’m really good at getting into trouble.”

He grins. “I’m gonna marry you one day.”

You tip your head back and laugh, it’s the best sound he thinks he’s ever heard. 

“That’s a bold statement from the man who still has yet to ask me out on a date.”

He opens his mouth, to do just that, after months of failed attempts. And then another one of the patrons saddles up to the bar, waving you down for your attention.

Rooster groans.

"Alas, it appears I have another gentleman caller," you sing, reaching for the towel and waving it like a handkerchief in his direction. "Guess I'll be seeing you around, Bradley. Maybe at the end of an aisle, who knows, the night is young."

The smile you give him promises that this conversation isn't over yet.

You spin away from him and don’t give him a second glance as you head over towards the thirsty man whose beer is going on his tab, but there’s a sway in your hips that wasn’t there before.

And Bradley thinks to himself, this is going to be fun. 

[buckets-and-trees]

Warm Shadows - The Dawn Has Come [double epilogue]

Collection: Warm Shadows Chapter Title: The Dawn Has Come Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader x Alpha!Steve Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: The aftermath - and the happily ever after? An epilogue with two distinct parts befitting the journey with the two alphas.

Content Warnings: omegaverse: heat and ruts, manipulating bonding marks; explicit smut: oral (m receiving), clitoral fingering, breastplay, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, breeding kink, breeding

Additional Notes: My offering for the fourth week of Chris-Mas is the epilogue to finally bring the Warm Shadows saga to a close on the ONE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY from when I posted the first chapter! This is also filling my October prompt for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky Bingo with an appearance from our dear Alpine!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

FIFTEEN MONTHS LATER

It's been fifteen months since you returned to Wakanda. After the initial few weeks spent on your own while Steve and Bucky cleaned up all trace of the Captain Hydra project, your alphas returned to you weary and a little worse for wear, but unharmed overall. Waiting for them, you had done your best trying not to spiral into anxious worry.

You had put yourself to use volunteering to work in one of the schools. It was work you knew mattered, and the children were sweet, clever, precocious, and filled your days with so much to do and think about that it was a worthwhile distraction, and you went back to your living quarters blissfully tired every night. You were not a stranger to Wakanda, since you had been visiting with Bucky every year since your binding ritual, and so it wasn’t evenings of solitary loneliness night after night when you were off either - the small circle of friends you’d made over those previous visits kept you company often enough.

Even so, the reunion with your alphas had come just when you might have started to truly worry.

Keeping his promise, though, Bucky hadn’t closed off his bond to you completely like he had when you’d been taken. It was muted so he would neither worry you nor lose focus, but he and Steve both let their bonds be more open when they weren’t engaged in any specific operations.

The first full moon after they returned, Bucky and Steve had performed the ritual and sworn the blood oath to create a pack bond. It had been what Bucky had described, as beautiful as your mind had imagined, and surpassed what any of you had anticipated in elements of primal nature and magic combining to transform your connections and their power as alphas. It was something so sacred to have experienced that you rarely spoke of it because there simply weren’t words. Bucky later pointed out that the lack of records around the ritual and its effects made sense.

One of the triumphs of Steve and Bucky’s “clran up” mission had been the discovery - while destroying evidence - of the notebooks the Hydra scientists had used to document Steve’s torture and conditioning. Shuri and Ayo integrated that information with what they had done before in unraveling Hydra’s grip on Bucky as the Winter Soldier, and it had been a long - an unrushed - process, but after a few months, Steve began to believe (and he was the last one convinced) that he was free. He had changed, but he was a true version of himself again. Bucky, more than anyone else, helped Steve to see that he wouldn’t have to live in the shadow of what he’d done forever - though there were times the shadows would undoubtedly - and painfully - cross his mind.

Building a new chapter of your life in Wakanda, you had continued your work at the school. Steve had gone back to art and drawing. Shuri drew him in for opinions on political matters once or twice, then more and more often, until she had effectively enlisted him as an outside consultant on foreign policy. And Bucky, well, he had found his place once again in Wakanda's science research lab, but with more responsibility and working in actual partnership on bigger projects since the three of you were staying for longer.

You also relentlessly teased your alphas for their love of farming. They tended to a small pack of goats. But you didn’t complain when you watched them undertaking some of the more laborious tasks that required muscle.

Over a year, you really had carved out a life that worked for the three of you to figure out your relationship.

As dinner time approached, you and Steve were busy preparing a meal together in the kitchen of your small cottage. It was something that had become almost ritualistic for the two of you. Cooking together had become one of your favorite ways to spend time with each other.

"Did you remember to pick up some more herbs from the market?" Steve asks as he sets a pot on the stove.

You nod, setting down the cutting board with chopped vegetables. "Yeah, I got them this morning."

"Great," he smiles at you before turning back to his task.

You can’t help but smile too as you watch him work. This simple domestic life was its own healing balm.

You don’t hear Bucky come in, but Bucky’s arrival is announced by Alpine, who greeted him immediately at the door with a barrage of meows, chatting away at her favorite human. You and Steve don’t take it personally as she still doles out a bit of affection to you two as well.

He enters the kitchen carrying Alpine in the crook of his arm, scratching her head with his other hand. “Smells delicious in here,” he says, happily.

"Hey Buck," you smile and pull him close for a quick kiss.

"How was your day?" Steve asks.

"It was good," Bucky replies. "I spent most of it in the lab."

Steve raises an eyebrow at that, and the two of you exchange a look. Bucky usually likes to excitedly launch into some new development or bemoan a roadblock but with ideas of how he already wants to tweak his approach for the next day.

"What were you working on?" Steve presses further.

Bucky shrugs. "Just more tests on the vibranium alloys. Nothing too exciting."

You and Steve exchange another glance, sensing there's something Bucky isn't telling you, but silently agree not to push. If it's important, he'll tell you when he's ready.

"Well, dinner will be ready soon," you say. "Why don't you go wash up?"

Bucky nods, setting Alpine down gently. "Sounds good. I'll be right back."

As he leaves the kitchen, you turn to Steve.

"He seems off," Steve says quietly.

"Yeah. He didn't seem upset, just... distracted maybe?"

"Well, let's just keep an eye on him tonight," Steve suggests. "If something's truly bothering him, we’ll feel it.”

You nod in agreement with Steve, turning back to the stove to stir the simmering pot. The rich aroma of herbs and spices fills the kitchen, mingling with the comforting scents of the home you’ve built with your alphas.

Bucky returns a few minutes later, his hair damp from a quick shower. He moves to help set the table, falling into the familiar rhythm of your shared domestic life. As you bring the food to the table, you can't help but notice the slight tension in Bucky's shoulders, the way his eyes seem to flicker between you and Steve more frequently than usual.

Dinner conversation flows easily enough, with Steve recounting a particularly amusing incident from his day meeting with M’Baku in the mountain fortress of the Jabari. You chime in with stories from the school, delighting in the way both your alphas' eyes light up when you talk about your students' progress. Bucky listens attentively, but he remains more subdued.

He responds when spoken to, but doesn't engage in his usual animated conversation. You and Steve keep exchanging glances, your worry growing as the meal progresses.

As you're clearing the dishes, Bucky suddenly speaks up. "I have something I need to tell you both."

You and Steve freeze, turning to look at him. Your heart races, anxiety creeping in at his serious tone.

"What is it, Buck?" Steve asks, his voice calm but laced with concern.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you recognize as a sign of his nervousness. "I've been thinking about this for a while now, and... well, I think it's time we consider going back."

Steve's brow furrows, and you feel your heart skip a beat. "Going back?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky nods, his steel-blue eyes moving between you and Steve. "To New York," he clarifies, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You exchange a glance with Steve, surprise and confusion evident on both your faces. Bucky takes a deep breath, his metal hand absently stroking Alpine, who has curled up in his lap. "Shuri approached me today with an interesting proposition," he begins, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "She's been working on plans for Wakanda's next International Outreach Center, and she's decided to open it in New York."

You lean forward, intrigued. "New York?”

Bucky nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, in Brooklyn actually. And she's offered me a spot to work on the science and technology team there."

Steve's eyes widen. "Buck, that's amazing," he says, his voice filled with pride.

You feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you - excitement, anxiety, hope. "When would this be happening?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Bucky reaches out, taking your hand in his. "Not for a few months yet. There's still a lot of planning and preparation to be done. But," he pauses, his eyes meeting yours, then Steve's, "I wanted to talk to you both about it first. This obviously isn't just my decision to make."

Steve leans back in his chair, his brow furrowed in thought, so you take the lead on pushing the conversation forward. "It's a big step," you say slowly. "We've built a lot here, and Wakanda is incredible, but… I do miss our other home.”

Bucky squeezes your hand. “Me, too.”

“And Mexican food and pizza,” you add.

He laughs, and Steve smiles.

Then you look at Steve, studying his face, probing at the bond between you. “What do you have tucked away that you haven’t told us?” you ask, realizing for the last couple of days he’s been projecting perhaps too much of a business-as-normal attitude.

“Okay, fine, I might have my own proposition from Shuri as well,” he admits.

“And?” you push, Bucky sitting up straighter in his chair.

“She wants to open official diplomatic relationships with a handful of countries - the US being one of them - and wants to request me as ambassador.”

You and Bucky stare at Steve in stunned silence for a moment.

"Ambassador?" Bucky finally says, his voice a mix of surprise and enthusiasm. "Steve, that's incredible."

"It really is!” you chime in just as excitedly, your mind racing with the implications. “We have every confidence in you, but are you ready for that kind of public role again?"

Steve takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. "I've been thinking about it a lot. And I think I am. It's not the same as being Captain America - it's not about being a symbol or a hero. It's about building bridges, fostering understanding. I think... I think I could do some real good."

Bucky reaches out, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder. "You could, punk. You absolutely could."

You feel a swell of emotion in your chest, pride and love for both your alphas mingling with a hint of uncertainty.

“How long have you been sitting on this?" Bucky asks.

Steve has the grace to look a bit sheepish. "She only approached me officially yesterday, but we've been discussing the possibility for a few weeks now."

Bucky turns his eyes back to you - they both do - and he tugs on your hand to bring you back to the present. “What’s on your mind, Omega?”

You chew on your bottom lip before voicing the thought in your head. “Positions to ship both of you back off to the United States… do you think Shuri’s politely trying to kick us out?”

Steve leans in, a wry grin on his face. “Kick us out? Can’t you see what she’s doing?”

“What?”

Bucky chuckles and joins in, "She's clearly giving us undeniable reasons to go home."

“But why?”

The two alphas exchange a knowing look before bursting into laughter. “Really, sweetheart?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s tone is teasing as he adds, “Do you not also have some news to share with us?”

Your brow furrows. “What do you two know that I don’t?”

Your two alphas exchange another look, then turn their eyes back on you.

“Omega,” Bucky starts, his voice now serious, “your scent changed in the days after you took our knots in your last heat.”

“We’re certain you’re pregnant,” Steve finishes.

You gasp, the words taking a moment to fully register in your mind before your hand moves to your stomach. "Pregnant?" you repeat, disbelief and excitement swirling inside you.

FIVE WEEKS EARLIER

You wake with a gasp, your body trembling with need. Sweat beads on your skin as waves of heat roll through you, igniting every nerve ending. Your nightgown clings to your damp skin as you writhe on the bed, seeking friction against the sheets.

"Steve... Bucky..." you moan, your voice thick with desire.

The room is still dark, the first hints of dawn barely peeking through the curtains. But your alphas are instantly alert, their enhanced senses picking up on your distress and arousal.

"Omega," Bucky's voice is a low rumble as he rolls towards you, his metal arm cool against your fevered skin. "We've got you."

Steve presses against your other side, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind your ear. "What do you need?" he asks.

Steve's hand cups your breast through the thin fabric of your nightgown, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple. You arch into his touch, a needy whimper escaping your lips. "Please," you gasp, your body burning with desire. "Need you both."

Bucky's metal hand trails down your side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "We're here, ‘mega," he murmurs, his voice husky with want. "We'll take care of you."

Your heats come once each season, good regularity for an omega, but with alphas only falling into rut once or twice a year, this is the first time the three of you have cycled together, both of your alphas finally syncing to you.

Steve's fingers find the hem of your nightgown, slowly inching it up your thighs. "Always so beautiful," he breathes, his eyes dark with desire as he drinks in the sight of you.

You writhe between them, desperate for more contact. Your skin feels too tight, too hot, and you need their touch like you need air to breathe. "Alpha," you moan, not even sure which one you're calling for – you need them both equally.

Your skin feels like it's on fire, every brush of their hands sending sparks of pleasure through your body. The familiar ache of heat pulses deep in your core, your body preparing itself to be claimed by your alphas.

Bucky captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as his tongue explores your mouth. Steve's hand slips between your thighs, finding you already wet and ready. You gasp into Bucky's mouth as Steve's fingers circle your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"So wet for us already," Steve murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You break away from Bucky's kiss, panting. "Please," you whimper, your hips bucking against Steve's hand. "Need you inside me."

Bucky's metal hand trails down your body, cool against your feverish skin. He gently pushes your nightgown up, exposing more of your heated flesh to the cool air of the room. Steve helps you sit up just enough to pull the garment over your head, leaving you bare between them.

The cool air of the room kisses your heated skin, making you shiver with anticipation. Bucky's metal hand trails down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Steve's fingers trace patterns on your inner thigh, inching closer to where you need them most.

"You're gorgeous like this," Bucky says, his voice low and husky. Steve hums in agreement, his eyes dark with desire as he drinks in the sight of you.

They’ve both been on the cusp of their ruts for the past few days, waiting for your heat to break, and you can smell the pleased anticipation positively rolling off them now.

You writhe between them. "Please," you pout, your body burning with need. "I need you both."

Steve captures your lips in a searing kiss as Bucky's metal fingers find your slick folds. You gasp into Steve's mouth as Bucky slowly slides two fingers inside you, stretching you deliciously.

“This cunt is crying for her alphas’ knots, isn’t it?” Bucky asks.

You nod frantically, beyond words as pleasure courses through you. Steve breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck as Bucky's fingers work inside you.

"Tell us what you need, Omega," Steve whispers against your skin.

"You," you gasp. "Both of you. Please, I need to feel you both inside me."

Bucky growls low in his throat, his fingers withdrawing from you. You whimper at the loss, but then Steve is lifting you, positioning you over his hard length. You sink down onto him with a moan of relief, feeling deliciously full. He lays back, pulling you along with him.

"That's it, sweetheart," Steve breathes, his hands gripping your hips. "Take what you need."

You begin to move, rocking against Steve as Bucky watches with hungry eyes. After a few moments, Bucky moves to kneel next to your head. Without a word, you turn your head to take his cock into your mouth.

The room fills with the sounds of pleasure - skin against skin, breathless moans and whispered endearments. You rock your hips, taking Steve deeper inside you as you work Bucky with your mouth. Their scents surround you, pine and metal mingling with the heady aroma of your shared arousal.

Steve's hands remain on your hips, guiding your movements as you ride him. Bucky's metal hand tangles in your hair, not forcing but encouraging as you take him deeper. The dual sensations of being filled by both your alphas sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"So perfect for us," Steve groans, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

Bucky's flesh hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your stretched lips. "Look at you, taking us both so well," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

You moan around Bucky's length, the vibrations making him groan. The praise from your alphas sends a thrill through you, spurring you on. You rock your hips faster, chasing your pleasure as you take them both deeper.

Steve's hands tighten on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh in a way that's sure to leave marks. The thought of being marked by your alpha only heightens your arousal.

The dual sensations of Steve inside you and Bucky in your mouth are overwhelming. Heat coils tighter in your core with each thrust, each stroke. You can feel yourself getting close, teetering on the edge of bliss.

"That's it, Omega," Steve growls, his voice strained with pleasure. "Come for us. Let us feel you."

You work your fingers against Steve’s bonding mark, and he groans in a primal way. “Omega, don’t - you don’t know - “ he warns.

But you suspect what will happen if you tease and torture the place where finally you claimed him back. You’re tired of Steve holding back, and you want to trigger the true primal alpha side you know he’s still keeping behind walls of restraint, shame, and worry.

Your heat makes you more desperate, but also brings you closer to your base instincts. You know what you want, what you crave, what you need, and you know how to get it.

And so you keep stroking, pushing, probing. Bucky watches you, inclining his head slightly - silently asking if you’re sure of what you’re doing, and you nod even as Steve’s body starts to shake beneath you and his thrusts become more erratic. Bucky nods and pulls out of your mouth.

In a swift motion, you bite Steve’s mark anew, and he shouts, and snaps - you feel it through your connection, and you preen in triumph, but only for a fraction of a second because Steve’s immediately flipping you over. Without pause, he continues to fuck you, your legs spread wide for him now.

"You want a wild alpha fucking you?" Steve growls, his eyes dark with primal desire.

“Yes,” you moan, raking your fingers down his chest as you feel the knot at the base of his cock start to swell and move into your slick, desperate channel.

Steve's thrusts become more powerful, more frantic. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider as he drives into you. With his knot growing inside of you, he can only rut, but his angle, the thickness of his length, the rubbing of the knot is perfection.

Bucky moves down to kneel next to Steve, his metal hand gripping Steve's shoulder. "Easy, punk," he murmurs, but there's a hint of arousal in his voice. "Don't break our Omega."

Steve snarls in response, but his thrusts slow slightly, becoming more controlled yet no less intense. You whimper at the change in pace, your body trembling with need. "Please," you gasp, "don't stop."

Steve's eyes lock with yours, dark with desire and something wilder. "Never," he growls, his hips snapping forward.

Bucky's metal hand slides down your body, finding your sensitive bundle of nerves. You cry out as he begins to circle it with expert precision, the dual sensations of Steve's thrusts and Bucky's touch pushing you closer to the edge.

"That's it, Omega," Bucky murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let go for us."

Steve's knot swells further, catching on your rim with each thrust. The stretch is delicious, bordering on too much but not quite. You arch your back, chasing the sensation.

"Gonna fill you up," Steve pants, his voice rough with need. "Breed you full of our pups."

His words send a jolt of pleasure through you. "Yes," you moan, "please, Alpha. Want your pups."

Bucky growls low in his throat, his fingers working faster against your clit. "You’ll take our knots until you’re bulging for us, so full of our cum.”

You nod frantically, beyond words as pleasure builds within you. Steve's thrusts become more erratic, his knot swelling to its full size. With one final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his knot locking you together as he begins to pulse his release.

The sensation of being filled, stretched, and knotted pushes you over the edge. You cry out as your orgasm washes over you, your body clenching around

Steve's knot. Your vision goes white at the edges as pleasure courses through every nerve ending. Steve collapses on top of you, his body shuddering with aftershocks.

Bucky's metal hand continues to work your sensitive bundle of nerves, prolonging your orgasm. You writhe beneath Steve, overwhelmed by sensation. Steve nips and licks at the top of your chest while he’s locked inside of you.

As your orgasm subsides, you lay panting beneath Steve, his weight a comforting presence. Bucky's metal hand moves to stroke your hair, soothing you as you come down from your high.

"You okay, Omega?" Bucky asks softly, his eyes searching your face.

You nod, still catching your breath. "More than okay," you manage to say, a blissful smile spreading across your face.

Steve lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours. There's a mix of emotions in his gaze - love, desire, and a hint of concern. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, his voice low.

You shake your head, reaching up to cup his cheek. "No, Steve. I wanted the Alpha side you’ve been holding back from me." You pull him down for a tender kiss, pouring all your love and reassurance into it.

As you break the kiss, you turn to Bucky. “Give me your cock, Alpha.”

He laughs. “You’re already full of cock, greedy girl.”

“Only one hole. I want more,” you whine.

Bucky's eyes darken with desire at your words. "You sure you can handle more, Omega?"

You nod eagerly, licking your lips as you eye his hard length. "Please, Alpha. Need to taste you."

Steve shifts slightly, careful not to pull on his knot, allowing you better access to Bucky. Bucky moves closer, positioning himself so you can reach him without straining.

You open your mouth, inviting him in. Bucky groans as he slides his cock between your lips, the taste of him exploding on your tongue. You moan around him, the vibrations making him shudder.

"That's it," Bucky murmurs, his metal hand coming to cup your cheek. "Take what you need."

You work him with your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip before taking him deeper. Steve watches with dark eyes, his hips making small, involuntary thrusts as his knot keeps you joined.

The room fills with the sounds of pleasure - Bucky's low groans, Steve's panting breaths, and your muffled moans. The scent of sex and arousal hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the unique scents of your alphas.

"So good for us," Bucky praises, his voice rough with desire.

Steve's hand finds your breast, kneading gently. The sensations of Steve's knot locked inside you, Bucky's cock in your mouth, and Steve’s kneading hand send waves of pleasure through your body.

Your heat simmers just below the surface, temporarily sated but far from over. You can feel it building again, a slow burn that promises to consume you once more. But for now, you focus on the taste of Bucky on your tongue, the weight of Steve inside you, the scent of your alphas surrounding you.

You want more of Bucky - more thrusting, faster, rougher - but you know he won’t give it to you right now. He’s content and determined to wait so he can knot and fill you as soon as Steve’s knot goes down. And you want him to fill you up, too.

Bucky's metal hand cups your cheek gently as you continue to work him with your mouth. His flesh hand strokes through your hair, the tender gesture contrasting with the raw desire in his eyes. You can feel his restraint, the way he's holding back from thrusting too hard.

"That's it, ‘mega," he murmurs, his voice strained. "You're doing so well."

Steve's knot is still firmly lodged inside you, but you can feel it starting to soften ever so slightly. His hand continues to knead your breast, occasionally pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

Steve's knot finally softens enough for him to slip out of you. You whimper at the loss, feeling empty and needy. But Bucky doesn’t make you wait. He’s immediately pulling out of your mouth, his eyes dark with desire as he looks down at you. Moving in sync as only they could with their history in and out of battle, Steve makes way for Bucky to take his place between your thighs.

"Get ready for my knot," he says, his voice low and husky. “It will be the one of many this weekend, and you’re going to take it eagerly every time - from both of us.”

You nod eagerly, spreading your legs wider in invitation. "Please, Alpha," you whimper, your body aching to be filled again.

With one smooth thrust, he buries himself inside you, groaning at the sensation of your slick heat enveloping him. You cry out in pleasure, your back arching off the bed.

"So wet and open for me," Bucky growls, his hips starting a punishing rhythm. "Still dripping with Steve's cum."

The thought sends a thrill through you, knowing you're filled with one alpha's seed while taking the other. Steve lays beside you. He strokes your cheek before slipping his thumb into your mouth, and you automatically close your lips around it and start to suck and moan.

Bucky's thrusts are deep and powerful, each one sending sparks of pleasure through your body. His metal hand grips your hip, the cool metal a stark contrast to your heated skin.

“We’re gonna pass you between us, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs directly into your ear, then licks up the shell. “Keep you on our knots, fill you with our cum, make sure you’re going to swell with us after this heat.”

The thought of being passed between your alphas, filled with their cum and swelling with their pups sends a jolt of pleasure through you, makes you write eagerly for more. You moan around Steve's thumb, your hips bucking up to meet Bucky's powerful thrusts.

Bucky growls, his thrusts becoming more frantic. "Gonna fill you up, Omega. Breed you full."

"That's it," Steve murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let go for us, sweetheart. Show us how good we make you feel."

Bucky's thrusts become more erratic, his knot beginning to swell, and Steve decides to torture you with divine licks pressed to the base of your neck over bonding mark he gave you, heightening your heat and bringing your primal self out more as you’d done to him. You can only moan and keen and grasp at them both.

"Alpha," you gasp, your body trembling on the edge of release. "Please, I need-"

"We know what you need, Omega," Bucky growls, his hips snapping forward with increased urgency. "Gonna give it to you. Gonna fill you up so good."

Steve's hand trails down your body, finding your sensitive bundle of nerves. He circles it with expert precision, adding to the overwhelming sensations. "Come for us," he demands, giving your engorged clit a pinch that triggers your orgasm, and you groan.

With one final, powerful thrust, Bucky buries himself deep inside you, his knot locking you together as he begins to pulse his release. The sensation amplifies and prolongs the intensity of your orgasm, your body clenching around Bucky's knot, trembling and gasping beneath him.

"That's it, Omega," Bucky groans, his body shuddering above you. "Take it all."

Your vision blurs at the edges as wave after wave of ecstasy courses through you.

As your orgasm begins to subside, you lay panting beneath Bucky, who collapsed on top of you, his weight a comforting presence. You kiss him, long and hard, momentarily sated.

But then you turn your head and reach for Steve, bringing his lips to yours. You move your mouth between them, needing their kisses more than you need air, eager and ready to take them over and over again through this heat, body more insatiable than you have ever been. And you can’t imagine anything else feeling as right as this does. They’re yours.

Forever.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

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[ilguna]

☼ the moon loves the sun (Johanna Mason) ☼

summary; like two magnets, you and johanna will always find each other, inside of the arena and out.

warnings; swearing, weapon use, drowning, death and blood mention, the usual hunger games stuff.

wc; 7.2k

--

Out of the many tribute intake routines in the Capitol, you think the preparation for the Tribute Parade has to be your least favorite. There is absolutely nothing appealing about having strangers rip all of the hair on your body off. And then to be rubbed raw after by their fancy scrubs, stings like a bitch.

You don’t think the prep team fully understands the fact that you’re not used to their beautification process. You don’t have it done regularly enough for it to not hurt nearly as much. There are no places in District Five that specialize in what the Capitol does. Maybe in the Career districts, but certainly not in the outsiders. 

Besides, they don’t do it for the mentors, only the tributes. It doesn’t matter what the mentors look like after they win. You could ask for the prep team’s help, if you did like the way you looked after, but they already have so much on their plate from the stylists. 

This means the last time you had this done was about two and a half years ago, on your Victory Tour. You were hoping it would be the last time. And it would’ve, if it weren’t for this year's Hunger Games, which happens to be a Quarter Quell. 

Despite the fact that it’s been several months since the reading of the card, it still feels like it happened yesterday. You were sitting at home, hosting a few of the other victors for dinner to watch the Capitol showing of Katniss Everdeen’s wedding dress, which was being chosen through votes. 

No one had any idea of the announcement that would come after until Caesar mentioned it. Right around that time, everyone was beginning to wrap up. They were grabbing coats, pulling snow boots back on, preparing to go home because they had no interest in what the Capitol was planning this time for the Quell.

Once the anthem’s first notes began to play, the room around you came to a halt. President Snow came onto the stage, a boy following him. The boy was holding a wooden box, probably fully aware of the fact it contained an important card that would decide the fate of many people. What he didn’t know was it would steal the lives of those who didn’t deserve it.

Snow delivered a speech, reminding viewers of the Dark Days, and where the idea of the Quarter Quell was born from. He went on to tell you what the punishments for the past two anniversaries had been, before turning his attention to the boy with the box. He pulled out an envelope marked with a neat 75. He took his time breaking the seal on the flap, gently pulling the small square of paper out.

And then he turned to the microphone and read directly from the paper. 

“On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

You could hear a pin drop in your house. Even worse, you could hear the screams of your neighbors as the news hit them next.

It quickly became a different atmosphere in your home. At that moment, everyone wanted to leave to be with their families so they could console them. A couple of them even left their belongings because of the rush they were in. The last person to leave was kind enough to shut your door on the way out.

No one stayed to keep you company as you began to sink into your couch.

You don’t think anyone saw the twist coming. None of the citizens in the Capitol, and certainly no one in the districts. When you walked the streets the next morning, it was like a ghost town. Those who were outside, were pale, and almost avoided eye contact with you, as if it would be disrespectful.

While on the other hand, the Capitol has not been mourning the loss of their victors. In fact, all your prep team seems to babble on about is how excited they’ve been to see favorites return in the arena, remarking how the Tribute Center has been remodeled in several areas. 

You usually have a lot of patience for Capitol citizens, and you know that your prep team is nice—just painfully clueless—but there’s only so much you can take. The truth of the matter is that the Games aren’t about them this year. It’s about the Quarter Quell, and how far President Snow is willing to go to prove he’s in charge.

It’s about crushing the spirit of the victors.

“We’re almost done.” The girl tells you, her voice is higher than the boy’s by several octaves, and you can’t tell if it’s her natural voice or if she’s forcing it. Either way, the more she speaks, the worse your headache gets. You’ve been trying to nod and smile through most of their conversation, but you think they’re beginning to catch on to your strategy.

You hum a response to let her know you heard her. 

“Will you go over the checklist?” The boy asks, his accent is thick, harder to understand. You mentioned this to your girlfriend once—she’s a victor in another district—because you were curious as to why his was thicker than most of the citizen’s you’ve met. 

All she could tell you was that he was from a richer part of the Capitol. She sounded like she was being sarcastic when she said that, so you ended up having to ask District Five’s escort if it was true, and he was able to confirm it. Sometimes you can’t tell when Johanna, your girlfriend, is being honest, with how often she likes to mess with you.

“Of course.” The girl responds, reaching for a device she’s picked up and set aside a few times. She flickers her pink hair out of her face. “We’ve trimmed her hair, done a hair mask, washed and styled it. We fixed her nails. And we’ve waxed her body twice, and washed her three times.” She squints at the screen. “All that’s left is the lotion to rub down and I think we’ll be good to pass her off.”

“You think?” The boy asks. “You’ve been marking off the checklist, right?”

“Yes.” She raises her eyes from the device but doesn’t move her head. “She’ll be good to pass off after the lotion. You can apply it.” She promptly shuts off the device, sliding it onto the counter.

From what you’ve gathered from the few times they’ve willingly spoken to one another, you’re pretty sure they don’t get along. You wish you could say you recognize either of them from last year’s Hunger Games, but you think the prep team and the stylist got replaced. They’d been working on District Five for years, you’re not entirely surprised they’re gone, you just wish you were able to say goodbye.

“Fine.” The boy says, reaching for a bottle on a metal table. He squeezes a large amount of a white glitter liquid into his palm, and then approaches you. 

He takes his time wiping handfuls of it onto certain sections of your body, before going back and working from the neck down. By the time he’s done, the stinging sensation has subsided into a cool soothe. 

With that, the girl makes a wide motion with her hand, and the two of them file out of the room without another word, leaving you in there alone. The silence is nice, but it doesn’t last for long. The stylist must be eager to meet you, or get this over with, because she appears in the doorway and wastes no time getting to work.

“My name is Galina, I will be your stylist this year.” She says. “Stand up from the table.”

You follow her instructions, and wait patiently as she looks over you, inspecting every inch of your bare skin to ensure her prep team did a good job. When she’s done, she plucks the silk robe off the hook on the wall and hands it to you. You pull it on, and follow her into the next room.

“I will be taking care of you alone.” She informs you. “I work quicker than those two. I’m surprised they did as good of a job as they have.”

“They were very nice.” You murmur, feeling as if you need to defend them.

“Not to each other, that’s for sure.” She shakes her head, motioning for you to sit on a chair in front of a vanity. “This shouldn’t take long.”

She cracks her knuckles, which seems almost painful with how many gold rings varying in thickness cover her slender fingers. She doesn’t seem to mind them, reaching for your hair to get to work. She must be used to doing everything herself, because she doesn’t complain once about the circumstance.

It’s clear that Galina has a vision of what she wants to do with you, she doesn’t hesitate when she moves. There is no deliberation, she moves with confidence, conquering your hair, and immediately moving onto your nails next. She murmurs a compliment about how they’ve been perfectly shaped, and then she paints them an electric blue.

When it comes to makeup, she tells you to close your eyes and hold still. You’re not allowed to open them until she says, and by then, she’s almost done. All she does is apply a white mascara to your lashes, and then moves out of the way, giving you a chance to see yourself in the mirror. Her work is beautiful.

She accessories you in silver jewelry, tests to make sure your nails have dried completely, and then pulls a white and blue dress out of a closet. It’s over the shoulder, wrapped around your upper arms tightly to keep it from moving, and it ends just above the knee. 

“Everyone’s going after that fire effect because of Cinna.” She says. “I figured to let the sun do all the work.”

“Is it solar powered?” You ask.

“To an extent.” She runs her finger along a line of rubber that goes around your waist. “It’ll make you look like you’re glowing.” 

“Oh.” You raise your eyebrows. “That’s cool.”

She half-shrugs, “If you want to call it that. You can put on the heels and go. I’ll see you later this evening, after the parade.”

“Thank you.” You murmur, taking a seat on a chair to pull on the white wedges.

When you’re done, you let yourself out, because she’s sitting in the lounge part of the room, eating grapes while typing on her device. As much as you liked District Five’s female stylist last year, she wasn’t nearly this organized with tributes. It took her several hours to get your girl tributes ready. There was one year she took so long that your tribute was the last to walk out on the floor. 

It makes sense why Snow replaced her, and the prep team went too because they were just as bad as the stylist when it came to being timely.

You carefully shut the door behind you, walking down the cement hallway, following the signs until you step into the main area for the Remake Center. There are a couple victors out here already with their horses and chariots. You know some of these people by name, mostly those who won in recent years, all the older victors don’t really mentor anymore—besides the ones that have to.

Your eyes land on a close friend of yours, Finnick Odair. He’s standing beside his horse, talking to the tamer, who hands something over to him. Finnick nods his head in thanks, and then turns away to look around the room.

“Ah, look who it is.” He says when he sees you. “I see your stylist has gone with something different this year.”

“New stylist, actually.” You smile, coming up next to him. “And prep team.”

“Did you like them?” 

You open your mouth, taking in a breath, but no real compliments come to mind. Finnick lets out a loud laugh, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. He throws his head back for a couple of seconds, and then looks back at you.

“That bad, huh?”

“Well,” You start, “I mean, the prep team likes to argue and Galina, the stylist, is very straightforward. I think it’s nice that they’re quicker than the last bunch, but I would not surround myself with them frequently.”

“You’re too nice for your own good.” Finnick smiles, and then offers his cupped hand to you. “Have a sugar cube.”

“Sure.” You say, picking one off the top. 

You pop it in your mouth, causing it to water, but it soaks up almost instantly. It isn’t long before the cube loses its shape and has become a pile on your tongue. The sweetness spreads across your mouth, hurting your teeth. It’s worth the pain.

Finnick nudges your shoulder, jerking his chin up to make you look. You turn around to see what he’s looking at. A smile spreads across your face quickly, as you begin to run away from him, and to your girlfriend instead.

“Johanna!” You gasp.

She finds you with a smirk on her face, arms held out for a hug. You slam into her, hugging her tightly, as she rotates you in a small circle. When you pull away, she reaches for the undersides of your jaw to avoid messing up the makeup on your cheeks. She guides your lips to hers, a warm happiness spreads across your body.

She pulls away for a second, and then presses a quick second kiss to your lips. She lets out a quiet laugh after, using her thumb to wipe away the dark lipstick she transferred to you by accident. 

“You look stunning.” Johanna says, “I heard District Five got a new stylist.”

“And prep team.” You nod. “They’re better than the last group Five had, but I wouldn’t say they’re perfect.” 

“I wouldn’t say any of them are. Maybe District Twelve.” 

“I like your stylist.” You smile. “She has a theme and she sticks with it.”

Her eyes narrow at you. “She’s been doing this tree gimmick for several decades and no one has stopped her. I almost said something to her this year.”

“Oh, don’t. She’s old. She doesn’t know any better.” 

“As if I care.” She rolls her eyes.

“Well, I think you’re beautiful in anything you wear.” You tell her, causing a small smile to peek at the corners of her lips.

“Thank you, babe.” 

“No need to thank me, I’m just speaking the truth.” You take her hand, starting to pull her back to where you were standing with Finnick.

“Hey, Johanna.” Finnick says.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Johanna asks, letting out a snort.

Finnick looks down at his parade costume, which is almost inappropriate. His stylist has draped a golden net across his body, and it nets at his groin. His outfit is so fragile that all it’ll take is one bump before it falls off his body. 

His face twists. “I would ask you the same, but I think we all know what you’re supposed to be.”

Johanna mocks a smile.

“So, what’s the plan?” You ask, changing the topic before they start bickering.

He raises his eyebrows. “Is this your way of asking for an alliance?”

“I just thought that there’d be a plan in the works.” You motion to the chariots. “You know, since this is clearly rigged.”

“I don’t think anyone’s made one yet.” Johanna murmurs, “I’m sure someone will come out with something.”

“What will we even do?” You ask.

Finnick shrugs. “We’ll have to see what the Capitol does first. If I had to take a bet, though, I would say Haymitch might try to clean up his tributes’ mess.”

“If he’s sober.” Johanna remarks, you elbow her.

“I just hope it works out.” You sigh. “It would be a shame to have gotten here for nothing.”

—

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!” Claudius Templesmith announces.

The countdown until the gong sounds, begins. You have less than a minute to figure out the arena and decide what to do next. And right now, it seems you’re off to a bad start.

The podium you have risen on is completely surrounded by water. Despite being from District Five, you are not the strongest swimmer. In fact, you only know the very basics to get you to land. You probably would know more if you went into a district job—they teach everyone how to swim if they work near the dam—but you didn’t. Instead, you got selected for the Hunger Games at seventeen.

There was never a reason to learn after that. 

You look into the blue waves, hoping to find sand. Maybe that way you’ll be able to wade to the beach that surrounds the water. Your wishful thinking is quickly gone when you realize there is no sand. It’s just water, and there’s no telling how deep it is. All you know for sure is it’s a drownable depth.

You take several breaths to calm the rising anxiety, lifting your eyes to focus on anything else around you. The golden Cornucopia is straight ahead, of course, just floating on a giant black rock island. There’s strips of black sand coming out from the island, connecting to the ring of beach.

Beyond the beach is the jungle. 

The sound of someone coughing nearby makes you jump out of your skin. You turn in the direction, and find another tribute, who's staring right at you. You think it’s the man from District Nine, but you can’t be sure. You’ve never seen him before the interviews last night. You don’t think he’s part of the rebel alliance. 

You eye him for a few seconds before settling on ignoring him. He probably knows how to swim just as much as you do. Probably even less. He is not the biggest threat in this arena, you can get away from him, especially since one of those strips of land is to your right. 

When the gong sounds, you’ll swim there… and then what? You go to the Cornucopia? You run into the jungle? If you go to the center, who’s going to be there? 

You have to close your eyes to focus on your thoughts. The only people that will be able to get to the Cornucopia first is going to be Finnick and Mags. Actually, it’ll be Finnick. Mags is in no shape to cut across this water like she was probably able to in the past. As cruel as that sounds, it’s just what happens when you age. 

Finnick will get to the middle first. He’s an ally. You can trust him to have your back while you grab a weapon. But how fast is Johanna going to be able to get there? She knows how to swim, you think. She won’t be the best at it, so it’ll take her time to get there. At that point, the Careers might already be there. You trust they were taught how to swim in their home districts.

As you weigh it, you realize it’s going to be dangerous for you to meet Finnick in the middle, much less Johanna. You begin to think it might be easier to find them in the jungle, when you remember how thick it’s going to be. And as nice as it would be, there is no way you can stand on the beach and wait for them to come to you.

You’re going to have to go to the Cornucopia and hope Johanna gets there in time.

The gong sounds seconds after your decision is made. You jerk forward to dive into the water, but hesitate at the last second, almost sending you over the podium. Your arms flail, trying to restore balance, but it’s too late, you’ve leaned forward too far. You manage to get a breath before you hit the water.

It’s warm, engulfing your body from head to toe. You kick hard, bringing you back to the surface, causing a wave to wash over your face. You sputter out a cough because of the salt water, and then you begin to paddle to the strip of land, taking your time getting there. 

Once your hands come into contact with sand, you pull yourself out of the water, and head directly to the Cornucopia. As you go, you take time to assess the people in the water, wondering if any of them could be Johanna. From what you can tell, most people are bobbing around, struggling to make it to the rock. And no one has the qualities of your girlfriend.

You’re almost to the center when Finnick rounds the corner with a trident in his hand, raised to attack, but then he relaxes. “Oh good, it’s you. Do you see Mags?”

“No. How about Johanna?”

“Not yet. She might be swimming this way, a lot of people are.” He motions for you to follow, and you do. 

You’re almost unable to hide your surprise when you see Katniss is here. How is she able to swim? There can’t be many opportunities in District Twelve, or at all. You give a look to Finnick, wondering if he’ll have an explanation, but he’s too focused on finding anything valuable on the island.

Katniss tenses up at the first sight of you, and then relaxes considerably. She trusts you, of course she does. She pulled that stunt in the Training Center, and while many people jumped to tell Haymitch they wanted an alliance, you let her have her space. Yes, she would be a very good ally with her skill, but you knew she would come around.

She did. Haymitch reached out to you to tell you Katniss wanted you to be her ally. By then, he’d already recruited you for the rebel alliance, so there was no action needed. It was more of a heads-up that you were going to be a trusted friend in the arena to her. As for Finnick and Johanna, it was a completely different story. They couldn’t help taunting her, naturally that drove her away.

“Let’s clear out.” Katniss says, moving down one of the rocks without waiting. 

You don’t follow immediately, digging around in the mouth of the Cornucopia until you find a long knife you’ll be able to use. As soon as you have it in your hand, you jog to follow Katniss and Finnick, who are heading after Peeta. He’s still standing on his podium, waiting patiently to be helped.

He can’t swim. 

Once you’ve joined them, Katniss begins to remove knives from her belt, likely thinking to go and retrieve him. Finnick grabs her shoulder. “I’ll get him.”

Katniss’s face twists. “I can.”

Finnick doesn’t listen to her, shedding his weapons onto the sand. “Better not exert yourself. Not in your condition.” He says, motioning to her belly, reminding her that she’s supposed to be pregnant.

A wave of realization crosses her face, mouth opening to say something. Before she can, Finnick prepares to dive. “Cover me.” He tells you, or her, and then launches off the rock strip.

You look over your shoulder at the Cornucopia, finding that the Careers have made it, and they’re gathering their supplies. You know Gloss, Cashmere and Enobaria fairly well. They weren’t your crowd, especially since you’re dating Johanna—she’s a pot stirrer—but the few conversations you had with them were polite. As for Brutus, you hadn’t seen him before the reaping. He’s an older victor, if you had to guess, he won around the same time as Haymitch. 

Water splashes. You whip in the other direction, worried it’s a stray opponent, and instead see Mags, paddling her way to you guys. She moves a little bit faster than you do, but not faster than Finnick. He’s able to get Peeta and swim him back to the rock before Mags has made it halfway.

“Hello again.” Peeta murmurs to Katniss, they kiss. “We’ve got allies.”

“Yes. Just as Haymitch intended.”

“Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?” Peeta asks.

“Only Mags, I think.” Katniss nods to her, and she’s almost made it the whole way.

“Well, I can’t leave Mags behind.” Finnick laughs. “She’s one of the few people who actually likes me.”

“I’ve got no problem with Mags. Especially now that I see the arena. Her fishhooks are probably our best chance of getting a meal.” Katniss tells him.

“Katniss wanted her on the first day.” Peeta pitches in.

“Katniss has remarkably good judgement.” Finnick says.

He reaches down into the water once Mags has made it into his arms length. He’s able to scoop her out, her weight playing no factor in his strength. He places her on her feet, and then smooths some of her grey hair out of her eyes.

You do a full turn where you stand, looking for Johanna, hoping you’ll see her.

Between Mags’s accent and the mumbling, you have a hard time trying to figure out what she’s saying. Something about the belts and bobbing, you think. 

“Look, she’s right. Someone figured it out.” Finnick points, you follow his finger and find Beetee, flailing around in the waves, but he’s not drowning.

“What?” Katniss asks.

“The belts. They’re flotation devices.” Finnick says. “I mean, you have to propel yourself, but they’ll keep you from drowning.”

“We should go.” Katniss says.

“Does anyone see Johanna?” You ask, eyes still searching the water. 

“I don’t think she’s on this side of the Cornucopia, (Y/n).” Finnick tells you. “I’m sorry. We should be able to find her later on.”

“You’re sure?” You ask, turning to look at him. “If you’re sure, I’ll go. But if you think we won’t see each other again—”

“I’m sure.” Finnick tells you, his green eyes boring into yours. “It’s Johanna. She loves you. She’s going to find you. And we might even come across her by the end of tonight.”

“Okay.” You nod. “Let’s go, then.”

Mags crawls onto Finnick’s back, holding onto his shoulders tightly. He begins to lead the way down the spoke, with Katniss and Peeta taking the middle, and you slowly following in the back. A part of you waits for her to call your name to bring you back, but you know it’s not going to happen. She’s not here yet. And you can’t wait for her to be.

You’ll see her again soon.

—

As you near where Finnick is sitting on the jungle’s treeline, your body begins to shut down, knowing you’re safe. All it takes is your knee buckling to send you falling to the sand, barely catching yourself before you faceplant.

Since you’re still struggling to breathe, you close your eyes and take deep breaths to get a hold of it. It’s easy to forget just how exhausting the arena is when you’re watching it from the outside. You didn’t win that long ago, and yet your initiation preparation is already leaving. 

It felt like you were being electrocuted when you were woken up by Katniss’s screaming, warning you about the fog. To navigate the jungle’s greenery in the dark is a whole talent that you might’ve discovered. You tripped too many times to count, with how many roots and weeds stick out of the dirt, desperate to take you down. It didn’t help that you were being actively corralled by the Gamemakers via the poisonous fog.

You will say you got lucky, you didn’t get it nearly as bad as the others did. Their blisters cover almost their entire body, even after washing most of it off in the salt water. You mostly got it in patches on your arms and legs, because you were running for your life, willing to leave them behind to save yourself.

And then to immediately be attacked by mutts less than an hour later… Peeta had gone into the jungle to begin to drill into a tree to get water, and when you went to join him, there were these monkey mutts on the tree branches. They completely surrounded you, but their attention was on Peeta, who was oblivious.

Well, until he could sense the danger, then it was all over from there. There were monkeys flying at you from every direction, angry and ready to attack. Between only four of you, it was impossible to keep up. And they didn’t slow down. It wasn’t until Peeta was vulnerable, did things get serious.

A monkey went flying at him, Katniss went to rescue him, but right before he was tackled, an ally—the woman from District Six—came running out a tree she’d camouflaged herself into. She got right between the monkey and Peeta, killing herself but saving him in the process. 

As soon as the mutts had gotten their kill, they backed out. Peeta and Katniss are sending the woman off in the water now. She’s not going to make it. The fangs punctured vital parts of her chest, leaving deep holes. You had to walk away.

“It’s a good thing you’re with us.” Finnick says. “I don’t think we would’ve found a good path getting away from the fog.”

“You’re just being nice. I should’ve helped more.” You tell him.

“You did help. You found us a path.” Finnick says. “Besides, we definitely would’ve had trouble with those mutts.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen tributes get attacked back-to-back like that by the Gamemakers.” You murmur, using your finger to draw in the sand.

“I haven’t, either. There’s something going on.”

“I hope Johanna’s okay.” You look up at the jungle. She could be anywhere in there.

“It’s Johanna.” Finnick says, trying to comfort you. “She’s smart. She survived the bloodbath, and so did Blight. They’re probably together.”

You hum. Katniss drags her feet through the sand, coming in your direction. She’s got this solemn expression on her face, probably having something to do with the dead victor they had to say goodbye to. She stands over you two for a second before she speaks.

“Why don’t you two get some rest?” She asks. “I’ll watch for a while.”

“No, Katniss, I’d rather.” Finnick says.

All it takes is one look at his face, and she nods. “All right, Finnick, thanks.” 

She moves away, going to join Peeta, who’s already laid down on the beach. You watch them for a couple of seconds, before you look back at Finnick. There’s tears in his eyes, he swallows thickly. He must be thinking about Mags. You lost her during the fog.

“Do you want me to move?” You ask.

“No, it’s okay.” He tells you, wiping his eyes. “I want a minute.”

“Take as many as you need.” You tell him, looking away to give him some privacy.

The two of you sit on the beach, watching the sunrise, wordless. Katniss and Peeta toss and turn several times, trying to get comfortable on the uneven ground. For a while, Finnick sits still, and then he gets restless and gets up to gather some giant leaves from the jungle. He works beside you, creating mats that he hangs on the tree branches to give Katniss and Peeta shade while they sleep.

He moves on to making three tightly woven bowls. You take two of them from him to fill with water, which he thanks you for. He takes the third bowl and goes poking around in the saltwater. By the time the two of you come back together, he’s got a full bowl of shellfish. He shows you how to crack the shells open, and you try a couple of them.

“How do you like it?” He asks.

“I don’t.” You tell him honestly. “But it’s food, and I’ll eat anything right now.”

“Do you like fish better?” He asks, eyebrows raising.

You shrug, playing with a shell. “Not a lot of fish to go around District Five.”

“Really? You’re on the coast.”

“Not me, I live closer to the Capitol than I do to the water.” You tell him.

His face twists, tilting his head back while he stares at the sky, trying to picture it in his mind. “Where’s your Justice Building, then?”

“In the middle.”

His face twists.

There’s movement out of the corner of your eye, causing you to turn quickly to see what it is, but it’s only Katniss. She’s rubbing sand out of her eye, a quiet yawn leaves her lips before she blinks to focus. 

Finnick holds up one of the shellfish. “They’re better fresh.” He tells her, cracking it open and ripping a chunk of the flesh out.

She reaches forward to grab one, but stops at the sight of her hands. She scowls, beginning to get to her feet.

“You know, if you scratch you’ll bring on infection.” Finnick tells her sarcastically.

“That’s what I’ve heard.” She says back to him. She washes her hands off in the saltwater, and dries her hands by shaking her hands. She stops suddenly after she’s taken a few steps in your direction, throwing her head back. “Hey, Haymitch, if you’re not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin.”

The parachute appears seconds later, as if Haymitch was just waiting for her to ask. She takes something in the palm of her hand, muttering, “About time.” And then she comes toward you two, taking a seat in the sand.

She unscrews the cap and begins to squeeze the ointment onto her palm. It’s thick, and dark, and it smells disgusting. She hesitates for a second, but as soon as she begins to massage it into her leg, she lets out a moan. Once she starts on her other leg, she hands it off to Finnick.

“It’s like you’re decomposing.” Finnick tells her, because it’s staining her skin a grey-green color. But he follows her example, and rubs it onto his scabs. 

“Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven’t looked pretty?” Katniss teases.

“It must be. The sensation’s completely new. How have you managed it all these years?” He asks, passing the tube to you.

“Just avoid mirrors. You’ll forget about it.” She remarks.

You spread some of the ointment across the itchy patches, and as soon as it comes into contact with your skin, it disappears completely.

“Not if I keep looking at you.” Finnicks says back to her.

You begin to feel better once you’re covered. Katniss and Finnick are able to move more freely, too. When they’re done rubbing it on the exposed skin of each other’s backs, Katniss gets to her feet. “I’m going to wake Peeta.”

“No, wait.” Finnick gets up to join her. “Let’s do it together. Put our faces right in front of his. Come on, (Y/n).”

“His heart has stopped once already, I don’t want to share the responsibility for killing him again.” You tell them.

Finnick laughs. “I’ll just perform CPR again.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, watching them get in front of Peeta’s face. Katniss gently wakes him, shaking him, softly saying his name. His eyes flutter open, as if he’s a storybook princess, but then a scream leaves his mouth and he jumps three feet in the air.

Katniss and Finnick fall back away from him, laughing their asses off, rolling around in the sand. You join in on their laughter, but Peeta’s trying not to encourage their behavior by crossing his arms. All it does is set them off into giggle fits, where he struggles to fight off a smile.

“Guys.” You point at a parachute that’s coming down in your direction. 

Finnick pulls his attention away to see what you’re pointing at. He catches the loaf in his hands, examining it carefully. It’s one of the Capitol’s specialty loaves that they make in association with a district. This one is tinted green, marking it as District Four’s.

“This will go well with the shellfish.” He announces.

While Katniss helps Peeta with getting a layer of the ointment on his skin, you help Finnick clean the meat from the shellfish. He’s quicker than you are, but he appreciates the help. When it’s time, you gather together and eat the meat with the salty bread, taking healthy gulps of water in between.

It isn’t until you’re almost done, a few pieces left, does a scream erupt out from the far side of the jungle, causing each one of you to freeze and observe. A wedge on the other side is shaking, like an earthquake. Then, a huge wave breaks through the trees, soaring higher than the tallest one, coming down the hill fast. It hits the center water, causing a large ripple to spread out.

The four of you jump to your feet, watching as the tide reaches your knees, raising your belongings out of the sand. It takes a couple of seconds for you to grab what belongs to you, besides the jumpsuits, which have been eaten away by the fog so badly that they’re nothing but rags. You let it go.

A cannon fires. A hovercraft appears over the area, a claw being sent down to retrieve the body. It grabs them, pulls them out, and then disappears inside of the ship, which blends in with thin air seconds later.

As you begin to settle back down onto wet sand, Katniss halts. “There.” She whispers, nodding ahead.

You follow her gaze, seeing three people stumble onto the beach. The others retreat into the jungle treeline, trying to hide in the shadow, but you observe, squinting. They’re in rough shape, one of them is getting dragged out by a second, and the third one is wandering around in circles. They’re all covered in a dark red.

“Who is that?” Peeta asks. “Or what? Muttations?”

Katniss grabs an arrow, drawing it back on her bow. You hold a hand out to stop her, watching as the first person collapses on the beach, causing the second one to stomp their feet, turning to push the third one over.

“Johanna.” You say, moving forward. “Johanna!”

Johanna whips around to follow your voice. “(Y/n)!”

“Johanna!” You shout, sprinting across the sand. She throws her arms out to catch you as you collide into her body. Her hand hands the back of your head, squeezing you into her chest tightly. After a few breaths, all you smell is blood, so you pull back to look at her. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Finnick has appeared at your side.

“No, I’m not hurt, babe. This idiot is, though.” She motions at the one laying in the sand, and now that you’re closer, you can see that it’s Beetee. The one walking in circles is Wiress, and she’s muttering something to herself.

“What happened?” You ask, rubbing the red on her skin.

She motions to the jungle. “We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn’t see, you couldn’t speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That’s when Blight hit the force field.”

“Oh, Johanna.” You murmur.

“I’m sorry, Johanna.” Finnick says, Katniss and Peeta are just joining you.

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t much, but he was from home.” She says, she looks at you for a long moment. And then down at Beetee in the sand. “And he left me alone with these two.” She nudges him with the toe of her shoe. “He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—”

All attention is on Wiress for a moment, “Tick, tock. Tick, tock.”

“Yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock.” Johanna says, which seems to draw Wiress to her. As soon as Wiress begins to touch her, she loses her patience, shoving her down to the beach. “Just stay down, will you?”

You shake your head, putting a hand on her chest.

“Lay off her.” Katniss snaps, making it worse.

Johanna’s eyes narrow in her direction. “Lay off her?” She hisses. Before anyone can stop her, she slaps Katniss across the face. “Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You—”

“Woah!” You push Johanna back, and when she doesn’t budge, Finnick comes to your aid.

He throws her over his shoulder, but this doesn’t stop her from screaming insults at Katniss for her disrespect. You stand with Finnick in the water, watching as he dunks Johanna beneath the surface, turning the water pink. After about the twentieth time, she begins to calm down and come to reason.

“You’re going to apologize to her, Johanna.” You say. “That was uncalled for.”

“I’m dealing with a lot.” Her voice is harsh, but you’re not taking it personally. “It took me hours to get them down to the beach. Wiress kept running off, and Beetee’s as useless as that stupid spool of wire that I had to carry down for him.”

You take handfuls of water to dump in her hair, scratching it gently to get the dried bits off. She begins to relax, eyes closed, head tilted back. “I’m sorry I couldn’t wait for you at the Cornucopia.”

“It was better you didn’t.” She tells you. “When Beetee was finally done splashing around, he ran right into the Careers. If Blight weren’t there, he probably would’ve died because of it. He’s lucky all he got was a knife.”

“Did you get hurt at all?”

“No, none of them were able to touch me. We made it out to the jungle just fine. Wiress was still stable so she was guiding us to water for a while.”

“There’s no water in the jungle.” Finnick tells her.

“I figured that out after a while, but it shut them up so I went with it.” She admits. “Do you have any?”

“We can get water.” You tell her, wiping her eyes free of the salt. “And Finnick can get more shellfish, right?”

Finnick nods, “I can start, give you guys some privacy.”

“That would be nice, Finnick. Thank you.” You nod.

He wades away, you turn your attention to Johanna, who’s opened her eyes. You get to her level in the water, a smile on your face. She shakes her head, “Are you okay?”

“Besides some scabs and cuts, I’m fine. I’ve been worse.”

“Good.” She murmurs. “I was worried about you, but I saw that you were with Finnick and Mags, so I knew you’d be okay.”

“He’s got my back.” You agree. “I almost didn’t go with them. I had to tell him if he thought we wouldn’t see each other again, that I’d go back to the Cornucopia.”

“I’ll always find you, babe.” She tells you. “I will always get back to you.”

[swervybeans]

Smoke x sick female reader

A/N: pulled this out my ass but I think it's cute so here you guys go. Also I am like half asleep so... yea I proof read it but I also zoned out like 12 times so... yea. Anyways requests are always open and I hope you enjoy.

Description: short story about reader having the flu and Smoke aka Tomas from Mortal Kombat 1 taking care of them.

Word count: 931

Type: SFW

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

Tomas stands alone in the dinning room of the Shirai Ryu main temple. He collects the plates and silverware from dinner occasionally humming. the light glow of the moon adding a soft comforting feeling to the room and a soft rustle of leaves could be heard outside from the wind brushing against the trees made him feel content Normally clean up was a task Harrumi, Kuai, Tomas, and you did together but unfortunately you were sick with the flu and Harumi joined Kuai Liang out on a mission. So he was on his own for a couple days, it's not like it bothered him though. The constant movement felt good and kept his mind at ease.

When he finished up he decided to check up on you. It had been about a day since you started to feel sick and he was concerned about you. The thought of you being sick made him feel unwell too. You were one of his closest friends and he saw you as the light in his darkness.

"Come in..."

You heard a small nock on your door and knew who it was without even opening your eyes

Your voice was raspy and barely louder than a whisper, but he heard anyways and came into the room.

He looked at you with a frown as he closed the door behind him. You were curled up under your blankets your hair was everywhere, and your face was pale. You looked like shit.

"Hey, you."

Tomas walks over and sits on the edge of your bed. He was cautious not to make too much of a ruckus.

"How are you feeling?"

He says gently as he looks at you with worried eyes.

"Sh-"

Before you can finish your sentence you sneeze. Tomas see's the box of tissue on your nightstand and takes a tissue out to hand to you.

"Thanks."

You grumble as you wipe your nose. When you're done you decide to finish your previous sentence.

"I feel...like shit."

He sighs and nods understandably.

"I'm sory."

He said as he put his hand on your forehead to feel your temperature.

"Feels like a low grade fever."

You just give a slight nod in response as you sniffle.

Vrbada picks up your water bottle and feels that it's empty. Without a word he fills it up and puts it back where he found it.

He asked softly and looked down at your zombie like state .

"When was the last time you had medicine?"

"Breakfast..."

"Seriously?"

"Mhm"

Tomas sighs and nods.

"Be right back then."

He leaves and goes to make tea. He finishes up quickly and then returns to your quarters.

An arm wraps around you as he helps you sit up to drink the tea.

You say as you take bird sips from the mug.

"Tastes like shit."

"It'll make you feel better."

He says Patting your head and laughing slightly.

You just sigh and slug the tea back as quick as possible. When you are done he takes the mug and sets it aside.

You sit there and just stare at the wall with a blank expression. Not really thinking about anything.

After a few minutes of silence he speaks up.

"Want me to rub your back?"

It takes you a second to process what he is saying but you eventually nod and move to lay on your side so your back is to him.

Calloused hands slowly lifted your shirt and started to rub up and down your spine. His touch is slow as he scratches gently on all the right spots. Who would have thought the hands of an assassin would be so warm and caring.

You sigh contently and let him work his magic. It had starred to drizzle outside and you could hear the rain thumping against the window. The dim lighting in the room made you sleepy and your eye's started to heavy. Everything was perfect, except for the fact that you felt like you were run over by a semi truck...

A few coughs and a sneeze later you finally started to slowly slip into sleep, Toma's hands still running up and down your back.

When he realized you fell asleep he smiled and slowly pulled your shirt back down over your back. He covered you with the blankets making sure you'd be warm throughout the night. He blew out the candles that lit up your room, but decided to leave one lit on your bedside table.

He started to walk towards your door when he heard you mumble.

"Tomas..."

He immediately turned around and came over to you kneeling down in front of you.

"Yea?"

He whispered softly

However you were asleep and it was you sleep talking. When he realized this a small chuckle left his lips and he gently stroked your hair.

"You dreaming about me?"

He said softly

"... love ... you...."

You whisper.

He smiles and kisses your head.

"I know you do...but telling me in the dream world doesn't count"

After that you were completely quiet and your breath became even as you fell into a deep sleep. Tomas stood up and took the empty mug from earlier but before he left he spoke softly and said.

"Love you too, beautiful, and I hope you feel better soon."

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

A/N: well if you made it this far it couldn't have been the bad. Thank you for reader.

[mareagirls]

Hi! If you’re ever in the mood to write a sickfic I like this idea.

Peter and reader are on a date, but reader feels nauseous. But, reader doesn’t want to tell Peter because a: they’ve both been super busy lately between Spider-Man duties and college and/or work and b: because even if reader won’t admit it, being vulnerable and being taken care of kind of scares them. But Peter finds out/figured it out and wants to help and fluff ensues.

Anyway, it’s just an idea. No pressure to complete (obvi)! Hope you’re doing well and drinking water! <3

~🥧

 hey pie anon! i hope this is okay and i'm sorry it's months late! I forgot it was in my drafts :')

You realise something is wrong when you’re only a quarter of the way through your pizza and Peter is over half way through his.

You feel sick. Or at the very least least like you might be - nausea brewing uncomfortably in your stomach as you take small bites of your food.

Your boyfriend chats away opposite you, blissfully unaware that you've started to feel queasy, so you plaster a smile on your face and swallow hard. The two of you have been incredibly busy for the past few days between your work and his vigilante duties, and the last thing you want to do is ruin the first peaceful moment you’ve had together. You can tell how much Peter has needed a little normalcy. The thought of ruining it because you’re feeling a little off feels incredibly selfish.

Beyond that, you're not used to letting people take care of you, and though Peter has told you countless times that he likes doing it, you can never quite dislodge uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability that blooms in you whenever he does. Letting yourself be loved, allowing Peter to look after you when you're not feeling too well - they're processes. You've been trying to work on them for a while, but it's difficult. It always has been.

You’re just trying to rub at your chest discreetly when Peter looks up at you from his almost empty plate. 

"Everything okay?" 

"Yes! Yeah, everything is fine." Your reply comes out wobbly and you only realise afterwards that you’ve made too much of an effort to sound alright. You smile at Peter through gritted teeth and try foolishly to convince yourself that if you pretend the nausea doesn't exist, it'll go.

Peter doesn’t look like he believes you for a second.

"Are you sure? Do you not like your pizza?" He pushes his own plate towards you as if it's the easiest thing ever, offering you his last two slices. "Here, baby. We can swap."

The tender easiness in the gesture very nearly makes you want to cry. Peter Parker might just be the loveliest boy you’ve ever known.

"No, Peter it's okay. My pizza is good,” your hands shifts slightly to rub against your abdomen, Peter tracks your movements cautiously. “I'm just kinda full I think.”

Your boy raises an eyebrow at your barely eaten pizza but nods, never one to push you for explanations.

"I'll ask for the bill and a box to take the rest home. We can have the ice cream in the freezer when we get back. How's that sound?"

The thought of ice cream makes you feel queasy, but Peter seems so hopeful and he's looked so tired and sad in the past few days that you cant help but indulge him.

-

Once you’ve gotten the bill and packed your leftover pizza into a takeaway box, Peter takes your hand in his and guides you out of the restaurant.

New York City in the evening is a sensory nightmare, but your nausea does abate slightly thanks to the fresh air. You catch Peter looking down at you and stamp an awkward smile on your face.

"Home?" He squeezes your fingers gently.

Your stomach churns at the thought of having to go so far, but Peter is looking at you like you've hung the moon and the stars - the journey home feels a little more bearable with him by your side.

"Yes please."

"You okay to walk?" 

"I'm fine, Peter. I promise."

"No, you're not, baby. And that's okay, you don't have to tell me what's wrong if you don’t want to. Just let me take care of you."

You sigh, resigned. You don't even know why you tried to hide it from him. Peter can quite literally hear your heartbeat, of course he was going to clock that you're not feeling too well.

Peter keeps his body angled towards yours as the two of you walk, and you soon realise that he's shielding you the best he can from the light around you and all the bodies rushing past. It's a small gesture, one that he might not even realise he's doing, but makes your chest flutter pleasantly

Then, just as you think that maybe the nausea is easing up, another wave of discomfort overwhelms you and you stumble.

Fortunately Peter catches your wrist just before you can do any real damage, balancing your pizza box in his free hand. He helps you back up easily, his fingers a warm pressure on your skin.

"Woah. Hey, hey, sweetheart. Let's just stop for a second, hm?"

You are mortified, and very sorry about how inconvenient you're being but when Peter pulls you to a stop, you oblige. Tears swarming in your eyes, you make one last ditch attempt at snuffing out the discomfort by pushing your face into the soft sweatshirt your boyfriend is wearing. 

You feel him go still and for one horrible millisecond, you think he's going to push you away, but then Peter’s body relaxes and he presses you against him softly, almost as if he's afraid to hurt you.

You mumble into his chest. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay, you don't have to apologise," his lips are soft against the crown of your head. "You're good. Let's take a moment, alright?"

You nod, sniffing slightly.

"We're nearly there. Just a few more blocks to go." 

Something like a whine gets stuck in your throat and Peter coos gently, a hand coming up to cup the back of your head. “I know. You’re alright, honey. I've got you.”

You straighten up after a few seconds, aware that this is not at all what he signed up for when the two of you left the house, and Peter frowns a little.

"You can lean into me, baby. You're not a bother."

And you do know, because he's said it to you countless times before in different variations. I like being there for you. You don't have to apologise. I'm here for you, it's kinda in the boyfriend job description.

Peter doesn’t have to repeat himself. When he nudges you closer, you lean in.

-

Once you’re at home, Peter lets go of you carefully, never taking his eyes off you as he reaches into his jacket pocket and pull out the keys to let you both in.

He places the pizza box on the microwave in the kitchen before following you through down the corridor, a hand ghosting the small of your back. When you reach the bedroom, he dims the lights.

You sit on the bed gingerly. Peter sits next to you.

"How are you feeling?" Peter asks.

You’re quiet for a while. Then, a small admission;

"I feel really nauseous Peter." You avoid his gaze. "It started in the restaurant. I don't... I don't know what's wrong."

Peter is silent for a beat. You take it as a sign that you've said something wrong.

"It's fine though. I'm sorry for ruining the meal. I know you were looking forward to this." your voice is hoarse. "I’m really sorry."

When you muster the courage to look up at him, Peter looks horrified.

"Baby, what are you talking about? You didn't ruin anything. It's okay." His hand comes up to brush at your jawline. "I got to spend time with my best girl. I feel like the luckiest guy alive."

You think he might be exaggerating just to make you smile, but there's real sincerity in his tone. "Do you want pain relief? Some ginger tea, maybe?"

Right now, you only want Peter.

"Can we just cuddle for a bit, please?"

"Oh, my girl." Peter is already pulling you down so that you're lying against his chest. "C'mere."

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hey, just a thought I've had about Fleur and Veela in general that's been floating in my head, and I thought you might appreciate it; I don't think Veela have hybrid offspring. Unless they reproduce asexually, there are male Veela, or two female Veela can produce an offspring, than all Veela have a non-Veela parent. The books don't really give Veela much attention, so all of that is certainly possible, but I like to consider other possibilities. We never see Fleur describe herself as quarter-Veela, correct me if I'm wrong, but it was only ever other charcters saying she was rumored to be quarter-Veela. This may be a rumor spread by Fleur's family: non-wizards aren't allowed to carry wands, at least in Britain, treating her like a witch with Veela ancestory would improve how she was treated immensely. I mean, like how parents with black hair and blonde hair wouldn't really have a child with both their hair colors. It's be whichever one is dominant. I consider Veela to be the dominant trait. Maybe all daughters are Veela, and sons non-Veela. Essentially, there is no thing as a pure Veela, or maybe, all Veela give birth to pure Veelas, and claiming a partial inheritance gives them better rights in the wizarding world. Just my headcanon I guess.

I'm not sure about that... Like, my knee-jerk reaction is that there is a difference between part-Veela and ful-Veela.

Like, the main reason I say that is that Harry has a different reaction to full-Veelas than to Fleur (and even her mother who should be a hlaf-Veela):

Looking careworn, she [Fleur] left the room. Ron still seemed slightly punch-drunk; he was shaking his head experimentally like a dog trying to rid its ears of water. “Don’t you get used to her if she’s staying in the same house?” Harry asked. “Well, you do,” said Ron, “but if she jumps out at you unexpectedly, like then . . .”

(HBP, 93)

Harry has no reaction to Fleur's Veela magic. None. Even though others do react to them. Same with Fleur's mother who Harry notes is beautiful, but he isn't reacting to the magic:

Mr. Weasley, who appeared at the gate moments later, laden with luggage and leading a beautiful blonde woman in long, leaf-green robes, who could only be Fleur’s mother.

(DH, 107)

I think that is because he's gay (or at least not interested in women). But even he still reacts to the magic of full-Veela:

But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and Harry’s question was answered for him. Veela were women . . . the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen . . . except that they weren’t — they couldn’t be — human. This puzzled Harry for a moment while he tried to guess what exactly they could be; what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind . . . but then the music started, and Harry stopped worrying about them not being human — in fact, he stopped worrying about anything at all. [...] And as the veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through Harry’s dazed mind. He wanted to do something very impressive, right now. Jumping from the box into the stadium seemed a good idea . . . but would it be good enough? “Harry, what are you doing?” said Hermione’s voice from a long way off. The music stopped. Harry blinked. He was standing up, and one of his legs was resting on the wall of the box. Next to him, Ron was frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard.

(GoF, 103)

Similarly, the full-Veela in the Quidditch World Cup have abilities Fleur doesn't seem to have:

At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through his Omnioculars, Harry saw that they didn’t look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders —

(GoF, 111)

Additionally, the fact that Veela can get pregnant and reproduce with humans kind of erases the option of asexual reproduction. Yeah, I know they're magic, but if they didn't need to get pregnant the regular human way for the continuation of their species, they wouldn't be capable of it (especially as the Harry Potter version of Veela aren't immortal like their folklore variants). So, that brings us to the lack of male Veela.

You are right that male Veela are pretty necessary to have a difference between full-Veelas and part-Veelas. While the Harry Potter books don't really give an answer regarding Veela reproduction, I went to the mythology JKR based on them.

"Veela" is an Anglicized form of the name "Vila" which is a fairy-like spirit from Slavic folklore portrayed as a nature spirit like nymphs in Greek Mythology. Both nymphs and Vila are portrayed as only women, but they are also portrayed as minor deities, as immortal and eternal like the nature they represent with abilities the Harry Potter Veela do not have. Veela very in mythology quite a bit but they tend to be shapeshifters often living in a water source. Regardless, they are only female in myth as well and I couldn't find anything about their births. I found one source that claimed a child of a Veela and a human man would be a half-Veela but it didn't discuss how full Veela came into being. Since the mythology Veela are immortal spirits of nature they are born out of trees and rivers, representing nature itself. So, unless this is the case in Harry Potter (I don't think it fits the worldbuilding much) this front didn't give us answers.

So, I went to Bill and Fleur's wedding to see if I could spot a potential male Veela or male part Veela. And the answer is I couldn't. It also seems like all part-Veela share the same hair, eyes, skin color, and general appearance regardless of who the father is, so you are right about the Veela gens being the more dominant ones (Fleur and Gabrielle are both described with silvery blond Veela hair like their mother, even though their father has black hair and is described as plump).

So, yeah, speaking of the info we have in canon it's actually possible part-Veela don't really exist and that Veela can just choose to activate their charming magic in a more active way (that affects Harry, like in the Quidditch World Cup) or not and remain with just their passive charm (that doesn't affect Harry). But this doesn't really give an answer to the extra abilities full-Veela seem to have that part-Veela don't.

Another issue I have with this theory is that if Veela were indeed born this way for centuries, there is no way anyone would believe Fleur is a quarter-Veela. I mean, wizards are dense often enough, but I don't think they are that stupid. They would know how Veela reproduce and then not believe said rumors.

I think JKR just didn't think through all the implications of how she portrayed Veela...

Point is, your headcanon is possible, and you can headcanon it but I personally prefer to think of Fleur as a quarter-Veela and believe male Veela do exist. Because they do sorta exist in myth.

There are Näcken from German and Scandinavian folklore that are shapeshifting water spirits that are portrayed as handsome men, they occasionally lure people to their deaths and occasionally fall in love with human women and go live with them. The Näcken in Scandinavian folklore are always portrayed as male. In German mythology Nixie or Nixe can be either male or female from what I read. So, male Veela could exist and just potentially be known by a different name with slightly different abilities.

I mean, the Veela in Harry Potter attract people with dancing and music, the Näcken plays the violin to lure people to drown. Both are shapeshifters that are spirits of nature (Veela in various locations: forests, air, and water while the Näcken are only associated with water). Both are sometimes malevolent and sometimes helpful to humans. There are a lot of similarities so I like to headcanon them as sorta of the same species but with different typical appearance and name, hence the confusion.

So in a sense, there are no full-Veela males, but the other similar creatures, Näcken. Now, I'm not sure if half-Veela and half-Näcken would be the same or different, but that's a whole other discussion and goes more heavily into my headcanons.

I can't speak to what JKR intended, but your headcanon is possible. I just prefer to imagine "male Veela" and "male part-Veela" are out there somewhere (the quotation marks because they use a name that isn't Veela, the full ones at least).

[yoruio]

Post!Hour of Joy Catnap x Reader HCs:

Genre: Fluff!!!!!!

AN: really short thingy I did, cant get the catnap brainrot outta my head, based him off a house cat a tad bit too much

☾ Catnap took some time to get used to you. And a lot of sweets— but in the end it all seemed to work out!

☾ The first few days, Catnap would stalk around the playroom to avoid the kids running about just so he could see what you were up to!

☾ Kickin and Hoppy would always spot him and pull him back into the play area every time he got caught.

☾ Catnap is not the one to give up easily and would sneak out during recess time and leave little trinkets on your desk

☾ Ever since you taught him how to be more social, he and the kids that would go to Playcare grew to become very close and would help him do tasks that require smaller hands, like folding paper or coloring with crayons.

☾ It's a miracle how he was able to find your quarters in this massive establishment.

☾ The first time it happened you saw a little purple paper cat with a tiny moon charm on it's chest. Hmm, you wonder who this came from.

☾ The next time you saw Catnap you didn't forget to give him a head scritch and a cheery "Thank you!"

☾ Catnap then on would find ways to sneak handcrafted toys into your office.

☾ Congrats, you're now his favorite person in the whole world!!! Till this day the little paper cat still stands on your desk.

☾ Catnap would always draw you every time there were arts and crafts activities in the playcare.

☾ Catnap doesn't know how Craftycorn works her magic with those hooves of hers, but the least he could do is draw a messy stickman of you. And what do you know, you adored his drawing! And now it's hung on a little frame in your room!

☾ Catnap, after you'd visit him around working hours his mood would noticeably get more lively... So lively in fact that he dashes all over the room like those house cats getting the zoomies. Dogday's in awe at how fast his sleepy buddy was. Hey, if the kids are having fun then he guesses it's fine!

☾ Despite Catnap's distorted voice box you never really minded how brief his answers were.

"You want to eat?" you chuckled. Lowering the box you were carrying to meet his gaze.

"No." he spoke, staring at you with his dotted white pupils.

"Uhm... Need something from me?" you asked curiously. You wondered what he wanted.

"...No..." He spoke again.

"You're just here to bug me, are you?" you huffed, a small smile etched on your face as you stared up the purple cat.

"..." His long tail twirled deviously.

You raise your brow at him with your arms crossed over your chest.

"Yes."

☾ The other smiling critters seem to like this side of the purple cat too! But what they don't enjoy is how loud his purring gets whenever he naps.

☾ Catnap likes to laze in your office at night. He often curls himself around your desk chair as you work. His soft purple fur a great insulator against the cold room.

☾ Catnap tends to be more active at night, hence the reason he's always scratching your bedpost. On some occasions, he'd even stretch like a cat.

☾ You made sure that after you'd finished all your paperwork you would snuggle up with him on the floor since he was a tad too big for the bed Play Co. provided for you.

☾ He hoped things would never change.

Ik ik its boring but I've been wanting a bit of sweet stuff yknow

This the thing Catnap made for u btw :>

Peper kat!!!!!!!

[mccnstricken]

“You look absolutely terrible today.” | vera to andrew hrhrhf

general sentences, vol 2 (still aceepting!)

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

Andrew stands defensively, absolutely covered in dirt, resulting from a particularly rough match. His shovel doesn't help him with appearances either, caked with mud and in dire need of washing (much like its owner). Widened eyes stare downwards at the perfumer, unsure whether to glare in offense or to continue to gawk in the shock of the statement even having to be said. The want to turn his back and run comes to a standstill with the need to spit and defend himself, digging his heels further stubbornly.

"If you have any idea how to- how to use this cleanly, you can be my guest!" He, inevitably, chooses to glare in offense as if greatly scorned and slandered against (despite the truth of the matter). Shovel in hand is raised and hit against the ground to punctuate his point, flecking some of the more dried mud off onto the ground. "But until then, you can keep your thoughts to yourself! Thank you, but no thank you."

"And who just says things like- like that?"

[fallenclan]

The Worry Box - Chapter 5: Altschmerz

a/n: hey guys it's lollipop have u missed me :3 back with a worry box chapter after [checks calendar] 7 months!!!!! rejoice!!!!

–

“I'm worried about Rowankit,” Newtscar mutters.

Silverbelly looks up from her herb sorting, and turns to face Newtscar.

Sometimes, Newtscar just walks into the medicine den and makes herself at home. Silverbelly won't begrudge her of that simple comfort.

She wishes Bluefern would come to her. She wishes Evie and Moxie would come to her, and she wishes Oaktuft and Goldenstar and everyone else who wouldn't come to her would. But they don't. She takes what she can get.

“Worried how? Emotional, physical–”

Because stars forbid Rowankit, or any of the kits for that matter, remembered it. They'd had nightmares for a quarter moon, and Mistykit had finally slept a full night just yesterday. They were all still confused, missed their siblings, but with any luck they wouldn't remember it.

“She winces when she plays,” Newtscar says. “I didn't– I didn't pick up on it until today, but she was whimpering, Silverbelly, I–”

“We can go look at her now,” Silverbelly interrupts. Because she knows Newtscar, and she knows that Newtscar is prone to the same sort of spiraling thinking of oh stars this is all my fault that Silverbelly is.

Newtscar briefly nods, and Silverbelly trails behind her as she walks back towards the nursery.

It's getting dark. The moon hangs heavy in the sky. She catches a glimpse of the clearing, where red still stains some dirt, and her wrenches her eyes away.

Bluefern blearily opens her eyes when Silverbelly and Newtscar come in.

“Hi, Silverbelly. I thought you just looked at me yesterday?”

“I'm looking at Rowankit today, I'm afraid,” she says. She kneels down to look at Rowankit, who is sitting next to Moxie.

“You think somethings wrong with her?” Moxie whispers, practically hovering over her as Silverbelly noses a very confused Rowankit. “She's--she's completely fine. I've been careful with her, the kits have been careful, everyone has been careful. We haven't talked about it around her, and–”

“Newtscar,” Silverbelly says. Moxie falls entirely silent, practically holding her breath. “Fetch Oaktuft.”

–

“You think it's permanent?” Oaktuft asks. It's not as much of a question as it is a confirmation.

“Yes,” Silverbelly says. “Lichenstripe once told me of a kitten with achy joints, back in Shallowclan. Her joints never stopped aching, even as she matured. I believe it's the case with Rowankit.”

“I see,” Moxie says. “Thanks for catching that, I hardly even noticed. Sometimes kits just get back up slower, you know?”

Rowankit sleeps peacefully next to Sleepykit, because Bluefern said that kits shouldn't sleep by themselves. So, every queen just cuddles around their kits in a giant cuddle pile every night. It's extremely endearing.

“Yes,” Silverbelly nods. “If she starts looking particularly shaky, take her to my den. I have herbs that can help soothe her joints.”

Moxie and Oaktuft nods, and that's that. Newtscar looks relieved.

Silverbelly leaves for her own den, and seed Stormsight remaking his nest, for possibly thr fourth time that day.

“What's on your mind?”

“Ah, not much,” Stormsight absently replies. “Just thinking.”

“Hm,” she grunts, and lays in her own nest. She casts a careful eye to Eaglepaw, who was already dozing off. She chooses sleep.

–

“Toro?”

The white cat keeps walking, just fast enough to outpace her.

“Toro!”

Thunder cracks over her.

The white cat turns around. They are faceless, though they look suspiciously like her dead mother.

She feels something brush against her. She whips around.

Nothing is there, except a single brown pebble.

“Stupid fucking rocks,” she mutters. “Stupid fucking dreams. Stupid fucking rogues.”

She hears shouting. She hears thunder, rumbling. Rain pattering, but none of it falls on her.

She steps closer to the cliff. Sunwish would tell her that was a bad idea, and she should wait until something happens naturally.

Ah, well. Silverbelly never has liked waiting.

One step forward.

“Hello?” Her voice calls.

She stills.

“I didn't say anything,” she whispers. “What?”

Something slams into her. She stumbles, and stares at the thorny vines and sharp rocks that await her at the bottom of this drop.

Falling.

Air rushing past her.

The odd feeling of victory, of revenge, of deserved deserved he deserved it.

guilt guilt shame shame why did you do it

Why did you

why did you do it?

it was for her

no.

he deserved it.

Silverbelly blinks her eyes open, facing the dark stone of her den and breathing the sharp tang of herbs.

–

“Nightmares,” Flyspots flatly says. “Nightmares, for moons.”

Silverbelly had taken the apprentices out, for some basic medical training. Because stars forbid some cat died on patrol over preventable injuries, and stars forbid some cat had a panic attack on patrol and nobody knew what to do.

“Yes,” Stormsight says. “Since the rogue attack, apparently.”

Silverbelly had covered all her bases. She had gone over what berries they don't need to be touching, let alone eating, what stupid tricks simply weren't worth it, which included backsliding off a branch of the Sky Pine, and basic medicinal herbs they could use on patrol.

“And I was going to find out about this when?” Flyspots says, from his awkward position. Wormshade stands next to him, looking a bit offended.

“Whenever he was comfortable,” Stormsight shrugs. “I'm sure he'd rather you not have found out about it like this either, but here we are.”

She'd gotten to the specific spot where she planned to discuss anxiety and panic attacks, and as she explained symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, she watched every apprentice slowly turn to look at Beepaw, who looked like he wanted to sink into a puddle.

“I just– I don't understand why he'd keep this from us.” Flyspots is practically dragging the words. “We're not that unapproachable?”

Silverbelly immediately shakes her head. “No. No, absolutely not. You're good parents, both of you.”

“So then, why?”

“You'd have to ask him.”

She remembers watery eyes, once Maplethorn had taken the rest of the apprentices back to camp. She remembers guilt and all my fault and she remembers things that weren't true.

“Just keep an extra eye on him,” Stormsight says. “Don't force him to come to you, but gently encourage it instead.”

Wormshade nods.

Silverbelly, clear as day, remembered sneaking out with Applebranch when they were still just Silverpaw and Applepaw. When they were still Silverpaw and Applepaw, before all the rocks and the omens and the death death death that left a bitter tang on her tongue when she managed to choke it down. She always snuck out through the tunnel behind the elders den, suppressing giggles and laughter when they finally squirmed out of the rocks.

Beepaw and Spiderpaw had both snuck out. Beepaw and Spiderpaw had managed to avoid the bloodshed. They returned in the middle of the night to eleven dead cats and their sibling badly wounded. They returned in the middle of the night to a red stained clearing.

And so, Beepaw told her, he couldn't stop considering the what-if's.

“Maybe, maybe if I wasn't gone–”

Silverbelly knows, as it is, that nobody has recovered. Not really. She still hears the occasional yowl, and she still sees Goldenstar sit on the high rocks whenever he can't sleep. She sees Bluefern pacing, and she sees Evie with one eye on the entrance, and she sees Robinblaze padding into camp at late hours of the night. She watches Eaglepaw scrabble at nothing in her sleep, and she hears shrill screams from the apprentices den. Things will get better, but she doesn't know when.

“I'm sorry for sneaking out,” Beepaw had said. “I should have been there to help.”

“Don't be sorry for saving your own life,” Silverbelly had replied. “I'm never going to be angry at you for being a kid, okay?”

“I'm not a kid,” Beepaw protested.

“You're still a moon old to me,” Silverbelly said.

“Yeah, okay gran. You're literally dissolving into dust as we speak, that's how prehistoric you are!”

Silverbelly laughed, and Beepaw laughed, and for a moment everything was fine.

“He'll get better, with time,” Stormsight assures. “For now, it's just a matter of supporting him where it's needed.”

Wormshade nods. “I'll do my best.”

–

Things get better over time.

She supposes that this theory can also be attributed to Goldenstar's odd, belated grieving process. For maybe fifty moons, he never let anyone close, and now he's making friends with Celia of all cats.

He decides, in his typical impulsive manner, to take a last second trip to the glow cave.

“Before I say anything, I want to ask Morningbloom and Sunwish. Can you do that, like can you ask a specific cat?”

Silverbelly shrugs. “I don't see why not. And what do you need to ask them for anyways?”

“I wanna know what they think of Celia,” Goldenstar replies.

“Oh? Did I miss something?”

“I'm thinking about asking him,” Goldenstar says. She nods, and he continues, “but I don't want Morningbloom to think I'm replacing her. I'd never do that. So, if she disapproves, then I won't.”

Silverbelly debates with herself for a moment. The relationship between Goldenstar and his dead loved ones was a tense, fragile thing. Trying to understand it was difficult. He spoke to Morningbloom and Sunwish and Honeygleam in dreams like they were still alive, like they had never been cruelly taken away from him before he was ready to say goodbye.

“I don’t think that loving Celia means you don’t love her,” she finally says. “Celia has been good for you.”

“I don’t want her to think I don’t love her,” Goldenstar murmurs. “Because I don’t think I could ever stop loving her to begin with.”

“Morningbloom would want what’s best for you,” Silverbelly says. She’s careful with her wording, because the last thing she needed was to set him off and revert him back twenty moons of healing.

“She would,” Goldenstar says. “I just want to make sure.”

They stop at the mouth of the cave.

“I’m sure you know the drill by now,” she says. A firefly flickers in the dim light. “Follow the glowing mushrooms, until you’re in the mouth of the cave.”

“You’re not coming in with me?” Goldenstar glances at her, then at the setting sun.

“I’m sure you can handle the trip on your own,” she says.

The real answer was that Starclan has certainly had no issues reaching her from the comfort of her own nest. In a place as spiritual as this, she’d never get a moment of rest within the cave. It was easier to stay outside and pretend like she wanted to watch the stars, or stay to keep watch.

After a long moment, Goldenstar finally sighs, “Alright. I’ll see you in the morning, I suppose.”

She thinly nods, and watches him disappear into the cave.

–

Sleep finds her anyways, between the sound of cicadas and owls hooting. She walks around in the dimly lit space, until she spots a light.

No. That wasn’t necessary. Lights are pointless. They may take her to the same space again.

She considers her surroundings, a bleak wasteland of mud and rotting leaves, and considers that anything would be better than here. So, she walks towards the light, mud dragging at her paws.

“Maybe Sunwish was right, when she said that being a medicine cat is miserable,” she mutters.

“Now don’t say that,” some cat whispers. A familiar voice.

“Sunwish?” She almost turns around, but a firm paw places itself on her cheek.

“Nice to see you too,” Sunwish grunts. “Don’t look behind you. Just keep walking.”

“Where am I?” She asks, between the awful sensation of mud between her toes, cementing between her pawpads. “What is this place?”

“Breezeshadow decided we needed a place to send evil cats, once they perished,” Sunwish steadily answers. “This is the Place of No Stars.” She hums, and continues: “It’s a bit of a mouthful though, I just call it the dark forest. We’re in the outskirts of it.”

“Is Goldenstar here too?” Silverbelly asks. “I should have gone with him.”

“Yes, you should have, but there’s no use dwelling on that,” Sunwish says. “But, I can assure you that he’s not here with you. Toro escorted him to our grounds.”

“Toro,” Silverbelly whispers. “How is she?”

“As well as she could be, with these circumstances,” Sunwish replies. “She gets along quite well with Breezeshadow, which is a relief.”

“Ah.”

“I suppose you didn’t want to go into the Glowcave today for personal reasons,” Sunwish begins. The dim light grows stronger. “But that isn’t important.”

“You don’t get it,” she says. Despite her respect for her mentor, it was easy to say the words. “You weren’t kept awake every night for stupid reasons.”

“The visions you receive aren’t stupid,” Sunwish chides. “They all have a purpose, and show you things most cats aren’t privileged enough to receive.” Her mentor’s voice echoes behind her. “I suppose you’re right, in that I don’t understand. I never did quite have the connection that you and Stormsight have. Maybe it would have made you easier to understand, back when I was still around.”

“I wish you would just tell me what I need to know,” Silverbelly glares. “Why can’t you do that?”

“I’m not the one sending you visions most of the time,” Sunwish says. Her tail glides over Silverbelly’s back for a brief second, and she stops. “That’s more up Breezeshadow’s alley.”

“But you know what’s going to happen,” Silverbelly accuses.

“No,” Sunwish says.

“You don’t understand how long I’ve been thinking about it,” she says, voice growing thin with desperation. “Please, you have to know something!”

Sunwish continues walking her along, but Silverbelly can tell that she's thinking.

“I think that you think being dead inherently makes a cat all knowing,” Sunwish finally says. “It doesn’t. The visions you receive scarcely are gifted to Starclan cats, but rather come from the Ancients. All we do is pass it along.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Sunwish hums. Silverbelly can see the sparkling light of Starclan’s grounds. “But it doesn’t change that I can’t help you with your visions. There are some things you need to figure out on your own.”

“I’ve tried,” she snaps. “I’ve had the same vision for 40 some moons, and you can’t give me a little help with it?

Silverbelly stops at the hole, into light and bliss and eternal greenleaf. She turns around.

Sunwish is staring at her, with mild remorse. “Maybe one day, you’ll understand.”

The vision of her mentor spurts blood at the neck, and dissipates into the ground, becoming just another shadowy figure. Startled, she steps away, trips over her tail, and falls, facing the sky.

“It’s Silverbelly!” A little voice squeals. “Smokekit, I told you I saw her!”

“That was dumb luck,” a second voice calls.

“Silverbelly! Silverbelly!” A third voice squeaks. “Are you okay? You look sad.”

Silverbelly blinks her eyes open. Four small blurs of fur are standing over her, in shades of gray, brown, black and white.

“Sandykit,” she realizes. “Smokekit. Icekit. Ravenkit.”

Sandykit startles backwards. Icekit and Smokekit break into cheers. Ravenkit continues prodding at her forehead.

“Are you dead too? Is that why you’re here?”

“No,” she says. “I don’t think so.” She rolls over, shaking off her pelt. “Do you know where we are?”

Ravenkit tilts his head. “Normally we sleep over there,” he says, stretching out a paw to a nice, distant swath of pine trees and rocks. “We snuck out to play, though.”

“Why did you sneak out?” Silverbelly asks.

“Because Toro was busy, and Rabbitpounce didn’t want to take us,” Smokekit answers. “He’s no fun anymore. He’s just in his nest all day.”

Silverbelly knows the issue already. Molesong hardly knew how to be a single mother, even with her family helping her. Eaglepaw and Hawkpaw both missed their father deeply. Of course Rabbitpounce felt guilt for something out of his control.

“You shouldn’t sneak out,” Silverbelly says. “He’s probably worried about you.”

Sandykit frowns “Told you so.”

Icekit and Smokekit’s previous elation fades, and they blow raspberries at Sandykit.

Ravenkit solemnly nods. “Yeah, I guess.”

“How about you take me back home?” Silverbelly asks. “You can show me all your favorite spots on the way.”

The kits look at eachother, then chorus: “Okay!”

—

She gets dizzy on the way back. She’s sure that the kits notice, when she has to stop every so often. It’s probably more noticeable, considering that they never get tired. But, they’re almost there, so she’s not too worried.

There aren’t many cats in the Starclan camp. She supposes most must simply be out and about, receiving prophecies and whatnot.

“Nah, Breezeshadow mostly does that,” Ravenkit says. “Most of the time, the older cats get prophecies. Like Tawnyash and Morningpetal.”

“Her name is Morningbloom,” Sandykit proudly corrects. Ravenkit sticks his tongue out at him.

“Yeah, normally we just go play,” Icekit adds. “Toro just says we aren’t allowed to go anywhere where we can’t see the sun.”

Silverbelly considers the area where she woke up, a dense forest where shadow took up more space than the sun. “You weren’t supposed to be in the place you found me at.”

The kits look sheepish. “Sorry, Silverbelly.”

She sighs. “What’s important is that you’re safe.”

She stops at a river. The blue water churns past her. It's speckled with stars and moondust, and hopes that flickered through her clan. She dips her face in it, allowing the cool water to splash her muzzle. She figures it probably shouldn’t be drunk from. She’s never been one to mess with spirit water.

Smokekit and Icekit skip down the river. Ravenkit and Sandykit follow, and Silverbelly picks herself up to move with them.

“There’s stepping stones that we use to cross the river down here,” Icekit announces, then sheepishly adds: “Toro says it’s not safe to swim in the river.”

“I can see why,” she says. “It’s very rough. The current might drag you down.”

She follows them to the stones, watching their tiny little star specked bodies go from one smooth rock to the next.

Eventually, they end up to the hollow that the kits were talking about. There are several nests, stuffed with perfect downy feathers and soft moss. One of the several nests are occupied.

“Rabbitpounce.”

Rabbitpounce opens his eyes, then wildly blinks. “Silverbelly? What are you doing here? Are Eaglepaw and Hawkpaw okay? How are Bluefern and Blizzardfang? Do you–”

“Slow down,” she stops. “I can’t stay, I’m just dropping off some kits.”

Somewhere within the time allocated for Rabbitpounce’s panic, all four kits had managed to hide themselves behind Silverbelly. She shoos them in front of her with her tail.

“What have I told you about going out on your own?” Rabbitpounce scolds.

“Not to,” Icekit sheepishly says. “Sorry uncle.”

Rabbitpounce sighs. “I suppose I was the same way at your age. I think Tawnyash is back from hunting, why don’t you ask him to play?”

The kits beam, and run over to Tawnyash, who sighs, accepting his fate as a babysitter for a bit.

“So what brings you up in Starclan?” Rabbitpounce looks her over. “You aren’t dead, I can tell.”

“Odd dream,” she says. “It’s not really important, though. How have you been?”

“Missing my family,” Rabbitpounce sighs. “Morningbloom has been great, though. And Holly and Lichenstripe, they’re nice too.”

Silverbelly nods.

“Silverbelly?” A voice calls. Too familiar, too good to hear after this time, so unexpected she stutters.

“Dawnshine?”

“Silverbelly!” Dawnshine shouts, mouse forgotten as he bounds towards her.

“Oh my stars,” she whispers. “Dawnshine!”

“Stars, I’ve missed you,” he says, with a brief lick to the shoulder. Silverbelly rests her head on top of his, because she was taller than him and she’d never let him forget it. Dawnshine stops, and backs away. “Why are you here?”

She hopelessly flicks her tail.

“You’re not dead,” he says. “Figured. You went with Goldenstar to the glowcave, right?”

She nods.

“So how’d you get in Starclan territory?”

Another hopeless shrug. “Dunno. I just woke up in the forest.”

“Okay. I’m not panicking at all,” he adds on. “I just need to figure out how to get you out of here.”

“Isn’t Breezeshadow the bridge between the dead and living?” Rabbitpounce asks.

“So, find Breezeshadow?” Silverbelly asks. “Can’t be hard.”

Dawnshine shrugs. “I haven’t seen her since she ferried me up here. It’s hard to say where she might be.”

“Isn't she Scorchstar's sister or something?” Tawnyash casually drops. “Just ask Morningbloom to find her for you.”

“Morningbloom's busy with Goldenstar,” Dawnshine interjects. “Maybe Sunwish?”

Silverbelly remembers the constant animosity, every argument between her mentor and former leader, and winces. “Not Sunwish.”

“Who knows where Nettlestem is,” Dawnshine mutters. “So that leaves… ah…”

“Wildfang might know,” Rabbitpounce says.

The four cats glance at eachother, then nod.

“Sure,” Silverbelly says. “Do you know where she might be?”

Dawnshine shakes his head. Rabbitpounce does the same.

“Normally she's here at camp, but right around now we could probably find her over by Shining Lake,” Tawnyash says, paw reaching to bat a moss ball back towards the flurry of kittens. “I could take you there.”

“Alright, so do we get going now?” Silverbelly asks.

“It would be best,” Tawnyash says, padding over to her.

Rabbitpounce motions to the kits, and they all walk towards him.

“Silverbelly has to go now,” he says. A chorus of awww’s quickly follow. “Say goodbye.”

“Bye Silverbelly,” Icekit says. “It was fun showing you the rocks.”

“Bye Silverbelly,” Sandykit says, solemn. “May Starclan light your path.”

“Stupid,” Icekit chides. “We are Starclan.”

“Yeah, I'm lighting her path,” Sandykit says. “Keep up, featherbrain.”

The two start quietly bickering. Rabbitpounce fondly rolls his eyes.

“Bye-bye Silverbelly,” Smokekit says. He stretches one paw up and waves to her, and slips, an endearing motion. “Can you tell Rowankit I miss her?”

“I will,” Silverbelly says.

“Bye Silverbelly,” Ravenkit quietly says, so quietly she nearly can't hear him over the bickering of his siblings. “Can you tell mommy I miss her?”

And there's her heart, shattered into a million tiny pieces. Little tears prick the corners of her eyes, in a way they haven't since her mother and two siblings died in one night. “Of course.” She takes one, shaky, delicate breath. “Of course I will.”

She says goodbye to the kits, and she walks next to Tawnyash for a long while.

She'd never known the tom while she was still alive. Goldenstar, once or twice, had mentioned his passing, a landslide that had taken out half their original camp and forced them to relocate. She'd never met him in dreams.

Come to think of it, she's only met Wildfang once, at her naming ceremony.

Before she can think of it more, they arrive at the spot.

Wildfang is an elderly tortoiseshell with gray eyes. She has long fur. Those are the four details she remembered from her naming ceremony.

Yet again, she thinks, the rocks had to ruin everything.

They stop at Shining Lake.

“Wildfang, are you out here?” Tawnyash shouts. “I've got a visitor!”

A few moments pass, and Silverbelly worries she may not be getting anywhere. Finally, a voice rings across the lake.

“Tawnyash?” A pause. “And Silverbelly?” Soon enough, a figure comes into her view. “Now, I might have expected seeing you, but how is Silverbelly here?”

“I don't really know,” she explains. “But we thought Breezeshadow might know.” She winces at how hasty she's being. “Can you take me to her?”

Wildfang nods. “Of course. Right about now, she's probably in the bridge.”

–

As it turns out, ‘the bridge’ is the Starclan version of the glowcave. Wildfang leads her up a winding mountain, to a cave that looks suspiciously like her own Glowcave. Wildfang says to go inside on her own, so she does. She follows the line of mushrooms, and finally stops at a glowing stream.

“Pretty, isn't it?” A feminine voice calls. “Silverbelly, right? Wasn't expecting to see you here for another hundred moons or so, but things have been a bit unexpected lately.”

“Breezeshadow,” she says.

“That's me!” Breezeshadow smiles. “So, what brings you to my humble abode? Did you die?”

“No,” Silverbelly says. “I don't think so. I shouldn't be dead, I just fell asleep outside of the Glowcave.”

“Oh,” Breezeshadow nods. “Okay. So, it's a lot easier for me to get you in the right spots when we have a direct window. I probably got confused, that's on me, sorry.”

“Oookay.” Silverbelly blinks. In the dim light, she can make out a brown singlestripe pelt, similar to Scorchstar's. Bright cyan eyes blink at her.

Breezeshadow isn't all that old, she realizes. Maybe Scorchstar's age.

“Expecting an older cat?” Breezeshadow quips. Silverbelly freezes. “Oh, don't worry, I'd expect some ancient all powerful being too.”

“Yeah, sort of,” Silverbelly says.

“Sorry, sorry, I got sidetracked. You need to get home, right?”

Little whispers dance around the cave.

“Yeah,” Silverbelly says.

She thinks about the rocks, and thinks about Breezeshadow, arguably the most spiritual cat know to her clan. This may be the closest she'd ever get to understanding.

“You're going to ask me about the rocks,” Breezeshadow says. “Right?”

“How did you..”

“A feeling,” the molly shrugs. “Well, do you want me to help you or send you back now?”

One chance. One chance to finally understand, get a good night's sleep, finally be able to look at the rocks and understand what they mean.

She nods. “Help, please.”

“Okay, so, these rocks,” she says, sweeping her tail over the rocks that look exactly like the ones she's been seeing for seasons. “They're all cut from the same stone.”

“They look different, though,” Silverbelly says.

“They are, but that doesn't mean they're not similar.”

“What does that mean?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I've been trying to figure this out for way too long,” Silverbelly snaps.

“It's like the spirit from earlier told you,” Breezeshadow says. “Being dead doesn't make a cat all knowing. All it does is give us a little more time to think.”

Oh. That made more sense than when Fake-Sunwish had explained it.

“And, here's what I think: it's a premonition. It's warning you of something,” Breezeshadow says. The darkest rock, chocolate brown, has one crack in the middle of it. “What that something is, I'm afraid I don't know.”

A premonition. A feeling that something bad will happen. Like the vision, of the scorched earth and shadowed sun that she recieved when–

Oh.

“I think you're starting to get it,” Breezeshadow quietly says.

The rocks had something to do with Scorchstar.

“Frankly, it's not good for you to be visiting Starclan at the rate you do. Too much time up here and your internal clock gets messed up. Lose your sense of self a bit.” Breezeshadow waves her tail around her ear. “I think I'd better send you back now.”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

The rocks didn't mean anything good.

The feeling of stars, of fate death longing grief fate fate fate. The feeling of death death falling falling im falling—

why would he–

that hurts. oh, im bleeding.

She opens her eyes to the smooth stone of the mouth of the Glowcave, one bright star sparkling in the sky, and a lilac sky, and a phantom sensation of white hot pain searing through her.

-🍭

Previous chapters

(beetle note: ANOHTER CHAPTER OF WORRYBOX WOOOOO!!!!!!!!! fantastic as always,,,, read this one with rapt attention through breakfast, the part with the kits telling her "starclan be with you" made me almost spit out my toast)

[herballwitch]

Moon and Sea Healing + Cleansing Spell

Hello, My name is Alva Tauri! I am an herbalist, spirit worker, tarot and oracle reader, and lunar and herbal witch dedicated to closing the education gap when it comes to herbalism and witch practices!

Today I wanted to share a spell I made myself that I often use for healing and cleansing, as I have noticed there are not a lot of people discussing healing magic on tumblr.

I created this spell relatively recently to correspond with the Waning Gibbous moon cycle, as it is meant to be a time of cleansing and healing and is known to be a blessed time for water/ocean magic. (I am a lunar witch, so I do tend to do spells and perform magic in relation to the moon)

If you have any questions about the spell, how it's used, why certain ingredients are used, etc. please feel free to send an ask to my ask box!

With that being said, here is my moon and sea healing and cleansing spell!

Ingredients Needed for This Spell:

moon water

a bowl

a tealight candle

sea salt

mint

rosemary

jade

How to Perform the Spell:

as always, before you do anything, you should cleanse your tools and your space. this is immensely important. if you are new to cleansing, I have made a post about the many ways you can do this here that you may want to check out!

once your tools and space having been cleansed, take your bowl and pour moon water inside, only leaving about a quarter of an inch of room off the top.

then take your sea salt, mint, and rosemary and sprinkle each of them on the top one at a time. make sure that as you are doing this you are asking each herb to bless you, to aid you in healing, and to cleanse you and your space to ensure that it is a safe space for healing. remember to thank your herbs as well! gratitude goes a long way.

(optional step) take your tealight candle and carve a protection and/or cleansing sigil on the top. if you do not have a sigil to use check out my post here where I discuss what protection sigils I use. you can use one of these for this spell! if you are new to sigils and would like to learn more so that you can make your own, check out my sigil navigation post linked here.

now, place your tealight candle in the center of the water and light it.

grab your jade and hold it in your hands, clasping it firmly. while jade is normally representative of harmony and eternity, it is also known to take away stress and to support the bodies natural healing process.

now, you may call upon the gods, deities, and/or spirit guides that you work with and pray to them. ask them to aid you in this journey of healing, ask them to protect you and to cleanse your space so that you may grow and heal. if it feels right, you may leave them an additional offering to them at this time. however, in my experience the spell itself stands as an offering and this is not necessary.

let the tealight candle burn out completely. you do not have to sit at the altar the entire time it is burning. however, leaving it burning allows your connection with the gods/deities/spirits to remain open and allows the bowl and the gods/deities/spirits to absorb its energy.

when the candle has burned out you may get rid of the bowl and clean your space, as the spell is now complete.

That's all for the moon and sea healing and cleansing spell! I hope that you found this helpful in your spiritual journey and I hope that you are able to apply this information to your practice.

if you have any questions regarding anything discussed here or anything you feel that I have missed, please send an ask to my ask box! I appreciate all comments and questions and would be more than happy to go into more detail about spirit work!

For more information on my practice, witchcraft, herbalism, spirit work, and divination please check out the guide on my page (linked here)! Everything I have ever posted can be found there!

I wish you all a blessed day filled with peace, endless wealth, and eternal health! Until the next time we meet!

[anticidic]

🎃🐦‍⬛Trick or treat🎃🕸️

You have bested the haunted mansion's minions and thwarted the spooky ghost that roams the living quarters in order to make it this far. In your search, as you rub your hands together and notice at the end of a corridor is something shiny—that which sparkles under the fading light. You make out something metallic, and as you approach, a chill overcomes you, and with it, the most wonderful scent of roses as if you had been dropped into a garden. An overgrown one full of thorns where the hedges tower over you and the moon has disappeared behind them.

What's awaiting you in my bag of goodies? We'll just have to see! 👻

He danced. Fans in hand, he moved to a rhythm woven by jazz and soft vocals mourning the loss of a loved one, but who knew that when they closed their eyes and went to sleep, they would see a better tomorrow. A fan covered his face and the tiniest smile. He danced, and Chuuya could not look away.

ask box trick-or-treat (fic writer edition)

[callastargaryen]

secret santa :<

merry christmas 🎄☃️ or whenever :-) i wanted to write something small n cute n fun

“aegon wake up… aegon…” calla whispered as she tried to shake aegon awake. “gods how deep do you sleep?” she said before shaking him harder. once his eyes opened slightly she stopped. “finally you’re awake, it’s time to open presents with ryah and aemond… remember that they wanted to do secret father?”

aegon rubbed his eyes and groaned before looking at her. “yes, my love i remember. have they called for us?”

“no,” calla shook her head. “no but they must be awake it’s half past 8. service doesn’t start until 1 but i want us to have enough time to get ready…oh and arra needs to be bed and dressed-“

“calla,” aegon interrupted her.

“what?”

“it’ll be okay. we will have time,” he assured. “and patrice is here with us right? she can help with arra. calm your head.” she frowned at the interruption but nodded. soon enough the two were dressed and walking down the hallway to ryah and aemond quarters, gifts in hand.

the couple had begged calla and aegon to come with their daughter for her first christmas, and they did. they travelled by train to bring her, the journey wasn’t as bumpy as they expected for their first ride.

“i really hope they like our gifts, aegon,” calla mumbled nervously. “it’ll be a shame if they don’t.”

“exactly, that’s right princess. it’ll be a shame if they don’t like our very well thought out gifts,” aegon agreed. as they turned the final corner, the heirs guards had been waiting patiently.

“goodmorning, ser joshua, ser aaron,” calla said to the two. “are they awake?”

“your graces,” ser joshua said before bowing they bowed their heads. “yes, they’ve been waiting for the both of you. please come,” he said before knocking on their door and opening it.

“prince aegon and princess calla, your graces,” ser aaron announced before the two walked in. once they were in he shut the door behind them.

“calla!” ryah exclaimed and stood up to greet her sister, calla setting the gift in aegons arms before running up to her sister and hugging her tightly.

“goodmorning, sweet sister,” calla said before pulling away. “the night is long without you.”

“you know i’m just down the hall, sweet pea. you can visit whenever you’d like,” ryah assured before planting a kiss on her forehead. “now sit down with your gift.”

calla looked towards aegon, who was exchanging an awkward hug with his brother, aemond, due to the items in his arms. “let me take my box,” calla said and reached for it. aegon shook his head and assured he could carry it.

“no, it’s heavy i can carry it,” he said. “take your seat next to ryah now.”

“so he does things for you now?” ryah asked as the twins sat on the couch in her room, aemond and ryah’s gifts sitting on the center table. “what happened to the independent princess?” she asked as she took a drink from her cup of wine sat beside the gifts on her table.

“she just had a babe, she shouldn’t have to carry something heavy for long unless it’s our daughter,”aegon explained and he walked to his wife and set the box in her lap and on the sofa across from her.

“he insists,” calla agrees with her husband. “even if it’s been 6 moons.”

“my brother will always get his way,” aemond says. “now, let’s exchange gifts, hm?”

calla nodded quickly and held out her hands. “aemond i was your secret father this year. take it,” she urges.

he smiles softly and reached for the unexpectedly heavy box, taking it from her and setting it in his lap. he took of the paper gently, putting it on the ground once he finished and took the top off of the gift box. on the inside was a half a role of dark green tissue paper and a dagger in a small sheath. “what do we have here?” aemond asks and he takes it from the paper and set the box on the ground. he took the dagger out of the sheath, revealing a blade of valyrian steal with his dragon, cyprus, engraved onto it.

“do you like it?” calla asked, unable to read his expression and he examined the blade.

“that’s a very nice blade, sister,” ryah complimented. “i can only imagine how long it took to craft.”

“too long. i started it back in the summer. the smith is a genius to craft such a blade,” calla answered. “he’s blind, from essos with a female apprentice.”

“it’s beautiful, thank you calla,” aemond replied. “i love it.”

“good, i’m glad. aegon agreed that you would enjoy it as well,” calla said.

aemond set the blade in the box and reached for a small gift bag on the counter. “i suppose i should give my gift,” aemond started. “aegon, this one’s for you,” he said and held out the bag.

aegon reached for it and took it from his hands, setting the bag on his lap and opening it. inside was a bottle of aged whiskey, his favorite kind imported from essos. “brother, thank you,” he said and looked at aemond. “we will drink well while the twins enjoy their company.”

“you make it seem like we ignore you,” ryah interrupted him. “you’re just a man you wouldn’t understand,” she finished and she pulled calla closer to her. “let me give you your gift sister, i was your secret father this year.”

calla grinned and the embraced and nodded, grabbing the remaining box from the able. it was small, rectangular and long. she took of the top and gasped, looking at her sister. “oh my gods,”

inside the box was a necklace, a silver chain connected to a pendant of the gods star, small diamonds covering the entire thing.

“do you like it?” ryah asked.

“gods sister i love it,” she said before setting it down to embrace her. “you picked perfectly,” she said before kissing her check softly. “thank you.”

a small blush grew across ryah’s cheeks at the sudden kiss. “you’re welcome.”

aegon grabbed the bag he had set on the ground in front of him and spoke. “i don’t know how i will ever top a gift like that, however ryah this is for you,” he said as he held out the bag.

ryah turned her attention towards aegon and grabbed the bag. “thank you,” she said before digging in. inside of the bag was a dark red colored leather sheath for her sword. “oh gods aegon,” she began. she examined it closely and grinned. “this is absolutely gorgeous. this is a perfect gift.”

“you’re welcome, ryah. calla assured me that it would be perfect for you.”

“my sister is the person who knows me the best,” ryah agreed.

“now! time to open this whiskey, shall we?” aegon said. aemond nodded and stood, walking to a cart in the corner of their room and picking up four glasses.

“here, brother,” aemond set them down in front of him. “pour some for the four of us.”

[thatsadbietch]

The Legend of the Glowering White Grimmsnarl

Crow's Tickletober Days 3 (full moon), 9 (payback for a scare), 18 (camping), AND 28 (woods/forest)

Warning: Tickle fic! And mild cursing.

After a long day of adventuring, you and Arven settle in for the night. Rather than the comfort of your dorm room, however, he takes you camping and shares some interesting folklore.

————-

“There! All set!” Arven stated proudly, having finished pitching the tent, your and his sleeping quarters for the evening.

“You know, we probably could have made it back to the dorms before dark,” you mentioned, “so we wouldn’t have had to camp out here all night.” 

“Even so,” Arven replied, crossing his arms, as if he were disappointed in you saying such a thing, “now we can cook over an open flame, which will always make food taste better!”

“Did it have to be in Tagtree Thicket though? At dusk?” You looked around the forest and noted how dark it was getting already, the trees no help as their leaves and branches shielded much of the sunlight from the ground below them.

“Aw, you scared, little buddy?” Arven cooed, half-teasing, half-concerned, messing your hair.  You never asked him to fill this big brother type role, he just kind of inserted himself there: always making sure your team was healed after Titan battles, feeding Miradon, looking out for you in general while never losing sight of his own mission.

“N-no!” You swatted his hand away, “I just know the Mimikyu and Impidimps come out more at night.” Arven released Mabosstiff, as he usually does when you two took time to rest.

“We’ve fought nearly all the Titan pokemon, we’ll be fine! And besides, it’s your first time camping out here, yeah? I plan on giving you the full experience!” You rolled your eyes, kneeling down to build and start a proper campfire… giving up shortly after rubbing sticks together and seeing no sparks.  You ended up releasing your Armarouge and asking it to help light the fire.

“Thanks, Armarouge.  Since you’re out already, do you want to enjoy the full experience of camping with us?” you asked, with air quotes.  The pokemon nodded curtly and sat close to you.  It was familiar with Arven from fighting alongside his team in Titan battles and enjoyed his and Mabosstiff’s company. Arven chuckled at your sass.

“Just wait.  Now that there’s finally a fire going, I can start cooking!”  You noted Arven pulling out his supplies, though it didn’t look like he was preparing sandwiches this time.  You watched him retrieve a small pot and rice from his bag, along with several other ingredients and spices. He was too zoned-in on his craft to notice your confusion, so you merely watched him work.  He didn’t use measuring utensils, but was still meticulous about which ingredients and how much he used, his concentration not faltering once.

“I wonder if his face will freeze like that,” you commented out loud, mostly to yourself, but your Armarouge heard and seemed to be amused.

“Aaaand, done!” Arven announced, presenting to you and Armarouge with a bowl of curry before sitting down across from you with his own and Mabosstiff’s serving.

“Not your usual, Arven,” you pointed out, blowing on a spoonful to cool it off.

“Yeah, I went outside the box for your first camping trip.  You’re welcome, little buddy.” Arven mused, clearly proud of himself. “Curry is super popular in the Galar region.  If they can do it, so can I.” And he did it well, as he usually did with all things cooking.  You’d never tasted a meal of his that you didn’t enjoy.

“You REALLY outdid yourself this time, Arven. I might not be able to go back to sandwiches after this,” you teased, and Armarouge murmured in agreement.

“Don’t get too used to it, some of these ingredients are from Galar, and they weren’t cheap. But you’ve helped us out a lot so… I’m happy to.” Your teasing smirk turned to a genuine smile, looking at your friend and his companion pokemon.  While Mabossiff was still in no shape to battle, he was leaps and bounds better than when you first met him.

Arven looked up toward the sky and grinned.  “How fitting, the moon is full.  You know what that means, don’t you?” You and Armarouge set your empty bowls down and looked at Arven quizzically.  

“I guess not. Well, I promised the full experience, and no camping trip would be complete without telling you the Legend of the Glowering White Grimmsnarl.” 

You couldn’t help yourself: you burst in cackles. “Thahat sounds ridiculous!”

“I’m serious!”

“Okhahay, okay, please enlighten us,” you settled, nudging your Armarouge that was making breathy sounds that could be interpreted as chuckles.

“With pleasure,” he began, his stoic demeanor on the subject only weakening your ability to keep a straight face.

“The legend tells of a Morgrem, shunned by its fellow Morgrem and Impidimps for having white hair instead of black.  Its white hair was so bright, even at night, that it was always seen by both predator and prey, making hunting difficult and risking the safety of its herd.  One day, it was chased out of its herd, forced to wander Tagtree Thicket all on its own.”

Your chortles and looks of amusement faded, letting yourself be immersed in the story.  Armarouge placed a protective hand on your shoulder and scanned the forest around you.

“The Morgrem fended for itself pretty well, considering the odds against it.  That is, until one night, there was a huge, bright, full moon, a lot like this one, actually.”  You looked up, and even through the trees you could tell the moon was at its full glory, and seemed huge in the sky.  

“The moonlight was so brilliant that night, that the Morgrem’s hair appeared to radiate with it.  But it had no more food in its shelter, and had to go looking for more.  That’s when a gang of Spidops ambushed it.” You felt yourself scoot closer to your Armarouge.

“It was no match for the horde of Spidops, not by itself.  And just when it thought it couldn’t take anymore, a huge glow enveloped the entire thicket.  The neighboring town’s residents at the time swore it was as bright as daylight in the middle of the night.  Turns out, it was the Morgrem, evolving into the biggest, strongest, and nastiest snow-white Grimmsnarl ever known.  Not only did it fight off the Spidops, it found its old herd and drove them completely out of the thicket in a terrifying rage, along with any other pokemon that got in its way.  So from then on, the Grimmsnarl’s white hair was no longer a give-away, but a warning to the pokemon and trainers that wander in the forest.  Especially when the moon is full, since it's said that’s where it draws its unfathomable strength. And, if somehow you miss its brilliant white hair in the moonlight, there is no mistaking its guttural, earth-shattering cry…”

“GRRROOOOAAAAARRR!”

You latched onto Armarouge and elicited a frightened, piercing scream, while Armarouge, holding you steady with one arm, readied the other one to defend against what it thought was going to be a gigantic white Grimmsnarl.  However, after a beat you heard Arven breaking into hysterics, and opened your eyes to see not a gigantic white Grimmsnarl, but a Toedscruel.  More specifically, Arven’s Toedscruel, walking back to his trainer, making a deep chuckling sound along the way.

“ARVEN! YOU SCARED THE HELL OUT OF US!”  He almost didn’t hear your scolding over his own laughter.

“Ithihihit was sohohoho gohohohod! Youho should hahave seen your fahahace!” You huffed, feeling your face flush.

“Aww, come ohohon, little buddy,” he said, starting to calm down, returning Toedscruel to its pokeball, “Scary stories are camping staples! And the moon is full, I couldn’t waste a perfect opportunity!” You sighed as your heart rate returned to a normal pace.

“Okay, okay, you had your fun, I’ll take your apology now,” you spat, still in a pout. Arven, seeing this, chuckled again.

“I’m not apologizing, it was a story! That’s what you do when you go camping!” You glared at him, knowing he meant no harm, and was just having a laugh at your expense.  Well, if it's a laugh he wanted…

“Don’t make me make you apologize, Arven!”

“Oooh, I’m soooo scared,” Arven mocked, “What are you gonna do, call the white Grimmsnarl on me?”

“I don’t need the white Grimmsnarl,” you stated, “I have Armarouge.”  You looked past Arven, who was confused for a moment before your ever-loyal pokemon grabbed his arms and pinned them behind him.  Arven jumped, obviously never noticing Armarouge creep over, and tried to stand and break its grip, but Armarouge wasn’t one of your strongest team members for nothing.  

You stood and strode over menacingly, fingers taking the form of claws.  Arven seemed to get it now, and struggled a bit more spastically.

“N-now little buddy, let’s not be hasty, it was all in fun, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, it certainly was, we liked your story for sure, right Armarouge?” 

“Ar, mar,” it replied, tightening its grip on Arven.  You reached Arven and placed your “claws” on Arven’s already shaking belly, an involuntary smile starting to form across his features.

“But if it was a laugh you wanted, you could have just asked.”

“Th-that’s nohohot what I said- hehehehe, nohohoho lihihittle buddy!” He giggled, as you wasted no time gently scribbling and skittering your fingers along the young chef’s midsection, a yelp escaping after you slipped a hand under his shirt to reach his bare belly.

“Wahahahait, nohohoho!” Arven gasped, still trying to free himself from Armarouge’s grip.  You looked up to your companion pokemon, and could tell it was just as amused as you were.

“Should a cook’s stomach be so sensitive?” You teased, watching your friend’s reactions, and still futile attempts to keep his composure. “You’d think a cook would need a hardened stomach, since you eat all kinds of different food.” At that, you skittered in and around Arven’s belly button, to which his laughter positively boomed and kicked his legs out, almost kicking you.

“LIHIHIHITTLE BUDDEEEHEHEHE! NOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHERE!” He thrashed, but Armarouge held firm, even when Arven’s head was thrown back against its chest in ticklish agony.

“Not where, heeeere?” You dragged, wiggling a finger in his belly button while your other hand still scurried up and down his sides.

“NAHAHAHAHA, DOHOHOHON’T! BWAHAHAHA!” If there were smaller, curious pokemon close by, Arven’s boisterous laughter probably scared them off.  

“Shhh! Arven! The Glowering White Grimmsnarl will hear you!” You continued to torment, backing off of his weakest point to instead test another spot against your ticklish grip, suddenly squeezing the tops of his knees. His booming laugher calmed to a bubbly cackle, which was honestly quite adorable.  

Now that you thought about it, you had only just recently begun to see Arven smile, due to the hopefulness he had for his companion.  Oh, Mabosstiff! You turned and realized he was watching the whole interaction, tail wagging in approval.  Arven followed your gaze to his dear friend.

“Mahahahabosstiff! Dohohoho somethihihing!” And, at his trainer’s command, he did get up to do something.  That something being nuzzling his snout in Arven’s ribs.

“NOHOHOT WHAT I MEANT! MAHAHAHABOSSTIFF, NOHOHO!”

“I think he likes seeing your smile! You don’t do it enough, you know,” you “scolded,” and Mabosstiff offered a “rrrruff” in Arven’s underarm as if to agree.  This only deepened the blush on Arven’s face as his giggling somehow got more bubbly and boy-like, almost making you forget that he was actually your upperclassman.

“TRAHAHAHAITOR! BOHOHOTH OF YOU!” he sputtered, not trying too hard to escape Armarouge’s grip anymore, whether out of giving in or exhaustion, Armarouge couldn’t tell.

“Aaar, ma,” it said, in a tone you recognized as one of concern.  You waved at Mabosstiff, getting his attention and ceasing his attack on his master’s ribs and underarms.  Arven caught his breath as Armarouge continued to hold him for support.

“Are you good, Arven? I’ll take this over an apology any day,” you jested, Arven chuckling now of his own accord.

“You got me pretty good, little buddy, I’ll give you that. I’m okay, now, Armarouge. You can let go.  I would thank you, except you’re also to blame.” Armarouge made that same breathy sound from earlier, recognized as a laugh, and walked back in your direction.  Arven hunched over and rested one of his elbows on his knees, catching his breath. He had the other hand on Mabosstiff, patting the top of his head.  He stood after a moment and looked at you, chuckling again and shaking his head.

“I’m going to bed.  A monster worse than the white Grimmsnarl got to me.  You’ll get yours, little buddy, you’ll see.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say.  I think I like this camping thing, but I’ll turn in, too.  Maybe you can tell another story?”

“NO!”