#remind me to never draw grass again

[woolying]

im death

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Cat got your tongue (Percival de Rollo x Half Tabaxi!Reader)

synopsis: Percy liked to believe he wasn´t territorial or easily jealous, but something about seeing you with Vax makes his blood boil.

warnings: jealousy, marking, smut, afab reader

word count: 0.9k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall

A/N: Thank you @kawaiiangel906 for this request and I am so so sorry it took me so long to get to it. I hope you still enjoy. <3

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by @saradika

Laughter sounded over the grounds of the keep from outside all the way into Percy's workshop. Not even concealed by the sounds of the white-haired man tinkering with a weapon. It wasn't like he had much concentration left for it at the moment anyway, but what little was left of it before fled faster than it had come to him. This had been going on for far too long in his more or less humble opinion. This thing between you and Vax’ildan. Not a thing, as you had reminded him countless times, fur covered ears twitching at the idea of it alone. Worries temporarily stifled with a sweet kiss to the forehead and a deep hug. Filled with whispered confessions of love.

Grumbling under his breath Percy makes his way out of the keep.

“Percy!” You immediately jump up and run towards him, a wide grin on your face.

Percy’s eyes lay on Vax for a moment longer, who sits left behind on the grass where you had just trained with him, looking right back at the two of you. When Percy's eyes snap back to you he can see your mouth moving. Had he really not heard you talking this entire time?

“I'm sorry, my love. Could you repeat yourself?” He asks  the back of his neck.

“I just told you about my training with Vax… Are you not feeling well?” Your eyebrows draw together tightly.

“N-No, it's nothing. I am quite alright. Thank you.” Percy takes a hasty step back to avoid your hand coming up to feel his temperature. “Perhaps too much time in the workshop. I am happy that the progress you and Vax’ildan are making is to your liking.”

“Come sit with us then. We were about to be finished for the day anyway.” Your hand caresses his cheek, the other taking him to pull him along.

Night has never been particularly calm amongst the group either. Most certainly not since you had obtained the keep. Laughter and the sounds of people drinking into the early morning hours traveled easily. But this night's rest was particularly hard to come by. It could. Your bones hurt from the extensive exercise each day and the fights in between. Just not with a certain someone distracting you from the sweet release of slipping off to slumberland by needy lips grazing over the skin of your shoulder blades and teeth nipping at the column of your neck.

“Percival…” You groan. “It is late.”

The words come out mumbled and somewhat unintelligible. Still you turn your head until you can see the white head of hair from the corners of your eyes. One heavy hand finding its way into the light tresses to play with them.

“You have barely spent any time with me or anyone that isn't Vax’ildan lately.” Comes the equally mumbled response against your back.

He doesn't stop what he is doing until you are awake again and turn around fully.

“Love…” You begin a sentence but are quickly shut up by the possessive grip pulling your waist impossibly close to his.

“Shhh. This will just serve as a reminder to the others that you are mine.” Percy's teeth nip right below your jawline. Sucking on the tender flesh until deep purple bruises bloom all over.

Pressed into the mattress by his lean hips, you writhe and mewl helplessly. Subconsciously, your own hips begin to grind up against his after a while. Unable to just take it anymore.

“More.” You plead in high pitched tones. No matter how much you try, your voice just won't stay down.

“Nuh uh uh. What's the magic word, dear?” Percy reprimands you with a smile on his face.

He can feel the movement of your hips as well and it is a game to him. He is fully in charge of you and your pleasure in this moment and he knows it just as well as you do.

“Please, Percy. I need more.” You try again with your tail wrapping tightly around Percy's middle to prevent him from possibly pulling away.

“See, that wasn't so hard. When you ask nicely people will be far more inclined to give you what you are asking for.” He slides down almost unnoticeably, pushing up your nightdress, until his chin rests against your sternum, just underneath the valley of your breasts. Scattering more purple spots over them and then wandering further down. A puff of warm breath bringing your legs together around his shoulders. With a chuckle and two fingers, Percy opens them up again.

“Now, let everyone hear who you belong to.” The words echo in your ear as only moments after, his length impaled you in one rough thrust.

A groan in unison fills the room, on one side from the sudden stretch and on the other, because in response your claws shot out and dug into his shoulders. The rhythm with which he starts thrusting into you as soon as he recovers, has you near screaming. Moans of his name and desperate pleas string together to a sort of prayer. The sweetest prayer Percy had ever heard in his life. Until he has driven you over the edge so often that your throat is sore and your body is a twitching mess. Brain so clouded in fog that you can barely concentrate on anything beside his body against yours.

As you lay beside each other, entirely spent, Percy's hand trailing over your side, a satisfied purring fills the room from your lungs. Not even strong enough to keep your eyes open any longer, you are finally granted the relief of sleep. Dreaming of only one man. The one right beside you, who at that moment felt you were his completely. Pressing one last kiss against the back of your neck as he drifted off to sleep as well.

[novaursa]

Legacy (future of the realm)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Canon events and timeline do not match the plot of the story.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous chapter: dragon in the garden

- Next part: the calling

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

You sat on a carved stone bench, your hands folded neatly in your lap as you watched Damon. Your son was sprawled on a soft blanket spread over the grass, his tiny hands reaching for a toy carved into the shape of a lion. His eyes were wide with wonder as he cooed at the toy.

Ser Barristan Selmy stood a few paces away, his ever-watchful gaze scanning the gardens. Though Highgarden seemed a safe haven compared to King’s Landing, Barristan remained vigilant. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, a silent testament to his unwavering dedication to your safety.

The sound of measured footsteps drew your attention. Turning slightly, you saw a man approach—a tall figure with dark hair and a dignified air, his gait steady despite the cane he used for support. Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden, inclined his head politely as he came closer.

“Lady Y/N,” he greeted, his tone warm yet respectful. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

You offered a small smile, gesturing for him to join you. “Not at all, Lord Willas. Please, sit.”

Willas settled onto the bench beside you, his cane resting against the edge. His gaze shifted to Damon, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “He’s a striking child. The union of lion and dragon has produced quite the heir.”

You followed his gaze, your expression softening as you watched your son. “He is my greatest joy,” you said quietly. “And a reminder of all that must be protected.”

Willas nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Highgarden is honored to host you and your family. My grandmother speaks highly of you.”

You chuckled lightly. “Lady Olenna speaks highly of few, but I will take that as a compliment.”

“She’s not wrong,” Willas said, his tone sincere. “You’ve endured much and yet remain composed, regal even. It’s... admirable.”

You glanced at him, noting the honesty in his words. “Endurance is a lesson taught early in my family,” you said, your voice steady. “But tell me, Lord Willas, what brings you to the gardens today?”

Willas hesitated briefly, as though weighing his words. “I came to see you, if I’m honest. I’ve heard much about you—your strength, your wisdom. And I wished to offer my gratitude.”

“Gratitude?” you echoed, your brow furrowing slightly.

“For Sansa Stark,” he clarified. “It was no secret that she was to be my bride before circumstances changed. Though the marriage never came to pass, I’ve heard how you’ve looked after her, protected her even.”

You inclined your head, your gaze thoughtful. “Sansa is like a sister to me. Protecting her is something I do not consider a burden.”

Willas smiled faintly. “Still, it is a kindness not everyone would extend. The Starks have suffered greatly, and to know she has someone like you watching over her... it eases the mind.”

You fell silent for a moment, your thoughts briefly drifting to Sansa and the many trials she had endured. “The world has been unkind to her,” you said softly. “But she is stronger than she knows.”

Willas studied you for a moment, his expression contemplative. “And you? Have you found kindness in the world?”

You blinked, taken aback by the question. “Kindness is a rarity,” you admitted. “But it exists, in small, fleeting moments. Sometimes, that is enough.”

Willas nodded, his gaze once again shifting to Damon, who was now babbling happily as he tried to roll onto his side. “Perhaps he will grow up in a world where kindness is more than a fleeting moment.”

You smiled faintly, hope flickering in your chest. “Perhaps.”

Ser Barristan cleared his throat subtly, drawing your attention. You turned to see him watching you closely, his expression unreadable. “Is everything well, my lady?” he asked, his tone polite but firm.

“Everything is fine, Ser Barristan,” you assured him, though you noted the slight tension in his stance.

Willas rose to his feet, retrieving his cane. “I won’t keep you any longer,” he said, his tone courteous. “Thank you for indulging me, Lady Y/N.”

“Thank you for your company, Lord Willas,” you replied, inclining your head.

As he walked away, you turned your attention back to Damon, who had finally managed to grasp the lion-shaped toy. His delighted giggle brought a smile to your lips, even as the weight of Willas’s words lingered in your mind. 

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows of Highgarden’s solar, casting dappled light on the polished wooden table where Tywin Lannister sat. Across from him, Lady Olenna Tyrell reclined in her chair with an air of practiced ease, her sharp eyes shining with amusement. Lord Mace Tyrell, seated to Olenna’s left, was all smiles, his boisterous tone filling the room as he gestured animatedly.

“Such a fine boy, Lord Tywin,” Mace was saying, his voice carrying a note of pride as if he had somehow contributed to Damon’s existence. “A true union of two great houses. The talk of the Reach, I assure you.”

Tywin’s expression was as composed as ever, his piercing green eyes fixed on Mace with faint disinterest. “The boy is six moons old, Lord Tyrell. Talk of him should concern his health and upbringing, not idle gossip.”

Olenna smirked, her gaze shifting between the two men. “Ah, but idle gossip is the lifeblood of noble houses, isn’t it?” she remarked dryly. “And it seems your son is quite the subject of fascination, Lord Tywin. Already, several of our bannermen are inquiring about potential matches.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened slightly, though his voice remained measured. “The boy is an infant. He will not be bartered away like a commodity.”

Olenna leaned forward, her cane resting lightly against her lap. “Bartered? Goodness, how harsh you make it sound. We’re speaking of alliances, Tywin, not cattle. Surely you understand the value of securing the boy’s future.”

“The boy’s future,” Tywin replied coolly, “is not a matter for speculation. It will be decided when the time is appropriate—by me and his mother.”

Mace chuckled nervously, attempting to mediate. “Of course, of course. No one is suggesting anything immediate. But you must admit, the union of lion and dragon has... captivated many. Why, Lord Florant himself—”

“Lord Florant,” Tywin interrupted, his voice cutting through Mace’s like a knife, “should concern himself with his duties, not my son’s future.”

Olenna tilted her head, her amusement undiminished. “You’re protective, Tywin. Understandable. But you must admit, it’s rather endearing to see how much sway the boy already holds. The nobility of the Reach is positively buzzing.”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, though his tone remained firm. “Let them buzz. Damon will not be paraded as a prize. His place is with his family, under my protection, and that of his mother.”

Olenna’s smirk softened into something more contemplative. “And what of his mother? She’s a clever one, Tywin. A rare combination of grace and steel. I imagine she has her own thoughts on what’s best for the boy.”

Tywin didn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable. Finally, he said, “She understands what is necessary for Damon’s upbringing. That is all that matters.”

Olenna chuckled softly, her sharp gaze never leaving Tywin’s face. “Necessary. Always so practical.”

Mace cleared his throat awkwardly, sensing the tension. “Perhaps we should focus on the feast preparations,” he suggested, his tone overly cheerful. “After all, we wouldn’t want to disappoint our guests.”

Olenna sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Yes, yes, let’s discuss the feast. Though I must say, Tywin, it’s a pity you’re so resistant to the idea of alliances. The boy could command loyalty from half the realm before he can even walk.”

Tywin stood, his movements deliberate and controlled. “I will not sacrifice my son’s future for the fleeting whims of others,” he said, his voice cold and final. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are matters I must attend to.”

As Tywin left the solar, Olenna watched him go, her expression thoughtful. “He’s stubborn, I’ll give him that,” she remarked to Mace, her tone laced with both admiration and exasperation. “But that boy... he’ll shape the future of this realm, whether Tywin likes it or not.”

Mace nodded eagerly, though his mind was already on the feast and the praise he hoped to garner from the assembled nobles. Olenna, however, remained silent, her sharp mind turning over the possibilities as she considered the Lannister-Targaryen child and the power he represented.

Tywin found you sitting on a stone bench near the edge of Highgarden’s famed lavender field, cradling Damon in your arms. The soft purple blooms swayed gently in the warm breeze, their sweet scent filling the air, but Tywin’s mood was far from serene. His jaw was set, his expression stern as he approached, the earlier conversation with Olenna and Mace Tyrell clearly still weighing on him.

You looked up as he neared, your sharp eyes catching the tension in his stride. Damon cooed softly, his tiny hands clutching at the folds of your gown, oblivious to the gravity of the moment.

“Tywin,” you greeted, your voice calm, though your tone carried a weight of its own. “You’re troubled.”

He stopped a few paces away, his hands clasped behind his back. “Troubled, no. Irritated, perhaps. Olenna and her endless meddling have a way of testing one’s patience.”

You offered a faint smile, though your expression turned serious. “Then I regret that what I’m about to say will likely test it further.”

Tywin’s brow furrowed, his gaze narrowing. “What is it?”

You adjusted Damon in your arms, ensuring he was comfortable before meeting Tywin’s piercing gaze. “I need to speak with you about something important. Something I cannot delay any longer.”

He gestured for you to continue, his posture stiff with expectation.

“I need to go to High Heart,” you said evenly, your voice steady despite the weight of the words.

Tywin’s expression darkened immediately, his sharp mind connecting the dots with alarming speed. “High Heart? The very place where you were captured by my men before being brought to Harrenhal?” His voice was low, edged with a rare note of incredulity. “Do you realize what you’re asking? The Riverlands are far from stable, and High Heart is no place for you or our son.”

“I know,” you replied, your tone unwavering. “But this is not a whim, Tywin. It is something I need to do.”

He stepped closer, his eyes searching yours for an explanation. “You need to do this? Why? What could possibly compel you to return to such a dangerous place?”

You hesitated, the memories of your capture and the strange dreams that had led you to High Heart flickering through your mind. Damon stirred slightly in your arms, and you took a deep breath before answering. “I cannot explain it fully. But I was drawn there before, and I am drawn there again. There are... answers I must seek, truths I must confront.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his irritation now laced with concern. “Truths? Answers? From what? From whom? You are speaking in riddles.”

You sighed, lowering your gaze briefly before meeting his eyes again. “There is something... someone... that calls to me. High Heart holds a connection I cannot ignore. It is not merely curiosity—it is necessity.”

“Necessity,” he repeated coldly, his voice laced with skepticism. “What necessity could justify endangering yourself, our son, and our position?”

“I would never endanger Damon,” you said firmly, your grip on the child tightening protectively. “Nor would I make this request lightly. But I must go, Tywin. I cannot explain it any more clearly than that.”

Tywin’s eyes burned with intensity as he stared at you, his mind clearly racing. Finally, he shook his head, his tone cutting. “This is madness. Even if the Riverlands were secure, which they are far from being, we are not prepared for such a journey. High Heart is isolated, and the dangers along the way are numerous.”

“I know,” you said softly, your voice calm but resolute. “But I am asking you to trust me. To allow me to do this.”

Tywin scoffed, though there was more frustration than malice in the sound. “Trust is earned, and this... this is a request that borders on folly.”

You stood, holding Damon close as you took a step toward him. “You’ve trusted me before, Tywin, even when it went against your better judgment. I am asking for that trust again.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he exhaled sharply, his tone measured but firm. “I will consider it. But do not expect miracles. The logistics alone make this request—”

“Thank you,” you interrupted gently, surprising him with your gratitude. “That is all I ask.”

Tywin’s gaze softened ever so slightly as he looked down at Damon, who blinked up at him with innocent curiosity. “You may find my patience finite,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But you have always had my ear, even when you test its limits.”

You smiled faintly, the tension between you easing just enough to allow a moment of understanding. “And you have always had mine.”

Tywin straightened, his commanding presence reasserting itself. “We will speak of this again when I have assessed the risks. Until then, focus on what is here and now.”

You nodded, watching as he turned and strode away, his cloak billowing behind him. 

The humid air of Essos clung to the small room where Tyrion Lannister and Varys sat. The faint hum of distant chatter from the bustling port city filtered through the cracked shutters, mingling with the scent of salt and spice carried by the breeze. Tyrion leaned back in his chair, a goblet of wine in hand, his sharp eyes fixed on the Spider sitting across from him. Varys, as usual, was impeccably composed, his hands folded neatly in his lap as he watched Tyrion with a faint, unreadable smile.

“So, Lord Varys,” Tyrion began, swirling the wine in his goblet, “once you’ve delivered me to our dragon queen, what then? Will you bask in her fiery gratitude or find some other noble cause to meddle in?”

Varys’s smile didn’t waver, though his gaze grew slightly distant. “There is always work to be done, my lord. The realm is never without its needs, and I serve the realm.”

Tyrion snorted, taking a long sip of his wine. “Ah, the realm. That abstract thing you’ve pledged your life to. How noble. But surely you’ve something more tangible in mind.”

Varys tilted his head, considering Tyrion’s words. “There is another who needs my help more immediately, someone whose future may shape the realm in ways we cannot yet foresee.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with interest. “Another? Let me guess—my stepmother, the Lady Y/N? She could certainly use an ally with all the vipers circling her at court.”

A faint chuckle escaped Varys, a rare sound that seemed almost amused. “A wise guess, my lord, but not entirely correct.”

Tyrion frowned, his curiosity piqued. “Not her? Then who?”

Varys leaned forward slightly, his expression carefully measured. “Her son. Your brother, Damon.”

Tyrion blinked, momentarily taken aback. He set his goblet down, his lips curving into a wry smile. “My brother? Well, that’s unexpected. I must say, I didn’t peg you as the sentimental type, Varys. But do go on.”

Varys’s tone remained even, though his gaze sharpened. “Damon is not merely a child, my lord. He is the union of lion and dragon, a symbol of a legacy that carries weight far beyond his tender age. His existence alone has already stirred whispers across the realm. He will need protection and guidance if he is to survive the world he was born into.”

Tyrion leaned back, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded Varys with an amused glint in his eye. “Protection and guidance, you say? And here I thought my father was the overbearing parent. Best not let him catch wind of your noble intentions for young Damon. He might start sharpening his quill for a strongly worded letter.”

Varys allowed himself a small smile. “Your father is a man of practicality, Lord Tyrion. I doubt he would begrudge anyone taking steps to ensure his heir’s safety.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his smile turning sly. “His heir? Funny, I thought that self proclaimed title still belonged to my sister. You seem awfully confident in Damon’s place in my father’s heart.”

Varys met Tyrion’s gaze steadily. “Tywin Lannister is many things, but a fool he is not. Damon represents the future of House Lannister and House Targaryen. He will be the bridge between two great houses, if he survives.”

Tyrion’s expression sobered slightly, his sharp mind piecing together the implications. “If he survives. That’s quite the qualifier, isn’t it? You think he’s in danger?”

Varys’s expression didn’t falter, though there was a faint shadow in his eyes. “A child born into power is always in danger, my lord. But Damon’s bloodline makes him both a prize and a threat. There are those who would see him removed from the game before he can even begin to play it.”

Tyrion sighed, reaching for his wine again. “And you, ever the altruist, will ensure he’s not removed. I suppose that’s commendable in its own way. Though I imagine my father might find it less so.”

Varys inclined his head slightly, his smile faint but unyielding. “The realm has need of such children, Lord Tyrion. They represent the possibilities of a future unburdened by the sins of their forebears. If I can aid in shaping that future, I will.”

Tyrion regarded him for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Finally, he raised his goblet in a mock toast. “To Damon, then. May he inherit all the ambition and cunning of my father without the accompanying bitterness.”

Varys chuckled softly, though his gaze remained contemplative. “To Damon,” he echoed, his voice quiet but resolute.

The feast was grand, as one would expect from Highgarden, with long tables draped in emerald and gold, laden with bountiful platters of food. The hall was filled with the hum of conversation, the clinking of goblets, and the lilting tunes of the musicians stationed at the far end of the room. Lord Mace Tyrell, in his typical boisterous fashion, was holding court among a group of lesser lords, his laughter booming over the polite chuckles of his audience.

You sat beside Tywin at the high table, your posture poised as you sipped from a goblet of watered wine. Tywin’s expression was as unreadable as ever, though you could sense his growing irritation with the endless chatter around him. His pale green eyes flicked over the crowd, occasionally narrowing when Mace’s laughter grew particularly grating.

“This is a spectacle,” you murmured softly, leaning slightly toward Tywin. “But I suspect it’s not to your taste.”

Tywin glanced at you, his lips twitching into the faintest semblance of a smirk. “Your insight, as always, is impeccable.”

You smiled, turning your attention back to the revelers below. The lords and ladies of the Reach moved gracefully through the hall, their laughter light and musical, their movements elegant as they danced to the lively tunes.

Tywin’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and deliberate. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen you on a dance floor.”

You raised an eyebrow, turning to meet his gaze. “I wasn’t aware you were keeping track.”

“I notice many things,” he replied, his tone neutral, though his eyes carried a hint of something more. “Would you care to remind me how well you move?”

You blinked, surprised. “Are you asking me to dance?”

Tywin inclined his head slightly, his expression betraying none of the inner workings of his mind. “I am.”

For a moment, you hesitated, studying him carefully. It wasn’t like Tywin to indulge in something as frivolous as dancing, especially in such a public setting. But the faint challenge in his gaze was unmistakable, and you weren’t one to back down.

Rising gracefully, you extended your hand toward him. “Very well, my lord. Let us remind these lords and ladies how it’s done.”

Tywin stood, his commanding presence drawing the attention of those nearby. Taking your hand, he led you to the center of the hall, where the other dancers parted to make way for the formidable Hand of the King and his Targaryen wife. The musicians adjusted their tune, transitioning to a stately waltz that suited the moment perfectly.

As Tywin placed one hand on your waist and clasped your hand with the other, you couldn’t help but note the ease with which he moved. Despite his reserved nature, there was a confidence to his movements, a precision that spoke of a man who rarely did anything without mastery.

“You’re surprisingly skilled at this,” you remarked, your voice low enough for only him to hear.

“I was taught properly,” he replied, his tone as matter-of-fact as ever. “Though it’s not a skill I’ve often found useful.”

“Yet here you are,” you said, your lips curving into a faint smile. “A rare indulgence, I imagine.”

“Perhaps,” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours. “Or perhaps I simply wished to remind these people that their idle chatter is beneath notice.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly at that. “Ever the strategist.”

Tywin’s lips twitched again, the closest thing to a smile he allowed himself. “And you? Are you enjoying yourself, or are you as bored as I am?”

Your gaze flicked briefly to the high table, where Mace continued to regale his audience with tales of his supposed accomplishments. “Let’s just say I’m grateful for the distraction.”

He nodded slightly, his expression softening. “Then we’re agreed.”

The two of you moved seamlessly across the floor, your steps perfectly in sync. Around you, the gathered lords and ladies watched in awe, their whispers barely audible over the music. It was a rare sight indeed to see Tywin Lannister partaking in such an activity, let alone with a partner as captivating as you.

As the dance drew to a close, Tywin brought you to a halt with a final flourish, his grip on your waist firm but respectful. The room erupted into polite applause, though neither of you paid it much mind. His eyes remained locked on yours, his expression inscrutable but undeniably focused.

“Thank you for indulging me,” he said quietly, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You inclined your head, a hint of amusement in your eyes. “The pleasure was mine, my lord.”

As Tywin escorted you back to the high table, you couldn’t help but notice the shift in the atmosphere. The lords and ladies of Highgarden were reminded, in that moment, of the power and unity you and Tywin represented—a union of lion and dragon, commanding respect even in the most mundane of settings.

[dolche-tejada]

You know, usually after a decade most people tend to take a step back from the works they love to think about it more objectively but it seems like Pricefielders are still unable to do something that simple.

Seriously, what the fuck. Admire this level of mental gymnastics, we're at least on an Olympic scale right there. It's because of this kind of bullshit that Warren fans and Carlos Luna (his voice actor) got harassed for years and still receive death threats, just because Pricefielders are crybabies who can't cope with their fav also being interested in men and that their precious sapphic ship isn't Max's everything or the whole point of the game.

So given that I've got some time to waste, I will debunk here their delusions, or at least most of them because trust me, the list is long.

1. "Warren is an incel !"

They act as if he's forcing Max to give her affection, regularly crossing her boundaries, is only interested in her for sex and playing the Nice Guys to get in her pants so let's take a look at how he acts through the game and Max's interactions with him :

Regardless of the player's choices, Max introduces him in her diary as a very good friend whom she sees as honest, an ally at Blackwell and someone who makes her smile.

Across the game, she grows even more fond of him after seeing him stood up for her and himself, calling him notably an "Everyday Hero".

Although his attraction to Max is obvious, he doesn't force his feelings on her in any way.

He jokes that being nice means not getting laid… Like any 16yo awkward teenager who doesn't know how to talk to girls. Hell, even Max jokes with him about it, get real.

When Nathan threatens Max on the parking, he protects her without any hesitation even though she mentioned he was wielding a gun in the girls' bathroom, and gets beaten up to allow her to flee.

Max can accept to go Ape with him, saying it's exactly what she needs.

She trusts him so much that she wanted to tell him her secret from the start, regardless of how you define the nature of their relationship.

After Kate's suicide (attempt), he comforts Max by putting his arm around her, while making sure to leave some space between them. The kind of sweet thing an incel would NEVER do. No romantic act or intent of any kind here, just a friend worried about someone he cares about. If you see this as a deceitful attempt to get laid, it says more about your view of male-female relationships than it does about him.

If Max failed to save Kate, he reassures her by reminding it's not her fault, something Max speaks about in her diary with "I hung out with Warren on the lawn so I could feel grass under my feet and watch the fluffy clouds. He’s such a sweetheart, he kept telling me I did everything I could for Kate. Even though I know I didn’t.

If she succeed to save her, Warren send her a text about how he's proud of her, to which Max comment in her diary : "He’s such a sweetheart, he kept telling me how proud he was that I stopped Kate from jumping. I don’t believe that I did, but I have to say it’s better to be treated like a hero at school than like a twee loser.”

He helps and informs Max several times throughout the game without asking for anything in return, even if the player refuses to accompany him to the Drive-In, just because they're friends.

Max literally changed his grade into an A to thank him for what he's doing for her, even saying he deserves more.

He stands in front of Nathan once again to save Max and Chloe, even though he was about to draw a gun and that Nathan literally lives in the same corridor as him.

When Warren mentioned at the Vortex Club's party that he's invisible to everyone, Max reassures him by telling him he's important to her.

Unlike most of the cast, he never pressured her to listen to his problems or help him in some way, he's at the contrary the only one who just wants to be there for her.

If Max don't want to go ape with him, he's logically disappointed but he doesn't make a fuss about it, he even jokes about that by quoting a famous line from Planet of Apes.

When you kiss Chloe and the latter texted Warren about it, he get that Max might be interested in someone else and propose to step back while encouraging her to go with Chloe, but Max remains decided to go ape with him if this is what you choose.

Max can literally kiss him to "let him know her feelings", and then comment this choice in her diary with this

2. "He's violent and dangerous, look at what he did to Nathan !"

Nathan was about to kill Max and Chloe, the fuck Warren was supposed to do ? Talking him down ? Yeah sure, great idea. Because it totally worked for Chloe in the bathrooms.

Besides there's a little thingy called "context" that you conveniently forgot once again, here that Nathan bullied him for seemingly a long time and this notably through homophobic slurs. When you push people to their limits and threaten to KILL their friends, you're not the victim.

3. Max's nightmare

For fuck's sake, everyone was horrible during this nightmare sequence, what's even your point ?? That Max would be secretly afraid of him ? Lmao sure, one nightmare sequence based on Max's irrational fears against a whole game of interactions like this one, geez I wonder which side holds more weight than the other...

Her only canon fears are Jefferson, the Dark Room, Chloe using her, and her powers fucking up everything. That's it, nothing about Warren or men in general.

But if this nightmare is allegedly intended to reveal how she really feels about Warren, then what about Chloe ? Because when Max was talking to her own counterpart, the Nightmare Max openly mocked her for letting Chloe bullying her into a Stockholm Syndrome relationship, before adding she'd be even more preoccupied about Chloe killing them than Jefferson.

Hell, even the real Max said in this exchange that Chloe is good at guilt-tripping her.

So if this nightmare was about Max’s real feelings towards Warren, David or even Samuel, I guess Max is genuinely scared of Chloe for guilt-tripping her into an abusive relationship and leading them to a certain death, right ?

4. "Fans like him only because all the other males in this game are criminals"

That or we just like him because he's a funny, dorky, sensitive and caring nerd who's always willing to listen to Max and protect her at his own risk. Can you guess which option is the good one ?

5. Alyssa

Firstly, nothing in their interactions shows they were that close in the past.

Secondly, blaming someone for having several relationships in the past is the kind of shit you'd be rioting about if it were against Chloe or Rachel but apparently when it's Warren, it's okay.

Thirdly Alyssa is literally one of the most bullied character of this game alongside Kate and Warren so here's a rhetorical question for the slowest in the back : Did Warren or Alyssa might have paired themselves with the other on a school desk for some unexplained reason ? Or way more realistically, someone wrote this to mock them like bullies actually does a lot irl ?

"B-b-but Alyssa hides herself in his shoulder when her close friend jumped from a rooftop, it's definitely a proof !"

You know what, by intellectual charity I will just ignore this, the sheer level of stupidity speaks for itself.

6. "In the alt timeline, he's with Stella ! That proves he's only interested by sex !"

Not only it doesn't prove jack shit on his intentions but watch out you dimwit because this might blow your mind :

This other Warren might have been interested in someone else because in this alternate timeline, Max is an elitist jerk from the Vortex Club ? Same Vortex Club that also includes Nathan Prescott. Why a victim of bullying would be interested by someone who's at best bff with his bullies or at worst a bully herself ?

7. His movies choices

I'm not even kidding, that's a real argument used to trash him. Like wow, he likes "Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!" and laughed his ass off while watching "Cannibal Holocaust", how shocking I don't know if I could get over it someday.

Apart from the blatant stupidity of this “argument” and that his haters apparently never heard of dark humor, it's quite surprising that I don't see anyone criticizing Max for also liking this kind of films.

Besides I like how each time someone talk about that, they conveniently forgot to mention the little note he left with the flash drive, warning Max about the graphic nature of his movies. Almost as if he was aware that it can potentially disturb some people ?

And finally this accusation coming from people who don't bat an eye at Chloe taking drugs, taking money from disabled people or stealing and playing with firearms reeks of irony.

8. "He looked at Kate's video two times and a half !"

Everyone watched it, you fucking idiots. And not only he wasn't proud of that but he was also one of the rare students worried about her from the start. In addition to this, Kate herself called him an angel if Max managed to save her, just saying.

9. "He ditched Brooke for Max"

That's your headcanon. He asked Max first and if the player isn't interested, then he just chose to go with someone else. Believe it or not but people do that all the time, because there's nothing malicious in having back-up plans.

If one of your friend isn't available or interested to go out with you, that doesn't mean you have to cancel your plans.

10. "He photoshopped Max on his selfie !"

Nope he didn't, he just developed the selfie in Jefferson's class and Max made no comment whatsoever on an eventual edit, learn to read properly.

11. "Max doesn't even like him, she's not interested !"

Ohh it's gonna be fun...

So Max isn't interested in him, that's the hill Pricefielders want to die on ? Hm okay, okay... So then, why at several points in the game she admits finding him attractive ?

When Chloe thought Max friendzoned him, why did she immediately denied that ?

Why did Max choose to flirt with him by letting this note in front of his room ?

Why was she hoping that "something" might happen between them by accepting to go Ape with him ?

Why was Max so distressed and sad after seeing Warren with Stella in the alternate timeline ?

Why does she regrets not having kissed Chloe or Warren during the Storm, if the player didn't romance neither of them ?

And at the opposite, why does she openly admits to herself her feelings for him after kissing him ?

"But at some points, Max said Warren is just a little brother to her !"

Oh you mean almost as if Max was a shy and closed teenager with low self-esteem who was mostly searching excuses for herself ?

I probably forgot some other takes along the way but I think I made my point : You guys are desperate to frame him as some creepy incel like Eliot in which Max would be uninterested, to a point where it's both sad and hilarious at once. If coping was a source of energy, I'm sure y'all could supply all the dams in my country.

Max is bisexual, she can be as interested romantically in Warren as with Chloe and independently of your choices, she will always value him as someone very important to her.

And this, it's not arguable. It's not subjective. It's factual, as evidenced in this post. If you can't cope with that, fuck off.

[always-devon]

without him.

(A gift for the Outsiders Valentine’s Day gift exchange, for @alittlebitofloveliness!)

Every Valentine’s Day, Ponyboy and Johnny had done something for each other. Ever since they were little kids who didn’t really have a clue what love actually was. That started when Pony was 7 and Johnny was 9, when Johnny showed up with a card and a drawing for Pony. And every year from then. Last year’s gifts were a bundle of dandelions from Johnny, and a drawing of a sunset from Pony.

This time was different.

Ponyboy, honestly, was just waiting for Johnny to show up with a little card, or chocolates, or something. It was in the back of his mind.

He’s gonna come.

The ruddy-haired teenager sighed. It was useless to hope.

He got up out of bed, trudging into the bathroom to brush his teeth. While he did, he looked at himself in the mirror. Only the very ends of his hair were blonde now. It had pretty much fully grown back to its original reddish-brown.

That’s all I got left of him.

Dammit.

All of a sudden, tears were rolling down his face. His toothbrush lay discarded, having fallen in the sink. He rubbed the wetness off his cheeks with the back of his hand.

Nice, real tuff, Ponyboy.

What Johnny and him had was special. More than friendship. Not reckless and wild, like Sodapop and Sandy were. Not like Evie and Steve, either. It was thoughtful, quiet, warm. Being with Johnny was like sitting by a fireplace.

I never noticed colors and clouds and stuff until you kept reminding me about them.

Was it love? Ponyboy didn’t know. A guy couldn’t love another guy like he could a broad, could he? Was it wrong, wanting one more minute, wanting one last goodbye? Wanting more time to spend with him?

Ponyboy shook his head, halting his train of thought, and spat the minty foam out of his mouth. He picked his toothbrush up out of the sink, rinsing it off and putting it back in the holder. He didn’t bother with any hair grease today—it was a Friday, who would care?

Johnny liked it ungreased. Said it looked nice.

He walked out into the living room, grabbing his backpack that he’d carelessly tossed by the couch yesterday, and went out to the front porch, all while not saying a word to any of the gang.

He just…needed some time for thinking.

It was a nice morning. A little cold, but nice. The sky was still a little orange, with it being a winter morning.

He would’ve liked this.

Everything made him think of Johnny. The dandelions starting to sprout in the grass in the front yard. The way the early morning sky transitioned from orange to a soft baby blue. Everything reminded him of the shy, jumpy black-haired boy with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

Valentine’s Day was never going to be the same ever again.

Not without him.

[cmdrfupa]

Mother knows

1.04k words

I’m trying something out. Working my way into a Gojo piece. Spoilers ahead. Thank you for reading!

The garden had always been a place of quiet reflection, but tonight it felt heavier, weighted by the unspoken tension in the air.

Gojo’s mother sat with the poise of someone used to bearing burdens, her spine straight, her hands clasped delicately in her lap. You sat beside her, mirroring her posture, though your fingers betrayed you, nervously tracing patterns on the hem of your sleeve.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t necessary. This was the first time meeting your husband’s mother in person but there was a mutual understanding in the silence, an unspoken acknowledgment of the storm looming on the horizon.

Finally, she broke the quiet. “I used to come here with him when he was just toddling,” she said, her voice carrying a wistfulness that felt foreign coming from someone as composed as her. “He would sit right there on the grass, picking flowers, and tell me which ones I had to keep alive forever. ‘You can do it, Mom,’ he’d say. ‘You’re a Gojo too.’”

A soft laugh escaped her, but it faded quickly, replaced by a pensive look. “I always wondered if he knew, even then, how much weight the name Gojo carries. How much the world would demand of him.”

You glanced at her, her words striking a chord within you. “He must’ve known, even if he didn’t understand it yet,” you replied, your voice low. “It’s part of him. But that doesn’t mean it’s fair. Not to him, not to you.”

She turned her head slightly to look at you, her gaze sharp yet searching, as if trying to unravel the layers of your own thoughts. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

You hesitated, the question catching you off guard. Finally, you nodded. “Terrified,” you admitted. “Not because I doubt him. I know what he’s capable of. But even Satoru has limits. And this fight... Sukuna... it feels different.”

Her eyes softened at your confession, and she reached over, placing a hand on yours. Her touch was cool but steady, grounding you in the moment. “It’s different because it’s not just about the fight,” she said quietly. “It’s about what happens after. What happens if he wins and loses a piece of himself in the process. Or worse.” Her voice faltered, just for a moment, before she composed herself again. “It’s about the things we can’t control. The things that even Satoru can’t control.”

You tightened your grip on her hand, drawing strength from the shared vulnerability. “You’re right,” you said. “No matter how scared I am, I refuse to let him see it. He’s always carrying so much—he doesn’t need to carry my fear too.”

His Mother looked out at the tranquil ripple of the pond nearby. “When he wrote home and told the high council of the family he’d found someone to marry, I felt an inkling of relief for the first time since he was born.”

She studied you for a moment, her lips curving into a faint smile. It wasn’t a smile of amusement but one of approval, of recognition. “I see it, you know. The way his eyes soften when he looks at you. The way he jokes a little louder, stands a little taller when you’re around or even speaks of you. He may never say it outright, but you’ve given him something no one in this clan ever could—a reason to keep fighting that isn’t just about duty or power. You’ve reminded him what it means to live.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and luminous, like the first stars appearing in the dusk. You can’t help but glance down, feeling the full weight of what she’s saying.

“We never had much a connection. He was sent off for schooling the moment the world said so. Training and duties for a child.” She shook her head ever so gently. “But I knew he was going to do what was best.”

She looked back out to the pond. “He might be strong but you are stronger. You saw what he had to deal with and what he had to become and stuck by his side through it all.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I think I get it from him,” you said, your tone light but your words genuine.

Her smile widened just a fraction, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of pride in her expression—not just for Satoru, but for you. “You had it before you met him. You’re just the first person he felt comfortable being malleable around.”

The moment hung between you, a shared understanding settling into place, when a familiar voice broke the quiet.

“Did I just catch my mom smiling? To someone who isn’t me? This has to be a historic moment.”

Satoru stood at the edge of the garden, his hands in his pockets and his signature cocky grin plastered across his face. The sight of him, so casual and carefree, was both a comfort and a stark reminder of what lay ahead.

His mother’s composure returned in an instant, though her tone held a trace of humor as she responded. “Don’t flatter yourself, Satoru. It’s not that rare.”

“Sure it isn’t,” he quipped, striding over to join you. He dropped onto the bench beside you, leaning back with a languid ease that belied the tension in the air. Leaning in to kiss your cheek then his mother’s. “So, what’s the topic? My amazing childhood? My stunning good looks?”

“Your stunning arrogance,” you shot back, unable to resist the jab.

He smirked, but there was a warmth in his gaze as he looked between you and his mother. “I leave you two alone for five minutes, and suddenly you’re ganging up on me. Guess I should be flattered.”

Despite his teasing, there was a flicker of something deeper in his expression—gratitude, maybe, or relief. He might not say it out loud, but you knew he appreciated this moment, this connection between the two people genuinely cared for him the most. No abilities, no strength. Just his existence.

As the three of you sat together, the weight of the coming battle didn’t disappear, but it felt a little lighter.

For now, that was enough

[chickenlizard13]

Let Me See

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 4742

Warnings: Fluff, Mature 18+ (get outta here you kids)

Description: I’m really just doing whatever I want at this point. Can be read as a sequel to All You’ve Done, but can also be read as a standalone. Prequel to Stay Right Here.

Holding the box in your lap, you bounce your knees impatiently, awaiting Ominis’s return. You sat on the couch, fearing he’d take the gift as an insult, rather than the assistance it was meant to be. 

Grabbing your journal from the side table, you read the incantation again, and again, and again, knowing it by heart but still afraid you’d make a mistake. It was getting late, a heavy rainstorm obscuring the front gate of the property, making you all the more anxious. Ominis was always punctual, if not early, so it concerned you that he still hadn’t walked through the front door. 

Taking a few calming breaths, you reminded yourself that Ominis was incredibly capable, more so than you at times, so it wouldn’t do to sit around worrying. 

Standing up, you gingerly place the box on the couch, heading into the kitchen to make tea. Ominis would certainly appreciate a hot cup after the cold storm. You’d just put the pot on the flames, when two freezing hands appeared on your hips. Yelping, you turn around to an absolutely soaked Ominis, grinning down at you mischievously.

“Hello, darling.”  

“Ominis! I don’t understand how you keep doing this. Why is it, I can level an entire poacher camp alone, but I never hear you sneaking up behind me?” His grin widened as he took a step towards you, the puddle forming at his feet growing larger.

“It’s not my fault you keep letting your guard down. Perhaps you’ve become rusty?” 

Scoffing, a drop from his wet hair lands directly on your forehead, startling you. “My love, go change. Those clothes can’t be comfortable.” 

You try to move out of his grasp, but find yourself being tugged back, your hands landing on soaked biceps. 

“I’m actually quite comfortable right here.”

Water continues to drip on you from his hair as you squirm, laughing in his arms, his smile becoming more maniacal the longer you struggle. “Ominis! Release me you scoundrel, you’re soaked! Go dry off!” 

Instead, he hauls your body right up against him, shoving his face into the crook of your neck. You again squeal at him to let go, but he refuses to budge. 

Finally he raises his face, kissing you sweetly on the lips, before pulling away slightly. You gaze up at him in annoyance, grimacing. “I’m wet.”

He chuckles playfully, humming as he kisses you again and whispers against your lips. “You will be.” 

Blushing, you smack him on the arm and he steals one last kiss before releasing you to change, laughing the whole way up the stairs. 

You look down at yourself, now also soaked, and shake your head, a small amused smile gracing your lips. Grabbing your wand, you dry yourself off and clean up the water Ominis had tracked into the kitchen. 

The house had once belonged to Professor Fig, and was passed to you upon his death. It sat isolated on a high cliff, overlooking the ocean. Wildflowers bloomed in the yard, their stalks shaking wildly as Ominis’s ever growing cat colony chased each other through the grass. 

You’d moved in immediately after seventh year, not having another place to go, and not wanting to return to the muggle world. Ominis had returned to the Gaunt estate at first, but showed up at your doorstep in hysterics late one night, cursing his family name and the marriage they’d tried to force on him. You’d ushered him through the door, and he never walked back out. 

It’d been several years since then, and every day you were grateful to have him. At times, you had to stop and steady yourself, awed by the love he bestowed on you constantly. You thought it a crime that his family attempted to rob him of his gentle soul, and you swore to pay them back tenfold if they ever tried again. 

The tea pot whistled loudly, drawing you out of your thoughts. Grabbing two cups, you bring the tea out to the living room, startling slightly when you see Ominis standing by the couch, back to you. 

He’d changed into dry comfortable clothes, turning around when he heard you enter. In one hand he held the box you’d set on the couch, in the other, he held the contents of said box. 

“Darling, this was on the sofa. Is it yours?” You set the tea down on a table and walk over to him.

“It’s yours actually.” 

He quirks an eyebrow at you. “A scarf? I have plenty of scarves my love, something you remind me of constantly.” 

Rolling your eyes, you worm your way under his arm, hugging his side,  arms wrapping around his waist. “It’s not just any scarf, you silly man.” 

He makes a curious sound in the back of his throat as he leans his head on top of yours. “Care to enlighten me?” 

Back at Hogwarts, Natty informed you of a certain charm taught at Uagadou. The spell allowed the caster to see through the eyes of a familiar. You’d immediately thought about Ominis, that maybe he’d be interested in trying it out, but Natty said that she wasn’t sure if it’d work on someone who was already blind. Thus, began the long journey of trial and error, often forcing Sebastian to play guinea pig with a blindfold. 

Once you were sure you’d perfected the charm for your purposes, you’d gotten to work on the familiar part. Natty was very specific, stating that the caster and familiar had to have a deep connection, and Ominis wasn’t overly fond of most beasts. He loved the cats of course, but you wouldn’t say there was one he favored in particular. 

Then the thought came to you, perhaps if you made something yourself, and then transfigured it into an animal, your connection with Ominis would translate over. Honestly, you’d have probably been able to show him sooner, if learning to knit hadn’t taken so long. 

Now though, everything was finally ready. Ominis held a cream colored scarf in his hand, both of your initials embroidered in the corner. “Why don’t you sit down, my love.” 

Ominis cocks his brow at you, but obeys, sitting down and patting the seat next to him. You sit and take his unoccupied hand in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“So, I’ve been working on something, for you, for quite a long time now, and I think it’s finally ready.” 

His thumb swept back and forth across your hand, body turned towards you attentively. “The scarf? You made it?” 

Nodding, you continue your explanation. “That’s not all. I- There’s a spell that would allow someone to use a familiar to…see.” 

You felt his fingers tighten on yours as his brows furrowed. “But I…I don’t have a familiar. How would-“

“That’s where the scarf comes in. I’m going to transfigure it.” 

Ominis breathed out, not saying anything more. You would be worried that he was cross with you, if not for the thumb still stroking lazy circles on the back of your hand. “And…you’ve been working on this? For how long?”

You pressed your lips together, unable to read his face to tell what he was feeling. “Since our seventh year.” 

Ominis sucked in a breath, his voice coming out in a whisper. “That long?” 

He clutched the scarf in his hand, holding it close to him, voice just above a whisper. “Show me.”

Squeezing his hand reassuringly, you take out your wand, and waving it over the scarf, you watch as it transfigures into a smooth white snake. You just thought he’d look so good with a snake draped over his shoulders, making such a striking image combined with his pressed jackets and manicured hair. He smirked slightly at you, raising an eyebrow in amusement. 

“A snake? Really?” 

“Shut up. Are…Are you ready?” 

His face becomes serious again, hesitating only a moment before nodding his head. You took a deep breath, praying for success. He closed his eyes, squeezing your hand as you cast the spell. You were sure to be extra careful with your pronunciation, placing your wand on the table when you finished. He waited a beat before cracking an eye open, sucking in a breath and snapping it shut again. 

You reached for him, heart sinking, fearing the worst. Before your hands could get too far, he was shoving his face into your shoulder, eyes still pinched shut. “Ominis, what’s wrong? Did it not-”

“It worked. I’m just- I just need a moment.” You could feel him take calming breaths against your skin, allowing him to stay there until he was ready. Slowly, he leaned back, eyes still shut. Blinking slowly, he opened them, taking in the carpet under his feet. He studied the patterns, following the black swirls, before looking at the fireplace. The snake’s head mirrored his movements, silently showing him what he wanted. He sat mesmerized by the fire for a moment, before looking back at the carpet, the snake moving in sync. 

“What…what color is that?”

You didn’t take your eyes off him, knowing what he was asking about. “Red.”

He mouthed the word, staring for a moment more, before turning his gaze to look at you. It looked like all the air left his body as he locked eyes with you, his breath shuddering out of him. “...oh.” 

His eyes darted around your face, a stricken look on his features, mouth slightly open. You didn’t know what he meant, feeling slightly self conscious under his attention, resisting the urge to cross your arms in front of you. You’d never felt insecure in your relationship, but suddenly you worried he didn’t like what he saw, nervous it would have a negative effect on his feelings for you. 

You unintentionally shied away from his intense scrutiny, and his hand shot out to your face, chasing you. “Please don’t run.”

He swallowed, still staring at you with wide eyes. “I’m-I’m sorry, it’s just…that’s…that’s what you look like? I- How- How did you end up with…me?” 

You looked at him bewildered, his eyes drinking in the new expression. “How did I…end up with you? Ominis I- because you’re kind, and generous, and-”

“But you just look so…I don’t- I can’t articulate how-” He stopped abruptly, releasing an irritated huff at his fumbling. 

You realized that he’d never seen himself before. He didn’t know how beautiful he was. Standing suddenly, you haul him up, dragging him to the nearest mirror. The snake slithered up his arm, resting its long body around his shoulders, head turning quickly as Ominis tried to look at every object you passed. 

You lead him to a mirror hanging in the hall, stopping in front of it. “How did you end up with me? My love, take a look at yourself.” 

He turned his attention to the mirror, eyes wide. His hand came up to touch his face. “Are these…moles? I have so many.” 

Hugging one arm, you lean your head against him, watching him inspect himself. You smile lovingly, fingers running up and down his arm lightly. 

He watched in the mirror as you watched him, the look on your face striking him in the chest. Was this how you always looked at him? Even having now seen himself, he truly couldn’t fathom why you chose him. He thought he looked so plain compared to you. You were…Merlin you were beautiful. He’d known that of course, his wand giving him a vague idea of your facial structure, but it was nothing compared to this. He could see the slightest change to your expression, the color of your skin, your eyes. It was overwhelming. 

“You have to stop doing this.” 

Scrunching your brow, you shake your head at him, not understanding.

“Every time I think I can’t possibly fall more in love with you, you give me another reason. What am I supposed to do? Nothing I can give you will ever hold a candle to what you’ve given me.” 

Shaking your head, you try to object, but Ominis continues on. “I’d endure every terrible thing in my life, all of it, all over again if it meant you’d be there waiting for me.”

You turn your face away, hiding your watery eyes. He squeezes your hand, a soft smile painting his face, his voice intimate. “Thank you, my love.”

You sat together in silence for a moment longer, just basking in each other's presence. Eventually, he asks you to disenchant the snake and turn it back into a scarf, informing you that he was feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment. You did as he asked, taking care to place the scarf back in the box carefully, saving it for another time. 

He held you close that night, limbs entangled, your face tucked into his neck as he combed his fingers through your hair. Basking in your warmth and replaying your image in his head. 

—————

It’d been a few days since then, the both of you sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a peaceful morning. You gazed out the window at the rising sun, sipping your coffee, lost in thought. Ominis stroked his fingers on the back of your hand idly, an enchanted book in the other hand, seemingly engrossed in the words. In reality, Ominis’s attention was elsewhere, mulling over the events of the days prior. 

He’d used the scarf a handful of times, for short periods as it was still quite overwhelming, preferring to use his wand for most things. 

However, a thought continuously ran through his mind every time he saw you. He loved seeing the little expressions that were often lost to him, treasuring each one, but as time went on his eyes would drift lower, wondering what you’d look like under your clothes. He’d trace the contours of your body, his hands lightly following the path his eyes blazed.

He wanted desperately to peel your layers off, slowly exploring your skin with his lips, wondering what color you’d turn with his mouth on you. 

What he wasn’t thrilled about, was the large snake he’d have to wrap around his shoulders, wearing it the entire time he ravaged you. He turned the thought over in his mind, pondering possible solutions, and the things you’d said about the nature of the spell itself.

“Darling, may I ask you something?”

You turned your head towards him, eyes blinking slowly as you came out of your distracted daze. “Of course, my love, anything.” 

He paused for a moment, mindlessly stroking your hand in thought. “That spell, does it only work on animals?” 

You cocked your head, to the side, considering his inquiry. “I’m…not sure. The spell specifies that a connection is required, but I don’t know if it’s strictly limited to beast companions. Why do you ask?”

Ominis hummed in thought. “Simply curious.”

 

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I’ll do some research today while you’re at work.” 

Smiling, he gently brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles lightly. “Thank you, darling.”

—————

It took a couple more days, and a brief trip to see Natty, but you think you’d done it. Ominis sat in front of you on the couch waiting patiently, a nervous buzz beneath his skin. He closed his eyes in anticipation, until he felt the now familiar feeling of the spell taking effect. 

Opening his eyes, he was startled with the image of himself sitting on the couch. It was interesting watching his own reactions, finding coordination difficult as you sat across from him. 

You watched him flail about for a moment, unsure of how to match his movements to what he was seeing. Standing, you take the seat next to him. “Better?”

He nods, and turns his face to you, disappointed when he only sees himself looking back. This wouldn’t do at all. His brows furrowed, a pout forming on his lips. “I can’t see you.” 

You chuckle and grab his hand, guiding him once more to the large mirror in the hall. Standing in front, you gesture to your reflection. “Problem solved.” 

Ominis slots himself up behind you, winding his arms around your torso as he places his chin on your shoulder, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. “Problem solved indeed.” 

There was something in his voice that sent a shiver down your back, but you watched him start to place light, lingering kisses on your neck. You stood there, tilting your head to give him better access, to which he groaned in appreciation, his kisses becoming a bit more forceful. 

You continued to watch him in the mirror as he worked his way up your neck, flinching when he bit your ear playfully. He laughed quietly in amusement, enjoying every expression you gave him and moved his hands to your hips, squeezing them. 

“Ominis…” Panting slightly, an aroused flush appeared high on your cheek bones, as a needy ache formed between your legs. Pleased hums reverberated against your back, Ominis’s hand traveling upward, brushing your nipple through your clothing. You jerk against him again, a second brush of his thumb pulling a small whimper from you. 

Ominis groaned as he watched you, feeling giddy and a bit clumsy, as if this were your first time all over again. He knew the contours of your body like the back of his hand, but savored every twitch and whimper as his eyes devoured you hungrily. 

He kept his gaze fixed on your face, head spinning at the furrow of your brow and half lidded eyes, lips parted slightly, breathing heavy. His hand gripped your chest fully, sucking at your neck with fervor, a breathy whine escaping his lips at your lustful expression. He detached himself from you momentarily to speak. “You’re telling me…this is what you look like when I touch you?” 

He ground his hard dick into your ass, hands tugging your hips tight against him. “I haven’t even undressed you yet, and you already look like this?” 

Reaching a hand up, you close your eyes and slam his mouth down onto yours in a passionate kiss. He moans into your mouth, disappointed he could no longer see you, but loving the desperation with which you kissed him. Twisting in his arms, you stand on your toes, winding your arms around his neck to keep him close. 

Ominis wrapped his arms around you, stroking your sides as he pushed his tongue past your lips. Suddenly, he rips himself from you, panting a demand into your mouth. “Upstairs. Now.” 

You waste no time grabbing his hand and clumsily leading him up the stairs, both of you tripping in your excitement. He kicked the door shut behind him, tugging on your hand forcefully, bringing you back into another searing kiss. He had one hand on your face and the other gripping a handful of clothing at your waist, spinning you around to push you against the door. 

His hand traveled from your waist, skimming your thigh before lifting your leg to his hip, giving him better access to grind his lower body into you. Moaning, your hands find his hair, pulling on it while you pant his name between sloppy kisses. 

“Is there a mirror in this room?” The words are growled against your mouth and it takes your brain a moment to process his question. 

“A- A  mirror? I- um, n-no I don’t- I don’t think there is.” It was hard to think with him grinding his hard cock into you, creating such delicious friction. He kissed you again, unable to stay detached for too long. 

“Then make one.”

Your legs wobbled at his demanding tone, unsure if you’d even be able to make it to your wand on the bedside table. “M-My wand…it’s oh Merlin- it’s on the table by Ominis- by my side of the bed.” 

Groaning, he tugged you from the door, lips never leaving yours as his hands caressed you every place they could reach. The both of you fumbled your way to the bed, your hand blindly searching the table for your wand, almost knocking it on the floor. 

Tearing your mouth from his momentarily, you transfigure your bureau into a huge mirror sitting on the far wall. The image of your disheveled appearance, with Ominis wrapped around you, appeared in the reflection. 

Ominis whimpered loudly, rolling his hips into you hard. “Merlin, my love, I can’t- you look so good. Did I- Did I do that to you?.”

Your eyes roll back at the awe in his voice, barely able to stand. His hands tug at your clothes with purpose, cursing under his breath. “Get these wretched things off.” 

Tearing at your clothes, you’re eager to comply, ripping the clothes from your body as he does the same. When you finish, he climbs backwards onto the bed, hands tugging you along with him. He lets his hands explore your body as he kisses you, fingers traveling lower, feeling the wetness between your legs. 

“So wet. All for me. All mine.” 

You loved when he got possessive like this, but today especially, he seemed so wild, like a beast in heat. You’re abruptly turned around, Ominis settling behind you once more. Craning your neck, you go to question him, but the words die in your mouth when you catch a glimpse of your reflection. 

All you see is your naked body on full display, Ominis hovering over your shoulder, staring at your reflection hungrily. Becoming a bit self conscious, you try to cover yourself, but your hands are immediately ripped from your body, his grip tight on your wrists. 

“Don’t you dare.” 

Whimpering you try to tug your hands from him. “Ominis, it’s a bit- it’s embarras-“

“I don’t care. Let me look at you.” Growling his words directly into your ear, he releases your hands, peppering wet kisses on your shoulder. Ominis brings one hand to your chest, rolling your nipple between his fingers while the other travels lower, skimming your stomach. Your breathing picks up again as you watch it, anticipation replacing anxiety. 

His hand stops just short of where you want it, stroking the skin possessively. “Don’t even think about closing your eyes. I won’t miss a single second of you coming undone.” 

Before you could respond, his fingers plunged the rest of the way, finally where you wanted them. You automatically close your eyes as you let out a shameless whine, but immediately feel him halt his movements. “What, did I just say?” 

Forcing your eyes open, you train them on your entangled bodies in the mirror. “Good. So good.” 

He continued his movements, fingers driving you higher and higher almost tipping you over the edge, but it wasn’t enough. You start moving your hips against his hand, making sure to rub his leaking cock against your ass. His movements falter and he tucks his face against your shoulder for a moment, breathing frantic and heavy.

“Ominis, my love, I need- Merlin, I need more. Please. More.” Emphasizing your plea with the grinding of your hips, it only takes a moment before Ominis rips his fingers from you, leaning back on his heels a bit to line his aching cock up with your entrance. 

“As you wish, darling.” 

He pushes into you slowly, maintaining enough self restraint to still be gentle, knowing you’d need a moment to adjust to his size. You cried out at the full feeling, a string of whispered encouragements falling from your lips. You struggled to keep your eyes open, but were rewarded with the sight of Ominis, completely wrecked as he shoved himself inside of you. 

Once he was fully seated, he stilled a moment just breathing, his face resting in the crook of your neck. He waited a bit longer than you would have liked, so you attempted to buck against him, trying to coax him into moving. Instead an arm clamped around your front, preventing you from moving, while the other hand came to cover your eyes. 

As you were about to ask, you felt a wetness on your shoulder, startling you. “My love, what’s wro-“ 

“I’m sorry, my darling, I just- I just need a moment.” His voice was quiet, words watery as he kept still, holding you. Tears silently ran down your back, as Ominis released shaky breaths into your skin, arm tightening around you.

“I love you. So much. It’s- Sometimes I get overwhelmed by how much I love you, and this…treasure you’ve given me is- is…my love, I can’t even begin to tell you what it means to me. You deserve so much more than I can give you. I’m sorry, but…I don’t- I don’t think I could live without you anymore.” Ominis sobbed his words into your shoulder, one of your hands clamped on his arm, and the other gripped the back of his head, trying your best to hold him in your current position. 

The tears stopped a moment later, and he lifted his head to place a few loving kisses on your lips, hand still covering your eyes. Sniffing slightly, he nudged your nose with his, whispering an apology. “I’m sorry for ruining the moment, darling.”

Laughing quietly, you card your fingers comfortingly through his hair. “No moment with you is ruined, my love.” 

You wiggle your hips a bit, reminding him of your current situation. “However, I would still like to finish, if you’re up for it.” 

Chuckling in amusement, some of the fire came back to his chest. Kissing your shoulder a few times, he moves to speak directly in your ear. “Always.” 

He starts out slow, grinding his hips into yours, trying to build your desire back up to where it had been. His hand comes off your eyes, and you immediately open them to look at your reflections. Ominis moans as your image floods his mind once more, hips starting to move faster. “So fucking pretty.” 

Shuddering at his praise, needy whines fight their way out of your throat, begging him to go faster. Obliging you, his hips snap forward at a wild pace, his chin hooked over your shoulder to keep you close. “I can’t- my love, I don’t think I can last much longer. I need you to- oh Merlin darling, I need you to cum. Please. I need it so badly.” 

Ominis trails one hand down your front and starts working you in time with his thrusts. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, struggling to keep them open. “No, no, no, my love, please keep your eyes open. I want to -fuck, I want to watch you fall apart. Please, let me. Please?” 

His thrusts get sloppy as he speeds up, fingers stroking you so perfectly. He whispers praises into your ear. Telling you how good you are for him, how much he loves you, how much he needs you, how desperately he wants you to cum. His pleading whispers hurl you over the edge and you force your eyes to stay open for him. 

He sobs at the sight of you, finishing as soon as he feels you convulse around him. Emptying himself inside you, his hips keep twitching and grinding, prolonging both of your pleasure. Lips brush your neck as he speaks praises into your skin, thanking you for staying with him, for loving him. 

The room was silent, save for your combined panting, the two of you trading comforting caresses as you come down. You allowed the spell to fade, Ominis eventually pulling himself from you to find a cloth, not needing his wand to navigate your shared home. Once he returned, he wiped you down with gentle, practiced motions, kissing your skin with an ‘I love you’ every now and then. Once he’d finished, Ominis tossed the cloth into some dark corner of the room, a problem for tomorrow. Laying down, he pulls you into his chest with a pleased sigh, kissing your forehead twice before settling. 

You’re both quiet for a long time, Ominis rubbing lazy, contemplative circles between your shoulder blades. The feel of his fingers and the beat of his heart lulling you into near sleep, only interrupted by his quiet voice. 

“Marry me.” 

Eyes closed, you smile to yourself. So demanding. 

“When?” 

“Tomorrow.”

You huff in amusement, too tired to do much more. “I’ll owl Anne and Sebastian then.”

His lips stretch into a sweet smile against your forehead.

“I already did.” 

[asolareclipses]

“Isn’t she a beaut?”

“A what?”

“Gods Nico, you never know what i’m talking about.” Leo sighed, turning his attention away from the chariot he was just boasting about.

“Maybe because you never make any sense,” Nico rolled his eyes anticipating the next comment about to leave Leo’s mouth.

“Or…you’re just an old abuelo,” Leo failed to hold back his smirk.

Nico glared at him, he didn’t speak spanish but he’d heard that word enough to know what it meant. “Call me that one more time fire boy and you’ll wish you died the first time.”

“Holy smokes! Someone’s feisty today,” Leo raised his hands signifying a truce. “Anyways, moving back to the important things, just look at this masterpiece!” Leo gestured back to his creation.

As Nico’s eyes move to scan over the chariot, he had to try not to be visibly impressed. It was incredible. Each wheel had hundreds of gears all lined with celestial bronze and steel. The sides and rims danced with various contraptions, every piece was delicately crafted with the upmost detail. It looked as if it was built to withstand whatever may come in its way.

“You built this in a week?” Nico asked, hoping his awe wasn’t evident in his tone.

“Yeah,” Leo shrugged. “Perfect for the race don’t you think?”

Yeah? Nico almost sang his inner praises to Leo at that moment. But he knew if he were to boast Leo’s ego like that, he wouldn’t see the end of it for days.

“It’s not bad..” Nico spoke carefully.

Leo smirked, “Finally glad you decided to be on my team?”

“I didn’t decide anything,” Nico said. “You begged me for weeks and weeks on end until I said yes, just so you would leave me alone.”

“Hm, funny. I don’t remember that happening.”

“Leo-“

“Anyways- You said you had the horses taken care of?” Leo masterfully changed the subject.

Nico nodded with a sigh.

Leo stared at him, before looking around as if he were expecting something. “Well…where are they?”

“Right, you might want to step back.” Nico suggested.

“Step back why would I-“ Leo was cut off by the ground beginning to rumble, kicking up dust and small rocks. “Right that’s why,” he hurriedly stepped backwards.

The grass shivered and after a moment of rumbling, a bone popped out from the ground. It was then followed by another and another. Soon several bones came together forming two skeletal horses. They moved similar to regular horses, if regular horses had no skin or organs.

Nico stepped back, admiring his work. In the back of his mind he imagined the future lecture he’d receive from Will. ‘What did I say about unnecessary power usage?’ Still, looking at the horses, Nico figured it was worth it.

“Woah,” Leo smiled. “That’s so much cooler than a regular horse, or even a robot one.”

“More durable too, any attack and they’ll just reassemble.”

“Dude!” Leo was now practically jumping up and down, “we are so going to win this!”

Part of Nico wanted to join Leo in the excited jumping. But the other part of him thought that would be out of character; what this ‘character’ of himself was though, he didn’t know. Nico had struggled with displaying his excitement, every time he felt that burst of joy. That buzz of happiness. It reminded him of when he was younger, first arriving at camp with that same feeling. He wondered where that little boy had gone.

A horn blew, drawing Nico out of thoughts.

“That’s Chiron,” Leo said. “Time to head to the starting line.” A devilish grin appeared on his face that made Nico a little nervous. Clearly Leo’s chariot was armed with machinery that would even make the Stoll brothers jealous.

As they stood in the chariot at the starting line, Nico rethought all his life decisions. Why had he agreed to do this race again? At the time it seemed like the only way to get Leo to leave him alone, since he had been profusely begging Nico to team up with him every day. Now Nico couldn’t decide which one was worse, and annoying Leo or a brutal chariot race. Suddenly a cold chill ran down Nicos spine, he couldn’t place it but something was wrong.

Before he could dig deeper into this feeling, Chiron blew his horn again, signaling the beginning of the race. The chariot promptly took off, immediately blasting ahead with the upmost speed. Nico had to grip the railing just to not go flying off, struggling as the winds made it hard to keep his eyes open.

The Athena chariot tried to launch a net from behind them in an attempt to catch the chariot, but it wasn’t fast enough. Instead, the net came flying back at their chariot getting caught in the wheels and sending the campers into a panic. At the same time the Stoll brothers were shooting some contraption they’d made at the Ares cabin. When resulted in both chariots veering off track and into the woods.

As they continued to speed up, Nico watched as all the other chariots got farther and farther away. He’d began to think this was going to be a lot easier than he’d initially thought.

“Works just like a dream!” Leo yelled over the winds.

Nico nodded, pointing to the floating finish line, Chiron had decided the chariots needed to not just be fast but be able to account for height too. Of course for Leo that had been an easy task. For the others, well they had to hope their pegasuses were strong

Sooner than expected they were nearing the finish line, and Nico waited for something to go wrong. He was sure the others would catch up and give them a hard time, but when he looked back the other chariots were still lagging behind.

Then a hint of smoke began to fill the air, slowly becoming stronger. Nico looked around, the chariot was shaking now. A deep rumbling that shook his whole body. More smoke started pouring out from the golden edges, polluting Nico’s lungs.

Leo looked shocked, rushing around as he tried to find the culprit of the smoke. “I don’t get what’s wrong?”

A fire sprung up and danced along the rims of the chariot, Nico stepped away, coughing as his lungs begged for clean air. He looked at Leo with panic in his eyes at the same time Leo seemed to realize that Nico wasn’t immune to smoke.

“Oh gods what do we do?” Leo called out.

Turns out Nico didn’t need to answer that question because in a blast of light the chariot exploded, sending them both flying.

The world went black.

—

Why did every creation of his blow up? That’s what Leo wondered as he plummeted from the sky. He figured he would turn into a Leo pancake when he hit the ground, splat.

The idea would’ve made him laugh if he weren’t currently falling to his death. Leo could still see the flaming chariot above him, another masterpiece blown to pieces. Maybe that would be his legacy, the demigod who destroyed everything he made.

The wind was fast as he fell, blowing through his hair and stinging his eyes. It was eerily familiar, probably because it wasn’t the first time he’d fallen from the sky. As he fell further, Leo tightly shut his eyes, expecting to hit the ground any second. But instead he felt something hit him. Well, less like hit and more like grab. When he opened his eyes, he almost jumped out of his skin.

Jason had caught him, he was now face to face with him. Startlingly close. All Leo could see were his striking icy blue eyes. He felt Jason’s arms tightly secured around his waist, and he felt the breath of relief Jason sighed when he realized Leo was safely in one piece.

Why Leo obsessed over each of these small incriminate details, he would never say.

“Thanks superman,” Leo grinned nervously. He hoped the blush across his face wasn’t as noticeable as it felt.

Jason glared at him as they began to descend to the ground. “Next time i’ll let you fall.”

Leo was about to make another comment when his heart dropped, “Nico.”

Jason’s eyes widened as he looked up at the chariot. They seemed to flicker across the sky, as he tried to locate the other chariot rider. “Oh gods.”

Splash.

Just in time Leo turned to see Nico plunge into the lake, Jason had been too far to reach him seeing as they’d somehow been blasted in two different directions.

Leo’s shirt was still smoking from the explosion and his bones felt like jelly, but it didn’t stop him from rushing to the lake as soon as they touched the ground.

Will had gotten there first, he’d always managed to get there first. He began dragging Nico from the water, a crowd of panicked demigods forming around them.

As soon as Nico was pulled to shore Leo stumbled his way over, pushing through the crowd. “Is he okay? Is he breathing? Oh gods this is all my fault.” He stuttered and tripped over his words as the guilt built up inside his stomach like rocks. He shouldn’t have made Nico join this stupid race, he should’ve known it would go wrong. Everything he did always went wrong.

“Leo, don’t say that.” Jason stepped forward putting a hand on Leo’s shoulder.

Leo wanted to believe him but the guilt was overpowering it consumed his mind.

He silently watched as Will hummed placing his hand on Nico’s chest. Leo didn’t know what he’d do if Nico didn’t wake up, but luckily he did. Shooting up, coughing and spluttering, Leo recognized the look of relief that flashed across Wills face.

Jason’s hand gripped Leo’s shoulder tighter as he remembered to breathe. Suddenly his adrenaline rush crashed and so did he. His knees went weak and he would’ve fallen if Jason hadn’t caught him, again.

“You okay?” Jason asked softly. A warm tone that felt delicate and strange, yet it reassured Leo every time he heard it.

Leo nodded, looking back at Nico who was smothered in a hug from Will. He seemed to be repeatedly telling Will he was okay, despite him being dripping wet with several burnt holes in his shirt.

Nicos seemed to search the crowd until he locked eyes with Leo, he figured Nico would be incredibly pissed off at him. But he wasn’t, his eyes flashed a look of concern before he mouthed you okay?

Leo nodded as convincingly as he could, overly aware of Jason’s warm presence behind him, being the only thing holding him up.

The crowd was dispersing as Will managed to pull Nico to his feet, draping his arm across his shoulders. “Both of you,” he looked towards Leo, “infirmary. Now.”

On the way, Jason did most of the walking, as Leo’s new jelly legs hadn’t regained their sense of feeling yet. His whole body was aching by the time they’d reached the infirmary. Turns out, being exploded hurts. Shouldn’t have been surprising as he’d been exploded before.

As Leo sat on the infirmary bed his mind was spinning. He thought through every piece of bronze, every gear, wondering what had gone wrong. He had double, scratch that, triple checked to make sure everything was in tip top shape. Yet something still went wrong, seemingly out of nowhere. He replayed when the fire broke out, despite his frantic waving and patting down of the fire it didn’t extinguish. The realization hit him like a semi truck.

“Greek fire,” he said out of nowhere while Jason and Will rushed around; checking that he and Nico weren’t severely injured.

“What?” Jason said, his hand freezing in place as he picked up a bandage.

Nico inhaled sharply, looking at Leo as if he immediately understood. After hanging out for so long Nico had learned how to understand whatever thought process Leo was on, “That’s what it was, that’s why it kept burning. Why was it in the chariot?”

“I don’t know,” Leo sighed. He racked his brain for any contraptions that would lead to the emergence of greek fire. But he was sure that it wasn’t built into his chariot at all. “I never used greek fire, I don’t get how it would just erupt like that…unless…”

Jason’s eyes widened, “Do you think someone put it there on purpose?”

Leo met his eyes, he knew an accusation like this was dangerous. It meant that someone intentionally sabotaged their chariot, in a way that could only be intended to kill.

“But why would someone try to hurt you with fire?” Jason asked.

Leo felt his heartbeat stick in his throat, “Maybe I wasn’t the one they were intending to harm.”

He looked over at Nico whose face was now unreadable.

“You’re saying someone tried to kill Nico?” Will asked, his tone laced with anger.

“That or they meant to injure him severely, I guess they didn’t account for the explosion preventions I had in place.” Leo replied.

“Explosion preventions?” Jason asked, his eyebrow tilting up in the way it always did when he was confused.

“Yeah, I figured with my track record i’d add an extra layer of protection. Something that would lessen the impact of a possible explosion. That’s why we went flying away and not…well everywhere.”

“First of all, that’s impressive.” Jason spoke, “Secondly, who would intentionally try to hurt Nico?”

No one answered. None of them could fathom the idea that someone in camp would deliberately do something like this. Leo grasped at straws to find meaning, to find an excuse as to why this happened. But there was nothing. He knew Nico had never done any harm to cause this, he’d been nothing but a hero. He thought that everyone knew that, that everyone should know that. So why did this happen?

“We should talk to Chiron,” Jason said, breaking the heavy silence that filled the room.

—

Will was fuming. Almost literally. He was sure if he’d been Leo his whole body would be aflame. The idea that someone had targeted Nico in such a way, was impossible for him to swallow. His anger felt hot, it bubbled up like a volcano inside of him. He could feel it ready to erupt any second as he dug his nails into his palm.

Then a light touch pulled him from his inner turmoil. A cold hand had slipped its way between his fingers, releasing the tension. Will looked over at Nico and felt a wave of guilt, he hadn’t thought about how Nico must be feeling now.

Years ago Will had told Nico that he was welcome at camp, that no one had pushed him away. Now someone had tried to kill him.

His guilt was followed by fear. Will tightly squeezed Nico’s hand, pouring every ounce of assurance into the touch and praying in his mind that this situation wouldn’t influence Nico to run away again. Just the thought of Nico suddenly disappearing like he had years ago made his heart feel like it was being suffocated slowly. He had to remind himself Nico was okay, he was right by his side.

Explaining what had happened to Chiron was the easy part, it was Dionysus who was difficult.

“We must find this traitor at once!” Mr D. stood up slamming the table, vines began to crawl up from the floor and around the table legs.

Will had never seen him so mad. Of course, if it were anyone else he’d probably just shrug it off. But this was Nico. So Mrs D. was reasonably pissed.

“We have to handle this carefully,” Chiron said; his eyes were filled with a deep sense of sadness and disappointment. He too couldn’t imagine why someone had done this.

“Carefully?” Mr. D asked, his eyes glowed with a dangerous hue of purple. “I say we round everybody up and unrelentlessly interrogate them until the rat comes out.”

“We cannot tortue innocent campers in hopes of finding the culprit,” Chiron calmly explained.

“We can’t. I can.”

“Then you would be punished by several angry gods.”

Mr D. had no response this time, sighing as he sat back down. The vines following suite as they shrank back into the floorboards.

“I don’t understand who would’ve done this, and why now?” Jason said, his eyes seemed to be clouded in worries.

“Leo, is there anyway this could’ve been a prank taken too far?” Chiron asked, there was a sort of desperation in his eyes.

“I really wish it was, but there’s no way they couldn’t of known about the precautions. I added the explosion barrier last second. The greek fire must’ve been somewhere near the engine, whoever put it there wanted the chariot to catch fire and explode. Midair,” Leos voice was somber, he leaned listlessly on his elbows which set on the table.

Jason watched Leo carefully, his face seemed to analyze Leo’s every movement, every word. Will recognized his attentiveness.

Chiron sighed, “We will investigate this. Perhaps there is someone, something, whispering things to the demigods again.”

“We can talk to Clovis,” Will added. “If it’s something to do with dreams or visions he might be able to help.”

Chiron nodded, “Just be careful. I don’t know how whoever did this will react if they catch on that we are suspicious.”

Will nodded, he couldn’t help but notice how silent Nico had been. He seemed to be lost in thought. Will wish he could crawl into his brain and disintegrate all the negative thoughts.

It appeared Mr D. was also concerned, his face flashed with worry as he looked over at Nico.

“We’ll talk to Clovis tomorrow,” Will made the executive decision. “You two need rest.”

Jason agreed, not allowing Leo to protest by quickly grabbing him and dragging him out the door way. “Let’s go hotshot.”

It was dark, a cold breeze blowing through camp as Will and Nico walked; a blanket of silence lay between them. Nico seemed to be trapped inside his mind again, his eyes dancing with unspoken worries.

“You okay?” Will asked as softly as possible, reaching out to touch Nico’s shoulder.

Nico nodded, “I guess.”

Will frowned, “You guess?” He expected Nico to lie and hit him with a ‘I’m fine’ like he normally did.

“I’m not sure what to think to be honest.” Nico replied, he began chewing on his bottom lip; a nervous habit Will had taken note of several times.

“Yeah...” Wills voice was quiet, his racked his mind for the perfect thing to say, but came back with nothing.

The two of them kept walking as Nico slightly leaned into Wills touch, despite his uncertainty he still sought comfort.

“I’ll stay in your cabin tonight,” Will paused, “to protect you.”

Nico face spread into a smile, a smile that punched Will right in his stomach. He felt a sense of relief to see him smile, “Yeah i’m sure that’s the reason.”

“What?” Will raised his hands in false defense, “It’s a perfectly reasonable excuse.”

“Uh huh, super convincing.” Nico’s voice was coated with sarcasm, which was a stark contrast to the smile that danced across his face.

“It’s an excuse that would hold up in court, you know i’m not a lawyer but I know these things-“

Nico cut him off by grabbing his hand, “Come on sunshine.” He tugged Will lightly towards his cabin, it was obvious he didn’t want to be alone. That’s not to say Will didn’t want to stay with him on his own accord, obviously it was a little bit for himself. But mostly for Nico, mostly.

—

“Gods Leo use your legs.”

“I can’t they feel like jello, my arms too, and my-my everything!” Leo whined as he let himself be dragged along by Jason.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head in the explosion too?” Jason feigned annoyance. He was intentionally bantering with Leo, trying to boost the mood. Anything that could distract him from the fact of a potential murderer in camp was good, and Leo was really good at distracting.

“I think the explosion hit everything,” Leo stumbled. Jason quickly caught him, snaking his hand around Leo’s waist. He hoped Leo couldn’t hear his heartbeat which was pounding so loudly in his ears.

“You’re clearly incapable of walking,” Jason sighed. He figured he was getting quite good at acting as he almost believed his own false annoyance. “Just let me carry you or at this rate we’re going to be eaten by harpy’s.”

Leo smirked, “If you insist.”

Leo was a light weight against Jason’s back as he locked his arms around Leo’s legs; and when Jason walked, Leo’s arms dangled from around his shoulders. Then with a sigh he rested his chin on the top of Jason’s head.

“Dang the weather is pretty nice up here,” Leo said, his hands absently drumming against Jason’s shirt.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Jason replied, earning a small thump against his chest.

Leo paused as he noticed where Jason was headed, “Correct me if i’m wrong, but this does not look like the way to my cabin.”

“Well..” Jason almost panicked looking for any excuse, “I figure you need to be watched over. You know, with your jello legs and brain.”

“Aww,” Leo teased, “are you scared?”

Jason tried to bite back a smile when his lame excuse succeeded. “Yes, terrified.”

“Don’t worry Jace, I’ll protect you from the big bad scary Zeus statue.” Leo giggled as he tightened his arms around Jason.

Jason smiled, he didn’t say the real reason he’d wanted Leo to stay with him. He didn’t say it was because he worried about his safety, that he didn’t want him beating himself up with guilt. Or that he’d seen Will sneak into the Hades cabin and felt a sense of envy.

Jason contentedly carried Leo on his back into the cabin; and as they entered Leo seemed to shrink against Jason whispering, “He’s looking at me,” before bursting into giggles.

“Now you know how I feel every night,” Jason complained. He walked over to his bed, where he’d recently gotten a divider; placing it so that his view of the statue was obscured. When he reached the bed he turned and promptly dropped Leo onto his bed.

“Ouch,” Leo said, sprawling out on the bed with his eyes closed and tongue stuck out as if he were emulating roadkill.

“Looks like jello boy died, what a shame.”

Leo opened one of his eyes and when he saw Jason was still staring at him he closed it again; a grin began spreading across his face, though he’d tried to hold back.

“You leave me no choice,” Jason rubbed his hands together, creating a harmless amount of static electricity. “Clear!” He called out thrusting his hands towards Leo.

A small shock was produced and Leo sprung up falling onto the floor with a yelp, pieces of his curly hair stuck up in the static.

Jason burst into laughter, almost doubling over as his whole body shook.

“What the hades man,” Leo looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I resurrected you,” Jason said between giggles. He’d laughed so hard his eyes began to water.

Leo stood up, patting down his hair. “Okay, i’ve been resurrected before and it did not feel like that.”

Jason shrugged, “What can I say? I’m too good.”

Leo shoved him lightly, pretending to be mad although he was still smiling. “Whatever, because of that you’re sharing the bed.”

“Fine.” Jason pretended it was an inconvenience. In reality he was desperate to be near Leo, to be by his side in any way possible. As close as possible. Leo emanated this warmth in a way Jason had become addicted to. It was a warmth that filled his bones and soul completely and fully.

So when Leo curled up next to him, it took all of Jason’s willpower not to wrap his arms around him and bask in the warmth. Just being beside him had to be enough, yet still he yearned for the full closeness.

Soon he heard the soft breathing from Leo next to him, the moonlight from the window filtering in and sparkling my across his face. His eyelashes look so delicate in the light and the splash of freckles across his face started to resemble a constellation. Jason almost hoped that the moment would last forever; that tomorrow wouldn’t come. He didn’t want to face the harsh truth that someone in camp had tried to hurt his friends. He didn’t want to leave Leo’s side. Not again. The fear of losing him was always so strong because he’d lost him before, they’d both lost each other. Now they were together again and Jason prayed that they could stay that way.

But he doubted anyone was listening to that prayer.

(Part Two)

[eleancrvances]

andrei bolkonsky is truly the most "dead since the beginning" character. in his last few days he reaches a very explicit state of undeathness ("they were not attending on him (he was no longer there, he had left them) but on what reminded them most closely of him—his body"), but really, is it the first time he has been like this? in his first chapter, when he walks into anna pavlovna's soiree, "it was evident that he not only knew everyone in the drawing room, but had found them to be so tiresome that it wearied him to look at or listen to them". he goes through the social motions but doesn't really feel them (except with pierre, who understands instinctively many things about him, like that their meeting before borodino is their last), and he's just like that before the end. the night before austerlitz he declares "death, wounds, the loss of family—i fear nothing", and it's close to the absence of terror and general feeling he feels after his last nightmare. he's assumed to have died at austerlitz by everyone and reappears at home with zero explanation. the same thing happens after borodino. during both the near-death experiences, he feels some sort of "awakening" ("death is an awakening"). he identifies himself in an old oak tree that appears to be dead until spring (love) draws some last signs of life from him. and literally the only thing that seems to keep him alive is his last-minute unwillingness to separate himself from love, which to tolstoy is life - "i cannot, i do not wish to die. i love life—i love this grass, this earth, this air". this man is a zombie. he returned from the metaphorical and literal (the battlefield) land of the dead not once but twice with terrible wounds, despite all his efforts he can never find a complete and lasting connection to liveliness but falls back again and again in his mechanical, detached way of moving through situations. even his connection to natasha, life and joy, is perceived to be doomed from the beginning by many. "ah, my friend, it has of late become hard for me to live. i see that i have begun to understand too much" he says to perhaps the only person he has always been honest with, pierre, before receiving his final wound. and when he does die it's impossible to tell. marya can't pinpoint the moment when he's gone physically, and as for his spirit, even little nikolai knows it was torn from him earlier. but it doesn't feel like a sudden and new thing. we've seen him in this state before, though perhaps not on this level. but really, it looks like his struggle to keep death out of the room has been going on throughout the entire novel, and he could never hold the door completely closed. we've never seen him completely alive. on a meta level too, because he is maybe the only main character tolstoy didn't base on anyone but created from scratch, with the specific intention to kill him. when did he die exactly? at borodino? at austerlitz, where tolstoy originally intended him to? when he had his nightmare? when he left natasha? when lise died? when his mother died? before we ever met him, it seems. he died in a dream.

[heartstringsduet]

Happy Wednesday. Have a snippet of A Few Moons Ago before I have to scurry away. It's a bit wolf/ a/b/o coded so don't reblog if you dont feel it. You can always let me know if you want to be tagged or not <3 Thanks for the tags @thisbuildinghasfeelings

“We can be a lot,” TK amends, though he doubts he can hide the glow of his heart at Carlos admitting to loving his pack family. 

“I had a great time,” Carlos says, scratching the back of his nails on TK’s underarm, while TK retraces lines on Carlos’ scalp. “Remind me though. We think that Pearce is…”

“A douchebag. But I guess he’s our annoying douchebag, so don’t hate him too hard.”

Carlos answers with a hum, then slides his face further up TK’s lap until his nose can nudge up the lower hem of his shirt. “You smelled a bit of him.” 

His lips brush against bared skin of gentle stomach folds. 

“You know best how alphas are,” TK says, breathlessly as Carlos slips his tongue into his navel. “You all have a possessive streak that gets worse the closer we get to full moons. I’m sure I also smelled of Marjan and Judd.”

“You did. But I like them. It’s Pearce I don’t trust with you,” Carlos says against his tummy. His lips are tinged darker when he lifts his head. “He smells weird.”

TK snorts. “Oh my god, yes! Like he applies extra musk every morning after breakfast!” 

Carlos slides up higher tilts his head to bare the side of his neck to TK. “Do I smell better to you?”

TK’s mouth dries as he draws his fingers over Carlos’ pulse point, tracing its rapid beats filling the silent room.

“Your smell makes me hungry,” he says, then licks the same path his fingers took.

Sometimes being closer to the moon days is overwhelming, the smells and sounds clanging around in a body that adjusts, but TK loves the way he can now smell Carlos in every corner of his house again, the potency of it making him want to twists his back over the couch like his wolf yearns to do when faced with luscious grass.

“Pearce is harmless though, in all ways,” TK explains as he kisses down to Carlos’ clavicle. OPEN TAG&

@pameluke @eclectic-sassycoweyes @paperstorm @carlos-in-glasses

@carlos-tk @orchidscript @decafdino @emsprovisions

@sapphic--kiwi @alrightbuckaroo @welcometololaland

@rmd-writes @lightningboltreader @freneticfloetry @never-blooms

@ironheartwriter @bonheur-cafe @lemonlyman-dotcom @ladytessa74

@fitzherbertssmolder @birdclowns @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@corsage @carlossreaders @chicgeekgirl89 @firstprince-history-huh

@certifiedflower @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @kiwichaeng

@irispurpurea @henrygrass @ameriicansrequiems @pimento-playing-hopscotch

@whatsintheboxmh @everlastingday @nisbanisba @butchreyes

@goodways @nancys-braids @liminalmemories21

[dreamsandcherrypie]

Chapter 9: Field of Blue

“They were together... I’ve never seen a monster in love before… it’s about as horrific as you can imagine,” I let out a sour chuckle and absent-mindedly look up at him. It’s a mistake.

That’s one mean face card.

I take a hot minute to get a look at his features in the moonlight through the last couple tears that insist on being shed. I’ll definitely have to draw him when I write about this in my journal later. It’s that little thought that makes me realize…

Wait. Holy shit I’m still on him!

I immediately roll off his firm body into the soft grass. The backs of my hands wipe my puffy eyes as I come to my senses. I can feel him still looking at me, but I’m too chicken to look back up at him. Instead, I choose to keep my eyes on the stars, mostly in an effort to remind myself how they comfort me too.

And they do, as does this place. I can feel the magic here. It helps to see the surrounding blue aura I can’t be sure belongs entirely to me. The silence is nice while I allow it to last, but I demand to be heard.

To my dismay, my breath still shakes, “Look Dean… I’m not going to be trusting you again any time soon… and even after everything… I can’t believe it but… I can’t bring myself to fully hate you. Given that and some time… I just want us to get along because Ava really likes Sam.”

I prop myself up on my elbow to find him stony, no, downright statuesque in this gorgeous field now filled with more tire marks. The majority of that aura is definitely from him. Blue, like the bonnets but the color is more muddied…

[meazalykov]

you smell like vanilla

selma bacha x lyon!reader

warnings: none

As I step onto the field, the familiar scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the cool crisp air of Lyon's training ground. This is where I belong, where I feel most alive. As I zip up my blue windbreaker jacket, I cover my lower face with a black ski mask so the cold air doesn’t trigger my allergies. 

As I place my ski mask over my face, I am reminded of the ritual I never skip. A spritz of vanilla-scented perfume consumed my nostrils and I remind myself of my signature perfume I put on before practices. The delicious scent wrapping me in its comforting embrace. It's a small indulgence, a reminder of myself and my home. And as I catch a whiff of the sweet fragrance, I can't help but cough one time—maybe I sprayed a little too much this morning.

Practice is grueling, demanding nothing but perfection for the upcoming champions league semifinal against PSG. Yet, amidst the drills and tactics, there's always the distraction lurking nearby. Selma Bacha, the best left-back in the world—she's a force to be reckoned with. But my heart flutters everytime I see her. It's not just her talent that captivates me; it's the way her french eyes light up when she's on the field, the passion that radiates from her every move.

And then there's her reaction to my vanilla perfume every time she's near me. It's subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else, but I see it in the way her gaze lingers a moment longer, in the way she inhales deeply when she passes by. It's a secret I guard closely, the knowledge that something as simple as a scent can stir such emotions. But Selma, she's not one to hold back.

“*sniff sniff*---hm–--délicieuse” Selma sniffs extremely close to my neck before looking me in the eyes. She smirks before walking around me to get to the other side of the pitch. I wasn't fluent in French but I had an idea on what she said, considering this isn't the first time she's done this.

Her flirtatious banter, her playful nudges – they're impossible to ignore. And though my heart races at her proximity, I fake my annoyance, masking the turmoil and gushy feelings within as I roll my eyes. It's safer this way, I tell myself, to keep my feelings hidden beneath a facade of annoyance.

“I saw that.” Ellie says as walks up to me. We both start drills on the agility ladder at the same time. My eyebrows knitted together before asking the Australian, “What do you mean?” 

“I saw that interaction between Selma and you.” 

“Its not-” 

“Don’t pretend that you didn’t like what she did.” Ellie cuts me off with a smirk as I roll my eyes again.

See, I'm not as subtle as I think. All of my teammates, especially Ellie, Lindsey, and Danielle, see through my charade with knowing glances and a teasing grin. They know the truth, I didn’t have to tell them. My poker face might’ve been decent to strangers but my eyes can’t conceal my true feelings for the French woman. My heart skips a beat whenever Selma's near, that beneath my tough exterior lies a vulnerability I dare not show.

Hours later, as the sun sets and the day draws to a close, I retreat to the comfort of my nightly routine. The warm water cascades over me in the shower with a mingling with the scent of vanilla that fills the air. I take my vanilla scented scrub and lather it over my body, making sure the dead skin goes away before I shave. My night routine is a moment of solitude, a chance to unravel the knots of each day’s events.

But even in the sanctuary of my shower, I can't escape her presence. Selma's laughter echoes in my mind, her image etched into my thoughts. As I finished shaving and started to wash myself with a Vanilla scented body wash, I hope that she will notice the scent in training tomorrow morning. 

And as I towel off and slip into bed, I can't shake the feeling that despite my best efforts, I'm falling deeper with each passing day for Selma.

The next morning after a grueling training session, Danielle corners me with a determined look in her eyes. She knows there's something I've been hiding, something I've been avoiding. However, I am the strongest on the team when it comes to hiding my feelings. With a gentle yet persistent tone, the Dutch begins her heartfelt plea.

“Danielle, not now.” I sigh, feeling drained and exhausted. But Danielle is not one to let things go, especially when it comes to relationship matters.

"Y/N, we need to talk about Selma," Danielle insists, her voice soft but unwavering. "I see the way you look at her, the way you light up when she's around. You might believe that you’re hiding your feelings very well– but you aren't. Sorry but trust me, she feels the same about you."

I'm taken aback by her words, a flicker of hope stirring within my heart. Before I can respond, Danielle continues, her words flowing freely.

"I know you're scared, Y/N. Scared of letting someone in, of being vulnerable. We all know about the shield you try to put up so you can be the “stronger person”. But love isn't a weakness; it's a strength you know?? And Selma, she's worth the risk. She won’t tell you how she feels about you unless you give her the green light."

My defenses begin to crumble, the weight of my emotions threatening to overwhelm me. As much as I wanted to say it– my words choke inside of my throat. After a quick deep breath, while shaky, I met Danielle's gaze, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Danielle, you don't understand. I'm not just scared of being vulnerable. I'm scared of being in love with her. It's like... like giving someone the power to break me into a million pieces. Especially since we are on the same team, you know? Is this how you and Ellie felt before you guys were together?” 

“Yes–but we took the chance. Now we are getting married next year!” Danielle smiled. This gave me reassurance as I smiled at the shorter woman. 

Danielle's expression softens at my smile, a silent understanding passing between us. She reaches out, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder covered with the blue lyon windbreaker.

"I get it, Y/N. I really do. But sometimes, you have to do it before it's too late. Just tell Selma how you feel so you can stop stressing yourself out.” 

My heart aches with the weight of Danielle's words, the truth ringing loud and clear in my ears. And as I looked towards the goal post closest to the two of us, I knew I needed to tell Selma how I felt. If Danielle wasn’t wrong, maybe I won’t embarrass myself. 

An hour later I sit in the passenger's seat of Selma’s car, the engine idling softly as Selma sits beside me, the silence between us almost tangible. Before this, I asked her in the locker rooms if we could talk somewhere. Believing that the locker room around teammates wouldn’t have been the smartest idea, we chose to go in her black suv instead. My heart races with nerves, my palms damp against my thighs covered with my black yoga pants. This is it, the moment I've been building up to, the moment I can't avoid any longer.

Before I could start, Selma spoke up first with a laugh: “You smell very good.” 

I laughed softly before saying thank you. Remembering that i’ve purposely sprayed my vanilla perfume on before leaving the locker rooms to get here.

"Selma," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper, "um—there's something I need to tell you."

She turns towards me, her gaze soft and encouraging, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. This look was unusual for the hyper and silly woman, "What is it, Y/N?"

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage, knowing that this is a moment that could change everything. "I... I love you, Selma. Um— I love you more than just a teammate– I love you, as a lover" I said. I could have worded that better but my nervousness got the best of me. The French woman looks at me with a smirk before processing what i’ve confessed. 

For a quick moment, the world stands still, the weight of my confession hangs in the air. And then, slowly, the smirk spreads across Selma's face again, a warmth filling her eyes.

"Y/N," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "I love you too. I fell in love with you at the beginning of the season, which is why I didn't stop bothering you. I love you so much."

Relief floods through me, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as she reaches for the space on the jaw below my ear. She pulled me into a kiss which warmed my heart entirely. Her plump lips felt soft against mine and I relaxed into the feeling of finally being hers, after pretending like I didn’t want to be. 

“Damn– you own vanilla lip balm too?” Selma says licking her lips, she pulls away to look at my lips before looking at my love-filled eyes again. I laughed, knowing that I did have vanilla lip balm in my vanilla collection too, “Yes I do.” I smiled. 

"je l'aime." Selma says before leaning for a kiss again.

<3

[sunflowersonatas]

written in the stars: oneshot

sirius black x f!reader / flangst / whimsical!reader

summary: He has spent his life running from the name they gave him. But under the stars, with you beside him, Sirius Black finally stops to listen.

a/n: this was heavily inspired after reading @bartonomy's lovely work a glimpse between the veil, so i wanted to tag her here as thanks for writing that one in the first place! i love the whimsical!reader trope and i've always been an astrology girlie myself i really do believe (and call me crazy but) the stars do have an influence on how we feel, our moods, our lives. okay done rambling, hope you like it!!! <333 xoxo, sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 1849

The stars have always been watching.

The moon watches too, thrumming with an unseen pulse. She spills her thin, silvery light over the earth, seeping into the spaces between breaths and between thoughts, a quiet witness to the night. You can feel the traces of something ancient, felt by every wanderer who has ever turned their face to the sky. The grass is damp beneath your legs, blades curling gently, as if the earth itself is holding you in place. Overhead, the sky stretches indefinitely, a great cosmic sea where stars drift like scattered embers, still burning long after their fire has gone.

You breathe it in, slow and deep, letting the night fill your lungs. The moonlight seeps into your being, turning your limbs ethereal, half-real, as if you, too, might dissolve into the constellations above. You are at peace here, in this liminal space between night and morning, between earth and sky.

And so, without thinking, you begin to speak.

You tell him about the constellations the way one tells old stories by a fire, familiar and worn at the edges, but no less magical. Your fingers trace invisible lines between the stars, connecting them into shapes, into myths, your voice weaving pictures into the darkness.

"That’s Orion," you say, arm outstretched, your fingertip drawing the belt in the air. "A mighty hunter, cursed to chase his prey forever across the sky. He thought he was unstoppable. Then the gods decided otherwise."

Sirius follows your gaze, his eyes tracing the constellations as you map them with effortless certainty. He watches the way your lips shape each name, each legend, as though they belong to you, as though you are the one weaving them into the night.

"And Cassiopeia?" you continue, shifting slightly so that your shoulder brushes against his. "She was too proud. Too vain. Thought she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs, so Poseidon made sure she’d never look at her reflection the same way again. He chained her upside down in the sky, just to remind her."

You pause, tilting your head toward him, a knowing smile playing at your lips. "Strange, isn't it? The stars don’t tell these stories—we do. We named them, shaped them into hunters and queens and fleeing sisters. We gave them meaning because we needed them to mean something. Because our ancestors looked up at the same sky and whispered their fears, their hopes, their warnings into the dark, and the stars have been listening ever since."

He doesn't answer, but he doesn’t look away, either.

Encouraged, you shift onto your side, propping your head on your hand. Your other hand lifts, fingers tracing another invisible line. "That one—there. The cluster? That’s the Pleiades. Seven sisters, running from a love they never asked for. They were so desperate to be free that the gods pitied them, lifted them from the earth, and set them here—far from grasp, far from harm. A sanctuary in the sky."

You let the words hang, let the weight of them settle. "Such a contrast," you continue, voice lower now, more measured. "One woman, bound to the stars as punishment. The Pleiades, seven sisters, cast into them as an escape. One sentenced. One spared. Both still written into the heavens."

Sirius exhales, a slow, quiet breath, his gaze locked on the vast sprawl above. His fingers twitch against the dewy grass, restless, as if they might catch on something unseen. The rise and fall of his chest is steady, but there’s a tension beneath it, a thread pulled taut, waiting to snap. He doesn’t know whether the sky is a tether or a noose, if its vastness offers escape or only makes him feel smaller.

His eyes flicker to you, thoughtful, hesitant. He never believed in fate. But right now, he believes in the way your voice bends around the stories, in the way your fingers move through the air, slow and deliberate, as though you are shaping the constellations yourself.

Sirius doesn't believe in fate. He doesn’t believe in divine intervention, or cosmic prophecy, or the nonsense his mother used to whisper over candle flames and tea leaves. He doesn’t believe in signs, doesn’t believe in destiny, doesn’t believe in anything that claims to know him better than he knows himself.

But he listens when you speak.

You lie beside him, arms outstretched, fingers gliding through the night as if plucking melodies from the stars. Your voice is quiet but assured, each word carrying the weight of something ancient. The stories of the stars are not just myths—they are memories, stitched into the sky by those who feared being forgotten.

“They named you after the brightest star in the sky,” you murmur, your breath warm against the night air. Your voice is different now, softer, as if the words are heavy with meaning, not just meant to be spoken but entrusted. “Did you know that?”

Sirius exhales sharply through his nose, turns his head just enough to glance at you, but he doesn’t respond right away. The mood has shifted, the playful storytelling dissolving into something heavier, yet somehow more fragile.

“Yeah,” he says at last, but his voice is shrouded behind something guarded. Careful. “I know.”

Your gaze stays on the sky, on the vast darkness where his name burns, distant but unwavering. “Sirius is a guiding star,” you continue, your voice carrying the slow reverence of a secret. “Sailors used it for centuries to find their way home.” Your fingers dance between the stars, drawing invisible maps in the air, tracing a path that has existed for millennia.

His eyes follow the movement of your hand, but his expression remains unreadable.

You press on. “It’s part of Canis Major. The Great Dog.” There’s a pause, just long enough for the words to linger. “A loyal companion.”

His laugh is abrupt, cutting through the quiet. But it isn’t real, not really. The sound is empty, edged with something bitter.

“Loyalty,” he repeats, tasting the word, like one might taste wine to test if it's spoiled. And indeed, it lies bitter and pungent on his tongue. He shakes his head, a slow, almost imperceptible movement. “Funny.”

You don’t flinch, or argue, or try to tell him he’s wrong. You just let the silence settle, let the sky breathe between you. And then, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it, you ask, “What do you think it means?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Because the truth is, he doesn’t know. He’s spent his whole life running from the name they gave him, the weight of it pressing into his bones, the chains of his bloodline clanking at his heels. The Black family had always spoken of the stars with reverence, with hushed voices and heads bowed as if they were sacred, as if their fates were written in them before they were even born.

But he doesn’t want to be written into anything. Doesn’t want to be another Black, another link in the chain, another name in a long list of cruel men with cold hands and empty hearts.

“They named me after the brightest star in the sky.” He pauses, just for a moment, as if weighing the words in his mouth, feeling their weight settle into his bones. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, almost resigned. “But they never wanted me to shine.”

The words hang there between you, fragile as gossamer, trembling under the weight of the truth. The night swallows them whole, but they don’t disappear. They linger, stretching out between the space of his ribs, curling in the back of his throat like smoke from a fire long extinguished.

You don’t speak right away. You let the silence settle, let the night air breathe around you. There’s no rush. No demand. Just time. Just the quiet hum of something unspoken threading between you, waiting to be understood.

Sirius swallows hard, tilting his head back toward the stars, searching their endless sprawl as if they might hold an answer he’s never been able to find.

“I wonder,” you say eventually, voice softer than before, contemplative. Your breath catches, just slightly, before you continue, “if stars ever get tired of burning.”

His eyes flick toward you, sharp but thoughtful, considering your words the way he considers so few things.

You continue, tracing slow, delicate patterns against the sky. “They burn for centuries. Millennia. Pouring their light into the universe, unraveling themselves in the process, until there is nothing left but the faint remnants of their glow. But eventually, even the brightest ones collapse.”

A pause. Then, softer, “Even the ones that guide people home.”

Sirius exhales, long and quiet, the breath leaving him like something unraveling, like a tether slipping free. His fingers twitch against the dewy grass, restless, as if they might catch on something unseen. The rise and fall of his chest is steady, but there’s a tension beneath it, a thread pulled taut, waiting to snap. He feels as if you’ve reached into the hollow of his chest and found a feeling he had locked away, hidden in the quiet corners of himself.

Then you turn to look at him, and your eyes are burning with an emotion he can’t quite name—wild, consuming, stretching beyond reach, reflecting the infinite sprawl of the cosmos.

“But,” you murmur, your voice carrying the weight of a truth so delicate it feels as if it might shatter if spoken too loudly, “they don’t really disappear, do they?”

His breath catches.

You watch him carefully, as if measuring each second that passes, as if willing him to believe you. “Even after they’re gone, their light travels. We still see them. Still follow them. They don’t stop shining just because they aren’t there anymore.”

Sirius doesn’t know what to say to that. Because no one has ever told him that before. No one has ever spoken of him like a presence that lingers, a light refusing to dim.

You shift closer, just enough for your shoulder to brush his, a steadying presence against the weight of his thoughts. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t speak. But the tension in his jaw eases, just slightly, as if the closeness anchors him to something real, something here.

“Sirius,” you say, like it’s a vow unspoken, a promise woven between the stars. “You are burning brighter than they ever will.”

For the first time, the words land with weight, pressing into his chest, firm and steady, an anchor against the pull of everything he’s been running from. They don’t scatter into the night, don’t vanish before he can hold onto them. They stay. They linger, heavy and certain, settling into the spaces he’s long believed to be hollow. A quiet warmth stirs in his chest, like embers coaxed back to life. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t disturb the stillness that has wrapped itself around the two of you. He allows it to exist, lets the night cradle the silence, and leaves none but the stars to bear witness.

And for once, he doesn’t feel the need to disappear.

☀️🌻 masterlist

[threehazelnuts]

The Six Companions - Thoughts and Background (Part 1)

Background

As I said on the outset, Die sechs Diener (The Six Servants) is a very little-known story from Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Even in Germany it stands in the shadow of Sechse kommen durch die ganze Welt (Six get through the World), which is similar in structure, but much sillier in tone.

I only came across the story because it was featured in the 1999 TV show Simsala Grimm. It was the only fairytale in the series that I hadn’t known previously. Although I never liked the drawing-style, I enjoyed the story. I always loved the teamwork of the group and I liked that they were all outsiders before the Prince found them.

Some, like the Fat and the Long Fellow are always busting the limits of everyday life. Frosty and Keen-Eyes are more or less handicapped with their special abilities. What I already loved about the Simsala Grimm version were these little moments where someone has to guide Keen-Eyes, although he’s the strongest weapon they have and a really cool, scary guy. Listener reminds me a little of myself, trying to listen to the world despite the random noise his fellow-people make. After his introduction scene had posted, I discovered in another version of the story he doesn’t say he can hear the grass grow, but he can hear the dead sing. I’d totally have used this line if I’d known earlier.

Between Simsala Grimm and myself, there were quite a lot changes to the story:

Originally, there are three quests to win the Princess’ hand. The ring in the Red Sea is the first, and the night-watch is the third. In between there's an eating-contest, which the Fat Fellow wins of course. Frankly, I found that a bit boring and not visually interesting either. He had already drunk the Red Sea, and that’s a lot more unique as something the fat character does. And there’s no teamwork at all on this task.

In the third task, the Princess is just sealed in an ordinary mountain, without fire, so Long-Fellow and Keen-Eyes solve this alone.

(Long Fellow and Keen-Eyes arrive at the mountain. Illustration from 1835. Image: University Library Braunschweig*)

Then, after the Queen has poisoned her daughter’s heart, the story takes a bit of a misogynistic twist. She now becomes like her mother and sets the Prince a fourth task: He’s to sacrifice himself or one of his servants to be burned at the stake. She thinks he loves his servants so much that he’ll sacrifice himself. But of course he picks Frosty, who of course doesn’t burn. Again I thought this too much of a one-man-show, and also a bit stupid on the Princess’ part. It’s not even really a task. I went with the Simsala Grimm version where the fire comes in at the mountain. Especially as there is the fieriest of mountains available in Middle Earth World.

Simsala Grimm kept the Princess entirely good, and had the Queen send the army after the group herself. Which is fair enough for a children’s show. But I actually liked the idea that the Queen puts a psychological curse on her daughter, just as she escapes from her clutches. It’s totally understandable that the Princess suddenly panics. She’d rather stay in the marble prison she's used to than start a new life with a man she has known for 48 hours. So the army scenes are from the original. Also I love how the Red Sea suddenly comes back and adds a biblical dimension out of nowhere. Originally, it's the entire Red Sea which the Fat Fellow forgot to put back. I went with the Simsala Grimm modification that it was only a part. That's a bit more credible and also easier to shoot.

But still that’s not the end of the story. Then there’s also a taming-of-the-shrew miniature-version of King Thrushbeard at the end, in which the Princess gets cured from her “avarice”. The Prince pretends to be poor and she has to live with him in a lowly hut until she accepts her fate. The companions don’t appear in this episode at all. When the couple is finally reinstalled in their kingdom, the six servants suddenly reappear, only to ask leave to travel the world together.

I like King Thrushbeard because it's a realistic scenario: The Princess has long lost touch with the realities of life and judges her many courtiers solely by appearance. That's why we did it in Rococo style back in the day. Being thrown together with one humble man makes her appreciate him as a person and take responsibility. There's no magic in this story, and King Thrushbeard runs the show entirely on his own. Because he sees a good character underneath some bad habits.

This is The Six Servants / Companions though, and the story should be about them. That's why I ended with the return journey and made the Princess see the power of teamwork. It still makes her look a bit calculating, but she's a Princess raised by a power-hungry queen. Of course she'd judge her situation according to these values. She's not cruel though, so I'm optimistic she will learn what friendship and family really is and to use her sense of power to the best of the kingdom.

[xia0mi-c0m]

another rant about Dragon Maid and it's G-d awful creator

!!WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS TOPICS SUCH AS L0LIC0N AND P3DO BAITING. BEFORE YOU COMMENT; THIS IS NOT A DEFENSE POST OF THESE TOPICS BUT RATHER A RANT ABOUT THE ANIME KOBAYASHI DRAGON MAID AND IT'S UNFUNNY, DISGUSTING HUMOR.

Let's just get straight to the point; Dragon Maid is straight up fucking gross. This animes whole fucking gag whenever Kanna is in a "questionable" position is that "Oh! Kobayashi finds this physically 6 year old [Kanna] girl hot! She's such a p3do! Lol!!!1!1!1!!" Which ISN'T FUCKING OKAY. IT'S NOT A GOOD FUCKING GAG NOR IS IT A GOOD JOKE. Jokes are supposed to be funny, pedophilia is not a joke. Children are harmed by the activities of predators and glorifying this and making it a "joke" is never okay no matter what. These jokes are also always out of place and let's not forget the disgusting design of Ilulu.

Before degenerates who desperately need to touch grass come into my comment section defending the creator by saying "Oh but they're dragons!" Both Ilulu and Kanna do not have actual ages stated on the wiki. But all we know is that KANNA IS PHYSICALLY 6 YEARS OLD. WITH NO HUMAN NOR DRAGON AGE LISTED. Whether you like it or not, that is full-blown dog whistling to predators.

Ilulu is so grotesquely designed for a girl who looks like a literal 7 year old. The Creator s3xualizes her especially because he made her have large breasts that are too big for her body for the sole purpose of s3xualizing her. REMINDER; SHE LOOKS LIKE A 7 YEAR OLD GIRL. In what way, shape or form, is that okay?

And them being a dragon ISN'T AN EXCUSE. We saw it in The Seven Deadly Sins with that fairy girl who was basically a child but the fandom defended the p3do-baiting by saying that she was a fairy and they were tiny so it's okay EVEN WHEN, AGAIN, THAT IS NOT AN EXCUSE.

If she or he looks like a child, they ARE a child, there's a difference between dwarves and petite individuals when it comes to comparing them to these L0lic0n characters. So, don't use that excuse with me either. If you're against proship or p3dophilia in general, then you're against Sh0tac0n and L0lic0n. Otherwise, you'd be a hypocrite.

And to go back on the "reality doesn't affect reality" thingy many people like to say, under FEDERAL LAW it is considered a crime to have paintings, images, and cartoons of minors in s3xually charged positions, and guess who usually are in these positions in dragon maid? KANNA AND ILULU. Even if these drawings or cartoons do not have real children, fictional children still counts, and when referring to children I'm talking about people under 18 in general. So, fiction DOES affect reality.

Basically, in short: FUCK THE DRAGON MAID CREATOR.

[hannahssimblr]

As the evening draws in, others arrive at the house. It’s been nice, just Evie and I, for the hour alone that we had, once my family left and I finally showered the smell of grass from my body.

We laughed together while preparing the oven snacks that are now laid out on plates on the table, being picked at by people whose surnames I’ve already begun forgetting. It was sad too, in a way, being happy with Evie, and living out some kind of domestic fantasy where she burns the spring rolls and I tell her it’s okay, because I’m a dustbin of a man and I’ll truly eat anything, and maybe later, before going to bed we would brush our teeth together and flash each other frothy smiles in the mirror. 

I considered kissing a flake of pastry off her lip, too, in a temporary burst of madness, before remembering it would be among the worst ideas I ever had. It was just as well I didn’t, because the doorbell was ringing, and four people from school were waiting outside. 

Now, in the light of the golden sunset, we’re apart, as I, on the lawn, listen to a group of guys talk about the college offers pushed through their letter boxes this morning, and Evie sits with Tara Neary and her gang at the patio table and does her best to include herself. I hope they don’t tell her about the weird stuff I did at school, but chances are, they’ve already been through the highlight reel. 

They all turn to look as the patio door swings open and Michelle comes out and down the steps towards me. To my great surprise, she greets me with a hug. 

“Sorry, we’re a bit late,” she says. “Jen had a thing about her hair.”

“Ah, classic Jen,” I glance over her shoulder, and spot that signature flash of red in the kitchen. I’m uneasy, knowing I’ll have to have a grim conversation with her later, but later is later, and now, Michelle is smiling in a way I’m almost sure she never has, surveying the little crowd that has gathered in the garden.

“A good few showed up after all, didn’t they?”

“I think they wanted to see what the inside of my house looked like, to be honest.”

“Don’t be like that! They wanted to give you a proper sendoff, to wish you well on your big adventure.”

“Oh, yeah. That whole thing.”

“Are you nervous?”

I smirk. “Yeah, it’s my first time on a plane. I’m shitting it.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know I’m not talking about the flight.”

“I’m trying not to think about it, to be honest,” and my eyes, once again, find Evie through the crowd. “I’ll just get on the plane, and I’ll let it all sink in when I’m there.”

“Makes sense, in some sort of way, I suppose.”

“The whole thing is surreal,” I admit. “Like, tomorrow, before midday, I’ll be there. Like, I’ll live there. It seems like too much change all at the same time.”

“It’s what you wanted,” she reminds me. “And if you don’t like it, just come home.”

“I doubt I’ll come home. I think that’d be, like, the biggest failure of my life.”

“Worse than losing me?” She says, and I baulk, before she cracks a grin, “God, I was joking.”

I break into a laugh. “Nah, actually you know what was worse than that? Losing Goose.”

“Oh God,” she covers her mouth with her hands, “the Goose of it all. How could I forget about him? Do you have a theory about what happened?”

I grimace. “I want to be realistic, but that also means I don’t really want to speculate, because, I mean… Most likely…”

“Fucking hell, you know, I’ll never forget that…” 

As we talk, and catch up and laugh with one another in ways that we haven’t for a decade, I lose track of time, and don’t pay attention to the sun that dips below the horizon. The evening moths vanish from the garden, and the stars rise and the summer dies, and my last day in Ireland ends without me even noticing.

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