#returning to mention the implied wings in the water IF YOU KNOW WELL YOU REALLY WISH YOU DIDNT HUH

[ayzaart]

(sketch) TDP S7 CONFIRMED LETS GO???

[cyphertripping]

hi! could you do pre-relationship omen x reader where the reader is really fond of cats and one day finds omen's kitty (who went for a walk without their owner's knowledge) and returns them? bonus points if omen is hesitant at first in fear that reader would be scared of him but reader is really friendly and nice :)

this was a really cute prompt, ty! (also yes, i named the cat jason after the VA- im just so creative 🤪)

Lost Cat (Omen x reader)

Word Count: 1400+

Fluff

You’re an employee at the Valorant Protocol. To be honest, it’s not as big of a deal as it would seem from the name, if anything it’s more about having a sparkling clean background check over your specific skills. Your job involves scanning the internet and news for radiant-related incidents. It’s meticulous work, but rewarding (and it beats your last job). 

You’re currently walking around the office on your lunch break. One of the many perks of your job is that the VP has significantly more funds than the average workplace to beautify itself and you’re currently enjoying yourself in the small garden area outside. You’re picking through some leftover pasta you have from the last night, but your heart isn’t really in it. 

That’s when you hear the sound. It’s a rustling in the leaves, too loud to be a gust of wind. You look to the side and that’s when you see it. 

It’s a black cat, hazel eyes looking up at you inquisitively. You immediately melt at the sight, placing your lunch down slowly as not to scare the cat. You approach it and it lets out a soft mrrow. 

“Hey there,” you say softly, moving down to kneel beside it cautiously. The cat blinks but doesn’t move away, it doesn’t seem to be skittish. You see upon closer glance it’s well groomed, fur too soft to be a stray. 

You offer your hand to it and the cat sniffs cautiously. It seems to accept you as it immediately rubs itself against you hand, insistently demanding pets. You comply, laughing. Who would’ve thought? 

You wonder idly who could be the cat’s owner. The VP headquarters are specifically isolated from civilians and anyone who could stumble upon it, including animals. Which implies that the cat belongs to one of the agents who stay in the VP. 

You hum to yourself as you consider the options, while also giving scratches behind the ear to the now loudly purring cat. Despite having worked at the VP for some time now, you haven’t met many of the agents. Brimstone and Dr. Callas you’d met during the interview process, but you’re not sure if they seemed like the cat type. Furthermore, the residential wing was off limits to regular employees, you can’t imagine how a cat snuck out here. 

 As no one was near you, you wondered if the owner knew where the little guy was. You gently reach around the cat to pick it up and it folds compliantly into your arms with a tiny meow. Well, you may as well use the rest of your break productively to find whose cat it is. 

Surprisingly the first person you run into is a tall man sporting a bold orange jacket. It looks like he’s running an errand but as soon as he sees you with the cat he pulls back and splutters. “Oh god, is that a cat! What’s that doing there?” in a distinctive British accent. Seeing he wears no clearance badge you figure he must be Phoenix, one of the radiant agents. 

“Sorry, bruv, I’m allergic,” Phoenix is still backing away from you slightly but you catch him. 

“Wait, I’m sorry but do you know whose this could be? I think it’s one of the agents’. I found this little guy out in the gardens,” you ask him quickly before he can flee. 

Phoenix studies the cat closer and you swear you can see the watering beginning in his eyes already. “Oh, I think Omen might’ve mentioned getting a cat or something. I think he stays in his room most of the time. You could give him back to him?” He says, very clearly avoiding offering to do it himself.

You sigh. “But I don’t have clearance. And I really don’t want to bother anyone—”

“No worries fam, I got you. Come on,” Phoenix gestures for you to follow him, still keeping a healthy distance between himself and the cat. 

“I don’t want to interrupt,” you quickly say but he waves your concerns aside. 

“Nah it was just some stuff Jett wanted me to grab, it’s no biggie,” he flashes you a blinding grin. You just give a grateful smile in response. 

-

A couple corridors and card swipes later, you’re in what seems to be the common room for the agents. It’s similarly decorated to the office space of the VP, with a few more personal touches. There’s a TV and several gaming consoles attached, along with speakers. It’s quite a homely space.

Phoenix nods down one hallway. “His rooms down there. Should be labeled. Just knock on it, don’t worry. Omen’s a friendly guy, he doesn’t bite,” he promises.

 It seems like a strange remark but you’re busy ensuring the cat, who you’ve been carrying for some time now, doesn’t squirm out of your grasp. You don’t pay the comment much heed. You thank him and are on your way. 

Three doors down and you find it. You really hope he answers, otherwise you’re in an awkward predicament with one extra cat. 

The door opens quickly at the knock. “Yoru, do not test my patience, I’m tired of— oh. Hello,” a figure stands in front of you. He sounds surprised but you can’t get a read on him from his figure. Bandages seem to cover his form alongside a… you suppose it’s a mask. Blue light glows from behind it. All in all, it’s a frightening visage and you suddenly understand why Phoenix had given you a disclaimer.

At the silence, he seems tense and you almost want to say that he looks nervous. Because of you?

The cat in your arms begins to squirm harder at the sight of him and leaps down, rubbing himself against Omen’s legs eagerly. 

“Oh, Jason. You found him— thank you,” Omen sounds genuinely grateful. He leans down to pet… Jason. But that comment is enough for you to snap out of your shock at the whole situation.

“His name is… Jason?” You say, incredulously.

Omen looks up at you, seeming a bit embarassed. “I liked the name.”

“Where did you find him?” He changes the subject. “I searched all over.”

“He was in the gardens, in the main headquarters,” you explain and he nods. 

“Cheeky rascal, aren’t you,” Omen admonishes the cat. Despite his deep, rough voice that nearly sends shivers through you, you can see he cares for the cat deeply. 

“He’s a beautiful cat,” you comment. The pet is a neutral ground, not about work or anything that might make Omen uncomfortable. 

“Indeed,” he murmurs. “I chose him from the shelter since he’s a black cat. There’s always an over abundance of them,” he says sadly. 

“He reminds me of my cat. She was… the best. But she passed and it’s hard to keep a pet in this profession— I have to be away so much, you know?” You shrug, trying to not act bitter. There’s a lot to be grateful for in your current job. You realize Omen is watching you, studying you. Even if you can’t see his eyes you sense it.

“I understand. Well, you ever want to have some cat time…” Omen trails off. You realize he’s inviting you to hang out with Jason (and him as well, presumably). 

You beam at the words. “I’d love to. Hey, do you have a phone? I’ll give you my number and just let me know when’s a good time to come by.”

He seems to light up at the offer. “That sounds… good. Wait,” he freezes. “I don’t even know your name. You returned my cat to me and I haven’t even asked,” he laughs sheepishly and even though it sounds a bit like pained scraping, perhaps a shadow of what it once was, the intent is warm. You find sheepish is a rather cute look on him.

You smile and give him your name while typing it into his phone as well. He hums. “It's a lovely name.”

“Oh… thank you,” you try not to show how much that flatters you. You hand back his phone and step back. “Well, I better head back to work now but, don’t be a stranger.” You awkwardly shoot finger guns and Omen nods in agreement.

“See you later,” he confirms. In a last farewell, Jason sticks his head out and let’s out a loud meow.

“I’ll see you later too,” you coo, and give one last chin scratch. You wave goodbye again and head back down the hallway, reentering the general�� area of the headquarters. You feel warm, the sort of warm one has after a good conversation in the company of friends. You have a feeling Omen will text you back.

[haadeswrites]

Elysium

god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished

Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader

tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw

The island itself is breathtaking

Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it. 

Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child. 

He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.

A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well. 

As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”

Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.

—

You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call. 

And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse. 

They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.

‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’ 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.

So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.

And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined. 

Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.

You’d like to hate her. 

It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.

“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.

“I always go,” you reply.

She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?” 

And your traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.” 

Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”

It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.

“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?” 

Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.

“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression. 

“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;

“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”

A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet… 

No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–

Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”

—

She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.

Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following. 

Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading. 

And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.

Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.

For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other’s gaze.

—

You can’t forget the reason you came.

But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home. 

And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions. 

It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain. 

Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.

Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him. 

Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–

Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.

‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’

Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.

You can deal with the fallout later.

—

Kiyoshi. 

He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.

Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part. 

There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours. 

From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.

It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”

Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”

A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.

Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.

Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea. 

While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.

You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well. 

Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for. 

As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to. 

Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.

Every inch a king and his general.

And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.

Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.

Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight. 

Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers. 

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him. 

Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.

But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight. 

Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks after a moment.

You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”

He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.

Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion. 

So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.

“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”

“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.”

Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering. 

Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”

He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.

The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms. 

An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night. 

That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–

Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?” 

You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”

“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”

“Oh, um- Ryuji.”

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”

He looks you right in the eye as he says it.

You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be. 

Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–

Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?

“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.

And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”

Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach. 

Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.

Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”

You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves. 

“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, “I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”

Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”

“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”

Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”

Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–

“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.

–But not to lie down.

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.

You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.

And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.

You and Ryuji.

He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach. 

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head. 

Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river. 

If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–

“Lost?”

The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.

Slowly, you turn. 

Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.

A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.

Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–

You’re tired. 

Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.

… Right?

A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”

The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north. 

In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night. 

And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?

A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.

And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore… 

You should have stayed on the beach.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.

Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.” 

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.

If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it? 

And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–

A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.” 

An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”

You have no response to that, so you do.

—

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island. 

As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.

The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment. 

You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage. 

It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.

Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside. 

Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.

“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”

Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side. 

True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly. 

“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.

Swallowing tightly, you shake your head. 

Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.

Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?

Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.

Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.

Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.

It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.

The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.

“Come,” a familiar voice calls.

You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.

“Go on.”

And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.

Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first. 

No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.

How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable. 

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.

His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.

“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.

It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.

“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.

He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.

“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–

His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.

“Aren’t you happy here?”

Yes.

“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out. 

Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes. 

There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.  

A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”

Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise. 

When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.

It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.

It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.

None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–

The door opens.

Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually. 

Time slows. 

Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at. 

Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally– 

Finally, you’ve found Ryu.

There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.

Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.

“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.

Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–

He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”

Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound. 

He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.

Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”

His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.

Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips. 

It wasn’t him. It was never him. 

“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”

The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.

And you’d still come when he’d called.

Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.

“Iwa.” 

The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.

Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care. 

“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.

He isn’t wrong though. 

Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch. 

“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. 

Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.

Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again. 

Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.

“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”

Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”

You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to. 

Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?

You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.

“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”

You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.

His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”

Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you. 

Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.

Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter. 

This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–

A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”

With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.

The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.

It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most. 

Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–

Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.

With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood. 

Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.

The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.

Death begets life, just as he promised.

And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.

Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.

Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.

—

“Look, look!” 

A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.

“Do you like it?” she asks. 

Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.

At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”

You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”

[blorbologist]

41 AGAIN and a tad archaeological again but. Near Stonehenge is Silbury Hill, a historical mound originall probably chalk-faced. Some awful victorian thought it was a barrow full of treasure and dug a tunnel into it's centre and found... nothung. But this damaged it and a few years ago they did a rescue dig to fix it and get soil samples. From this they discovered that it was a series of mounds, built bigger on each other ... and there were ants trapped between two layers.

Ants have pretty specific life cycles, especially male ants which these were - these were winged young males, which meant they knew the specific season the second mound layer began construction - iirc spring.

Anyway if I may ask pretty please for perc'ahlia?

There are ants in the castle and Percival is just about to start shooting holes in the walls to get them out. 

Well. That would be counterproductive - the reason the ants are a problem at all is because they’re eating the wood. And the walls are stone, anyways, so he would just make a mess of things and ruin everyone’s day - insects and his own.

Carpenter ants. Fat, black and with massive mandibles for their size, the faintest of hairs on their shiny abdomens. He knows, having caught a few and peered at them through a few lenses of his glasses. Must have made him look so very alien.

As the name implies, they burrow through wood. Which means finding one, two in the kitchens, making off with crumbs, was a bad sign. And finding neat lines of them down corridors, vanishing here and there, was worse. 

These little - little invaders are running amok in his castle and he will not stand for it.

“They’re just ants, dear,” Vex had teased, late one evening. 

Percy couldn’t begrudge her the joking - she returned from her hunt to find him crouched and scowling at a little hole he had found, certain he had seen the distinct sawdust they discarded. Just investigating if this was an active tunnel - which meant folding himself under furniture on the ground, a candle near to hand to light the issue.

“Carpenter ants.” His teeth are grit not at her - gods no - but at the odd angle as he peers under the dresser. Raises his voice to carry out of this ordeal of his own making: “They’ll eat through the wood, dear.”

“Castle Whitestone is… stone, right?” He can hear her head cocking. 

Can’t sigh or it might disturb them. Come on out, now, just so he can know. 

“The walls, yes - but much of the floor and some walls have wood paneling. Not to mention the furniture, and simply how unsanitary it is to have them in the kitchen.”

The shift of clothing as Vex rids herself of her armor, comes to settle near him. “We could toss out anything afflicted, darling - it’s the best way to deal with an infestation. Surely local carpenters would appreciate the commission of new pieces.”

Now he really grits his teeth. “I can’t throw it all out,” Percy confesses. Quietly, to not disturb the ants. Quietly, to not disturb the memories. “It’s - they’re old, Vex. Older than I. These pieces survived them, too. Survived our antics, and father’s terrible choice in decor.”

“Oh.” 

There’s a tug on the back of his shirt. “Darling? Come on out of there - I can’t drag you.”

Percy obliges. It takes some wiggling, and perhaps a little writhing - the ants have it so easy - to back out of the space he’s crammed himself into. Find himself crammed into Vex’ahlia’s arms instead - kneeling next to him, pulling him into a hug. 

“I’ll fight for them,” she murmurs into his hair. She smells like living wood and living mosses and living waters. “I’m sure we can figure out something to get rid of these pests without damaging the furniture.”

“Thank you.”

Vex hums - he can feel her smile as he relaxes into her hold. “As Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt,” she says, “it’s my job to protect Whitestone from dangerous animals and the like. Ants count, if they’re threatening family antiques.”

(Send me a prompt and I’ll write a ficlet, a HC or an AU idea + share the science fact that inspired the prompt!)

[todoscript]

SYNOPSIS: Years of memories pouring out, Katsuki and Shouto confront their feelings for you in your very hospital room.

pairing(s): bakugou katsuki x fem!reader, todoroki shouto x fem!reader

genre: angst.

word count: 4.5k+

warnings: really self-indulgent fic, characters are aged-up, implied sexual content, mentions of drinking alcohol, jealousy, reader identifies as female with she/her pronouns, 

author’s note: so i found this pretty old wip i wrote before i made my blog, and after reading it over, i decided hey why not publish it? so i finished it up, did some cleaning, and heres what we got. sorry if it seems kind of shaky, i did my best with what i initially had!

“Bakugou… what are you doing here?”

Shouto enters the room with freshly bought peonies in his hands—one of the many dozen he had brought to this hospital already—his steps coming to a halt at the sight of the Explosion Hero near your hospital bed. Katsuki looks up and narrows his eyes, aggravated by the offender’s question.

“What? You got a fucking problem with me being here?” He keeps his voice low, not wanting to disturb the entire hospital wing, knowingly admitting to how loud he could be. But that doesn’t suppress the bite in his tone.

“Just because you’re her fucking boyfriend doesn’t mean you’re the only one that’s allowed to worry about her,” he nearly spits, and Shouto’s face mirrors Katsuki’s own irked expression.

You have been unconscious for a week now. The cause of this incident was due to your encounter with a dangerous villain who had been wanted by the police for quite some time. Months of evading capture down the drain, the villain had unfortunately ran into you as you patrolled the streets during your nightly shift.

In the end, you won the fight, but at the cost of damage done to your body and overuse of your quirk. As a result, you entered an unconscious state, recovering in this hospital bed to be monitored by medical staff throughout each day. The doctors assured them that you would eventually wake up but will need time to heal on your own through rest.

Ever since the day you’ve been admitted here, Shouto has been visiting your bedside. However, this is the first time Katsuki’s shown up.

Shouto only points a glare to the blond, ignoring him while he sets his bouquet down next to your bed. He notices the already present vase of hydrangeas, surmising that Katsuki must have brought them. He places his bundle of peonies beside them.

The dual-haired man sits on the opposite side of the bed from Katsuki, whose attention is brought back to the girl’s sleeping face, patched with wraps and bandages as a result of your tribulations with the villains.

If I had finished my jobs quicker, I would’ve been able to see you the moment you had to stay in this damn hospital. The thoughts ring in Katsuki’s head, hands clenched into fists out of frustration.

Knowing you had to deal with that whack job of a villain on your own—that your overprotective and valiant nature wouldn’t allow you to let this criminal walk away when you encountered him, and that they weren’t there to prevent you from getting like this—killed both him and Shouto on the inside. They especially hated not knowing when you would wake up or if what the doctors said about you eventually regaining consciousness would even be true.

Shouto takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together. Katsuki catches him pressing delicate kisses against your lightly bruised knuckles from the corner of his eye, the young man not caring that he was performing these intimate acts in the presence of another man. Shouto especially did this in order to make a solid point:

She’s mine.

Katsuki knew very well how possessive Shouto could be while he was in their presence. And honestly, he couldn’t blame him. If he got to call you his and keep you all to himself, he’d make sure everyone knew they couldn’t have you—that your smile and attention were all his and his alone. But in this case, they weren’t, and all he could settle for were envious emotions and fantasies of what could’ve been.

•

•

•

Bakugou Katsuki’s feelings for you date back to as early as your high school years at U.A.

At first, he wasn’t entirely sure what made these feelings arise. Having his goal of becoming the Number One hero plastered at the forefront of his head made romance and love trivial concepts down his path. Katsuki had no time to be chasing after girls, going on dates, and devoting a chunk of his time to a partner.

However, at one point, things started to change. He felt ripples affect the still waters that were his life, and he noticed that only you could calm this torrent. You were the one person he sought comfort in, the one person that understood who he was and why he acted the way he did. And the one person who mended him physically and mentally without belittling his character or crushing his pride.

Through all of that, Katsuki had begun to appreciate and admire all the little things about you. Like your beaming smile and the twinkle in the lovely hues of your eyes that you’d give him as you two interacted. It was such a welcomed contrast to the fearful looks the other students would have etched on their faces whenever he so much as called out their name.

He always took note of how you adjusted his food to his preferences during times you were assigned to cook that night at the dorms. And how you’d go and try to tend to him after training, when his muscles ached and his bruises were settling into his skin.

At first, Katsuki thought of it as a sign of weakness—to accept help from someone else when at his most vulnerable state. Yet you were persistent.

He recalls a particular memory after a battle during his internship where he was reduced to resting in bed to recover. Not many of his classmates came up to check on him during that time. Mainly because they figured he wouldn’t bother to open his door for them anyway. Though one night, he heard a knock sounding from his door. He glanced up from his bed, already thinking about ignoring the visitor in favor of staying in bed to rest, but a voice spoke beyond the threshold.

“Katsuki? I hope you’re not asleep yet. It’s not much, but I made you a little something to help you get better.” He didn’t reply upon recognizing your voice, hesitating to see what you’d do if he didn’t respond.

There was a pause of silence until you eventually continued. “Well, I’ll leave this in front of your door for you to have… If not, I’ll come back and retrieve it, okay?” That was the last you said before Katsuki picked up a light clank near the bottom of the entrance. Afterward, feet padded lightly down the hallway till they returned to the elevator to descend to the bottom floors, and the blond was by himself once again.

He weighed the option of leaving whatever you left for him untouched, but knowing you made an effort to arrive at his door to check on him caused him to waver. Before he knew it, his feet treaded to the spot to discover a hot plate of curry at his doorstep, followed by a note and painkillers. The plate perched on one of his hands, he opened the letter with the other.

Get better soon! We’ll be waiting for you!

Closing the note, he tossed it on his desk before plopping down on the edge of his bed with the plate of curry in his lap. It steamed and dispersed heat on his sore thighs, piping hot and ready to eat.

He gripped his spoon between his fingers, an irregular grin surfacing his lips. He scooped up the spicy bits of curry, gobbling the dish down to its very last grain of rice until the plate was clean. And in that time, every bite he brought to his mouth made him think of you.

“Dumbass, there’s no way I’m falling behind.” Feeling thoroughly full, he transferred the finished plate to his desk, where he had left the note. Before he had even realized it, he reached out for the paper, glancing over the words one last time. He fished a pen from his drawer and scribed a reply of his own for when you would return for the dirty plate.

Thanks, dumbass. It was good.

•

•

•

The Icy-Hot Hero, Todoroki Shouto, loved you too much to let you go.

You were the girl that shaped him to become the person he is today—who taught him to embrace himself for who he was and not let his past define him and what he stood for. You were the person that brought him out from the dark hole he trapped himself in and cast him into warm light. You’ve stuck together through thick and thin throughout your journey to becoming Pro Heroes, protecting one another and watching each other’s backs. It wasn’t long before he noticed his feelings for you had developed into more complicated emotions. Emotions that made butterflies flutter in his stomach and his face unusually hot whenever he even glanced in your direction. As he began to actively seek you out for comfort and support, he thought of you differently in comparison to all of his other classmates.

Initially, these foreign feelings troubled him. Yet, he could never quite piece together why you could garner such flustered reactions.

Then after consoling these newfound sensations with his close friends and family, he realized that you meant so much more to him than just a classmate, an ally, a colleague. Todoroki Shouto was—is—in love with you.

And the feeling was mutual.

Whether it was the intense looks you two sent as your gazes naturally drifted to each other or how your hands would always brush across soft and calloused knuckles in a silent plea to lace your fingers together, it wasn’t long before he discovered that his feelings for you were reciprocated.

Interestingly, you and Shouto never had to confess anything to each other. Your feelings came almost naturally for you both like you were telepathically linked and on the same wavelength. You came to one another like magnets attracted to their opposite poles, and in just a blink, your lips had met one day, and you took each other’s first kiss.

From then on was the start of many more “firsts.”

Shouto remembers the first time he let you hang out in his dorm room, talking about simple things like school, studying, and internships.

He remembers your first date to a cafe his older sister recommended—the one with flavorful milk teas he knew you’d take a liking to, with bountiful flowers decorating the interior of the tea house.

He remembers inviting you into his home to meet his older siblings, have dinner with them, and letting his family get to know you as his significant other.

He remembers taking you to see his mother at the psychiatric ward his wretched father had admitted her to, finally letting the two most significant women in his life meet and watching as his mother took a relieved liking to the girl he loves.

He remembers the tension that hovered in the air over an argument you two had one day, which was eventually mended through communication and reaffirmations of love.

He remembers embracing you in his bed, devoid of nothing but yourselves in your purest forms, eliciting sweet sounds from your lips that intoxicated him with lust and drove him to desire more and more until he monopolized every crevice of your body—every ounce of your soul—and intended to burn your beautiful, sinful image into his memory.

He remembers so much of the little things and the significant things about your love that he could never, ever hand you over to anyone else. Less of all to Bakugou Katsuki.

•

•

•

Katsuki was one of the first people to notice that they were in a relationship.

At first, it wasn’t obvious. The two made a point to keep their romantic bond a secret among their classmates and teachers not to complicate things and be the subject of teasing. They also considered the fact they needed to focus on their studies and hero training. Kisses and other affectionate touches were done behind closed doors or whenever they knew no eyes could discover them. These sneaky tactics proved to be effective and not many questioned them about relationships, aside from the occasional girls/boys talk they’d do. They’d ask each other things like “who would you date” and “don’t you think ‘so-and-so’ is cute” and many other curious asks. Their answers to these inquiries were inconspicuous enough that most of their friends didn’t suspect much of anything. Except for Katsuki.

Katsuki was never one to pick apart details, not as much as his childhood rival, Deku, anyway. But the more he looked at them, the more he was aware of the particular hints and their subtleties of tenderness. Such as the way the red-and-white-haired boy would perk up at the sound of your name or the chime of your voice from across the dormitory’s common area. Or the way you two would hover around each other more often than you would your classmates as if maximizing the most of your time together in public. Or how you’d go on small study dates together and hold each other’s hand underneath the table in the library, thinking no one would notice.

Perhaps, the most significant indication, however, was the expressions on each of their faces.

Maybe Katsuki had started becoming very hyper-aware, unraveling your mannerisms and making out even the smallest of singularities, but he felt your faces alone were an obvious giveaway.

The looks you gave each other were ones harboring nothing but pure love and adoration. He could discern the glow you exuded simply basking one another’s presence. Those looks weren’t ones you would give to a close friend; they were something more. He would know. That look Shouto gives is the same one Katsuki has for you, after all.

Except, his is never reciprocated.

That pretty smile, the flustered expression across your cheeks, the sparkling hues of your eyes—all those little details were reserved for Shouto, not Katsuki.

It hurt to know that the gaze you give Katsuki wouldn’t ever be the same one you give to Shouto. Katsuki knows this, and yet he still can’t seem to get past you.

The moment he was aware of his feelings—reluctantly fathoming the fact that you were with Shouto—Katsuki did everything in his power to stop these feelings.

No, not just stop. He had to get rid of them. Cut any connection with them. Dealing with an aching heart was too much work and pain for a boy with heavy aspirations to bear. So he ignored you—erased you. He didn’t so much as spare you even a glance as if you were just another extra. Whenever you appeared, he made a move to leave, spouting excuses such as “I’m going to sleep,” or “I don’t have time to be around you losers,” the usual Bakugou Katsuki response to any form of unnecessary socializing. He had to act like you didn’t exist, put his mind on something else—anything else.

But darn that girl and her need to check on and care for other people.

Noticing something was wrong with the boy, you sought Katsuki out, cornering him. You asked him what was wrong, to which Katsuki gritted his teeth, unable to look at you in the eyes, knowing that those feelings would bubble up inside him again as they conjured troublesome butterflies in the pits of his stomach. Yet it was no use.

He couldn’t deny that he missed those times together—when you would patch up his wounds and bruises after training or when you’d let him try out your spicy ailments before half-and-half because you always knew he had a preference for spicy foods. He still had it bad for you.

And he continued to harbor those feelings even after you all graduated after your third year at U.A.

The heroes-in-training were ready to take on the real world as Pro Heroes and sidekicks. By then, you and Shouto had admitted to the class about your relationship. Some were surprised, while others, specifically the girls, expressed their rounds of “I knew it!” likely noticing the chemistry between the two long before. Katsuki had decided to play dumb and acted like this announcement meant completely nothing to him. Just useless news. That was what he told himself, anyway.

After that, Katsuki didn’t see much of the couple around. All of them were busy with work and trying to get their names out in the public to compete on the Billboard Hero Chart.

Which was good news for him. With his goal of becoming the Number One Hero still lodged into his head, the blond threw himself into his heroic duties. Often, he didn’t stop, persisting on job after job until the agency he was under forced him to take breaks whenever they deemed necessary for his health. In those times, Katsuki found himself slowly forgetting about you. But occasionally, he’d see glimpses of you again.

As expected of one of the graduates under Class A of U.A., you were definitely making a name for yourself and propelling in popularity. Whether he wanted to or not, Katsuki would see articles and advertisements glowing with your resplendent features plastered on headlines, covered by your hero name.

God, did you look as beautiful as always. Katsuki would think before jolting his mind back to reality, remembering that you weren’t his to ogle.

The last part was hard to bear, especially when his former class announced a reunion party at a restaurant Momo had reserved for them when everyone had hit the legal drinking age. Katsuki was definitely not keen on going. However, his friend Kirishima had convinced him to come along through relentless persistence.

Ultimately, he attended the reunion. He and Eijirou arrived together and appeared relatively earlier. Well, earlier than at least half the class anyway. Eventually, more of their former classmates trickled into the food establishment and greeted one another with boisterous cheers all around. Which, unfortunately for him, included the people Katsuki dreaded to see the most—you and Shouto.

Your hand was already laced with half-and-half’s when you two entered, resulting in some of their classmates teasing you about your public display of affection. Both didn’t mind though. Over the years, you’ve grown quite comfortable with hand-holding and even hugging in the open.

You know who did mind? A certain explosion hero, of course.

Save that shit for when I don’t have to fucking see it. He almost hissed out loud but bit his tongue at the last second.

To his luck, you had ended up sitting next to him, with Shouto at your left. Though you were sandwiched between two guys from your former class who were infatuated with you, Katsuki felt like he was more suffocated than you were.

The reunion that night went by relatively smoothly. You would chime in some small talk with Katsuki during certain intervals of time while everyone was holding their own conversations in the background. He did his best to keep his cool and not let himself act like a high schooler in love. To some degree, he thought his facade had worked as he played off his usual “Bakugou responses,” albeit with a lot less yelling and venom in comparison to how he spoke to everyone back in high school. Dare he say, he might have even softened up a bit. What he didn’t notice was Shouto glancing at him from the corner of his eye while in the middle of a conversation with Midoriya.

The night continued with rounds of alcohol poured across the table of twenty-one heroes. They made their cheers before helping themselves to their spirits. Conveniently, Shouto and Katsuki were very adept at holding their drinks. You? You weren’t as great. By the end of the night, you passed out from how drunk you were and had ended up laying your head on the table, head floaty and light.

By then, everyone else had left aside from maybe five or so people. Momo graciously helped the couple secure a cab home safely for the night, and Shouto had gotten up to help confirm some information. Katsuki was left to his own devices with you next to him.

His eyes couldn’t help but wander toward your form. You were so vulnerable in front of him, with your soft lips, splayed hair, and long eyelashes turned in his direction for him to see. Though a bit of that smell of alcohol lingered, he could still make out the flowery aroma you always gave off. You smelled of lavenders, daisies, roses—every fucking flower under the sun—with a hint of honey. Your scent intoxicated him. He started to wonder if this is how you smelled like at home, or if your scent became even more potent whenever you appeared fresh out of the shower and—

Katsuki hadn’t realized his hand had subconsciously gone up to brush a stray hair from your face until he managed to pull himself away from his thoughts. Thankfully, he retracted his hand back before committing himself to the act. But the gesture did not go unnoticed by the heterochromatic-eyed man who had appeared again to gather you in his arms.

Shouto had taken his coat and wrapped it around you before hooking his arms beneath you to cradle your body.

“Mm, Shouto…” you hummed against him, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as you nuzzled further into him while on the verge of sleep. Katsuki’s heart throbbed hearing those half-dazed murmurs that left your lips, which hovered so close to that bastard’s neck. He wanted the privilege of holding you close and taking care of you at your most vulnerable.

“Come on, love, we’re going home,” he said fondly at your resting state. Katsuki didn’t catch the cold glare Shouto sent his way as he looked elsewhere to avoid the couple’s intimacy right in front of him. All he could hear after that was the engine of their cab rumbling in the distance, trailing back to their humble abode.

•

•

•

“...I know.” Shouto finally breaks the silence within the hospital room, eyes still trained on his beloved as he rubs his thumb across your knuckles to the base of your hand.

Katsuki looks up at his words incredulously. “The fuck is that suppose to mean.” He narrows his brows into a pressed glare.

“I know that you’re in love with her.”

Katsuki deadpanned, his eyes wavering at the man’s declaration. Should he deny it? Make it seem as if the icy-hot head was delusional? No. He knows that the signs must have been obvious coming from the one man in his way of vying for your attention, the man that would go to so many lengths for you that he’d travel to the moon and back in a heartbeat if it were in your name. Katsuki can’t pry himself out of this one.

He takes a glance at you. Was this really the place to be confronting him about this? In the presence of your unconscious state resting in this hospital bed between them?

“And what about it?” Katsuki counters his claims.

“I don’t plan on letting her go no matter what.” As if to make a point on his words, Shouto’s hold on your limp hand is firm, unmoving. He slowly shifts his gaze to the ash blond, crossing his look of anger. “So stop playing this game.”

When the words travel across the hollow hospital room and to Katsuki’s ears, his fists tighten in response. “Game? Game?!” He raises his voice, body shaking. “You think my feelings are some sort of joke to you?! That I’m only looking at her like this for fun?!” His eyes find Shouto’s blue and gray, red with ire. The young man in front of him is unfazed in the wake of his indignation.

“Let me tell you something fucking straight…” Katsuki starts, stepping forward, finger pointing fiercely in Shouto’s direction. “I won’t deny anything I feel for her at this point. I’m in love with her, alright?” he admits without hesitance and notices the subtle quirk of Icy-Hot’s brow. “And I’ll tell you that if she were mine, she wouldn’t have gotten in this position in the first place.”

Those words are what finally make Shouto’s unnatural composure crumble. He releases your hand to stand from his place and face the blond at eye level. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Crossing his arms, Katsuki scoffs at the question.

“You’d think I’d even let that villain get near her if this was gonna happen?” He gestures in the direction of your patched-up form, asleep and littered with bruises. “If she were looking at me, I would’ve already been on the scene to back her up. And just what were you doing, huh? Helping old ladies cross the street?” Katsuki is unfiltered as he hurls his insults, but three years of dealing with him as a classmate has made Shouto immune to his temperament.

“Let me get this through your head then. She was never looking at you. She was looking at me.”

Ouch. The blond would be lying if those words didn’t stir a pot of hurt inside him.

“And as both her partner and a fellow Pro Hero, I more than trusted her enough to finish the job on her own. Even if this isn’t a game to you, you’re already losing a battle you can’t hope to win.”

“Not sure why you’re the one calling the shots for her,” Katsuki quips. How ironic the girl they’re both fighting over lays comatose in this very bed between them.

The atmosphere is layered in dreadful silence afterward. The monitor next to you beeps in eery succession. It is the only thing heard in the hospital room that is wrapped in tension so taut it is bound to snap at any moment.

The knot of strife is undone by the door sliding open to reveal a nurse entering the uneasy state of the room.

“Mister Bakugou and Mister Todoroki, I’m sorry, but visiting hours at the hospital are closed for the evening,” she informs them as the two had yet to realize the sky veiled darkening orange with the setting of the sun. Eyeing the clipboard hugged to her chest, they knew it was about time for the hospital to assess your condition again.

The two make their leave, taking the time to thank the nurse before doing so, but the suffocating tension follows them even outside the hospital. They don’t speak a word afterwards, only sharing bristled looks and heavy steps until they’re forced to head off in their respective paths, not sparing any more kindness.

To Shouto, Katsuki would never understand the lengths he’d go for you because Katsuki could also never experience what the two of you went through together in the same way. All those years together, forging unforgettable memories of love and tenderness, could never be replicated.

But the blond isn’t bothered by those facts. It doesn’t unnerve him that he was unable to encounter all those firsts with you because in his mind, he’ll just create new memories—ones that you’ve never experienced and ones that will make him the last and only person you’ll ever want by your side. He’ll blow fucking Icy-Hot out of the atmosphere.

ending note: heyyy congrats if you’ve made it to the end. i think at the time i was writing this, i had an idea on how to progress the fic, but i decided to leave it on this. not particularly sure if i’m going to continue this, i may just leave it up to your interpretation. does katsuki steal the readers heart? does shouto protect his love from being severed in front of him? will the reader even wake up? find out on the next episode of dragon ball z

[imabookadict]

Hiii can you do a really angsty azriel×reader where like maybe one of them gets jealous of the other being close with someone else and they have a huge fight but everything works out so it's a happy ending?

hello! i always see scenarios similar to this where the reader is jealous of elain and azriel’s relationship, so i decided to change it up a bit. enjoy!!<3

summary: azriel gets jealous of your best friend

warnings: mentions of implied sex (briefly), kisses, and no proof reading

You hadn’t seen your best friend, Fabian, in over two weeks. So when he suddenly showed up at your door, of course you had to usher him inside, even if you had just woken up and looked horrendous.

“I’m sorry to stop by all of the sudden, I just missed you and wanted to see you.” He was following you into your living room, which was currently scattered with stacks of books and random scraps of paper with titles on them that you wanted to buy. “Work has been keeping me busy.” That was no surprise. Fabian was the current manager of Rita’s, which happened to be quite the benefit for you and the inner circle.

“Don’t apologize for stopping by,” you said as you sat down next to him on the couch. “You brought pastries, so it doesn’t matter if you disturbed my sleep.” You gave the paper bag clutched in his hand a pointed look.

He laughed and passed you the bag. Fabian watched in delight as you practically ripped it apart, desperate for anything sweet.

You two sat there for hours, talking and laughing about whatever, when you heard the door open and close quietly before your mate appeared in the room, wings tucked in tight and he surveyed the view before him. You and Fabian had gotten quite comfortable: you laying with your head in his lap as his hands idly play with your hair.

“Oh hey Az,” you looked up at him and smiled warmly. He didn’t return it. “Was work alright?”

He ignored your question as glanced between you and your guest, who had gone quiet, fingers still in your hair. Azriel’s gaze strayed there and stayed as he asked calmly yet coldly, “what is he doing here?”

You frowned at the unreadable expression on your mate’s gorgeous face. He’s probably stressed out with work and wasn’t feeling up to having guests around. “I haven’t seen Fabian in a few weeks and he showed up earl-“

Azriel interrupted you. “Please leave.” His gaze was threatening, daring him to object. Like the smart male he was, Fabian just politely thanked you for having him and quickly say goodbye before rushing out the apartment, not in the mood to cross the legendary shadowsinger on a bad day.

You sat up straight and looked from the door to Az. “What the hell was that for?”

“He’s trying to get into your pants.”

“You have no right to make such an accusation,” you said, standing and following him to the bathroom. As he turned the sink on and bent forward to wash his face, you added, “i’ve known Fab for years. Longer than I’ve known you.” Your relationship was just over two years old, while you and Fabian have been friends for over fours years. Azriel was just grumpy, and you knew you should just let him be, but you had the urgency to defend Fabian. Well of course you did, he was your closest friend.

“You’re oblivious to anyone who hints that they want you. Trust me, I know first-hand.” He turned off the water and dried his face with a towel then made his way to the kitchen. “He brought you pastries- your favourite thing to eat- and was playing with your hair as you had your head in his lap. He’s trying to charm you, and I think it’s working.”

You let out a harsh chuckle, and sat yourself on the kitchen counter as Azriel opened a cabinet and pulled out the stash of chocolate-filled croissants you two had to hide behind all the pots from Mor and Cassian. They devoured all your food, and you and Az agreed that the croissants must be defended from them. “Are you that self conscious? Even if Fabian did happen to fancy me, it’s not like he’d ever stand a chance. I’m mated, for Cauldron’s sake. I’m offended you think I’d do something like that.”

Azriel ran a hand through his dark hair, snacking on the croissant with the other. “Are you so sure he has no chance? You said it yourself: he’s known you longer than me. Perhaps he knows you better too.”

“Stop being like this.”

“Like what?”

“Jealous.”

He finished off the croissant and looked you dead in the eye. “Of course I’m jealous. I arrive home to my mate laying on another male with her hair being twirled around his fingers. You’re my mate. My mate. Not Fabian’s, not anyone else’s, mine. I don’t share.”

“That’s a very overbearing-mate-thing to say.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry. I- yes, I suppose I can be quite self-conscious when it comes to this stuff. I feel like I don’t deserve you, you’re too good for me. I know that’s not an excuse- and I swear it isn’t- I just can’t stand the thought of another male’s hands on you. Or female’s, for that matter. Anyone else touching you- whether its causing you pain or pleasure- makes me see red. You’re my mate, and I’ve been looking for you for so, so long. And now that I do finally have you, I’m afraid you’ll slip away.”

You felt the corner of your mouth twitch upwards. “I can confirm that I feel the same way. But please don’t worry about me leaving or dying or anything to do with me disappearing, because it’s not happening. I love you, alright? Cauldron, sometimes you’re stupid enough to forget that, and that makes me sad and frustrated at once.” You hopped off the counter and walked up to him, wrapping your hands around his waist. The Illyrian leathers were cool against your skin. “And because you forget, I’ll remind you again: I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He smiled down at you. “I love you too, darling. But I am sorry. I ate the last chocolate croissant.”

You gasped at him and playfully hit his chest. “How dare you! I was going to snack on those later. You’ll just have to buy more.”

“Would you be willing to change into proper clothing and join me?”

You rose on your tippy-toes, and he bent down to meet your kiss. But you dodged him and planted a kiss on his nose before swiftly ducking under his arm and escaping his grasp. “No, I’d prefer to stay home. I’ll find something you cherish and make sure it’s gone when you return.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “The croissants don’t mean that much to you.”

“Of course they do.”

[mx-metronome]

Sky Theory: The Light and The Darkness

A post about my thoughts on light, darkness, how they react to one another, and (possibly) what it all implies regarding the Eye of Eden. (Spoilers ahead!)

I wrote a post about the civilization we see rise and fall, but today we're going to delve a little deeper into how the story might really be going, from the conflict to the climax to a possible resolution.

To quote the game's story (from the updated Isle of Dawn):

"With the stars united, our light was infinite...and together, we lived in harmony."

It is well established that light is a valuable resource that the spirits relied on, and way back at the beginning, it was also a renewable one: Winged Light fell from the sky continuously, a symbol of innocence and purity as a gift from the Megabird. Because it was infinite, the spirits all flourished, and there was no squabbling over a scarcity.

"As spirits, we soon became many...creating our home here in the clouds."

Here is where the civilization really starts to grow, specifically in the Daylight Prairie stage. The spirits' needs are all met every day of every year. But somewhere down the line, their basic need wasn't enough for them anymore. As they grew in number, so too did they grow in curiosity and want.

"But darkness came and the stars fell...

This sentence here sums up the remainder of our story, although what take place over the course of this sentence is an entire age. Here's how I feel it goes down:

The darkness coming literally refers to darkstone being discovered, and how its potential in advancing the people tempts them away from the comfort of their infinite light. The spirits did not have the light ripped away from them: they chose the darkness over light and turned away willingly, severing themselves from the stars. The Winged Light stop falling and become a precious commodity.

So they toy with this newly discovered darkstone and find that it reacts to light: as light is applied to any kind of darkness, it gives off energy, a rudimentary sort of power generation. There are several pieces of evidence to confirm this:

Darkstone technology only activates when you apply your light to it.

In fact, whenever you activate a darkstone door in the Hidden Forest, you recharge a little bit of cape energy, suggesting excess energy is produced in the reaction.

Darkness plants, when exposed to light, are used up in the process (as they are less dense than darkstone), but they release candle wax in the reaction, a concentrated form of energy.

However, as mentioned above, you need light for the darkness to be of any use to advancements, and now that supply is finite. The spirits must now find alternate sources of light, and the only source available to them at this time is the creatures of light.

The prairie begins transporting butterflies en masse to the forest to be broken down, and their light is channeled through their dark machinations to keep things running. As the butterflies become scarce, they look to mantas instead, and so on.

The civilization continues to grow and with it their demand for light, but the supply continues to dwindle. The scarcity of light is now threatening the people, and an ultimatum must be reached. They need a reliable, renewable source of power, one that can run almost indefinitely, so the King has one built, for the future of his people and their way of life. That's right: the Eye of Eden was never a weapon, but a near-infinite energy source, like a nuclear plant.

The finest engineers gather at the capital city and splice together mass quantities of darkstone into one megalith, only requiring enough light to kickstart a chain reaction. The reaction would cause a feedback loop: the energy emitted by the light-dark reaction would be enough light to perpetuate the reaction for an extended period of time, and any excess energy can be harvested or siphoned off and used to power the grid.

The people have spread far and wide and into different factions, each jealously guarding what little light they have left, knowing the King has intent to seize it. Skirmishes turn into battles turn into a full scale war. The desperation of each front has them all take the glorious darkness and turn it into weapons, and in this production of arms the people are failing to realize the true long-term side effects of utilizing darkness: pollution.

The weapons are produced as close to the front lines as the people could safely manage, hence the heavy pollution in the Golden Wasteland, just outside the capital. The water becomes thick and near impossible to sail through; the light from the light creatures begins to react to the darkness in the air and water, hence the presence of krill and dark crabs twisted by the corrupting dusts. The people try to infiltrate the capital city to seize the light that the King was hoarding. Perhaps some of the elders were even privvied to the King's plan and were working to defend him to save their own factions of people. Perhaps some of the elders even fought each other over differing ideals regarding the new generator.

As a last-ditch effort, the King moves the generator to as close to the sky as he can in a futile attempt to harness the holy light of the stars they had turned away from ages before. He hopes that the reaction will reach high enough to begin drawing in star power, slowly draining the heavens to keep his people alive.

He gathers any light left in the capital city and sends it through the machine, and the reaction kicks off in an instant. The power is greater than the engineers had calculated, and it is too great for them to harness; the wave of energy is massive enough to wipe out most of the denizens in the city within the first few seconds. The displacement of energy creates fierce winds and kicks up poisonous dust clouds, even scooping up entire bricks and boulders and flinging them through the air.

The mighty capital begins to crumble under the weight of this blazing light, and the flinging rocks tear down surrounding cities, picking up more debris as it grinds away at buildings. The dark dusts scatter across the land, settling over what few survivors remain, reacting to their inner Light and encasing them in stone, leaving them with no light left to return to Orbit whence they came.

The people had fallen to the darkness and its powerful properties, using up all their precious light to maintain their mortal existence. Now there is no light left and no way home. All that is left of their existence is husks of darkness, broken bones of old cities, and a radioactive storm with an unholy hybrid of light and darkness at it center that will run its course for thousands of years more.

"...and with their light we faded away."

...But not without one last plea.

"A long time has passed. Now we call to you."

In their last few moments, some groups of people, those who still had faith that they'd rejoin the stars, began to pray. They stated prophecies, chanted incantations into the sky, erected shrines with candles, hoping that their selfless offerings of light would grant them grace. That somehow Megabird would hear their cries and send them a chance at redemption, a chance at attaining Her inner Light once again.

And so the Megabird sent down the Winged Light again, hoping it would be enough to begin healing the land. But She did not quite understand the inner workings of this darkness, for it was beyond Her: this Light was fragile, and couldn't stand up against the darkness that swallowed the sky. She needed a vessel able to carry this Light safely into the heart of darkness where Her people slumbered.

So She learned of the darkness and how it cancelled out Light, and in response, she created the first sky kids.

"Go forth, child. Return our spirits to the stars."

Sky kids are different from spirits in many ways. Firstly, spirits are also creatures of light in that they originate from Orbit. It was their go-to source of energy and sustenance. But that connection between the spirits and all the light they'd ever need was so easily broken by the want that darkness produced, and their sensitivity to this darkness made them fall prey easily when it fell out of control.

By contrast, sky kids were created as instruments of the Megabird, shells carrying Her fragile Light within. They are not beings of pure light, but that's the point: they were designed to withstand darkness, and granting them a corporeal form provides more protection for Her Light from darkness than otherwise.

So the first sky kids go and deliver their inner Light to what fallen spirits they can find. The elders see the coming of the sky kids as Megabird's answer to their pleas, as Her Light is within them, and as the sky kids present their Light to the elders, they are able to reconnect with the stars and send up the spirits freed from darkness. So begins the pilgrimage back to Orbit, spearheaded by an army of children.

The first sky kids free some of the spirits and then head to the capital where light and darkness collide, the point nearest the stars. Megabird's intent was for the collected Winged Light in the hands of the sky kids to be enough pure Light to dispel the storm, but the darkness is too great, and as the Light was torn from them, they had no Light left to keep away the darkness, and they fell at the summit with no way of returning to Her.

So She sent more sky kids, thinking greater numbers would aid Her will. But two things began to happen, things She did not foresee: the sky kids, blank slates with no discernable emotions or features, learned from the spirits they saved: they learned how to wave hello, they learned how to laugh, how to cry, how to cheer, and so on. They even began taking on some of the fashions from the spirits! They presented individuality, suggesting that Megabird's Light was more than just pure Light: it was also a soul in its own right, much like the spirits that came before.

The second thing that happened was at the summit of the Eye of Eden, as it came to be called: when the sky kids realized their Winged Light wouldn't survive the Storm, they passed it on to fallen sky kids instead so that they may ascend back to Orbit and rejoin Megabird, at the cost of their own ascension. This soul of Light each sky kid carried not only established a personality, but also compassion, as Her Light was always meant to do. Sky kids were drawn to one another, and they started to work like teams and help one another out. They gave each other offerings of light as symbols of friendship and acceptance, not unlike the spirits' desperate offerings of light and candles to Megabird.

The Eye of Eden is the purest, most powerful light colliding with the purest, most potent darkness, which makes it an ideal euphemism for death: suffering and then release. It is the door to Orbit, but their possessions - their Winged Light - will be left behind. They only carry their deeds in their darkest time, which they are rewarded for after the fact.

When they came to Orbit at last, Megabird lauded them for their sacrifice and kindness, and invited them to remain with Her. But many of them expressed distress and dismay for all the sky kids still down in the clouds that needed help, and all the friends that they would miss. So She sent them back with two boons: additional Light granted by the spirits they helped ascend, and the knowledge needed to guide other sky kids back to Her.

Even if not everyone would rejoin Her in the Light, it brought Her comfort that Her Light was spread across an aching kingdom, sharing hope and peace to those who couldn't be near to Her.

[enchantedblackrose]

All the Pieces Pt 3

Gif not mine. Full credit to the owner. Taken from Google Images

All the Pieces

Sirius Black/Fem Reader

Warnings: unedited, mild language, alcohol consumption, brief mentions of underage drinking, small mention of bullying. Lengthy author's notes at the end. Also this was a huge PIA to write so hopefully it doesn't read too disconnected

Part 1|| Part 2|| Part 4|| Part 5

Part 3 of ?

When you touch me gently I remember how you know And the sun shines rings around your smile And I'm here laughing like a child -Pieces, Dan Powell

If it was any other person on your doorstep, you'd probably berate them for inducing that almost heart attack you just experienced. Instead you grab the familiar face by the sleeve of his worn jacket, pulling him into your living room.

"I could deck you, Remus John Lupin. I thought someone came for him. Ugh. Come here." Your arms wrap  around him for a tight hug, which he returns. "He's here, Remus. He's safe." You feel Remus let out a deep sigh of relief. Pulling away, you look at him with gentle scrutiny, knowing what a toll last night took on him. "You look awful. Did you walk far? You should've told me you were coming. I could have met you."

Remus shakes his head. "I caught a train and apparated most of the way."

"Stop fussing over him, y/n. Let the poor man get past the door."  Sirius's teasing voice calls out from behind you; no doubt his canine ears allowed him to hear the familiar voice even through the closed bedroom door and knew it was safe to come down.

The two men embrace; this encounter being much more relaxed than their last. No Peter, no warranted need for revenge, no threat of execution.

As you all stand in your living room, a haunting thought hits you: you three are it, the last of your true friends. Peter is the traitor. You suppress a shudder, swearing to make the most of this moment.

"You know," you say with a grin, "I happen to have a large bottle of firewhisky. Fancy a drink, boys?" Sirius's grin mirrors your own. Remus has a small tentative smile, but it's all the encouragement you need to send you to the kitchen to fetch the bottle.

The small, quaint kitchen appears even smaller with the disregarded dishes from breakfast still sitting out on your table. The sight causes a small frown to appear on your face. All the rest of the morning and most of your afternoon had been lost to the unplanned nap with Sirius. You fill your sink with soap and hot water. A few flicks of your wand and your dirty dishes are submerged in the water, scrubbed, and rinsed. The process begins again as now clean plates make their way to the drying rack, which is concerning because you dont believe you cast a spell for that. Confused, you turn to see Remus in the kitchen. He winks and wordlessly reaches your top cabinet without so much of a stretch to retrieve the bottle of firewhisky. You follow him back to the livingroom, toting three glasses.

"Cheers to freedom," you say once everyone has a full glass, "and to being reunited with old friends."

"You hear that, Remus? She thinks we're old." You roll your eyes good naturedly. Remus rests a hand on Sirius's shoulder, giving it a brotherly pat. "We are old," he says simply, before all three of you raise your glasses to your lips, sipping at the burning liquid. You each settle comfortably in your living room. Remus sits in the armchair, leaving the overstuffed couch for Sirius and you. You sit at an end, while he opts for the middle seat, but in a respectable distance of your space. The bottle of alcohol sits in arms reached on the coffee table.

"I thought you swore off this stuff y/n." Remus says with a twinkle in his eye as he takes another drink from his glass. "You know, considering your history with it.." You groan and Sirius throws his head back in laughter.

"I almost forgot," Sirius says breathlessly from laughing. "Was that seventh year?"

"Sixth. Just before we got together. I suppose I was trying to impress you," you tell him.

"You matched me drink for drink that night."

"Which was mad seeing how I never had a drink before. I spent all next morning and afternoon in bed, throwing up. It was awful."

"You're forgetting the best part," Remus interjects.

"Dancing on top of that old table in the Shrieking Shack, singing the chorus of "Rock and Roll all Nite" at the top of my lungs was far from the best part. I only wish I could forget it."

"That wasn't singing, love. More like cats dying," Sirius quips while he and Remus laugh. You say nothing, well aware how accurate the description fits. You take a long drink from your glass.

"Yes, well as, uh, entertaining as that moment was, I wasn't referring to it," says Remus. You look at him questioningly. "Have you forgotten sneaking into the Slytherin boys' dorm, stealing all their robes, turning them hot pink, changing the crest to a mountain troll, and then returning them to the dorm?"

"Oh,  Merlin. That was the same night wasn't it? James had never been so keen on lending me his invisibility cloak until I concocted that plan!" The two men laugh and you join in.

"You know most of my other friends thought I was strange for being into muggle music." You say as the laughter dies down.

"Lily shouldn't have?" Sirius asks after he swallows his drink.

"No. You're forgetting Lily and I weren't friends first. We didn't really talk or hang out until she and James started dating."

"That's right. I forgot. I remember the two of you constantly together."

"Because we bonded over you two idiots. Prior to that, she never came out and said it, but I think she thought I was daft hanging around you lot most of the time. The other girls were more forgiving, but they had crushes on you all." You give a careless shrug. It was no secret how sought after the boys had been in their schooldays.

"I never quite understood how you became friends with us," Remus says.

"It was easy with you. You were so nice, calm, dependable, and not obnoxious. Peter…" you pause, choosing words carefully, not wanting present feelings to influence memories. "He was quiet and lonely. Pretty much agreeable. Again, easy. James and Sirius? I was determined to never speak to either after that boat ride our first night."

"We saved your life that night!" Sirius interjects.

"You two were the reason it needed saving! Standing up in a fucking boat because you two saw whatever in the lake. James knocking me overboard in the process."

"It was a giant squid and we rescued you."

You roll your eyes. "I was drenched, freezing and completely mortified. And as apologetic as James was, he kept calling me the wrong name." You all laugh. 

"It wasn't until second year that I thought they might be okay. We had already become friends," you say looking at Remus. "I missed about a week of classes due to acute bronchitis. You spent time with me afterwards, helping me catch up. When you missed later that month, I was ready to return the favor."

Remus nods, remembering the time fondly. "You were an excellent note taker. Much better than the other three."

"Did you even take notes?" You ask with a playful glance to Sirius.

"In second year? Probably not." He grins ever so cheekily. You shake your head, but are smiling.

"So we became friends and you befriended James and Sirius by default?" Remus muses.

Sirius feigns hurt. "Are you implying we were some sort of consolation prize?"

"Actually," you interject, "They saved me once again. A group of four older boys were harassing me, just dumb taunts and knocking my books out from my hands. They came right over, not caring about being outnumbered. Got the gits to leave me alone. James finally learned my name and I realized Potter and Black weren't so awful after all."

"Those guys were jerks. It didn't sit well with us to see anyone bullied like that."

"Unless of course it was Snape," you counter.

"That was different," Sirius's free hand clenches into a fist as he takes a hard drink.

Remus is quick to change the subject. "Do you still have that remembrall?"

"The one we enchanted to go red only for James? Mhm! It's at my flat in the city."

"Do you mean our flat?" Sirius asks.

Your smile falters. "No. Sirius. I got a different place. After…everything. It was too hard."

A deafening silence falls. Each of you taking long sips from your glasses.

"Oh!" You jump up suddenly, which given your somewhat inebriated state is not the brightest idea. You stumble slightly, but Sirius steadies you, grabbing you by your hips. His fingers linger and your eyes meet. You lose yourself; for a moment you're sixteen again and his touch is more intoxicating than the alcohol. His gaze tells you he feels the same.

Remus clears his throat loudly before taking a drink from his glass.

"Thanks," you mumble, setting your glass on the table.

Sirius releases you from his grasp, though you still feel the ghost of his touch. "'Tis no trouble, darling." You sense his eyes on you as you disappear from the room, heading upstairs. Your head is buzzing, but you blame that on the alcohol…

You return downstairs to the living room, the fetched item tucked securely out of sight under your arm, and find the boys, men talking with easy smiles. It makes you so happy to witness and spend this time together. Your presence has their full attention.

"Follow me, please." You fill your glass with more firewhisky. Sirius mimics the gesture and offers Remus a refill, but he just shakes his head no and silently indicates to the liquid still in his glass. You grab your wand and lead your little group outside to the backyard. The sun sits low in the west, the sky becoming more plum and black than pink and gold. Buckbeak sits on the ground near your shed, one wing tucked over its head.

You hand Sirius your wand and then produce his prisoner robes. He laughs and even Remus looks as if he approves. Sirius waves your wand and the dingy, tattered garment is set ablaze. 

After a while, you all make your way back inside. You prepare a light dinner and the eating and drinking continue with more laughs and shared memories. Hours pass. The contents of the bottle nearly drained signal the night coming to an end.

"I'm one drink away from dancing on tabletops and singing, or, screeching some A-ha, or something equally as embarrassing." you laugh. "I'm going to bed. Remus, I offered Sirius your room, but you're welcome to the couch. There are blankets and pillows in the hall closet." 

"Thank you, y/n. But I should be going."

"What? No. Stay. I insist. I need to see your bemused face sipping tea when I come downstairs with a bloody hangover and you're just fine."

Remus grins. "I hate depriving you both of such a moment, but I have an appointment tomorrow morning. I've already rented a room." You frown but don't press the issue any more. "Though if you don't mind, I thought I'd travel by floo."

"Of course. Help yourself. Powder is on the mantle." You hug him close and kiss his cheek. You excuse yourself, giving the other two time to say goodbye.

As you head for the bathroom, you pause hearing their low voices.

"I'm so sorry, old friend, for believing you... betrayed them. I should have known better. I-"

"There's nothing to forgive. I doubted you, too. The war made us all fear the worst.."

Mentally, you chastise yourself for eavesdropping and begin washing your face.

Sirius has made his way upstairs. In passing his room, you say goodnight. You're about to close the door to your bedroom when he calls your name and you turn to see him stepping towards you. Without warning his lips crash down on yours. Your fingers intertwine in his dark curls at the nape of his neck as you let the kiss deepen. His hands grip your waist and he hoists you up off your feet with little effort just as he did many times all those years ago. Your legs wrap themselves around his waist as he carries you to your bed. He drops you gently and only breaks the kiss to look at you. Still hovering over you, his gray eyes search your face for the answer to an unasked question. You nod in response, but he continues to gaze at you longing to hear you say it.

"I want you."

A slow breath of relief leaves him and his mouth finds its way back to yours. 

The night ends with two former lovers once again completely losing themselves in a perfect moment.

//

There's an unspoken understanding that the night you and Sirius shared together was more than a drunken hookup after a long night of reminiscing. But you don't repeat the night, though you share your bed with him. Nights are hard for him. Sleep doesn't always come easy and he often wakes in the middle of the night screaming, or panicked with sweat pouring off his body. But your presence brings him a comfort he can't otherwise achieve. And so, you spend your night together in your bed. Sleeping.

As days turn into weeks, a comfortable routine has set. Remus visits about once a week. Surprisingly, Sirius has taken to caring for your garden. You go into town as needed and you and Sirius cook dinner together most nights. Buckbeak, now known as Witherwings per a letter from Hagrid that reached Sirius, roams your yard freely, occasionally taking flight in the safety of the countryside night skies, always returning by daybreak. As precautions for the hippogriff and Sirius you casted Protego totalum over the cottage and yards. 

During this time together, Sirius learns how you took over your parents' shop*, how you've taken on a promising young woman who mostly looks after it, leaving you to spend more time here at the cottage, which also belonged to your parents. With tears in your eyes, you told him how they died months apart just over two years ago. He comforted you, remembering them both fondly and told you they'd be proud of you.

The day is still young when you tell him you have to go to the shop to take inventory. Before you leave you call out to him.

"Since it looks like rain, can you please go through some of your things in the attic?"

"Yes, dear," he uses the term mockingly and you playfully glare back at him.

"Try not to burn the place down while I'm gone." With that, you close the door behind you.

It's late afternoon when you return home. Sirius is waiting for you. A midnight blue box in his hand.

"Will you marry me, y/n?"

*a/n: I kept this vague so you can imagine a shop that fits your personality/likes/whatever. I'll only specify this later if needed for storylines. I wanted something where you could be allotted time off easily. Personally I imagine maybe an apothecary? Or maybe an antique shop. What about you?

2: I'm thinking of writing a prequel? More like blurbs, highlighting moments between you and Sirius. But I need to know what you want to read. First engagement? First kiss? When Sirius realizes he's in love? Time at Hogwarts? Post Hogwarts but pre Azkaban?

Taglist <3:  @oingo233 @marimorena06 @medalloway-blog

[pineau-noir]

My @hdowlpost fic rec for the wickedly talented @opalesqueopioid

Wormwood & Realgar (T, 24.4k)

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Recreational Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Creature Abuse, Graphic Description of a Failed Transformation (Animagus)

Summary: In which Harry has a dragon to find, a heart to return, and two mountains to climb.

This was written for the 2021 Quidditch Fair, with a note from the author apologizing to the prompter about world building too much and that if the readers wanted to skip to the prompt, they could only read the last chapter. I’m here to tell you if you want to do that, it’s valid, but you’ll be doing yourself a HUGE disservice. 

The world building in Wormwood & Realgar is stellar. It’s a completely unique take on dragons in an area that I know of, but haven’t really thought much about beyond, hey all the pictures I’ve seen of Kyrgyzstan are really pretty and omg I can’t spell for shit. The descriptions of Lake Issyk-Kul and the mountains are lush and made me want to visit as soon as possible. Every scene felt like I was watching a documentary about the area. The places Harry and Draco visit were bright in my head. 

In this world, dragons and their riders (Solomonar) share a magical bond, allowing them to communicate and ensuring trust and respect. Harry has been labeled a Solomonar but he’s still in search of his dragon. Draco is an Arithmancer— in charge of the safety of the dragons and their riders, and working on finding his Animagus shape in his downtime. However, on their way to Kyrgyzstan, Malfoy’s wards are taken down, then there’s an attack on Charlie Weasley and his dragon, Yulia. As both instances were supposedly under Draco’s care, he becomes the main suspect.

We get the story from both Harry and Draco’s POV and it weaves a beautiful story about reincarnation and soul bonds. The writing is exquisite: each word seems to be carefully picked to create each sentence. The plot is tight without being overwhelming, and the love story is delicate and vulnerable. There are a few OCs that are lovely (the Shaman, Madam Cholpon, who takes Draco in is a particular favorite) and each is treated with a deft hand. 

I absolutely adored this fic. It’s gorgeous, lush, and has some of the most well done, bittersweet moments I’ve read. It’s sad in a beautiful way without delivering angst and it has a very happy ending. 

From this fic:

Somehow he had the feeling that Draco was watching him; Harry wished it would last. He could break more rules and complete more insane tasks if it meant that Draco might look at him like that for a while longer. It was a dangerous and childish desire. Harry was quite good at capturing things with wings, he knew, but also tended to lose whatever he treasured.

Other works by opalesqueopioid that I love

In My Solitude, Comes Our Rain (2.7k, T)

“Say something,” Draco urges as he takes a few steps over, earnest. “Anything.”

Harry’s dumbfounded. “… Say what?” The splattering downpour easily scrunches up his words, his thoughts; pelts the wood beams and the concrete until the water stains become raised scars, silvery and many, like this cocoon surrounding them, made of silky raindrops. Draco’s voice is a slosh of fresh draught beer splashed through the muddy racket, when he whispers, “Oh my days, it’s really you.”

Gold Rush (2.9k, G, Hermione/Ron/Pansy, background Harry/Draco)

“It’s Malfoy, actually.”

I peer at the mocking face of my wrist watch. Ron spills pumpkin juice onto his robe.

“No,” Ron groans. “I really don’t care if Malfoy’s big and wolf—”

“Not that!” Harry shouts, then, realising he’s doing a wall sit above the bench, he slumps down again; mumbles, “I suggest you Obliviate yourself of that particular combination of words, Ron. You’re obsessed.”

“That’s called a phrase,” I supply kindly. “A group of words, that is. While your mentioning of obsession, Harry, is called an irony.”

[rosiegeee]

Best Equestria Girls/Unconfirmed Couples in MLP

This is once again going to be a heavily biased list. I literally like all these ships the same except #10 but it would be a weird list to have a nine way tie. these couples were either only hinted at in the final season of My little pony, were in the comics, or were from Equestria Girls. They will be ranked on how much of a romance they seem to have.

#10:  Applejack and Rainbow Dash

There is nothing wrong with these two being a couple, as they are implied to be in the final episode of MLP, I just never shipped them and never found there was any romantic tension between the two, just friendship. The only romantic thing I can think of is from the scene the picture shows where they are friendly bickering about how Rainbow should be allowed to help Applejack with her farm chores.

#9:  King sombra and Radiant Hope

I love these two so much. Through flashbacks we see how these two met, were the best of friends growing up, and than Sombra falling in love with Hope. Even in his monsterous shadow pony form Sombra wants Hope to be his queen, and Hope still loves him, and when he is turned into a full pony they run off together side by side to explore Equestria finding Amore shards to restore her. Hope risked her safety and her freedom to save Sombra and there love oozes from the pages. However, the reason they are number 9 and not number 1 is because of Sombra’s treatment of her as a shadow pony. He emotionally manipulated her to stay by his side, screamed and yelled at her, threatened her, and kept her basically prisoner in the castle, he changes in the end but that doesn’t change what he did to her.

#8: Flash Sentry and Twilight Sparkle

They used to be my favourite ship when I was young, they were so cute and I found it funny seeing a blushing embarrassed Twilight, something the normal show didn’t have. However I was like 13 at the time when I watched this and Rainbow rocks for the first time, and have since seen some flaws here. There relationship is sweet in the first film and and you can tell how good of a guy Flash is, and Twilight returns these feeling, and the quick showing of them being at the dance together was adorable, but than Rainbow rocks happens. It is made clear to use that the entire time Twilight has been gone Flash has missed her(so cute) but from the show we know Twilight hasn’t thought or mentioned human Flash or pony Flash since, and continues not to think about him until she literally runs into him, and awkwardly the cuteness fades as Twilight no longer seems to know how to interact with him, which upsets Flash. Than as the sirens work there magic they become increasingly hostile towards each other and don’t really get a lot of screen time together for the rest of the movie, and than they literally never see each other again, but Flash still waits for her to return. In Everfree Forest he starts to move on.

#7: Curly Winds and Wiz Kid

I don’t know enough about these two to give them a true ranking so they get this neutral spot, but from the images above I’d say they are a pretty sweet couple. And Being LGBT, I always love representation in tv shows.

#6:  Timber Spruce and Sci-Twi

Sci-Twi was never meant for Flash Sentry, and I’m glad they did not get together, but Timber and Sci-Twi is a different story. He was so sweet to her, and there chemistry seemed natural, and he actually asked her out, something Flash never did, that and the almost kiss. This Twilights reaction to having a crush is different from Princess Twilights, and I love how well she gets along with him. The only reason they are not higher is because he was covering for his sister who planned on doing dangerous and illegal things. That and she’s in high school and he is an unmentioned amount years older who seems to have done this camp at least once before so it could be anywhere from a year difference to six.

#5: Yona and Sandbar

Oh my god, they are so cute. The episode that first shows hints of a romance between these two is also one of my favourites because Yona is worried that the Pony’s attending the dance (aka Sand Bar who is the one who invited her) will judge her because she does not look, act, or dance like a pony(because she’s a Yak) and she tries to make herself more pony only to make a fool of herself and mess up the dance. However when she runs off Sandbar finds her and comforts her and tells her that he liked her for being herself and that he doesn’t care that she is a yak. He than asks her back to the dance where they spend the rest of the night together. Also they are seen holding hoofs in the big fight at the end, and are seeming living together at  Carousel Boutique.

#4: Hoofbeard and Jewel 

If you didn’t read the IDW comics you would never know these two, but the mane six go on an adventure with Captain Hoofbeard and try and find his treasured Jewel, but the X on the map keeps moving, in the end its revealed that Jewel isn’t a gem, but a seapony and an old girlfriend of Hoofbeard. He confesses that he still loves her and wishes they could be together but knows that she breaths water and he breaths air, but Twilight uses a spell that gives him gills and some fins. He traveled the ocean, like how Cranky Donkey traveled the land, to find his love again, and faced many dangers to do so.

#3:  Fluttershy and Discord

I always thought these two should stay friends, especially considering he’s immortal ad she isn’t, but in the later seasons it was impossible to deny the romance forming between the two. Discord loves Fluttershy and gets giddy anytime he thinks about her and has pictures of her, and they have tea parties(dates) every week. For Fluttershy she knows Discord like the back of her hoof and is deeply hurt when he sort of betrays the group in the finally, but before that Angel(her bunny who knows everything about her) while in Fluttershy’s body stated how it was Fluttershy’s wish to MARRY DISCORD. In the finally Discord drops Fluttershy at Twilights and gives her a lunch, implying that they live together and during Fluttershy’s part of the song The Magic Of Friendship Grows, as she sings the line, “And because the love that I feel, For every single living creature is something that is real , Friendship happens so naturally ” Discord comes out of a portal and they stare at each other and se extends her wing out to him as he flies just off screen. The writers say there relationship is up to the viewers interpretation, but they are obviously in love and married by the end. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ImsTS1Kb9ww

#2:  Flash sentry and Sunset Shimmer

Here’s where the bias comes in. In the first film its said how these two used to be a couple but that they broke up not long before the series because of how bad she used to be, and than its never mentioned again until Everfree where Flash and Sunset have a momment where they confide in each other because they still know each other in ways the other main characters don’t know her. Flash even asks her if she’d like to start over, than awkwardly adds the friends part but its obvious hw they look at each other that there is still a spark there and it will most likely be rekindled soon. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VI5lTaUahfU

#1:  King Sombra and Princess Celestia

This was the Romeo and Juliet is Romeo and Juliet where literally from other worlds and actually loved each other. This comic pulled at my heartstrings so much that I could never look at Sombra in the TV show the same way again. In this four part series its revealed that before Luna even became Nightmare moon Celestia had been visiting this other Equestria where its ruled by a kind Sombra and the two fell in love and have secretly been visiting each other on and off since. But there travels is ripping the barrier between the two world apart so they can’t see each other as often. In the end Sombra restores the barrier, saving both there worlds, by sacrificing himself by absorbing the evil of the alternate versions of Luna and Celestia, becoming just like Sombra in Celestia’s world. His final act is telling Celestia to leave him(So he won’t do anything he’d regret to her) than on the final page Celestia alone says how much she still loves him, and in his own dimension, despite being evil, admits how he still loves her as well. In the end they are never allowed to see each other again, but there love still transcends dimensional boarders. 

[rainydaymiddleearthimagines]

Arrangements

(Aragorn x fem!Elven!Reader)

Warnings- swearing, injuries, removal of shirt and that's about it

Note: This is my first Lord of The Rings Fanfiction ever. So... Go easy on me I don't know all of the lore of the world... Yet.

Aragorn seemed to enjoy his life in solitude. He didn't mind traveling the land as a ranger on his own, he didn't mind facing the world's troubles alone, he didn't mind this at all. He simply was content on being by himself.

He sat on a log in the forest, keeping a small campfire lit to cook the fish he had caught earlier. It was night now, the stars acting as a blanket as they hung over him. If he wasn't so deep in the woods he might've cared to admire them. However his main sky was tree branches and bird's nests that he would probably raid for eggs in the morning. He knew he was near some sort of town but wasn't exactly sure of his location. Sometimes he'd just wander the lands, seeing the ruins up close to pin point where he was. Now though he decided to venture into the forest.

He waited patiently for the fish to be properly cooked when a cloaked figure sprinted into his area. He drew his blade and the figure jumped back with a gasp. "Woah there! I mean no harm!" He blinked at the voice. A woman? The figure pulled back their hood to reveal an elven woman. You. "Why are you running?" He asked. "Trying to avoid someone." You said frantically. Something in your eyes didn't show fear. No the look you bore was one of annoyance. "Your highness!" Someone called. "Shite!" You whispered. "HIDE ME." You begged. Aragorn blinked. "Sorry, what?" He asked. "Look I will offer you a free place to stay and as much food as you want if you HIDE. ME." You begged. Aragorn blinked but stepped forward. "Trade cloaks with me." He finally said. You took your cloak off, handing it to him as he wrapped his around him. "Pull the hood up and sit on the log over there." He sighed.

You obeyed, pulling the hood up and sitting on the log. Two elven men ran over. "that's her cloak." One of the elven men noticed. Aragorn looked over. "Have you seen an elven woman?" He asked. "Yes, she just took off after handing me this cloak." Aragorn said. "Oh we're done for now." One of the men whined. "I cannot believe we lost the princess again!" The other huffed. You bit back a snort as they groaned. "If you see her again, tell her Arwen is looking for her. That usually gets her to come home, right?" One of the men pointed out. "Right! Yes, if she passes through again tell her that." The other said. "Best of luck to you and your friend!" The elven men yelled as he ran off. You waited a few moments before taking off the cloak.

"I cannot believe that worked." You laughed. "So you're a runaway princess?" He asked. You cleared your throat and sighed. "Something like that." You said. "I just hid you, I think I deserve an explanation." Aragorn said. You sighed. "Okay it sounds so ridiculous and you're going to think I'm two." You breathed. Aragorn rose a brow. "I am avoiding my royal duties because they are SO. BORING." You breathed. Aragorn bit back a laugh as he sat down. "Your sending your men on a goose chase because you're avoiding royal life?" He asked. "Do you have any idea how boring it is to learn which fork does what task? Because I do." You huffed.

Aragorn looked at you. "How many times have you done this?" He asked. You let out a pondering sigh. "Too many times to count." You said. "You'd think your father or mother would have realized you don't want your claim to the throne." Aragorn said. "It's not that I don't want it." You said, looking at the flames of his campfire. "It's that my father wants a kingdom that doesn't get involved. Something is brewing. I can feel it. When that time comes I want to actually do something. I don't want to sit in Rivendell and watch my people worry while we do nothing." You said. "Stop." He halted. "Your father is Elrond?" Aragorn asked. "Met him?" You asked. "I've met your sister once." He said. "Hm. Arwen. She's so much better at royal life than I am." You said. "She's calmer. Not better." Aragorn corrected as he pulled the fish from fire. "I agree. There is more to ruling than etiquette." He nodded. "Never thought I'd ever have someone agree with me." You chuckled. "You don't stray very far from home do you?" He asked making you chuckle. "No. I always go back." You said.

"why do you flee instead of voicing your concerns?" He asked. "Oh I voice my concerns. I am very vocal with my opinions. So I take action on my own, I scout my lands and I ensure things are safe for my people." You said. "So you're out here to... Better your kingdom's safety and don't question a strange man in the woods?" He asked. You chuckled. "The trees say very odd things about you Mister Strider." You said. "...The trees alert you of danger." Aragorn said. "Yes." You nodded. "You do seem a lot more alert than Elrond." Aragorn said. "Father doesn't get involved unless war is brought here. Which is never. So he never gets involved." You sighed.

"Do you have a particular crave for something outside of these woods?" He asked, noticing a look in your eyes. "I want adventure. I want to be known for something. Something more than this." You said, motioning to your royal looking clothes. Aragorn nodded. "I don't see the appeal but I understand you." He said. You noticed a gash on his leg after he stood up. "Your injured." You said. "Ah. Horse was spooked and knocked me off. Hit my shoulder as well." He said. "Come with me to Rivendell then!" You said. "...What?" "We have some of the most talented healers and it's an actual safe place to sleep. Can go wrong with that now can you?" You asked. "Why do you want to help me?" He asked. "Because you helped me." You said. Aragorn looked in your eyes and strangely felt at peace.

He found himself agreeing to your want to help him and you helped him put out the fire, walking with him through the woods. "It doesn't hurt when you walk does it?" You asked. "Not too much, no." He assured. You nodded and finally reached Rivendell. The kingdom seemed more mystical at night. No one was really active with the exception of the guards who seemed relieved to see you. You escorted him to what appeared to be a medical wing.

You took a cloth and soaked it in warm water as Aragorn removed his shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed when your turned around. Scars from battle were riddled across his chest and shoulders. "You seem to be injured quite regularly." You said, taking the cloth and wringing it out. "part of being a ranger." He said. You stood behind him, gently touching his wound. He clenched his jaw at the stinging sensation and you noticed him tense up. "What's it like? Being a ranger?" You asked. "For the most part normal. It's like being a guard but instead of waiting at a gate I watch the lands." He said. "is it exciting?" You asked, grabbing a blend of healing herbs from the small table behind you. "It can be." He answered. "Have you ever actually passed through here before?" You asked. "Once or twice. I usually avoid the major cities. I'm not very... Social." He said. You weren't surprised considering he was alone when you found him.

"does it ever get lonely? Being alone all the time?" You asked. He pondered. There were very few times he actually felt alone on his journeys. But as time was beginning to pass he actually was feeling more and more alone. "It can be." He admitted. You nodded and lightly applied the herbal blend. He winced and you looked up. "Sorry" you apologized. "you're helping me, it's fine. Just stings." He muttered. You noticed a few extra open cuts on his arm. "Were you aware of the injuries on your arms?" You asked. "Oh. No, actually I was not." He said.

You walked around and kneeled, rolling his pants leg up and cleaning the gash on his leg. "You're good at this." He said. "I have a knack for falling out of trees." You joked making him chuckle. You continued in silence for the most part, Aragorn watching your small yet careful hands work. Now that the light of the moon was filling the room and you weren't wearing a cloak he saw the necklace that rested around your neck. You definitely weren't joking about your status.

"That's quite a jewel." He said. You looked down. "My sister has one as well." You said. "Right. I remember." He nodded. "When did you meet Arwen?" You asked. "I--" "Strider?" Your sister's voice said. You looked over and stood up. "Hello." Aragorn said. You pulled away from him and cleared your throat. "You're injured?" She asked. "Just a incident with my horse." He said. "Father wants to speak with you Y/n. He's not happy." Arwen said. "Of course he isn't, I've returned." You said sarcastically. "Y/n he loves you, you know that." She said. "I know. He just has a funny way of showing it." You muttered before leaving.

"she has a spark." Aragorn said, pulling his pant leg back down and pulling shirt back on. "She will make a brilliant leader one day." Arwen said with a smile as she looked at you from the window. "I agree." He said. "Talked to her for a while, hmm?" Arwen asked, a small amused smirk playing to her lips. "What are you implying?" Aragorn asked. "Nothing. Nothing at all." She said before leaving Aragorn alone. He watched you talk to Elrond in the square. You seemed bored by the conversation and he seemed upset. He read your lips, gathering that you were speaking Sindarin rather than native tongue Westron. You however definitely mentioned you bringing Aragorn there because Elrond nodded before walking away.

Aragorn sat back down, looking over at his pack. Your cloak was neatly folded and with his things. "Are you this... 'Strider' my daughter has mentioned?" Elrond asked. "Yes. I am." He said, pulling his cloak that was also neatly folded with the rest of his things. "I have a proposition for you." Elrond said, closing the door behind him. Aragorn halted and looked over. "A proposition?" Aragorn asked. "Yes." Elrond responded.

"My daughter, in case she hasn't told you, has gotten into the habit of leaving Rivendell with no warning. She's done this for about seventy years now, and I have no idea where she goes or if she's even safe. My proposition is that you return here once a month for a few days and take her to wherever you go. In return of this I will give you equipment, food, bed and my daughter can provide you with protection." Elrond said. "Why are you entrusting me with something so precious as your daughter?" Aragorn asked. A valid question indeed considering there are literal tales of what happens when you try anything with one of Elrond's children.

"Because unlike my daughter I know exactly who you are." He said simply. Those words seemed to pierce through Aragorn. "Aragorn." Elrond added making Aragorn swallow down his own anxiety. He sighed and looked over through the window seeing you. You were talking to Arwen now, laughing. A lot more relaxed than when Elrond was speaking with you. "Once a month?" Aragorn asked. "Once a month." Elrond repeated. "Fine. But I get a new horse." He sighed. "You will have a fine steed. Tell Y/n she's leaving. The girl might just fall over from excitement." Elrond said. "Now?" Aragorn asked. "It can be in the morning. Either way I'd still alert her so she actually has what she needs." Elrond said leaving.

Aragorn sighed, sliding on his boots and walking down. You looked over and seemed to cock your head in confusion. "You survived a conversation with my father I see!" You said making Arwen roll her eyes. "Actually we made a deal." He said. "a deal? Do tell." You said with this confused look. "You are to come with me once a month and we will travel to whatever destination is needed. In return I expect your assistance when I need it and equipment whenever I am here." He explained. "By the Valar, my father has actually listened to me!" You gaped. "We leave in the morning." He said. You nodded. "I have one rule though." You said. Oh joy. More add ons.

"No one tells me what to do if I do not want to do it. If you're making me do something you best have a damn reason. Do not look at me as some princess either. I am your equal. nothing more. Nothing less." You said. He nodded. "More than fair." Aragorn said. "I'll pack my bag." You said leaving. Arwen looked at him. "So my father has entrusted you with Y/n... Curious." She muttered. "Do you believe I am not to be trusted?" Aragorn asked. "I never said that. I just think you might see Y/n as something different from what you expect." She said. "I asked you earlier and received little to no answer so I will try again. What are you implying?" Aragorn asked.

"Did you know foresight runs through most elves?" Arwen asked. "I was aware of this to a degree." Aragorn sighed, figuring she chose to ignore his question. "I've seen you. You and Y/n." She said. Aragorn blinked. "You will come to love her. She will love you as well. She will change your life and you will change hers." Arwen stated. "You're saying you believe that I find her attractive?" Aragorn asked. "I never said that either. I said you will love her. I never specified in what way that may be." She said.

You and him hmm?

Maybe he'd just have to see if Arwen is right.

[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived - Chapter 1: Alive

Hello! This is a Dream SMP fanfic written by @rainbowbutterfrosting and I. We decided to write it, following Wilbur's revival, and the reveal of Ghostbur's tragic fate. It's highly canon-divergent, because even as we were writing this, canon changed slightly, and the concept is canon-divergent to begin with. We hope you'll find something you enjoy here, because it's going to be a long slowburn ride.

Thank you to @r0w3n-1n-d0ugh, for beta-reading this chapter!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur (briefly), Tommyinnit, Philza

Word count: 3216

Cw: near-death experience, hypothermia, implied suicidal behavior/recklessness, disagreements, crying, mentions of burning, past death mention, eating/food

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn't take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he'd expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn't care. Because he'd be damned, if he spent the life he'd awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn't going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur's past isn't as easy to leave behind, as he'd hoped it would be.

It started a while after his revival. At first, it had been silent. Or well, silent was hardly the right way to describe Wilbur’s mind, at that moment. He was alive! Sensations encompassing his entire being, because he was more than just a vessel, and more than just an endless bystander at a train station. He could no longer hear them passing by in a thunderous chorus, followed by eternal solitude.

He had felt numb at the start, but then he had it confirmed. He was alive! And there was so much left to do, he thought, staring at the sunrise. His sunrise.

He’d avoided most people after that. He wasn’t sure why, but he doubted anyone would be eager to see him. So he stayed out of their way, taking in each sensation he could.

But as the lack of encounters and confrontations grew, it started.

The crying.

He remembered the crying, briefly, watching the familiarly unfamiliar face steaming with tears. As if they were burning him. Watching him getting off the train, in return for Wilbur getting on it, with Dream as the conductor.

But now Wilbur heard it. Vague at first, easy to ignore. Then a little louder, especially during the night when everything else was silent, and he couldn’t get himself to go to sleep. He’d been asleep for so long, after all. Thirteen and a half years at a train station. Crying, then silence. Crying again.

Wilbur didn’t pay much mind to it. He went about his day. When he talked to Tommy again however, Tommy’s voice filled with spite, he heard the voice again. Silent and broken. Betrayed in a sense.

“Wasn’t your fault,” the voice said, echoing in Wilbur’s mind for a minute, “It’s okay”, then followed by a desperate “Please come back.”

Wilbur couldn’t get himself to take it seriously. Wanted to laugh at the broken voice, that sounded like his own, but nothing like his words. Nothing like his intonation.

“Why the fuck are you smiling?” Tommy asked, squinting at Wilbur, “What are you planning.”

And almost on instinct, Wilbur smiled and went “Oh many things Tommy. Many things.” because all his mind seemed to tell him aside from the echo-y voice, was all the things he should be planning, all the things he had to see, and all the things he had to start. Now that he finally realized that he hadn’t truly wanted to die, as he thought thirteen and a half years ago.

Tommy had looked at Wilbur strangely since Wilbur returned. As if he was a glitch and a monster at the same time. As if he wasn’t quite supposed to be there, and as if Wilbur was always mere seconds from claiming the entire world as his own. Or blowing up another country. Memories of that still flickered in Wilbur’s mind. Memories of a sword, and of the noise that had sounded like music back then. Like the coordinated middle, in an otherwise unfinished piece. L’Manberg, his unfinished symphony.

“Wilbur, just go away, will you?” Tommy said, and his eyes had a strange melancholic glow, that Wilbur didn’t associate with Tommy at all.

Wilbur didn’t want to go away, because in silence the cries echoed in his mind, and Wilbur hadn’t heard voices in so long. Hadn’t communicated in so long, and he liked talking now, liked doing what people did when they were alive. But the spark he had within him was strangely fragile, and being told to leave, only made it much more uncertain of its direction. “Why should I?” he asked, “I’m here Tommy, I’m alive.”

“I got that,” Tommy said, shortly. “Why don’t you go bother someone else about it, Wilbur?” his voice was darker now. “L’Manberg is gone.”

“Yes, it is.” Wilbur said, looking around at the crater he was once again present in, “And?”

“And that was it.” Tommy said, “That was what we started, and you ended it Wilbur, and now you can go bother someone else.”

Wilbur really wished the implications of that didn’t sting. A powerful part of him wanted to shout that he had nowhere else to turn. Not now. Not without the millions of things that followed.

Yet a part of him looked at Tommy and saw a child. A child Wilbur had played a part in breaking, and turning into a soldier, and perhaps that gave him the right to dismiss Wilbur after all. “I have so much to do.”

“Then go do it,” Tommy said, looking him in the eyes, and it would’ve sounded like a dare if there was even a hint of playfulness in his tone.

“Okay,” Wilbur said. As soon as Tommy turned around, Wilbur stood alone in the crater.

And then, just a little while later, Wilbur slowly wandered in a direction that seemed to call him. All of it was so new, yet so familiar. The sun still rose and set all the same, with the skies turning their blues and pinks along the way, but everything seemed so intriguing. There was Tommy, who seemed to hold a grudge about little old L’Manburg, there was the boy’s outfit- it didn’t have the symbol of L’Manburg on it. Wilbur understood that it had been thirteen and a half years, but the armor that he frequently wore just looked too big and bulky on him. Whenever Wilbur mentioned it, Tommy just tensed and rushed the conversation towards whatever came to mind first. It was frustrating, but Tommy was just a confused kid that would find his way eventually. Maybe Tubbo was doing it to look cool so the other followed suit? He didn’t understand the children, but he tried his best to sympathize.

Speaking of one of the children, he remembered Tubbo told him where they lived just a day or two ago. Time either passed by him too quickly from the change in dimension or the lack of sleep, but both reminded him that he didn’t have a home to rest at. He walked through some of the grass, his boots making soft noises in it along the way. The buzz of cicadas welcomed him as he made his way to a place that seemed second hand to him.

He must’ve spaced out because the next moment he remembered was the soft pressure of snow against his shoes that made him slightly stumble. He softly laughed to himself. Snow. He forgot that he even missed this. He took off his fingerless gloves, wanting to feel it properly this time. He reached out, and scraped some into his hand, feeling the coldness of it, as he shaped it into a little snowball. The water slid down the side, as it slowly started to melt in his hand. Before, he would’ve dropped it and tried to dry it off by now, but the cold sensation, turning his fingers red, reminded him once more that he was alive.

It took almost the full snowball to melt for him to remember that he still needed to visit Tubbo. He grabbed his black gloves, somberly putting them back on before realizing he could feel snow anytime now. No one controlled his experiences anymore. That thought surrounded his mind for the past few days, yet it always brought him the child-like wonder of having a parent extend your bedtime by an hour.

He gently ran his hand through the snow, wishing it a silent farewell as he walked towards the direction of Tubbo’s home. Well- walking might have not been the right word. However, it started out as such before shifting into a speedwalk skipping that morphed into a sprint that soon wore him out even more, before he finally settled on a brisk pace to take him there.

Seconds felt quick to Wilbur with the cold air going in and out of his system. He shivered, but he continued to walk through the snow. It didn’t take him much longer to figure out that he didn’t know where he was. The only path he knew were the footsteps that outlined his arrival to the snowy biome, and even then, the new snow falling covered up some of the first steps.

He squinted his eyes, unable to see any source of civilization nearby. All he could see was a small black dot in the distance. It could have been his eyes playing tricks on him. He tried looking away from the dot, yet, it didn’t follow his vision. He slightly frowned at this, walking towards the direction of the dot, confused as to why it was there. Wilbur knew he wasn’t walking quickly, yet the dot’s size rapidly grew in front of him.

Minutes passed before he realized that the black dot was a small crow. He tilted his head at the sight of it. Why was there a crow in an environment like this? part of him questioned. Regardless, he smiled at the crow as he made his way towards him. As soon as the bird was close enough, he perched onto Wilbur’s shoulder, resting his wings for a moment. Wilbur realized his own exhaustion after seeing the bird.

“Hm, you must be tired, huh?” His voice broke on itself, slightly startling the crow. The bird didn’t directly answer his question, instead lightly rubbing his small head against Wilbur’s neck.

“Me too.” Wilbur shared a quiet moment with the bird. “But we’re alive aren’t we…” Wilbur’s voice shifted to a whisper near the end, the words hurting his throat.

Wilbur held vague memories of a time before everything, before war and white lies in letters, where the sight of such a crow would’ve been a sign of a familiar presence. Though this crow seemed alone, much like Wilbur himself, and he was unsure if he could rely on anything familiar at this point. He felt the bird’s feathers on him, and he couldn’t help but smile, just a little. The bird made a small jump on his shoulder, followed by two high-pitched joyful chirps. Wilbur laughed. “Hm?” he tried, knowing full well that he wouldn’t receive a helpful answer. Wilbur felt as if he heard faint hesitant laughter in the back of his mind, though it could’ve been a trick it played on him.

Then the crow flapped its wings, and Wilbur moved his head to the side, to give the crow space to take off. With one determined flap, the crow flew up in the air, and Wilbur stood there, alone in the snow once more.

And then, he really had no other choice than to keep walking. So he did, moving through the snow, slower and slower, the landscape appearing less appealing each moment. He was back. He was alive, and yet the snow was holding him back. For a fleeting moment, it felt as if he was back at the train station, clawing at the walls to get away, but the sky was watching him this time. He could see it, and each beat of his heart reminded him that he wasn’t eternally watching the trains pass by anymore.

The sky became darker and darker, as he trotted through the snow. His fingertips turned colder, and he was trusting his sense of direction less and less with each step. It had been so long. So long since he’d used the legs that were now shaking dangerously.

That was when he spotted a figure in the distance.

He didn’t recognize it at first, though as he approached, the features became clearer. The figure approached Wilbur too, with a certain level of caution, and before he knew it, the face was entirely visible. The wings came out the back, and Wilbur was looking at someone he knew all too well.

The holder of the sword, and the one who’d wrapped his wings around Wilbur to give his son a moment of comfort in the past.

Phil, Wilbur’s father and past executionist, froze.

Wilbur froze too, looking at him. The man looked older somehow. His eyes holding less life, and less of a spark, or perhaps that was just what he looked like, looking at Wilbur now.

Phil looked as if he’d seen a ghost, which was an ironic metaphor to use in this instance. A crow was sitting on Phil’s shoulder, and Wilbur put two and two together quickly, and perhaps he should have earlier.

They weren’t that far away from each other, perhaps 60 feet or so, and Wilbur could see his father so clearly now. He noticed Phil, mouthing something. Wil if he wasn’t mistaken. And Wil was him, before everything. Before thirteen and a half years ago.

“Ph- ph- phil,” the words were silent to himself, his shivering and dehydration interrupting any sound he could have made. “D- dad…” he tried louder this time, the action still just as silent but painful unshed tears formed in his eyes.

He moved his feet from the snow, making it two steps before his legs collapsed from under him. He breathed in sharply from the fall, which only reminded him of how much his body needed to rest.

The once peaceful snow felt like small daggers coming from every direction. His shaking body only seemed to make it worse as the daggers would painfully shift across him.

Suddenly all at once, he was on fire, the heat burned through his skin and hit his core, making him squeeze his eyes shut and try to pull away. “Wil, Wilbur, you’re gonna be alright, mate. Just don’t close your eyes, it’ll all be fine.” Phil- Phil was there. Wilbur opened his eyes, the action feeling laborious to him. Phil seemed stressed? No no, he shouldn’t be, Wilbur was alive! “I- I’m a- a- alive,” the hoarse whisper was unbearable to feel, but when Wilbur tried to swallow he winced even more.

“Fuck, fuck, where is it…” Phil muttered. Wilbur looked over, but nothing connected to him. There was something warm against him, it was on his shoulders at first, but it shifted as he heard some items moving against each other. Yet, even only having one bit of warmth was too much, even if he knew it was Phil making him feel it, it was so bad to the point where he almost wished he was back at the train station. Almost.

Phil gasped and said something Wilbur missed, holding a yellow orb in front of him. He squinted, despite everything feeling blurry and missing to him, and realized it was glowing. “Wh- what?” he managed to croak out.

Phil slowly pushed the spherical item into Wilbur’s mouth, the shivering man trying to pull back, but Phil held him tightly. Reluctantly, and subconsciously, Wilbur bit into the item, before realizing how sweet it was in his mouth. It tasted like the cookies Phil would make when he was a kid, halfway melting into his mouth because they just came from the oven. Wilbur didn’t realize how much he missed them as he continued eating the food, Phil helping him along the way.

Wilbur finished eating quicker than he started, he would have frowned and asked for more but he already felt full. He cleared his throat, thrilled that he didn’t feel the typical pain he associated with it, “Phil? Why are you here- Awww, did you miss me?”

Phil gasped, and pulled Wilbur into a tight hug. Although both acknowledged how tight the hug was, it didn’t hurt Wilbur in the slightest. He honestly felt better than he ever had before. It didn’t make sense to him though, Phil’s cookies never made him feel like that before. Of course, they made him happy for a sugary treat, or would even give him nostalgia of the past years, but he wasn’t even shivering from the cold anymore. Maybe he truly was immortal now, food giving him all the power he needed to thrive in his world.

His thoughts were sharply cut off by his father’s sobs as he clenched Wilbur’s coat. Phil tried to speak, only for more cries to exit him. Wilbur was shocked from the exchange and gently rubbed his father’s back, a habit that Phil would do with him as a kid to help calm him down.

After moments of the two sitting in the snow, Wilbur broke the silence. “I uh- got a little lost” Wilbur quietly chuckled, “Oh hey, did you know snow doesn’t give you any landmarks, even if you ask nicely! It’s ridiculous really.”

Phil only grabbed Wilbur tighter, “...you’re back.”

Wilbur nodded, guessing Phil could probably feel the nod over his shoulder, “Nobody can get rid of me that easily.”

Phil softly sighed, “Don’t run off and kill yourself again.” The sentence was said as if it was a playful remark, but it came out of a place of sorrow and remorse.

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “I can’t promise anything really.”

Phil pulled away from the hug, eyes stone-cold in a way that made Wilbur terrified for the first time in years. “Wilbur Gold Soot.” His words were laced with a wave of reserved anger that Wilbur rarely heard in his childhood, solely made for when he needed his message to not be misconstructed in any way. “You’re going to promise me that you aren’t going to go do something idiotic like last time and- do we even know how many lives you have?”

Wilbur firmly stated, “L’Manburg wasn’t idiotic. It was the laws around the server that were.”

Phil’s glare didn’t change, “It’s idiotic if it’s what got you killed.”

“Everyone dies to something.”

“Do they die three times to the same thing?”

Wilbur spoke quietly, “You can’t say that without admitting you killed me as well.”

Hurt spread across Phil’s face, one that made Wilbur start to apologize, but Phil softly confirmed, “I- I know I hurt you.”

Wilbur shrugged as he smiled wide, "Eh, life comes and goes. I've had quite a bit of time reflecting, and it doesn't bug me too much! I just find it ironic that you forgot to mention it."

Phil attempted a smile in return, but it came out flatter than Wilbur’s with worry behind his eyes. The expression sent a strange spark through Wilbur, and he wasn’t certain what exactly it was it meant, and he didn’t have time to consider it before exhaustion took over his mind once more.

Phil looked Wilbur up and down, and Wilbur suddenly felt warmth again on his shoulder, spreading through his veins. “Wil... A-are you alright coming with me? You look… You need rest.”

Perhaps he did because Wilbur felt as if the entire world was spinning around him in a fog. Endless piles of snow, and an endless dark sky. Though the trains were gone, he reminded himself once more.

“Here…” Phil said, and Wilbur felt the wing around his back, like a protective shield from the wind. A shield that somehow made Wilbur feel more exposed than before. He didn’t need the protection. Life was so unbearably fragile, he realized, and letting others protect it, was a mistake beyond all else.

But he was tired. So so tired… And as an arm was wrapped around his shoulder, he found himself allowing Phil to lead him, because perhaps he was just a little bit prone to mistakes.

[nerdypanda3126]

Playing with Fire – Ch. 3

Luka and Marinette decide to be friends, Luka gets some much-needed sleep, and an uninvited guest shows up. 

Read on Ao3 

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Later that evening, she waited for him as she watched the sky streak through with pink and purple from her spot by the window. As if on cue, Luka glided down from the roof and landed in the courtyard again, and her flames flickered to life around her. Of course, he would know the time of day the change hit as well as she did. 

She heard his footsteps coming up the stairs. When he saw her, he stopped, hanging in the doorway as if unsure if he should enter or not. There was a pause between them, as each waited for the other to say something. He tapped his slender fingers against the stone archway rhythmically. Finally, he sighed. 

"Um, earlier… you mentioned supplies," he said softly. "I can get you anything you want. All you have to do is ask." 

Her curiosity got the better of her. "How would you manage that?" 

"There's someone who passes through occasionally. A friend. I can give him a list." He glanced over to the corner and smirked. "I've already got pillows down."

She blushed all over again. He chuckled and came over to sit opposite her, dangling his leg just as she was.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked after a moment, following her line of sight out over the mountains.

He was probably talking about the view, but she was watching the fires flickering to life in the streets of her village down below and in the homes of everyone she knew and loved. Her parents would be sitting down to supper right about now. She wondered if he was right about them. What they would say if they knew of her fate. 

She hummed to avoid answering him. In the corner of her vision, she saw him look over at her, but she almost felt like if she didn't keep her eyes on it, the village would disappear entirely.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She let out an incredulous scoff, smiling despite the traitorous tear that slipped down her cheek. 

"Whatever for?" 

"For… earlier. For trapping you here. For cursing you. For... everything." 

"You don't need to apologize, Luka." She wiped her cheeks hurriedly and sighed before she tore her eyes away to look at him. "You saved my life. I can't possibly repay you for that." 

She started to reach out to take his hand, but pulled back, remembering the effect she would have on him. Instead she tucked her hair back behind her ear. 

Maybe we can be friends,” she said shyly, “if you want.” 

He didn’t answer right away, and when she glanced up at him he was miles away, his eyes still on the horizon, his profile thrown into sharp relief from the fading light. When he turned to face her, she jumped like she’d been caught at something, and for the first time since she’d met him, his smile reached his eyes. 

“I’d like that.”

For some reason—she didn’t know if it was the low tone of his voice or those intense eyes or the way he sounded like he truly meant it—she blushed all the way to the roots of her hair. 

He released her quickly and leaned back to lay on the stone floor, dangling both his legs off the side and staring at the ceiling instead of at her. Without those eyes on her, her blush cooled and she let out a breath before she scooted back and mirrored his position. 

“Although I’m still half-expecting you to murder me in my sleep,” he muttered before he turned his head to look at her, his sideways grin entirely at odds with his words. 

She shrugged and scooted a bit closer to him so their heads were leaning together, not quite touching. “I’d at least wait until morning. Without pillows, you’re the comfiest thing here.” 

“Good to know. Maybe I’ll strike them from my list then, self-defense and all that.” 

A realization hit her as she stared up at the ceiling with him and she started giggling. “You know something? I didn’t even bring a weapon.” 

He let out a snort of laughter. “Some dragon killer you are.” As her giggles overtook her, he quirked his eyebrows and that teasing grin grew. “What were you gonna do, throw a bucket of water on me and expect me to go out like a candle?” 

She shoved his shoulder, completely beyond speech. At her brief touch, his eyes turned to slits again and he waved his forked tongue at her while he had it. 

“Though that still implies the foresight to bring a bucket of water, which you also neglected,” he continued. 

She waved at him to stop as a stitch started forming in her side, but he pushed on, apparently enjoying making her laugh. “No, no, I know, you thought you’d slay me with your feminine wiles.” He was laughing with her now. As she made to shove his shoulder again, he squirmed away. “You thought I’d fall so madly in love with you I’d die on the spot, that’s it, that’s what happened.”

She rolled over into his side, laughing harder than she ever had before, only partly intending to stop his tirade. His laughter faded into a soft hissing as his scales replaced the broad chest she’d been leaning on.   

Their laughter quieted together and she looked up at him. When he’d changed, he’d laid his head back again and closed his eyes and his bright blue fire was flaring in his throat. She shifted so she was more within his protective coil as his tail came up to curl around her. His wings were splayed out across the floor and she hesitated before she ran her hand over the delicate membrane. 

Something like a hum came out of him, although it was deep and rumbly. A purr? That wasn’t quite it either. She traced the ridges of the bones that stood up and he shivered before he grumbled good-naturedly and pulled them away from her, turning on his side instead with her tucked into the curve of his stomach. 

“What? Are you ticklish or something?” 

He kicked her lightly with his back claw, pretending it was because he was adjusting, but even in dragon form he had a wicked smirk. 

“Fine, keep your secrets. You’ve got like a thousand books on dragons. I’ll figure it out myself.”  

 She woke as the first rays of light streamed into the open window. Carefully, she extricated herself from the hold he had on her and managed to stand away from him before their bond forced them to switch. He didn’t even move, and if it weren’t for his heavy breathing she would’ve really worried about him. 

He made that humming sound again as she settled into place with him, already resigned to using him as a pillow until further notice. But he was comfortable, that hadn’t been a lie. And he was warm. She fell asleep easily, only a minute or two behind him. 

***

True to her word, she started in on her research as she let him sleep. And as it turned out, dragons could be ticklish. Hers definitely was. She tucked that knowledge away for the next time he was teasing her.

Her stomach grumbled about mid-morning, so she went out and gathered what she could within the limits of their tether. Based on his reaction yesterday, she didn’t think he’d be too happy if she woke him by yanking at it again. When she climbed back up, he’d shifted to pull his tail in between his claws,  but other than that, he was still solidly passed out. 

The journal tugged at her curiosity again. Her eyes slid over to him. The little pink forked tips of his tongue were just barely poking out between his lips. Completely out. She couldn’t help but smile. For all that huffing and grumbling he’d done yesterday, he was kind of cute as a dragon. 

Still, she didn’t want to sniff around in anything too personal unless he was willing to let her, so she hid it under a few different books and tried to pretend it wasn’t there. 

When dusk started to steal her light to read by, she snuck out again for food and came back to tuck herself into his coils again. Unconsciously, he tugged her to him and draped his wing over them both, making that humming noise again as his fire flared to life in his chest. 

When she woke up ahead of him again for the second day in a row, she really did worry. Was it normal for a dragon to sleep so long? Was it okay that he was? If not, if he was sick, if something was wrong with him, was there even anything she could do? 

And just like the other night, as soon as she was curled up against him with his heavy, rhythmic breathing under her, she fell straight asleep. 

***

She bent her head back to his books with an entirely different question to answer, keeping an eye on him the entire time, ignoring her grumbling stomach as the sun climbed its way through the sky. 

Finally, when the tower was just starting to cast a shadow on the clearing, he groaned and lifted himself up on his claws. He looked around blearily until he found her, then loped over to rest his chin on her shoulder. She pushed back from the table, eyeing the stacks of very flammable paper she’d been leafing through. 

“How long was I out?” His voice in her ear made her jump, even though she knew he was there. He straightened up to lay his hand on her shoulder instead. 

“Almost two days.” 

He hummed in response. It was different from the hum he made as a dragon, but reminded her so strongly of the noise he'd made when she was in his coils that her stomach did an odd little flip. She stood and turned to wrap her arms around his waist and hug him tightly, nuzzling into his shoulder as she did. He stiffened at first, surprised by her gesture, but laid his arm across her shoulders to return the hug.

“Don’t scare me like that,” she grumbled, headbutting him as she did to emphasize her point. “I thought you were actually dying or something.” 

He chuckled as he started rubbing her back in comforting circles. “I don’t think I’ve slept like that…” he started, then paused to think. “Ever. I’ve never slept like that before.” He looked down at her in his arms and smiled warmly. “I guess having my savior around really does help.” 

Without thinking about it, she reached up to trace the circles under his eyes. As she smoothed the pads of her thumbs over the fragile skin, she couldn’t tell for sure, but she thought they looked lighter. He certainly seemed more relaxed than he had been yesterday. 

"I'm glad you got some sleep." 

His cheeks warmed under her touch and he reached up to pull her hands away, stepping back as he did. Her blush answered his as she realized she'd been standing maybe a little too close to him. He cleared his throat and looked away, over to the table that was strewn with his books. 

"You've been busy." 

"Just reading. Catching up, you know." 

"Anything interesting?" 

She bit her lip as she hesitated. "Well, the one I'm interested in I haven't read yet." 

“Which one?” 

She pointed to her stack, unwilling to go near the stack of paper and set it aflame, but also unwilling to let go of his hand. He followed her direction and dug through the pile one-handed until he landed on the small leather bound journal.

"I forgot about this thing." He sat in her chair and she kept a hand on his shoulder as he flipped through the pages. "I wanted to learn to read and write. My friend, the one I told you about, he helped me. Although I have to admit I wasn't the best student." He chuckled again as he found a page that was ripped in half. "I had a temper, and a tendency towards tantrums. Honestly he probably taught me more about patience than anything else. Not intentionally, I'm sure, since patience is hardly in his vocabulary."  

Watching him flip through the pages, she could see it now, the illegible scrawl morphing itself into letters followed by words. Rips and holes and singed pages where he got frustrated, lessening as he got towards the end. 

"Do you care if I look at it?" she asked. 

He stiffened for a brief moment before he visibly relaxed and laid it back down on top of her pile. "If you want. There's not much there, really." 

"Lukaaaa!" Someone sang from below, loudly enough for it to carry up to them, and terribly off-key. 

"Speak of the devil," Luka muttered. 

Marinette turned her head to look out the window, but whoever was there was approaching from the other direction. 

"Is it your friend?" she asked.

“Come on, you great scaly beast! I know you can hear me, and I haven’t got all day!” 

Luka’s lips pressed together into that thin line, but also curved up into a smile. His thumb rubbed against her wrist lightly, apparently taking comfort from their joined hands. As an answer, he tugged her gently towards the stairs, and she followed, wondering who it was that could make him so instantly on edge and excited at the same time. 

When they got to the bottom, Luka stopped and turned back to her. “I have to warn you. He can be a little… well, odd. He…” He chuckled, embarrassed, before he continued. “He thinks he can see the future. Or, I don’t know, maybe he actually does, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. If you’re not sure what to say, do this—” He held up his free hand with his thumb tucked over his middle and ring fingers, his index and pinky extended all the way up. She mimicked the gesture and he nodded in satisfaction. 

“Perfect. It means…" He paused to think then shook his head. "Okay, honestly, I don’t know what it means. Some sort of music he swears is all the rage in the future." 

He stopped and looked at her, his eyes brighter than she'd ever seen them, and grinned before he took a quick breath in through his nose and let it out through his mouth and shook his shoulders as if settling his scales.

"Kid! Where you at? Seriously, you gonna make an old man—" 

The voice yelped before a thud resounded through the clearing and Luka hid a snicker behind his hand as he walked out with Marinette onto the stone path. 

[peaches-writes]

tricky treats

prompt 11: “Wait, hold on, that’s not—please tell me you didn’t eat a lo—oh no.”

member: chan wc: 1.2k genre: fluff, comedy (?) this is so cracky what am i even on, werewolf au, witch/wizard au, fairy au, implied established relationship au warning: mentions of vomit note: what is this even HAHAHAHAHAHA + just u, ur werewolf mate chan, and ur baby fairies jeonglix you’re welcome 🥺💖 + in the same forest as the werequokka jisung 

In his grey wolf form, Chan walks next to you with your plastic pumpkin bag in between his teeth and your accompanying fairies, Felix and Jeongin, balanced on top of his head. He hums a low whistle in the comfortable silence, occasionally glancing over to you on his side as you figure out the village map in your hands then above his forehead to see if Jeongin and Felix have actually made a dent on the pink sweets wrapper they’ve been eating for the past two minutes.

You’re supposed to make a quick delivery stop somewhere, from what Chan remembers of your conversation before you drowned yourself in trying to navigate the unfamiliar place, after which the four of you could finally go trick or treating as planned. It’s slowly starting to take too long, mainly because of your clumsy lack of direction, but your mate doesn’t mind.

He just slightly minds the crumbs getting stuck on his fur courtesy of the two kids rolling around right in between his ears.

“This is harder than I thought! I’m getting really sleepy.” Felix yawn, falling into Chan’s fur with his hand on his stomach and his little wings wrapped around him as if in a blanket. There’s also the other problem: the gold and blue dust that flies around whenever the two little fairies would move or plop around, making Chan sneeze. “I think I’m growing a food baby! Aaah, I’m going into a food coma! Food, food, food!”

Chan could hear rustles right above him as Jeongin pokes his head out of the pink wrapper. What are these kids even eating? The older boy, unfortunately, didn’t see the labelling well when the two managed to pull it out of the pumpkin bag earlier and he couldn’t ask the two either since they immediately dug in the treat.

“We haven’t even finished a square yet, hyung! You should recover fast before I eat everything!” Jeongin giggles before taking another bite of his share and spreading even more crumbs on the fur around him. Sliding right down the older wolf’s nose after, the red fairy then holds up the tiniest square of chocolate and addresses Chan’s telepathic question with, “We’re eating chocolates, Channie hyung! Do you want some?”

Only then does Chan stop walking altogether in shock, leaving you to walk a few steps ahead until you realize his absence. Jeongin, that’s not—

“Not what?” Jeongin repeats, taking another bite of the chocolate. 

Turning around, only then do you look up from your map for the first time since you left the house, glancing over your shoulder to Chan with a raised eyebrow. “What’s wrong, guys?” You ask, retracing your steps back until you’re right in front of the big grey wolf and your two fairies. “Wait, hold on, that’s not—“ You then immediately glance down at the pumpkin bag, double checking its contents. “please tell me you didn’t eat a lo—oh no.”

Jeongin innocently turns to you, completely oblivious to your worried face as he holds up the chocolate right above his head and confirms your worries. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You and Chan exchange wide eyes in realization.

Quicky returning your map back in your satchel, you then gently scoop up Jeongin in your hands, inspecting his face with the pad of your index finger for any emerging side effects of one of the chocolates you’re supposed to deliver. “Jeongin, are you feeling anything weird? Anything at all?” You ask worriedly, furrowing your eyebrows even more when Chan passes you a knocked out Felix, snoring even louder by the time he lands on your palm. You check his pulse quickly before turning to his younger brother, asking next, “Oh no, how much did you two eat?”

Jeogin darts his eyes between you and Chan in confusion, asking, “Hm? W-Why? D-Did we eat the wrong chocolate?”

They didn’t eat a lot, I think, Chan replies telepathically, on the other hand, as he now shakes the pink chocolate wrapper out of his head and to your free hand, but then they’re fairies. Is half a square already too much for them?

You shake your head, carefully wrapping the chocolate again with your one hand before returning it back inside the pumpkin bag. “Not really.” You sigh in relief. “We’re lucky you noticed it just in time, babe.”

Ah, I should’ve checked the moment they took it out of the bag, Chan visibly frowns and you quickly assure him that it’s okay.

“Oh no, Y/N, we’re so sorry!” Jeongin frowns, sitting down on your palm and carefully placing Felix’s head on his lap. “We didn’t mean to! You said you got us treats in the bag while we wait and we thought we got the right one.”

And again, you shake your head reassuringly. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just worried since it has love potion in it.” You frown, shocking the two boys once again.

“What?!” Jeongin and Chan both exclaim, the later literally screaming in your telepathic connection that you flinch back slightly in response.

“It’s has a love potion but it’s made with a specific recipe so it’s only supposed to be eaten by the one it’s for.” You explain, turning to Felix after and lighly poking his sides. “Since it’s not for you two, I’m worried you might get sick or something.”

“Ha?! What should we do then?” Jeongin asks next worriedly and you swear you could see little tears well up in the fairy’s eyes in worry. “Should we wake Lixie up?”

“No, let Felix sleep it off, that’s probably the effect on him. We’ll have to go back to the house and get you treated, though.” You frown, bringing the two fairies in your hands back to Chan’s head. “I’ll just deliver the chocolates myself after then observe you until tomorrow morning. Sadly, we can’t go trick or treating tonight until I’m sure that you two wouldn’t get any side effects. Is that okay?”

Chan looks up at Jeongin, tilting his head as if inviting the younger boy to pet him knowing that it comforts him. Jeongin instinctively obliges.

“We’re sorry again, Y/N, Chan.” Jeongin repeats, making you smile a little.

“Don’t worry, Innie, it’s not a big deal.” You assure him, gently patting his head after. “Just tell me when you’re feeling something weird, okay? And make sure your brother doesn’t suddenly start vomiting on you and Chan on our way back.”

“Okay.” The little fairy nods, pursing his lips in thought.

You pat his head gently again, picking up the correct treat this time for him. “Here’s the right one, Innie.” You offer to him, taking out your smallest flask from your satchel after to to with the tiny bag of lollipops. “I’m sorry I mixed it in with my delivery, that’s my bad. Drink water too, here.”

“I think I’ll just take the water.” Jeongin pouts, earning him a nod from you as you place the lollipops in your bag this time.

“I’ll hold onto the lollipops in my bag for now so they don’t get mixed up again.” You conclude. “I’m sorry again too...”

The four of you then retrace your steps back to your cottage, Jeongin eventually falling asleep on the way.

Ah, I was looking forward to trick or treating, Chan sighs once he feels Jeongin snuggling close to his fur. They’ll be okay, right?

“Hopefully, if they react well to the remedy potion.” You point out. “If it all goes well, we’ll just go trick or treating tomorrow night instead.”

Maybe babysitting fairies isn’t for us, Chan scrunches up his nose after a while, making you laugh. Aish, what will Minho say? 

“Let’s just agree to not tell him.” You offer, earning you a nod from your mate. “The last thing he wants to hear on his free night is his two kids getting poisoned with a love potion I made.” 

Agreed. The wolf sighs. Let’s go home. 

on a night much like tonight (drabble game)

[jonesinghardy]

No More Spitting Feathers 02/?

PAIRINGS: Warren Worthington III x Reader  WARNINGS: injury, blood, implied drug use RATING: T+, will be raised later.  WORD COUNT: 2.2k INSTALLATIONS: Part 01 AUTHOR’S NOTE: Dedication and thanks to Andi @venombxby​ for discussion and honorary mentions to Monica @rosesvioletshardy​ and Wella for inspo. This is written in second person bc I have never been able to get on board with Y/N trends, and the reader is a mutant with a limited mix of healing, telekinesis and some empathic inclinations. 

The night is never as dark as you’d like in a city, and no matter the hour, night owls are bound to be turning their gaze onto anything that moves above the shadows. 

He casts quite a shadow. 

Dove.

You don’t speak much after he agrees to go with you. There is a stalemate between the two of you for many minutes before he offers an arm and helps you up, getting you to a more comfortable place in the warehouse to rest until you could stand on your own. 

You didn’t think he’d be able to fold his wings enough to hide them, you thought it would hurt too much, but he manages to do it anyway and tucks them away into a long coat that he found in the disused warehouse staffroom, along with a large umbrella that helps conceal him better.

Once you could stand you found a dusty bathroom with running water and managed to clean your arms and face of blood and wrangle your hair into something less dishevelled. You also took off all your absurd jewelry, cleaning it all with hot water and chucking it into the same locker you find a pair of shoes that are too big but are better than trying to walk barefoot. 

You get the privilege of draping his leather jacket over your shoulders, which doesn’t exactly keep you warm given the modifications he made to the back to accommodate his wings, but you suppose you’d be colder without it. 

You walk in silence side by side for most of the journey, and calling it such is no exaggeration. It only takes half an hour for the pain to creep into his wing again, especially with how he has them folded against his back— you feel it, and have to breathe through the discomfort, the one aspect of your powers that you can’t turn off, but that thankfully doesn’t wipe you out the same way healing or telekinesis does. 

It takes three hours, and neither of you seeks a break, somehow knowing that stopping would benefit neither of you. He gets more tired though, but you can tell he relaxes a bit when the city falls away and the trees thicken, and the people and cars become few and far between.

The safe house looks abandoned from the outside, and to your benefit, it has thick overgrowth around its perimeter that provides plenty of privacy. All of the windows are either frosted or boarded up save for the stained glass windows on the old domed church that will be your shelter. 

You find the key where you expect it, and as soon as you enter you’re working on autopilot. You throw off the shoes that have given you blisters, walk across the confused space to a large set of shelves and pick out a change of clothes that don’t quite fit but are better than the tiny cocktail dress you’ve had to trek your way here in. 

Dove throws off the coat and drops onto the nearest cot, groaning as he stretches out his wings. You shudder from the incomparable empathic impression it leaves in your back. You change without caring if he looks (he doesn’t), putting on the pants and a too-large shirt, collecting a blanket from a crate in the corner and yourself dropping onto a cot not too far from where he’d lain down. You pass out after you heal your blistered feet. 

You sleep for eighteen hours. 

He sleeps for twelve, and when he awakens he’s hungry and hungover, aching in unpleasant but not unfamiliar ways. You can feel the malaise even though it doesn’t wake you, creeping into your body and your dreams and then fading once he freely navigates the space and finds the food and water kept in the makeshift pantry. 

You feel better when you wake, but you’re ravenous, and dig into whatever shelf-stable item seems most appealing— you’re still chewing when you go and find him, having made himself a more private corner to relax in with cushions, two cot mattresses and a few blankets. 

Swallowing doesn’t quite soothe the scratch in your throat, and you notice some subtly floating feather particles in the air, leaving you to idly wonder how much he sheds. 

“Are you well enough to heal me now?” he asks, filling the silence. You’re not sure if he believes you are, he seems tired and resigned.

“No,” you reply. “Not significantly anyway.”

He levels you with an incredulous look. 

You sigh. “I could give myself an aneurysm if I try to heal you too fast.” 

“What can you do, then?” 

“I could have you flying again in ten days,” you say, “that won’t put too much strain on me.” 

His wing, the undamaged one, flutters slightly. “Fourteen.”

“What?”

“Take fourteen days. You were like a rag doll at the warehouse, Häschen, you’re no use to me like that. You think you can do ten days— I don’t have anywhere to be— we’ll do fourteen.”

You look at him for a moment, trying to spot some ulterior motive and figure he must be doing the same. 

“Okay, alright. Two weeks.” That’s probably how long you’ll need to arrange extraction anyway. 

You swallow again against the scratch in your throat and take a deep breath. 

“You need a tour?” you ask, feeling awkward. 

He shakes his head. “I looked around while you were sleeping.” 

“The church is free-reign,” you say, explaining anyway, “the rest of the building is not really safe, but isn’t off-limits.” You shrug. “The shower room is over there.” You point. “Towels and soap are in the baskets… they’re all labelled.” 

“You planning to leave me alone here, Häschen?” he asks, sitting forward slightly and canting his head to the side. 

You both react when he strains his wing, and you try to hide your whimper with a cough. His wings shudder and the feathers tighten up, drooping slightly as he sits back against the wall with a slight grunt of pain.

“I want to get some supplies from the store… like better food,” you explain with a shrug. You also want to get him some medicine to tide him over between your attempts to heal him. 

“Are you going to walk?” 

You shake your head. “There’s a car stored on the property, I have what I need. I shouldn’t be more than forty minutes.”

He doesn’t say anything further, and it feels too invasive to watch him struggle through his pain.

“You want anything?” you ask, already planning to get him some clothes. 

“No.”

“Okay. What clothing sizes do you wear?” 

The look he gives you is almost a smirk, a raised brow and a quirk of his lip that makes you flush. You look away in embarrassment and clear your throat again. 

He tells you the sizes. “You don’t like my clothes?” he asks. 

“That’s— that’s not the point,” you say, and motion at him, his pants and boots, the lack of a shirt, the modified leather jacket he’d taken back while you slept. “That’s all you have.”

He shrugs with his hands. “Do what you want.”

“I will.”

“See you in an hour, then.” He seems inclined to give you more time than you think you’ll need.

— 

The subtle hiss and splash of water greet your ears from across the echoey safe house when you return. You took less than the hour, but more than the forty minutes to get everything done. You put the bags down on the tables that make up the kitchen (which isn’t much of a kitchen at all. There is an old fridge, two hot plates, a toaster oven and some cookware and dishes next to a deep industrial sink).

There is steam coming from the shower room, and when you get closer with the bag of clothes you got for him, you feel a malaise creep into your body. 

“Dove?” you call, but he doesn’t answer.

You put down the bag and go to the door, not sure what you’ll find, but hardly wanting to violate his privacy nor open yourself up to any teasing if you’ve misinterpreted the empathic impression. 

A small gasp leaves your lips. His wings are almost totally clean now, free of the dirt and char and blood that had been caked on them— some of which sits over the drain grate to his right. Feathers are missing from his left wing, and it continues to droop, but what concerns you is how he’s kneeling on the floor with his head against the wall, taking in shuddering breaths. The wings hide his nakedness almost completely, but that hardly crosses your mind as you step into the room.

“Dove?” you say again, more urgently now, your new shoes splashing on the wet floor as you cross over to him. 

It’s a rather bare room, stripped of all curtains and half-stalls, with only a dozen showerheads set a few feet apart around the space. He has two showers running to cover all of him, and you gasp when you feel how hot the water is, yanking the tap to the left to make it cold and then reaching over him to do the same to the other. 

“What are you doing!” your voice is louder than you intend, and he tenses, groaning when cold water penetrates whatever daze he was in. You get down on one knee and grab his face between your hands. He’s hot hot hot, and not just from the water, flushed. He startles, wings jerking and feathers fluffing, and he gives a slight grunt of alarm.

“Hey, hey, it’s me— it’s just me.” 

He doesn’t quite relax but he seems to calm, bowing his head slightly and shivering. You carefully reach up to turn off both showers and bring your hand to his neck. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus through the haze and urgency. 

“What are you doing…” he says dully, lifting a hand to grasp your forearm. He groans when he feels the initial relief of your healing. “Don’t, you’re not— I’ll be fine—”

“I can handle it, you’re not well,” you reply, almost scolding. He makes a sound of acknowledgement but speaks no further, he keeps his hand on your arm. 

You don’t find what you’re looking for, you assumed it would be an infection from the fracture, but his whole nervous system is rioting. You quickly readjust, your fingers pressing against his neck, by the nape. It’s not the healing you expected him to need, but you hadn’t exactly gotten the chance to examine him and come up with a plan. Your healing balances his autonomic nervous system, calming the sympathetic and re-engaging the parasympathetic. He’d need more help than that, you can tell, but easing his distress is your primary goal. 

A drop of blood hits the floor, and his hand squeezes your arm. Your nose is bleeding.

“That’s enough,” he says, his voice much more controlled now.

“I’m alright,” you assure him, “I know my limits, I can do a bit more…” You aren’t lying but you know how far you can push yourself before you get as bad as you were last night. You can do more now that you’re touching him too, that always makes you more precise.

His breathing even outs and his heart rate calm, and his head bows in relief after another long moment. Your bloody nose gets worse, but you set him up better this time, stimulating his immune system and provoking a healing response throughout his body, natural pain relief. It would help his body help itself until you could resume your efforts tomorrow. 

You move your hand away from his neck and move it to under your nose. The leg of your pants is wet when you stand, and you turn away but he gives your arm a little tug, making you look back down at him. His face isn’t as flushed now, and there’s a different kind of pain in his eyes, something non-physical. Something like guilt. 

“I didn’t deserve that,” he says gravely. You slowly pull your hand away. 

“You were in distress, I wasn’t going to leave you like that.” 

His wings twitch, ruffling carefully. “Some pain deserves to be felt,” he argues weakly. “Especially for something of my own doing.”

“Withdrawal isn’t a penance, Dove.” When he meets your gaze, you think he might be searching for judgement, but he won’t find any. He looks away.

“It’s an unfair strain on you.”

You turn away, still holding your bloody nose. “I can’t just pick and choose what I heal. If you’re sick I can’t fix your wing effectively.” You huff, turning away. “And I’m fine. It’s not as draining when I can touch you… I left you some clothes by the door. If you really don’t want to waste my efforts, you’d better get some rest. Your body can do the work itself until tomorrow.”

You start out of the room deliberately, shoesfalls splashing wetly. As you pass the threshold, the echoey walls of the shower room amplify his quiet words just enough for you to hear.

“Thank you.”

You keep going without acknowledging it.

[raitrolling]

Calm, After the Storm

[Easy Reading Version on Toyhou.se]

The clean-up for Vernrot Harbour had been slower going than Lusien expected. There was no structural damage to the town, no residents had been harmed as far as he was aware of, and the organisation that’d moved in to defeat the ‘threat’ were able to manage the situation quite cleanly. He had numerous encounters with members of Gaia since the incident: first on the night of the event when he was prevented from getting anywhere close to the shoreline, no matter how many times he insisted he knew the person causing all the trouble; again the night after when a member of the hospital wing knocked on his door to check him for signs of eldritch mental corruption, due to his close contact with a horrorterror (supposedly the results were normal… For this town’s standards); and then at least once a night after that as more people were brought in for clean-up duty.

The clean-up duty, of course, being restoring the balance between the numerous other entities inhabiting the town.

Lusien has always been familiar with the supernatural, and this familiarity has made him attuned to the state of the town. Those Who Slumber In The Deep are placid for a collective of horrorterrors living in the depths of Vernrot Harbour’s, well, harbour. Their influence is subtle, altering the weather patterns to their liking, and infecting the minds of the residents as the eldritch are wont to do. Some are more susceptible to their influence, typically those who live closer to their abode or spend much longer in the ocean than the average troll. But only he, gifted with the power to see the unseen and comprehend the incomprehensible, are aware of just what they’re doing to the residents. The scientist who lives by the shoreline doesn’t know why he feels lonely when he is unable to hear the whispers in the back of his mind, the author further towards the centre of town doesn’t think about why they’re always so drawn to the ocean whenever they feel troubled. And Lusien cannot tell them, the horrorterrors don’t allow them to believe him.

It is the other entities that are of most concern. The shadow beings were more restless than usual, and their home invasions became more frequent. The spirits residing in the lighthouse required more favours to pacify, feeling extra capricious out of spite for their ‘territory’ being infringed upon. Mostly they just required food or a small sacrifice, and while Lusien didn’t enjoy whenever they sought out something more from him, he was still compelled to carry out their wishes. Every other supernatural being that made their home in the town had their own sets of rules to follow, an invisible checklist of tasks and favours that once completed will make them consider not acting out again for an unspecified amount of time. No one else in the town was aware of their existence, and thus it became Lusien’s duty to tend to each and every one of their needs for the sake of the livelihoods of others. No one but him would notice if a resident was spirited away to another realm or possessed by a cranky entity who was rudely awoken by the songs of The Choir, and no one would be grateful for his efforts, but he still felt it was important to help them.

The staff at Gaia had been more than helpful. The trolls they sent were all well-equipped to handle the supernatural in a non-violent manner, although Lusien would often be called over to guide them through the more unpredictable whims of the entities. “Look for the blueblood with the starry eye” became a phrase often spoken by members of the organisation, and it was not uncommon for someone to come running over to the lighthouse to seek him out for an emergency. He would ask about what happened to Thri- The horrorterror they captured that caused all of this, but no one had an answer for him. They probably wouldn’t have an answer if he used his actual name either, given their tendency for codenames and classifications. The best he’d heard is that ‘the creature’ had returned to its troll form, and was currently detained. Lusien didn’t particularly enjoy the way they spoke of his friend, but he’d given up on correcting every single person he asked.

He was at the pier again, fishing up some more flounders to harvest their skeletons for a ritual as his nightly routine had been for the past couple of nights, when he heard the sound of heeled boots stomping on the wooden boardwalk approaching him. 

“Ugh… No one told me there were gonna be some fucked up toads here.”

Lusien turned to face the Gaia employee whining about the wildlife they must have come across, a tall indigblood wearing a white, slightly-translucent coat. They had a company umbrella in their hand that was most likely issued to them as part of their excursion to the rainy town, and they’d pulled up the hood of their coat over their head for extra protection against the wet weather. Through their scrunched-up expression of disgust, Lusien had noticed their eyes were rather striking: He’d never seen heterochromia as intense as their pale purple and reddish-pink eyes. Before he can make a comment about how the ‘toad’ they mentioned was most likely a mutated variation of the juvenile fishmen that plague the waters of the harbour, they’re quick to continue.

“You’re Lusien, right? The guy everyone’s been going on about?” There’s a nice, casual tone to their voice, which contrasts greatly against the horrendous vibes Lusien can see latching onto them. They’ve been deeply tainted by something he cannot quite figure out, but just like all the other residents of this town they seem completely unbothered by it. 

He nods in response to their question, and cannot help but wonder if they’re genuinely unaware of whatever magical influence has poisoned their mind or if they’re simply choosing to ignore it. They smile, in a way that makes Lusien’s hypothesis favour towards the latter.

“Pog. Yeah so I’m guessing you’re used to us coming up to you to give progress reports on the state of the town, but I got nothing. The reports I’ve been getting seem to suggest it’s getting better, so we’ll be outta here in a couple nights once we’re certain it’s all back to your usual level of fucked up.” They shrug. “If it was still out of control, I wouldn’t be here. I’m like a canary in a mineshaft, I’m not assigning myself to check out certain towns if there’s a risk of Shitbrains Syndrome. I already got enough of that.”

Yep, definitely aware of it but choosing to ignore it. Somehow even more off-putting than if they were just as clueless as the residents of the town. Despite feeling disconcerted, Lusien nods again. He’s always polite, no matter how disturbing his conversational partner may be.

“Okay. Thank you for the update.” It wasn’t his place to pry into anything else they had implied, and they probably appreciate that. It’s hard to get a read on what they’re thinking.

“Oh yeah, also. Update from the Starfish himself. I’m not a messenger but he’d probs appreciate it if I told you this-”

Lusien’s ears twitch at the mention of the ‘starfish’. He thinks he recalls Thrixe once mentioning his lusus, in a conversation a long time ago about stargazing. 

“He’s like, legit crushed about the whole horrorterror thing. He asked a couple times if you were alright, but psychological records are confidential and all that so I just told him yeah. Don’t really blame him that much about being kinda emo about the whole ordeal. And no one really wanted to give him any updates cuz, y’know, that’s a wholeass horrorterror we got locked up, but I knew the guy already so it kinda became my job to deliver the goods. I didn’t even get a bonus added to my pay for that...” They mutter that last part as they look away, glancing down towards the shoreline where Thrixe turned. “Anyway. I’m sure he’d probs wanna tell you to your face if the town’s ever gonna want him back here, but. Just thought you should know.”

For the first time in nights, Lusien felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. That feeling of relief with almost as much intensity to that of whenever he sees Anirus’ ship float into the harbour. He was okay. Thrixe was okay. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” The blueblood smiles. “And thank you for being so kind to him.”

The indigoblood was right. It probably won’t be likely that Thrixe would be able to return here for a long time given the whims of the entities, but Lusien would look forward to that night, whenever it may be.