#she sees everyone as beneath her. not even worth associating with

[diseaseriddencube]

okay well i lost every screenshot i took from the last volume that had all the evidence for my npd!mizuha headcanon but FINE here's sometihng at least

like she just murdered her mother and her main concern about being caught is not being perfect or socially acceptable anymore

[writethrough]

Hi ;) I don't know if you're currently accepting requests, but if you do, may I request a Malcolm Bright x Reader fic please ? TW : Self-h*rm, anxiety, depression, ED, mental illness.

Reader and Malcolm are very close friends so they both lovingly care about each other. Reader hasn't been answering any of his calls and messages for a few days, which is unlike her 'cause she always picks up the phone when he calls her. He starts to grow more and more worried, especially because he knows about her mental health struggles. So naturally he decides to go check on her. When he arrives he finds her in a very bad state : depression, anxiety, ED and Self h*rm have been hitting her harder that usual. He stays in at her house for a few days to take care of her, which includes reassuring her when she gets panic attacks, telling her that he strongly cares about her and that nothing will make him leave her, laying beside her to help her sleep, hugging her etc. Eventually she starts to feel a bit better.

I know it's very emotionally charged, both with dark stuff and comfort/care stuff, so if you feel like you can't do it, it's totally okay, I understand. Do whatever makes you feel the most comfortable.

Please take care 🤍 Sending you hugs.

To Make It Through

(Malcolm Bright x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Warnings: Insinuations of self-harm, ED, depression, anxiety, and mental illness.

Word Count: 1203

A/N: I wasn’t sure how to begin writing this. The most important goal for me was writing this with respect to those who suffer from self-harm, depression, mental illness, ED, and anxiety. I have never experienced the first four, but I’ve dealt with mild to moderate anxiety, I believe since I was young (I’d like to add, I’ve never been diagnosed by a doctor for anxiety). I have no idea what someone who lives with these struggles goes through. I wanted this to be a comforting story, one that hopefully brings a little light to everyone who reads it.

I didn't want to include too many details that could be triggering or potentially disrespectful to those who deal with the topics above.

And to anyone who is suffering and in need of help, below are different hotlines and resources.

National Eating Disorders Association

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline

The Trevor Project

National Institute of Mental Health

Malcolm unlocked your front door with the extra key you gave him.

It’d been three days since he last heard from you—no responses to his texts. No calls or video chats, not even a dumbass meme. And he was worried.

You were religious in your response time to him. Honestly, he had no idea how you could send a text off so quickly.

First, he noticed the dishes on your counter. A few days' worth. Then, the blanket was on the floor instead of folded neatly over the couch. Your curtains were drawn tight, and the couple of plants you had were a little less lively than when he was here last week.

He slowly pushed your bedroom door open so as not to startle you.

It was difficult to see through the darkness, but from what he could tell, clothes were thrown around the room. And he could make out a thin layer of dust on your bookshelf.

He took in your curled state under your comforter. Only the top of your head peeked out.

He didn’t need to ask you what was wrong. You’d known each other long enough for him to recognize the signs.

After slipping his shoes and coat off, he gently lowered himself beside you. He didn’t move the covers or speak, only placed a hand close enough to your back so you could feel him while not being touched. 

He didn’t know if you were awake, but that didn’t matter. He’d wait however long it took until you were ready to acknowledge him.

He wondered when you last ate—those dishes were probably older than he thought. He tried to recall if there were any warning signs he should’ve picked up on when he was here last time. But you seemed fine.

You were also very good at hiding it.

About an hour later, you shifted to face him, still beneath the blankets.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

He whispered your name. You didn’t move.

He tried again. “Can I do anything for you?”

You sniffled, and his heart nearly broke.

“Can I move the blanket, honey?” he asked.

The top of your head moved slowly in a nod.

He hooked a finger and pulled down carefully, revealing water-lined eyes with bags under them.

He thought as much. When things worsened, you never slept well.

“What do you need?” he whispered as gently as he could.

You didn’t look at him as your hand emerged to clutch your pillowcase.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled.

He nodded. He couldn’t let you stay like this.

“Then, could you do something for me? I know you won’t want to, but you can come right back. I promise.”

You glanced at him, then looked away. As much of an acknowledgment as he would get.

“Go take a shower. Take as long as you need,” he said.

You didn’t fight him, didn’t argue, and he took that as more of a bad sign than anything.

Once your bathroom door closed, he stripped the bed and threw everything in the washer. After replacing the sheets, he put the discarded clothes in your hamper and tossed any trash he spotted. He kept the blinds closed. Baby steps.

He was finishing putting the dishes away when you walked out in a towel and back into your room to change.

You didn’t ask what he was doing or tell him he didn’t have to do it. You almost ignored him.

You had already returned to bed when he entered. This time, you were against the headboard, staring off into space.

He sat beside you.

Your hands rested above the covers, wrists on display, and his shoulders relaxed.

It hadn’t gotten that bad.

He let you have your silence. Sometimes it was what you needed.

“Why are you friends with me?”

Sometimes it wasn’t.

“Because I need you,” he said.

It was all he thought to say. Superficial compliments wouldn’t stop your mind from spiraling. Hopefully, you’d believe him.

You shook your head. “You deserve better.”

He wanted to shield you from your own words. 

“(Y/N), I need you to look at me,” he said. And when you didn’t, he repeated himself. “Please?”

You glanced at him, rubbing the hem of your shirt between your fingers.

“Have I ever lied to you?” he asked gently.

You shook your head slowly, hunching your shoulders.

“I will always always tell you the truth,” he said. “You’re my best friend. That’s never going to change, okay?” He carefully pulled your hand between his. “I care about you so much, (Y/N). You’re never going to get rid of me.”

You sniffled, glancing at him through your lashes.

Tears lined his own eyes, threatening to spill forth.

You were his best friend. He’d be lost without you, and he needed you to know that he’d never go anywhere, that he belonged by your side. You made him feel seen. You made him feel sane.

Whatever you needed from him, he would give.

“Can you…Can you hold me?” you whispered, trying to keep your voice from breaking.

He answered by laying on his back, waiting for you to settle on his chest, hands still connected.

“Get some rest,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

—

Malcolm stayed with you for the next few days. He even called Gil and said he had to take a personal day, much to Gil’s surprise and pleasure. Thankfully, Gil didn’t ask any questions. Malcolm never would’ve broken your trust like that.

Today was the first day you had gotten dressed. Malcolm considered that a massive sign you were starting to feel more like yourself.

“How’re you feeling?” He took in every feature of your face, searching for the most minute twitch.

“I’m…I’m better.” You nodded slowly. “I’m not okay. I know that, but I’m better than I was. Not everything’s as…dark.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a sympathetic smile. His fingers found yours, holding them lightly.

“All healing takes time. And I’ll be right here whenever you need me.” His eyes stayed locked with yours, nothing but sincerity in them.

You swallowed. “Thank you.”

He shook his head slightly. “You never need to thank me for doing something I want to do.”

It brought tears to your eyes—how kind he was. Malcolm was the only person you could trust with everything. He knew what it was like to be trapped in your own mind, to hate so many parts of yourself that you want to rip out.

And each time you were on the verge of relapsing, he’d pull you away from the edge. As you’d done for him.

“Why don’t we take a walk? See how many squirrels we can feed,” he said, offering you his arm.

Your face lifted, not a smile, but not so melancholy as it had been.

“Okay.”

Grasping the crook of his elbow, you interlocked your fingers there and let him lead you outside.

The sun's warmth sunk into your skin as Malcolm launched into what his mother was trying to rope him into. And when the first chuckle in a week passed your lips, the darkness didn’t feel so encompassing anymore.

Taglist: @phenomenal-bird

If anyone would like to be added to my taglist, please comment or message me and tell me which character you'd like to receive updates on.

[silverott-chevalier]

So at the behest of a couple of friends, I've made this thing for what it's worth.

My name is Cooper Chevalier, and let's just get this out of the way now-- yes, I am, in fact, a Samurott. If you've heard about a Pokemon becoming a Trainer somewhere in the Johto region, that would be me. If you're wondering how or why this is even possible, then I guess I don't mind answering questions, but for now just know that the League had to make a few accommodations for me when I was first starting out and I've managed to take that all the way to the top and become one of the region's champions. Lance is still the guy running the Indigo Plateau, though--I mostly get called on to resolve issues in Kanto-Johto that he'd normally need to step away for. It's a nice little arrangement.

Anyway. I was convinced to make this by a friend in Galar, so I'm hoping this place is as good as they've made it out to be.

I'm also hoping that not having a Rotom won't bite me on the tail later... how the heck did those things become mainstream anyway--

EDIT: Saw a lot of people putting their Pokemon on these, too, and I'm finally sitting down and doing it. I could probably tell you about Shia and Pallas while I'm here but this should show up in the post they reblogged too so I can be lazy.

Anyway, here's my five mainstays-- they've been with me since near the start of my journey.

Mason (Gengar, M): Kind of a shy fella, but he's really loyal. Easily the partner I trust the most, and though I'm a bit sad to admit it, he's definitely gotten me out of a lot of sticky scenarios the painful way... I've been a lot more careful not to let that sort of thing happen since.

Sypha (Ampharos, F): Serious to a fault and speaks to the point. Proud of her power, but aware of her limits, though that doesn't mean she can't throw a mean Thunderbolt.

Juste (Togekiss, M): I raised him from an egg, and he's easily the most optimistic member of my team. He's also my ride around the two regions, usually, so props to him for carrying around a ~220 lb Samurott through the sky, ehehe...

Nora (Umbreon, F): Strong and steadfast, and fiercely devoted to her friends. She's usually serious, but she's got her playful side. Took a bit to warm up to me, though.

Katsuko (Dragonite, F): Hilariously, though I doubt she played any part in her upbringing, Katsuko is like if you took Clair's competitive spirit and put it in a dragon. Most eager to fight out of everyone, and was easily my second ace once she fully evolved.

Feel free to ask about them--I can ask them questions on your behalf if you want me to.

-- OOC BENEATH THE READMORE --

Hey! This is a rotomblr I made using my pokesona after a friend of mine held me at rotarypoint convinced me to try making one. I'm pretty new to this stuff in general, but we'll see how this pans out in the end. I'll be figuring things out as I go for the most part. I'll probably just label my ooc stuff with (ooc) or something of the like. Lemme know if you have any tips, tricks, or whatever that you'd like to share! I'll probably follow you from @kupkastdashboard since I don't have the patience to manually switch over to Cooper's dash anytime I wanna like or rb something--

Also! Any ask memes I rb are technically open forever, since I don't think they deserve to happen just once and then never again. Just be sure to post the question associated with whatever you're referencing so I know what I'm answering! Links to my specific RBs of my favorites are below. I've answered some of these with Cooper, but with Pallas and Shia on the board, they're also open to be asked things. Just specify who you're looking for, otherwise I'll default to Cooper being the subject or pick one of my muses at random if he's already answered something.

Pelipper Mail! (Malice Coming Soon)

Memory Meme (#cooper's memories)

Legendary/Mythical

Thought Bubbles (#cooper's thoughts)

Fossil Ask Game

Headcanon Asks (Answered OOC)

Major Arcana Reversed

Muse In The News

Posts that look directly into Cooper's headspace at any given moment are labeled [#cooper's thoughts], and posts that describe a memory of his that's already happened will be labeled [#cooper's memories]. Neither of these are canonically posted by him, so keep that in mind if you want to make reference to them or leverage them for better or worse!

[sassykattery]

Spring Fever

My, oh how joyous it is to be a human in the beginnings of spring time in the Devildom.

Pairing: ? x oc! Altaira

CW: Altaira is afab, uses she/her pronouns. Sexual tension. Profanity. Mention of male anatomy. Suggestive to sexual ideations.

Characters: oc! Altaira, Mammon, Barbatos, Satan, Beel, Levi, Belphie, Lucifer, Diavolo

Themes: Romance. Some angst. Sexual tension. Association of some animal mating rituals.

Third person POV

This is an AU parallel to Altaira's OG universe.

Minors and ageless blogs DNI

18+ only

Masterlist

It's been said that the demons have peculiar and sometimes even outlandish mating rituals, but even these had far exceeded anyone's notions of what those of the Devildom's nobility had in mind when it came to the new human exchange student, a highly eligible bachelorette. Eight particular demons had their sights set on her, and it was unprecedented with what they were going to come up with to win her favor.

It was the evening of the first spring ball, welcoming the equinox. A time of rebirth, fresh growth, and more importantly to the demons, it was their preferred time to look for a partner. One wouldn't necessarily call it a mating season, but it could be accurate in some regards.

And there was only one prize worth the demon lords' time and attention: Altaira.

For the past week, each of the eight demons had tried various means of demonstrating their interest in her. One brought her shining knick knacks. Another merely made his presence more known to her by playing video games in her room. A third offered to cook for her. One had done her homework for her. Her room was cleaned. Laundry done. Cosmetics and bath items replenished. New sheet music and vintage records procured for her. And lastly, a new handbag made with the rare hide of a black unicorn and 24k gold hardware, known to be worth at least half a million Grimm, was left on her bed wrapped in a black and gold bow.

But the first spring ball was the night all of them had planned to make their first official moves.

She was the embodiment of luxury and decadence that night, wearing a full ballgown in the most beautiful rose gold satin fabric and off-shoulder sleeves, shining like ripples of rose waters beneath the castle lights. She was adorned with fine jewelry and hair pieces, her makeup full-glam as always, and hair left down in beautiful retro Old Hollywood curls. Her charm left no survivors, as she had everyone wrapped around her finger that evening. Little did she know that the game was then afoot to see if she would take any suitors.

First came the second born.

"Hey!" Mammon blurted out next to her. Altaira turned and lit up at the demon. Her adoring expression made him lose his gumption, causing him to stumble over his next words. "Well, if you aren't, uh, busy..."

"Would you dance with me, Mammon?" She asked sweetly. He melted internally at how she said his name. She held her hand out, and finally, when his brain cell came back into orbit, he took it and led her to the dance floor.

"So, is anyone buggin' ya tonight? Just say the word, and I'll give em what for," he tried to say roughly, but the blush on his cheeks wasn't terribly convincing.

She chuckled. "No, I think everyone is behaving so far. You're very sweet, though," she replied.

His cheeks turned darker, and his wings perked up on end, trying to catch her attention. He kept his focus solely on her and brought himself only slightly closer. Her jasmine and vanilla scent made him even more desperate. Finally feeling his instincts taking over, he started to ramp up his dancing skills, drawing her in close and twirling her away, watching as she nearly floated with grace. Those twinkling eyes shone better than any topaz he'd seen. His wings stood up higher and out proudly, and his chest began to vibrate with a softened hum.

He lost track of time and anything else going on when he was with her like this. His focus wasn't always the best in all situations, but when she was in his grasp, there was nary a person who could break his attention away. And maybe if he didn't win her favor tonight, he wouldn't stop here either. He'd always try for the rest of her days to bring her home to him and him only.

Before he could even realize it, she was stepping back. "Thank you for the dance, Mammon," she murmured sweetly.

Unable to string together anything else, he watched her walk away. She found Barbatos and took a drink he offered to her. The second born retreated to where his younger brothers sat, only to be met with their berating comments.

"Well, looks like Mammon struck out, no surprise," Asmo mused, looking at his fresh manicure. "Who's next?"

"I'll go," Satan purred. "I at least have a chance."

"We'll see about that," Asmo chuckled.

"I didn't strike out," Mammon mumbled to himself, looking away.

Satan approached Altaira smoothly, gliding around the other guests and asserting himself at her side, interrupting a lower demon.

"Might I have a turn with the lovely lady?" He asked charmingly.

"Of course," she replied sweetly, taking his outstretched hand.

The fourth born took her to the floor and led her through a waltz. But the moment her shadow blue eyes caught his shining blue-green ones, he verbally froze. He could feel her heartbeat thrumming in her hand, her perfume overcasting his ability to think, and her youthful, kind face put a halt to his ideation of wooing her. His plan was to snake his tail around her waist and keep her close, showcasing his defensive demonic armor of the scales lacing his appendage, but that was long gone then as well.

"Is something the matter, Satan?" She asked softly, her eyes widening. The way she even said his name had him stammering for what to reply with.

"N-Nothing... I, uh, well... You look... nice," he finally spat out. She gave a soft smile, and he knew he could have been so much smoother than that.

"Thank you, so do you," she replied joyfully.

Satan didn't even stand a chance, because as soon as the song was over, he was too overtaken with his frustration, or, we could call, "flustration" as the next bachelor came up to shoot his shot.

"Hey, Altaira, I brought you a cupcake. Also, can we dance together for the next song?" Beel asked innocently, inadvertently overshadowing his older brother.

She looked overjoyed. "Oh Beel! Thank you, you're so sweet. Sure," she replied. Beel guided her away from the still frustrated fourth born who finally realized she was gone and now failed his mission.

Satan stomped back to where his other brothers were, and Asmo could only laugh at his older brother.

"Smooth, Satan, smooth," Asmo chortled, all too smug at the moment.

"Shut up!" Satan snapped. "I'd like to see any of you do better!"

"Is that right?" Lucifer murmured behind the fourth born. Satan rolled his eyes and turned slowly to face the eldest.

"Don't even start," Satan hissed.

The eldest looked back out to the dance floor and watched Beel and the human woman dancing away. Beel at least looked happy, but that look was also how he looked at desserts from Madame Devian's, which made Lucifer slightly concerned. Though a finer eye was required to see how Beel's wings were subtly vibrating down his back, a soft hum following the tune of the song to try and keep her attention on him. The sixth born's concept was to offer food and then showcase his listening skills, which was a noble effort, but all in vain, he came to find.

"I think you all know that she's only entertaining your foolishness to be nice. She has no intention of coming back with any of you," Lucifer quipped.

Levi bristled then. "And how would you know?"

"Because that's her nature– to be polite and put on a front. You can see it the moment she accepts your invitations to dance. That uncomfortable smile, the forced eye contact, and the rigid way she holds herself. It's all there," the eldest answered.

"Sounds like someone else we know," Belphie jabbed back.

Lucifer snapped his head back toward the youngest. "I will have you all behaving yourselves. I know at this time of year you're all on edge, but dash those hopes away now of any thoughts you had of satisfying those urges with her. I won't have it."

By then, Levi had left as Beel was returning, determined to get his chance with her, even if she turned him down for more than just a dance.

"Save it, Lucifer. We all know you're interested in her as well, and you're no better than us when it comes to this season," Belphie snapped back.

"Remember that disgusted look he had when that witch approached him this time last year?" Asmo reminded them with a chuckle. They all laughed at Lucifer's dismay but quit when he sent a fiery glare back at them.

Their attention returned to Altaira, and to their surprise, they saw her and the envious third born giggling as she whispered things in his ears. All six sat in utter loss at what he could have done to earn such a gesture, even more so when they noticed Levi's thumb vigorously running back and forth over where it touched her hand, his tail lightly caressing the fabric along the hem of her ballskirt. When that song was over and he was returning, his face went awash with disappointment.

"Well?" All six asked in unison.

"Well what? You know it didn't work!" Levi barked, sitting down in a huff. "Didn't even get to try and talk to her. That was my whole plan."

"One, you are terrible at conversing. You should have had another plan. Two, you guys were talking! And touching! What did you say?" Asmo asked.

"I didn't even get a chance to show her what I wanted to do to show I was interested! She started talking about a new game she downloaded on her phone, and I forgot all about tonight!" Levi said in exasperation.

"Good job," Mammon grunted, his arms folded and sitting slouched in his chair, watching her take the next candidate to the dance floor, Belphie.

The youngest immediately began talking to Altaira about the stars and some recent meteor showers he was able to watch in the observatory. She seemed eager enough to listen, so the rest of the brothers were interested to see how this ended.

"Well? What do you think?" Mammon poked the first born.

"Think? I know she's still uninterested. Altaira is kind to Belphie because they're both similar in a lot of ways, but she's not letting her guard down for him to try anything," Lucifer answered arrogantly, swirling a glass of Demonus.

The youngest demon brother twirled her around and showed his more charming side to her, and there was a moment of doubt in the eyes of his brothers when she laughed whole-heartedly, a sound they rarely heard. Belphie gave her his warmest smile and glided across the floor with such an elegance and repose that his brothers all wondered where this side came from when considering his laziness. One could suppose that such sloth could wait if there's an opportunity for such favor from someone to possibly join his bed.

But that was not meant to be as she excused herself just as the song ended. She quickly flitted away from the floor and left all the brothers wondering what she was doing.

Belphie returned quickly, finding his chair next to Beel. He looked up to see all six staring at him.

"What?"

"Did you run her off?" Asmo asked seriously, now seemingly jealous and miffed. "She acted like she couldn't get away from you fast enough."

"She was tired, Asmo," Belphie replied with an eye roll.

"We all know Lucifer's too good for this, so, Asmo, I guess it's your turn," Satan mused, finishing his glass of Demonus.

"Oh, no, I won't be participating. I'm going to an orgy tonight, and Altaira already said no," Asmo replied gleefully. Even Lucifer gave a raised brow to his younger brother, while the rest had looks of varying levels of dismay.

"No way! So you asked her before the ball even started?! How's that fair?!" Mammon griped at Asmo.

The other five began to join the fray as the eldest slipped away to find Altaira back in the far corner, clearly seeking refuge as she folded her arms and hung her head low.

"Tired already?" Lucifer asked with a cocked brow.

"Aren't you?" She asked, slowly bringing her head up. His heart softened at that look because he knew she was being genuine when she looked up at him with the smallest creases in her makeup under her eyes, her brows slightly pinched together, and lips in a thin line. But it was moments like these when he truly felt connected to her, to the soul that lay within.

"Would it be a huge ask to come dance with me?" He murmured quietly to her.

Her head tilted, and before she could respond verbally, her body was doing the rest automatically by offering her hand to him. His large, gloved hand accepted it and led her to the dance floor once more.

"I was hoping this would be a slower song, one a little less taxing than a waltz," he murmured again to her. He was correct, and she nodded slowly. She shuffled in closer and nearly had her head laid against his chest, much to his pride's delight.

All six brothers sat in wrathful consternation.

"Of all the pricks..." Satan said with an eye roll, huffing as he slouched back against his chair, yanking down a glass of Demonus from an unsuspecting waiter who happened to just walk by, and then the fourth born was growling to get them to leave.

"You had to know that was coming," Asmo said with a tipsy lilt to his voice.

"Still, it's annoying to see Lucifer get his way like that," Belphie added bitterly. All six quietly drank their Demonus.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Mammon said very quietly. He was closely dialed in on the pair as they gazed into each other's eyes, the flicker of hope in the demon's, and the charming haze in the human's.

"Why's that?" Levi asked, lazily circling his finger on the rim of the glass while holding his head in the other hand, looking despondent.

"Wait..." Satan sat up, watching the new scene unfold.

Near the end of the song, and getting closer to the end of the night, a looming, tall, muscular figure worked his way through the crowd, head well above most the lower demons. At the same time, Lucifer was working his charms, his wings upright, and feathers fluffed out. He hovered over her and whispered in her ear, and chuckled lowly at her soft replies. Occasionally, she took in his demonic form, to his pride, and appreciated his meticulous appearance. His feathers would flutter, wings slightly waving to let the light catch their blue sheen, but anyone else could just mistake that for him dancing across the floor. When her gaze would travel back to his, he made sure to catch it and hold it for as long as he could. Truly, just as his brothers mentioned, he wasn't safe from spring's seductive song either, his instincts telling him to work faster so that he could lure her into his proverbial trap.

Just as Lucifer was about to strike, almost drawing her in closer to murmur his request to her with his lips pressed against her ear in a voice so sultry and deep that he was certain it'd cause the most erotic reaction from her, the pair was interrupted. A hand appeared on her shoulder, a large, taupe hand adorned with black nails and gold wrist markings.

"Altaira," a bright tenor voice called to her. At that same moment, the song ended, and the pair broke their union as she turned to face the Demon Prince himself, the eighth and final contender for the evening.

"Diavolo," she replied with a sparkling tone of surprise.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to take you to the floor before the night is over. I can't leave my people wanting as I have yet to dance with anyone this evening," Diavolo stated sincerely, a kind smile on his lips. Lucifer bowed his head only slightly in understanding and walking away, but not before taking Altaira's hand and raising it up to his face.

"Thank you. I hope I can catch you one more time before we depart for the evening," he murmured to her, his ruby orbs trained on her lips. She nodded, and he left them to return to his brothers.

The six brothers remained silent as their eldest brother passed by, going straight for another glass of Demonus. Lucifer snatched one up and sat himself down, crossing a leg and glaring down the prince.

"So..." Mammon started to say but stopped.

"Not. A. Word," Lucifer snapped.

Taking the hint, the rest all watched the newest scene unfold, wondering what the prince's grand plan was if he was able to upheave the Avatar of Pride.

"Why have you not danced with anyone else? I'm sure one of the greater witches would've liked to," Altaira commented warily, sizing up the Demon Lord.

"You're right, there are others who likely would've taken me up on the offer, but I don't get to spend nearly enough time with you," he replied smoothly with a soft grin on his lips. His head was tilted down to speak to her softly, and his body, so large and muscular, totally eclipsed her except the outer ranges of her ballskirt from view during certain turns in their waltz.

"That's kind of you. Shall we make the most of it then?" She asked sweetly in return.

"Absolutely," he murmured, his grin turning more wicked.

As the song picked up, so did he. Diavolo led her through the most complex steps, twisting and turning her about the floor as others began to disappear to let the two have their moment. He was correct, as his people truly enjoyed watching him and letting him have the spotlight. But, of course, his dance partner was something of a spectacle herself, as it was still a rare thing to see a human in their realm, and more so to watch her dance with their crowned ruler. Some watched in envy, of either of the two, really, and others watched in lust, as the spring's siren song was leaving no demon untouched by its melody.

"Altaira," he murmured as the song was starting to reach its crescendo, so that others wouldn't hear.

The gold details on his horns and wings would occasionally catch her attention, shining perfectly and causing small reflections to bounce off them. She finally looked up at him squarely in his golden gaze, watching how his face shone under the castle lights. The strings increased in volume, the piano playing underneath carrying the tune along, causing her skin to flush with a prickling sensation, her synesthesia peaking at that particular moment as she studied his expression.

"Oh, he's good," Asmo observed drunkenly. "I'm off, got an orgy to attend."

None of the brothers even reacted to the fifth born, as they were all captivated by watching her and her only. Diavolo dipped her down in a grand sweep, and the crowd clapped softly as he brought her back up and continued to taking her in another lap around the dance floor, letting everyone see how the two reacted to one another. Their chemistry, like potassium chlorate and sugar, the fuel and the oxidizer, with the mix of spring's fresh, lust-ladden air like sulfuric acid to catalyze the reaction, was unmistakable. Passion in every step began to ignite the night, electrifying the air around them.

And not once did his sights wander. He was wholly and only focused on this radiant soul staring back up at him through shadow blue eyes adorned with black liner and pink glitter. She sparkled like the violent reaction they emulated, and he only served to keep it going in perpetuity. Sending her outward in a twirl, only keeping his hand latched onto hers, she looked back at him over her shoulder with a smile, and there wasn't a demon around who didn't feel her radiance bathing the prince. Pulling her back in, he drew her in closer, one hand held beside them, upright, while the other sank lower on her corseted waist, now resting high on her hip. He could feel her fingertips pressing more into his bare skin then.

"There's none more beautiful than you," he murmured softly in her ear, his cologne and natural scent filling her senses. "I know everyone here is vying for your company tonight, and forgive me for adding to the fray, but if you've made no other commitments, I'd love for you to stay with me tonight in my room. Maybe we could spend even more time together?"

"I'd love to, Diavolo," she agreed in a purr, kissing his cheek.

"Dammit," all six said in unison.

The game was over. Everyone's hopes were finally snuffed out by that one action, knowing not a single other suitor that night had received more than just her platitudes and active conversations. And as the prince brought her closer, her chest pressed against his lower sternum, still whispering in her ear and causing her to smile wider and wider, everyone understood that they would have to let their ambitions for the evening shatter, because there was no changing her mind, nor swaying the prince into letting his prize go.

Late the next morning, Altaira and Asmodeus walked through the front doors of the House of Lamentation, arm in arm and still giggling, holding a few shopping bags in their free hands. After saying their goodbyes, Altaira went to her room, and Asmo dropped by the common room to find all of his brothers glaring at him, nursing their hangovers and broken dreams.

"Well, it seems all of you have your feathers ruffled. I wonder why that could be?" He said smugly to them.

"Why are you the one bringing her home?" Satan growled, holding his head in one hand as he leaned against the arm of the sofa.

"I met her for breakfast to talk about last night, and then we went shopping," Asmo answered coolly, setting his bags down and folding his arms as he leaned against the frame of the entryway.

"Then why don't you tell us why none of our plans worked, but Diavolo's did?" Mammon demanded half-heartedly.

"Do you really want to know?" Asmo asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"C'mon, just say it. What does Diavolo have that we don't?" Belphie griped.

"Is it money?"

"Power?"

"His looks?"

"A castle?"

"A butler?"

Asmo held his hand up to stop the berating questions before the eldest could snap at them all.

"You all do realize Altaira isn't that shallow, right?" The fifth born accused.

"Spill it, Asmo," Satan snapped.

"It's because he makes her feel wanted without pressuring her. You all are so obvious in the way you approach her. She knows exactly what you're up to the moment you start talking to her," Asmo answered honestly. "That handbag he sent her? She asked if she needed to return it the next day, and he said she was free to do what she wanted with it. He's been sending her gifts for ages now without the expectation of anything in return."

They all sat in silence, but Lucifer finally slapped his newspaper down and stared at Asmodeus.

"That's ridiculous. What else is it?" He asked accusingly.

Asmo sighed and picked up his bags, shrugging, "I mean, if you really must know..."

The other six brothers all watched him start to walk away.

Once he was out of sight but still within earshot, the Avatar of Lust said, "It's also because he's covered in gold, huge muscles, and has a big dick."

There was a stunned silence for a few moments before Mammon finally piped up, "I thought Asmo said she wasn't shallow?"

"He meant it's that, plus we put too much pressure on her," Beel replied.

The other five nodded and sighed, left to face another spring alone.

For now.

---

Thanks for reading! <3

Post made by sassykattery. Do not repost. Reblogs and comments appreciated.

Tags: @delphi-dreamin @bite-sized-devil

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hey! Could I request a fic where the reader and Bucky like each other and she has to pretend she’s Zemo’s girlfriend for the Madripor mission? Bucky gets jealous and all that jazz and they confess their feelings :)

Madripoor Muse

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | Bucky harbours feelings for you, but despite Sam’s inflatable encouragement, refuses to inform you of them. However, seeing you pretend to be Zemo’s girlfriend whilst on a mission, more so when the criminal knows what strings he is pulling at, happens to infuriate him inevitably.

Warnings | jealousy, violence, references to sex work (there is nothing wrong with it, everyone is free to do what they want or need to do to get by, angst, mentions of death, grief, smut, unprotected sex, fluff, swearing

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

“I mean, if he looks like a pimp, then I look like one of his workers.” Sam snorted at your words, as Bucky’s eyes trailed down the skin that was exposed through the small piece of fabric, that in modern days, was considered a dress.

Zemo simply sighed at the pair of you, shaking his head as though the former winter soldier would understand his point. “It’s Madripoor, not an american graduation. You are not going to be clothed in long robes in this place, expression is in the body, and how it is clothed.”

“Or not clothed.” Bucky retorted, frowning at how you shuffled beneath the criminal’s gaze, crossing your arms, which definitely did not help the situation, considering that it did nothing more than make your breasts rise. Admitting defeat, you let them fall, holding them to your sides, outlining your hips, which once more, was not how you wished to be portrayed as you walked through the illuminated air, careful to keep pace in your heels.

“We all have a part to play, winter soldier.” Helmut spoke, his accent causing waves to ripple through the euphoria of lights that lay up ahead. “I am me, you are you, Sam is the Smiling Tiger, and...”

“I’m a hooker?” Once more, Zemo showed disappointment, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned to you. It seemed that tonight, you, a smart and well coordinated avenger, was absolutely adoring testing his patience, but that was his trick.

He was the captive here, forced to help the forsaken superheroes that had prompted him with the idea of escaping from the government’s ensured facility. And it was without a doubt that he would mess with their minds each chance that he got.

“No, think of yourself as more personalised to one person than that y/n. Your as you people say ‘arm candy’.” He used quotations with his fingers, causing you to reach for Sam’s arm to assume the role. “Oh no, not his.” Zemo made a come here motion, making you gulp.

“You’re kidding, right?” Bucky huffed, glaring unimpressed towards the Baron, who only tutted in reply, implying that he indeed was serious. “This is stupid.”

“Stupid would be allowing this hurrah of new age super soldiers to continue their war path, don’t you think James?” Zemo asked condescendingly, holding his arm out for you to grasp onto, so that you would look more than an associate, or a serum induced bodyguard.

“Me posing as your sugar baby is stupid.” You muttered, as you walked, Bucky on look out behind you, as he glared frustratedly at where you and the mass murderer were touching.

Zemo tugged you by the arm for the comment, causing you to roll your eyes at the man that had tried his best and succeeded, at destroying your team; your family. Nevertheless, you followed his stride, well aware of the sharp eyes of the man behind you.

As you entered the club, a spectrum of blue lights illuminated your skin, as you stared around in wander. There was a variety of all didn’t people, born from different virtues, wealths and races all intermingling around in the space.

If Zemo didn’t have a leash on your arm, you’d have stared for a little longer, perhaps even gotten purposely lost in the sea of bodies that flashed with such ambition and prospect. All were designed to suit their surroundings, and you wished that you could fit in that easily too.

But you were lost, roped into this journey by the Falcon, the man that denied Steve’s wishes and passed on the shield to firmer hands, still uncertain of where you were planning on going. What you needed was a fight, a reason to keep roaming upon the earth. If you came up empty, you may have well have taken up Thor’s offer, and accompanied him with his new friends.

The avengers were disbanded, dotted with different services. You’d heard nothing from Wanda, it appeared that her phone had been cut off, leaving you gravely confused, but you understood that she needed time to mourn. But you couldn’t give yourself the same pampering, if you did so, then all purpose of life would slip through your fingers, and you’d be left vulnerable, a hero that willingly fell from their graces.

Finally you reached the bar, with the shadow of the winter soldier hovering over your shoulder, watching as Zemo’s untrustworthy hand trailed along your furthest collarbone, using it as his sway to grab your attention. He set his sights upon his touch, glaring harshly at it.

No one would question the expression that he wore, it was only natural for his reputation to be proceeded with such a dagger like gaze; he was supposed to be playing the killer that he once was after all.

“My lady, what would you like to drink?” Helmut asked, turning your gaze towards his, gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forbidding you from even try to look away from his sly eyes.

“White wine will do the trick, my love.” The words felt like spew falling from your mouth, but you withheld the impulse to grimace, instead, flashing him a flirtatious smile, fanning his face with your eyelashes as you were still held to face him.

“Fine choice.” He smirked, nodding towards the bartender, who had just presented the Smiling Tiger imposter with a shot that had the intestines of a snake floating around in its liquid. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Sam hesitated to drink it for a moment, before throwing it down the hatch, treating it as an old trick.

Madripoor, for an island trapped in violence, didn’t appear that bad on the outside. That was, until the shooting began, causing the lot of you to leg it from the citizens targeting their rifled hardware towards you, running with your lives depending on it.

You had temporarily lost Zemo, as you put head your own safety, your pace and spot being just between Sam and Bucky, as the first man’s arms flailed as he insisted that he could not run in the heels that he was wearing. Huh, you’d be running in heels all your life, maybe he shoulda learned how to do so earlier, it came as a great talent.

Gunshots rang out, as a hooded figure unveiled themselves, introducing the older face of a blonde that you had once knew. It had been quite some time since you had last seen her, all having gone your separate ways to evade the law, and its cruel jurisdiction. “Sharon?” Bucky spoke, instantly recognising the woman that had aided them in the past.

Once you were all reintroduced, and met with her annoyance, which was surely understandable, she led you to her property, where you were able to part from the Sokovian, and share your distaste to the man, as well as remove the skimpy dress.

It pooled at your feet as you tossed it from your ankle, leaving you in nothing more than your underwear. As you squinted, searching for some reason that you were continuing with this foolishness of thinking that the world still considered you a hero, an echo of a knock rattled against the door. It was metal upon wood; Bucky.

“Come in.” You spoke, as you tied a spare robe around your waist, watching as the super soldier, who appeared less stoic, and more human stepped into the room, closing the door behind his emerging shadow. “You alright man?”

Bucky’s eyes drifted down for a moment, before they splintered back up towards your face, his jaw physically tensing, the notion well visible. He breathed in a long breath through his nose, as he stepped closer, his brow harsh and lined upon his forehead.

“I didn’t like Zemo putting his filthy hands on you.” He admitted aloud, the words of Sharon, teasing him for pining after someone that he had once thought of as no more than a friend of Steve’s. But now that man was gone, and so was the one that he used to be. Instead, he was left standing on his own feet, having to find balance by himself somehow.

“Neither did I.” You informed him. “It was like he was pulling back the images of his collapsing country, pouring every ounce of pain and hatred upon me, evading my mind with guilt, and the memories of what it all amounted to. None of it had been worth it, living like this. We’re treated like animals, no longer idols or heroes, people under the big thumb that keeps pressing down on us.”

“Well we’re both pressed down, limited to our rules and the outlines they want us to obey.” He nodded, raising his flesh hand to your collarbone, wanting to mark his touch upon it to remove that of Zemo’s. At his action, your breath hitched, but you allowed him to sweep his pads over the flesh, shuffling indefinitely closer so that you were chest to chest.

“We’re dangerous in their eyes. That’s a mindset they have in common with our prisoner out there.” You whispered, frowning from the thought. Two monarchies, one still whilst the other already fallen, served the same opinions, though, only one could continue to take action. Zemo was a Baron, but of what country now?

Like all, his home had been vanquished into smithereens, the foundations collapsing into rubble, the history disappearing with its lands, having thrown its dusty remnants in your face.

��I’m fine with being considered dangerous so long as I’m not alone.” He pinched your chin, tilting your head, this time though, you felt in his grasp. It didn’t belong to that of an enemy, it was one of an ally, a friend. “Tell me I’m not alone y/n.”

“I’m here James.” You stared up at him with focused pools, biting your lip as your mind went haywire over everything. “The Wakandans will come for him, you do realise that, right?” He hummed in reply, briskly bringing his metal hand to toy with the belt of the white wrap around.

“Do you think that you could show me that I’m not alone?” He nervously asked, shuffling his weight from foot to foot, as he awaited a reply. But instead of words, he earned himself the sensation of your lips upon his, collaborating in a touch starved jumble of grunts. “You’re beautiful, like...”

“Like what Barnes?” You prompted, brushing your palms onto his shoulders, easing his tenseness. Expectedly, you watched him through half lidded eyes as you leant up to plant supple kisses upon his neck, sucking his skin into your mouth, as though you were trying to thread it gently with your teeth.

“A muse.” He sighed, thinking for a momentum, before dragging your hair through his vibranium fist, lightly grinning as he heard your breath wither from the sensation. “A beautiful muse, one that reminds me to be better everyday. I want to become someone better for you.”

“You shouldn’t.” You unlatched your mouth from him, frowning lightly at the brunette man. “You should become better for nobody but yourself Buck, each day, it’s about self growth, fixing everything that you have ever been taught so that you can learn to do better next time, so that no one else will die because of your expense.”

Bucky nodded, allowing your words to sink in. His fingers returned to playing with the waist band on your robe, his eyes gazing into your own, as he fiddled with the material. “Can I?”

“Go ahead.” You granted him permission, allowing him to push the coverage from you, his eyes widening at seeing you in nothing more than your underwear. His sight traced every curve and bump and dip that was upon your shape, licking his dry lips to make his gawking less subtle.

“You’re killing me doll.” He leant his head back, as he raked his contrasting fingertips down your shoulders, all the way to the small of your back. You smirked, grasping him through his jeans, earning yourself a moan from the elder man.

“I said it’s all about self growth, didn’t I? It seems that you are taking that in quite a literal sense.” You rubbed him through the denim, finding it unsurprising as the man backed you towards the bed, your knees hitting the end sending you falling onto the mattress.

Bucky crawled his way atop of you, rutting his hips against your own. It had been so long since he had been permitted to be this free, and he knew for sure, this would be a secret that he would not inform any therapist of. This was private, the sentiment making it close to his weathered heart.

His lips returned to your own, as your hands scaled beneath your shirt, lightly tracing the scars. He wasn’t as insecure as he thought he’d be about someone touching them, perhaps it was because many of your own materialised stories were written in your skin, or that you understood what it meant to be a soldier, serving under orders.

It didn’t matter too much, he wasn’t overthinking it. Instead, he was yearning as he grasped at the straps of your bra, trying to pull it over your head, as was done with the dames back in his day, but the effort seemed more difficult. Lightly leaning away from him, you reached around your back, unclamping the contraption before tossing it out of his sight.

He didn’t care to ask what the modern day had done to the garment, he was far too focused on your pert nipples, and how they stood to attention before him. The super soldier reached forwards, running his smooth hands upon the underneath of your breasts, before interacting with the present buds, softly tugging at them with his whimsical fingers.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” Released from you as a sign, instantly becoming pleased as Bucky stripped himself from everything but his underwear, leaving a nest of his clothes upon the wooden floor, as he leant his head down, capturing your left nipple within the warmth of his mouth, moaning lightly as your hands weaved through his locks, tugging lightly at the short roots. “Stop teasing Buck.”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes roll from the slowness of motions, and thus, he reached down, and snapped the band of your underwear, the ripping noise audible, as he then pulled his boxers down, revealing his bobbing cock, that was directing its tip towards your entrance.

With a glance down, he lightly drooled at the way your cunt clenched around nothing, quickly swiping his fingers through your slit, as he brought them up to his lips, humming contently at the flavour that graced his tastebuds. “Need to be in you doll.”

“Need you in me soldier.” You taunted back, digging your knuckles into his shoulders as you pressed him against you, pushing your tongue into his mouth, as he suddenly bottomed out inside of you, waiting for a moment for the pair of you to adjust to the sensations.

He was in you, filling you to the brim, as you tucked your heels into the base of his back, lightly rotating your hips up, as your tongue chased his own, sucking on it as you nipped at the end, causing him to unintentionally jerk his rigid cock into you.

That had prompted him to start moving, screwing his hands into the satin sheets either side of your head, as your bodies succumbed the others to waves of pleasure. It was a luxury, having an outlet to all the stress that your duty brought. If you could just pass the mantle on like Steve had done, and Clint was in the process of doing, you would.

But it was all you had known; the gritty route, that had spanned the entirety of your tale. And Bucky now became a part of it, as he became a part of you, unravelling your vulnerabilities with sleek thrusts into your cunt, and smooth words that had swept you from your feet and had landed you in a bed.

A bed thats structure was creaking from the strength behind the animalistic carnage that you spent on one another. His teeth pulled at your lip, opening your mouth so that you could use him as an oxygen mask. Neither one of you had noticed the door opened, and an unimpressed Sharon standing in the entry way, her agent arms crossed unamused.

She cleared her throat, which made Bucky still inside of you, and you to clutch onto his back, to cover the decency of your chest. “You let me go on the run, then you fuck in my bed. It’s like I’m not allowed to belong anywhere.”

“Sharon-“ she halted your speech by raising a finger, her eyebrows pointedly telling you not to bother trying to speak, as sweat beading down your body. Bucky subtly rolled from atop of you, quickly pulling the sheets over you both, giving Sharon views that she neither wanted nor appreciated.

That was grittiness, she was a hustler, not a once avenger. A part of you wished she would understand that, as much as it would be painful to hear, she hadn’t been the top of anyone’s list. She had disappeared, and from so, she had became unreachable, practically falling off the face of the earth.

But she had been here, in Madripoor, the island of bones and whatever else Zemo had described it to be. “You two fucked in my bed. Okay.” She remained cool headed, her eyes trailing through the various fabrics among her floor. “Thought I’d tell you to get ready, and to blend in, though you two have that part already figured out. There’s some clothes in the wadrobe, and from what I can tell, you’re going to need new underwear.”

She bothered no longer once she had informed you of what she had told the other men. Instead she simply left, only for you to brace your head back into the quality pillows, slumping, and dreading the journey ahead.

Though you seemed restless, Bucky still thought of you as a muse. His hands grasped your chin, leading your lips to his own, as he sucked on your bottom one, his right hand grasping one of your breasts, as he pulled you atop of him, your skin flushed as you steadied your weight over his tough thighs.

“Now this is a dangerous sight.” He clicked his teeth, trailing his large hand down from your jaw, surpassing the middle of your chest, to your hip, which he grasp, as he shuffled you up just a little, so that you were seated upon the base of his cock.

“I can show you dangerous Barnes.” You smirked, adjusting the both of you so you were ready to sink down on his length. Your hands softly stroked his erect shaft, as you tapped his tip upon your pussy, before pushing down, filling yourself up one more.

Madripoor was a bad place, but good things could come out of visiting the skull island. This was the job, though, breaks were prompted, and were you glad that Bucky had became your little bit of calm in the arising trouble in the world.

“Fuck.” He groaned beneath you, his balls clenching as he felt you writhe all the way down to his base, beginning to bounce upon him, the years of training that you had endorsed coming in handy as it had helped your stamina. He was a super soldier after all, you were surely going to need it.

[kittyt-hexxed]

Hexed (Vi/POC!Reader) - Ch.25

Last Chapter Upload Date: April 10th

Act 3: Chapter Twenty-Five - It’s Just Business

Warnings: Choking, thigh grinding, teasing, hints of sadism/masochism, use of the word “Pet” Strap-on sex, Pet/Mistress dynamic, Hard Dom!Renata (Short sex scene at the end of Renata’s piece. Starts when Renata says “I bow to no one.” And ends at the ***)

Summary: It’s time for the final pieces of the puzzle to be put into place. Duty calls as you visit the Chem-Baroness to strike a deal, and there’s only one way to seal it. You find Sevika passed out in The Last Drop, and realize that your plans all fell into place.

The last official chapter will be posted on Sunday, April 10th!!! There is a bonus chapter (27) that will be posted Wednesday, April 13th! Thank you for everyone who has read Hexed! Please make sure to read the closing note next week!

For once, your hair fell over your shoulders in solid ivory ringlets. No other color is in sight to distract people from realizing that it’s pure white. You were loitering outside of the Silver Pearl with the black card in your hand. You had dressed in the small private bedroom Babette had for each of her workers. You kept most of your work outfits in there except for the more valuable ones. You are wearing a pair of skintight leather pants with a long-sleeve crop top that shows a healthy amount of underboob. You threw on a ripped-up jacket over it that allowed you to hide some weapons away inside of it as a precaution.

You hum to yourself as someone with a respirator walks toward you. He’s wearing a suit and seems to be a little nervous as he stops hesitantly in front of you. You hold out the card, letting him inspect it before he nods and beckons you along. A smile crosses your red lips as you walk close to him. His gun is visibly strapped to his hip with the Baroness’ crest on it. The other roaming citizens don’t even glance your way, too used to seeing this sight. It’s the visitors from other cities that crane their heads to catch an eyeful.

“Wow, look at that poor girl! She has to sell her body to make money.” You hear an obnoxiously familiar voice. You glare ahead as your retriever glances at you. ‘Mavis is still alive after all of these years? What a miserable reality this is.’

“Keep walking.” You say to him, “Once she realizes who I am, she’ll get corrected quickly. Sex workers are cherished here. She just likes to stir up shit.” He nods to you. You’re silent the rest of the way to the descender station. As you step into it, you playfully bump your retriever, “You don’t have to be so tense. Are you new? You’re not one of my regular retrievers. What’d Zach do this time?”

“...He messed up something important the Baroness told him to take care of. So, he's been… permanently removed from her services.” Your retriever says as you ascend to the surface street.

“Ah, how unfortunate for him to meet his expiration date. It seemed like he had some promise, but a woman like the Baroness can’t afford any failures.” You say cheerily and watch as the young man flinches, “Am I to know your name? Since you’ll be the one retrieving me.” You throw your arm over his shoulder and get close to his face, studying his features for any tells.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma’am. The Baroness-” His face turns pink as his eyes dart down to your chest.

“-refuses to have her underlings associate with those beneath them.” You cut him off with an exaggerated pout, “I get it. I get it. I’m not worthy of her!” You whine.

“What? No! The Baroness doesn’t want people to know my name until she knows that I’m worth keeping within her services.” He hurriedly explains to you. You laugh and walk backwards so you can see his facial expressions more clearly, “I’m well aware of the Baroness’ reason, newbie.” You tease him, “Congratulations, you passed your first test.” You wink at him. You watch as his eyes go wide in shock. He stutters for a moment before clearing his throat.

“My first test?” He blinks owlishly at you.

“If you were to be over-eager and tell me your name, even though you were told not to… That means you don’t believe the Baroness has a good reason for the rule. It shows that you don’t respect her. I’ve been the Baroness’ courtesan for over a year. I’m well aware of her mannerisms.” You grin. The guards at the gate bow to you as you walk in. You nod to them in greeting and observe the mansion in front of you. It was the finest one in all of Zaun compared to the Chem-Barons’ poor imitations. This mansion was nothing compared to the ones in Piltover but that was to be expected. The Baroness prided herself on her roots while stuffing Piltover’s money in her extremely deep pockets. Your retriever knocks on the mahogany door and it’s opened to reveal a familiar face.

“Good afternoon, Miss Lady.” The Head Maid greets you.

“Good afternoon, Gloria. May I enter?” You greet her happily, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“Has your retriever introduced himself?” Gloria questions as she lets you enter the building. Your retriever goes exceptionally pale at the question and gives you a panicked look. You chuckle and shake your head, “He has not. I was informed that the Baroness has her reasons.” You slyly smile at her. Another maid gives you a white bundle of clothes that you take with a smile. Gloria appraises the young man who retrieved you and nods her head once.

“Excellent. You may go now. You are no longer needed.” Gloria waves him off and turns to you, “Get changed. I’m told the Baroness has questions for you today. Don’t keep her waiting.” She says curtly.

You hum in response and head into the bathroom to change. The slip dress you were handed is completely white but your shoes were a vivid magenta. No panties as per usual. The Baroness’ signature colors. She always had something new for you to wear when you came to visit. Your street clothes were to be cleaned and folded while you spent some one-on-one time with her. She was an immaculate woman and required that you were too when in her presence.

You stride out of the bathroom, your heels clicking against the tiled floors, as Gloria gives you a once-over. She smiles at you and you notice that your retriever is still standing next to her. His mouth drops open when his eyes land on you, “Holy shit.” He breathes out. You raise an eyebrow at him as Gloria whacks him on the head. She glares at him and you can sense an impending lecture. ‘I am not sticking around for that. I have extremely important matters to attend to.’

“I know my way. You don’t need to escort me, Gloria. Good luck, little golden retriever!” You call as you start down the hallway. You hear Gloria stutter out a response but you’re walking too fast for her words to reach you. ‘Are you ready for this, Hexxit?’ You huff and resist the urge to cross your arms.

‘Are you doubting me right now?’

‘Child, this woman is immovable. I wanted to wish you good luck. You seem as though you might need it in this instance.’ You stop in front of the looming double doors and take a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Umbra. I appreciate it. Truthfully, I’m doubting myself too.’ You raise your hand and knock on the door firmly. There’s a few seconds of silence before you’re called to enter the room. With one last breath, you swing the doors open with a seductive smile. ‘Here we go. Piece one of the three.’

Your eyes immediately find the towering form of the Baroness leaning over her desk with a pen in hand. You shut the doors behind you without turning your back to her. She lazily raises her head and lets her eyes leisurely glide over your form. Renata is a huge woman. Not just muscular wise but she was the tallest female Zaunite at six feet without her heels. You suspect she may be taller than that but you aren’t sure and you're not stupid enough to take a measuring tape to her. Sometimes you wonder just how tall she’d be if she was born in a healthy environment. You patiently wait for her to address you.

Renata places her pen down and leans back in her chair, “Your hair is lacking its usual colors… and you have new tattoos.” Her voice sends excited shivers down your spine. You loved it. It was a voice you could listen to all day.

“I was… encouraged to embrace my normal hair color. It is not to your liking, Ms.Glasc? I thought white was a color you adored.” You giggle as you saunter over to her. She lets out a chuckle and pushes back from her desk. Her tie is hanging loosely and her button-up is opened enough to show off a hint of cleavage. Her hands grip your waist as you lean against the desk. She liked to have you in her grasp at all times. You knew she was not submissively inclined in any way. Renata Glasc was a dominant woman in every aspect of her life and preferred it that way.

“You are correct, pet. It is my House color, after all.” Renata nods her head, “I’m curious about where you got it done. Did you do it yourself? Markee refused to dye anyone’s hair completely white for the past nine years.” She raises her eyebrow. There’s a knowing look in her eyes that has you getting a bit more nervous. ‘Ah, the conversation I’ve been waiting for.’ You give her a sweet smile and caress her metal arm with your hand. Renata watches you in silence, her eyes tracking your every move. If you weren’t used to them, you’d feel very unnerved right now.

“I’m sure you know the reason for that refusal.” You hold out your right hand, “Y/n. The girl who died six years ago in an explosion near the docks.” You keep your hand extended while holding her gaze. Renata removes her metal hand from your waist to shake yours. Your heart pounds in your chest as she smirks and her magenta eyes practically glow.

“I’m aware, pet.” Renata chuckles, “I know all about you.” Renata moves the papers on her desk aside and lifts up a file with your name on it. You take it from her and flip through all of the information she has inside of it. ‘Wow. It’s almost a complete history. She even has a few pieces of information like my favorite drink from Lily’s. She’s only missing my involvement with the Firelights, which only they know about.’

“Then, you’re aware of how tightly of a grasp I have on the Undercity. Silco is unaware of this, of course. He wouldn’t know a real threat until it punched him in the face… but, this isn’t about him. He doesn’t have much time left to live anymore.” You smirk wickedly, “This is between us.”

“I am aware of your little fan club. Get to the point, pet.” Renata remarks in amusement, making you pout. ‘I can never get a one-up on this woman. That’s just not fair!’ You whine.

“I know what you’re planning. Your goal is the Sun Gates, and then the rest of the world.” You pick up her pen and roll it between your fingers, “Your parents were murdered for what they were researching by Piltover’s greedy bastards. You even lost your arm in the fire while trying to save them, but the only thing you managed to save was their research. Since then you’ve dedicated your life to be more than what you were in your childhood. Recently, you developed a drug that can essentially control people’s minds and is able to do much more. You prefer respect over fear because respect gets you further, and that arm of yours is a deadly weapon.” You giggle gleefully. ‘If things go sideways, killing her wouldn’t help. Many Zaunites deeply respect her and she has been making lives better. I don’t want to have to kill her.’

“Impressive, pet.” Renata jerks you forward and you stumble onto her lap, “I haven’t told anyone the full story. I should make you my employee with that intellect of yours.”

“With all due respect, I couldn’t work under you. You’re quite a cruel boss.” You smile teasingly.

“I do not tolerate failure.” Renata says sternly, “Now, what do you want from me, pet?” Her thigh rises to press against your core as she pulls you down. Your breathing hitches but you clear your throat, “You’ve got a very skilled mind. You run in extraordinarily high circles in Piltover that the rest of us can only dream of-!” You gasp as she drags your hips forward. Her eyes glitter in amusement as a light blush appears on your face. “How do you feel about joining me and going to war with Piltover?” You lean close to her. Renata clicks her tongue and grinds her thigh against you. That action has you whining, gently gripping her shirt as your body flushes with heat. Her arm wraps around you as her metal hand caresses your throat. ‘One wrong move and she can tear out my neck.’ Excitement rushes through you and you take a deep breath. Renata has always been one of your favorite clients. She never requested sex from you but teased you relentlessly while she worked. You would ask her every visit, but she always said she was too busy to play with her precious pet. No matter what you did or said, Renata never took the bait. This woman was unpredictable and if you didn’t play your cards right, you would be walking out of here without a deal and maybe even a disappointing mess to clean up.

“...I would kill anyone who asked me to join them.” Renata’s eyes bore into your soul. She had yet to stop grinding her thigh against you, and you were struggling to keep quiet. “...I admit, I am partial towards you, pet. As if I’m the one being hypnotized.” Renata’s other hand glides up your thigh, pushing the dress up, and stops at your hip. You swallow hard, a small groan leaving your lips as she stops moving her leg. You felt like you were on fire and trying to hide that fact was killing you. But, you refuse to show weakness, keeping your eyes locked together. ‘She’s aware of how difficult it is for me to keep this up. She’s enjoying this.’ You giggle. ‘Such a sadist.’

“...I will fight alongside you for the war, but we will renegotiate once it’s over. I will not give up my goals so easily.” Renata says with a strong conviction.

“Deal!” You immediately exclaim in elation, “I assume you won’t request sex from me today?” You hum happily. ‘Yes! Yes! I know she has ulterior motives but I don’t care.’ Renata chuckles in a way that makes you uneasy.

“Oh, pet. You can’t ask me to make a deal and expect to give me nothing out of it.” Renata purrs, “How else are we going to seal it?” Your eyes widen slightly and you lick your lips. You shiver in anticipation as you find yourself intrigued with what this woman could do.

“I have a feeling you’re not submissively inclined.” You say as her metal hand rests against your neck.

“I bow to no one.” Comes her simple answer. ‘I figured as much.’

“Then…” You lean up to her ear, “How do you want me, ma’am?” You purr and teasingly nibble her ear. A hiss leaves your lips as Renata yanks your head back by your snowy roots. Her grip on your hair is tight and leaves no room for movement. ‘I am nowhere near having control here.’ Your throat is exposed as the tips of her metal fingers brush over it.

“Turn around and bend over my desk.” Renata growls. Her tone warns you that listening would be in your best interest. You wait for her to release your hair before you whirl around and do what she said. The position she has you in is unmistakably submissive. It makes you shudder being this exposed to her when she could dispose of you easily. It also made you incredibly horny.

The only warning you got was the soft clink of her belt and a deep chuckle. The dress is pushed up by her hand and the anticipation makes you tense. You feel the strap press into you before it easily slips inside. You were so wet that there wasn’t any resistance from your body. You let out a low moan as Renata grips your hips and thrusts into you. From the first one, you knew she wouldn’t be gentle and you were right.

Every thrust was painfully pleasurable. The head of the strap practically kissed your cervix, forcing the air from your lungs after you managed to recover. Her metal hand wraps around your throat and tilts your head back ever so slightly. Your fingers grip onto the edge of the desk for something to brace yourself with.

You couldn’t tell what the dizziness was being caused by. Was it the lack of oxygen from her hand around your throat, the bruising thrusts that jolted your body, or the fact that anyone passing by her office would hear the wet sound of your cunt and your submissive moans? Regardless of what it was, it made you feel delirious as you shouted her name. Your orgasm came quickly due to her steady rhythm and your legs shook from the strength of it. You breathe heavily, eagerly sucking air into your aching lungs as she pulls away. An intense ache pulses from between your legs and you can hear the smirk in Renata’s voice, “I hope that seals our agreement.” You can’t help the laugh that slips from your lips.

                                                       ~

Every step you took was a little shaky but not as bad as when you first tried to walk. You were not let down by Renata’s skills and you couldn’t shake the bubbly mood it put you in. The Baroness had told you to take the outfit you were wearing so it was folded away into your bag. You had been gone for longer than you planned so you rifted back into the Undercity. Your next stop was to find Sevika, who would be kicking back in The Last Drop at this time. Silco’s goons hung out in the place when it was closed for some private relaxation and Sevika was always wiping the floor with those who challenged her, be that in card or drinking games.

Yet, you could tell something was off as you approached the main street and saw all of the lights shut off. The lights in Zaun were never off unless they were broken, shattered, and smashed to smithereens. You could feel the crackle of magic in the air as you got closer to The Last Drop. ‘Are those… chemtanks?’ Your eyes narrow as you get closer. ‘Those are chemtanks.’ Their faces are smashed in and pools of shimmer surround them. You crouch down to get a closer look but can’t piece together who might’ve done this. ‘Whoever did this must’ve used a weapon. The impact area is way too large to be a fist.’ You giggle. ‘Silco is gonna be so maaaad!’ With a hum, you open the doors of the bar. You look around in surprise at all of the destruction. The bar had been dented, tables and chairs ruined, even the pool table was hacked to pieces. There’s a pool of shimmer on the floor and you follow the trail to the side.

A gasp leaves your lips at the sight of Sevika’s unconscious and battered body. Your heart nearly dropped out of your chest. ‘Please don’t be dead!’ You rush over to her, wincing from the pain between your legs, and press your fingers into her neck. A relieved sigh escapes from you as you carefully pick her up. Her metal arm had been completely ripped off. ‘The only person who would be this aggressive is Violet, especially to Sevika. Damn, if I got here sooner I would’ve been in the middle of that fight.’ You carry the unconscious woman upstairs and into the main office. You set her down on the couch and grab some tools. You remove what’s left of her arm from its port and put it on the desk.

You hum to yourself as you inspect her injuries. ‘A couple of broken ribs seem to be the worst of it.’ You dig out a vial of healing potion and carefully pour it down her throat. You take a step back and count to thirty seconds before Sevika snaps awake. She lets out a low hiss and raises her hand to her head.

“The potion healed your ribs so it’ll take a second for your headache to fade.” You pat her shoulder, “Sooo, Vi did a number on you, huh?” You tease her, a shit-eating grin devouring your face. Sevika gives you the most irritated glare she can muster. You grin cheekily at her as a memory pops into your mind.

You were sitting at the poker table while Sevika plays with some of her gang members. You had some cards in your hand since they were teaching you how to play. Ekko was downstairs with Powder and Vi was behind the bar with Vander. It was tense as you were getting down to the wire. With a click of your tongue, you all show your hands.

“The fuck?!” One of the guys curse, “How’d Y/n win this?!” You blink before giving a shit-eating grin. You grabbed the money from the center as everyone groaned. Sevika glares at you, “You’re too smart for your own damn good.” You give her an innocent smile.

“The bitch got lucky.” Sevika grunts after drinking some water.

“How so?” You tilt your head.

“She had a new weapon. Hextech. Some kind of posh-looking gauntlets. It even had a shield or something.” Sevika grumbles moodily. She gazes at you and raises an eyebrow, “What happened to you? You seem off.”

“Off?” You giggle, “I had a business deal with the Baroness.” You say coyly. Sevika’s face clearly shows her disbelief. You chuckle and start snooping through Silco’s things. You’ve never been in this office before but it looks the way you imagined it would. You hum pausing at his very expensive taste in cigars. You take one out of the box and snap it in two, dropping it into the waste bin. ‘It’s the little things.’ You grin gleefully.

“The Baroness? Renata? Why would you make a deal with her? Are you insane?” Sevika spits out. ‘Awwe, Vika’s worried about me!’ You coo.

“I’m aware of her real reputation. I made a deal with her because Zaun is going to war.” You say casually and look at her, “I’ve got the city on my side. I just need the last few pieces of the puzzle. Renata was one, you’re another, and Silco is the final piece.” You hop onto the desk. Papers scatter and fall to the floor as you do.

“Me?” Sevika scoffs, “What do you want with me?”

“You’re very well respected by many people in Zaun. Feared, too. You’re a woman that gets things done and you don’t appreciate failure. You carved a name for yourself, and even Vander respected you. I want you to fight with me. Not to mention you know how to craft working prosthetics.” You tick off each point with a finger.

“Thanks for the ego boost, but I-”

“-am loyal to Silco? Pfft, don’t make me laugh. You’re loyal to yourself and your interests. Besides, Silco is going to be dead by the end of the week. Either by my hand or someone else’s. He can’t keep a hold on the Undercity, and he can only dream of reaching Renata’s heights.” You shrug, “I don’t see why you would continue to work for a dead man, Vika.”

“I knew you’d amount to something with that brain of yours.” Sevika chuckles, “How’d you steal the Undercity from Silco without him noticing?” She leans back and spreads out comfortably on the couch.

“It was never his to begin with. The people are pissed. Vander let Enforcers walk all over us. In the end, Vander had lost a lot of respect because of that. Silco flooded our streets with a drug that tore apart families. It made our people worse even if it had some beneficial properties. Too much of the stuff will rot you from the inside. I’m sure you know since you take controlled doses… He never had their respect. He had their fear. Both had the people’s anger. I’m angry too.” Irritated, you play with your dagger, “I spent the last four years gathering intel and planting seeds. I won the people over because I’m a Zaunite. Not a man with grandiose ideas using his people as an experiment. They respect me and that respect turned into loyalty because of the things I’ve done. They fear me too… but they’re not scared of what I’ll do to them. They’re scared of what I’ll do to others for them.” You chuckle darkly and throw the knife. It lodges into the painting on the wall. You twist your wrist, making it glow, and it comes flying back into your hand.

“What the fuck was that?” Sevika hisses.

“That?” You smile secretively, “That’s magic, my dear. My magic. I gained it the night Silco slaughtered my foster father.”

“I’m sorry about Benzo, Y/n… and you’re right. Silco’s grasp on the Undercity was only because of me. He didn’t associate with the people like I did. I regret what happened with Vander but I was pissed. I jumped ship because he betrayed us. He let those fucking Enforcers beat us down and expected us to take it until they got tired. I didn’t think he’d actually lose his fucking life, but Silco had a vendetta against him.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

“So jump ship again. We are going to war. I’ll make sure of it.” You say coldly, “Piltover will get what’s coming to them.”

“Alright… You got me. I’ll help you out.” Sevika sighs heavily, “I knew you’d amount to something.”

“Great!” You chirp and hop off the desk, “You didn’t have a choice anyway.” You giggle as the knife that was floating behind her slips back into your pocket.

“What do you need me to do?” Sevika raises an eyebrow.

“Call for the assembly. We’re celebrating Pitfall Day in an hour!” You cheer, “It’ll be perfect to announce a change in leadership, don’t cha think?”

“Pitfall Day… we haven’t celebrated since Silco took control. The people were too scared to call for it.” Sevika smiles wistfully.

“Exactly, and that’s despicable.” You hiss as your anger flares. You shake your head to clear your thoughts. “Hey. Do you know what happened to Jinx? Is she alright?” You bite your lip and fidget. ‘I should have checked on her earlier but I needed to get this stuff done. I won’t rest until they’re all dead.’ You snarl to yourself.

“Jinx?” Sevika scoffs, your questions snapping her out of her mind, “She’s fine. She ran out of the building hours ago.”

“Hm, okay. I’m going to find her. We’ll be in touch.” You start walking to the door, “Oh! My bad, I forgot to do something!” You skip back over and Sevika watches you like a caged animal. You place your hand against the port for her arm and pour some magic into her shoulder. You feel her skin warm and notice that the scar on her face glows faintly.

“What did you just do?” Sevika raises an eyebrow and touches her shoulder.

“Something you’ll curse me out for while it happens but thank me for later!” You wink at her, “See you at the assembly, Vika!” You call as you rift away.

[goose-books]

happy trans day of visibility. godsong might be the most transsexual book i’ve ever written. have some Moments (warning for non-graphic nsfw)

(read about these characters here. transcripts + more details under the cut)

+ one bonus excerpt of spades’ mother figure going in on her best friend, because the city of farria is a fucking nightmare, but at least everyone (even the MILF who hates your guts) will use your pronouns

image transcripts:

1: anna is the main character of godsong & the narrative’s favorite little chew toy. she’s also a nonbinary trans woman (she/he) and god it is cathartic, as a trans person who’s done nothing in the vein of medical transition, to write a trans character who hasn’t either and doesn’t want to.

She had woken with the gold lock perfectly whole, a month’s worth of curl grown overnight — though of course her hair had been shorter then, at eleven, when she had been considered her parents’ elder son. Not that Ivander had ever put much stock in those sorts of things. The Iven language had he, loosely, and she, loosely, and a special word for the priests, one that didn’t exactly translate. In the legends, Iv was he and she and they and elsewhere, too. From the day Anna’s hair had goldened, she had been that way as well. It was half-holy, half-heart. Most of the Ivtouched had stuck to one set of words outside prayer; some, like Ira, had only used the priest’s terms, whether dressed in holy robes or not. But Anna had for many years been he and she both, long-haired and large-handed and low-voiced. A woman more than a man, but, really, not so much of either; not so much a woman as a sister, anyhow.

2: ichari felidore, anna’s sidekick. nonbinary butch lesbian. bastard swag. best quality: can’t keep their shirt on.

Ichari scoffed and shot him a look. They were replacing a shattered plank in the deck, hands smeared black with tar that gleamed in the spring sunlight. Despite the nipping chill, they’d forgone their coat for a shirt they hadn’t bothered to button. The edges of their faded scars nosed out from beneath the fabric — the scars they’d traded for their breasts, as they liked to put it, though that had been near seven years before Anna had met them.

3: sascha armindale, anna’s OTHER (less helpful) sidekick. he/him femme who self-describes as a gentleman. for someone with an absolutely empty head, he has the most to say about gender of anyone in the cast.

He was a woman, after all, ah? And not a woman like Ichari was a woman. Because Ichari was a woman, or at least they only fucked women who fucked women, but they were a particular sort of woman, the sort his parents would have been rather displeased to see him associate with. And they weren’t beautiful, not the way a woman was supposed to be — but gods, were they gorgeous. Bright hair, bright eyes, a fox-narrow face and lithe limber arms. Everything about them was sharpened and scraped clean. Effortlessly slender. Effortlessly strong. Sometimes when they slept together, Sascha dug his nails into their flat toned stomach, pretending it was passion and not bitterness. They only ever laughed, anyway. They liked it when he played rough.

No. He wasn’t like that. Sascha was a woman shaped like a woman, dressed like a woman, silky skirts and petticoats that spun out when he twirled, powders carefully applied to his eyelids and cheeks — but then, he wanted to be a woman shaped like a woman just a little bit wrong, what with the short hair and the he and all. Woman off-kilter. A flatter chest would help with that, surely, same as it did for Ichari — but then, his chest was about the only part of his body he actually liked. His chest and his face and his hair. The places he liked being touched — though he liked being touched in general; he liked when other women liked him pretty.

4: scylla and charybids are the worst butch/femme couple in the world. but their genders are so cool (she/her butch king and he/him femme queen respectively) are so cool that who cares if they do a little murder.

The wolf king did not answer, only turned to face the rest of the hall and raised her free hand high. “I am Scylla God-King of the ice and stone,” she proclaimed. “He is my consort, holy and divine, Charybdis God-Queen of storm and snow. And the north is ours to rule and raise.”

5: sascha, drunk: when you. when you. when . he/him lesbians 😃 charybdis, who considers himself more monster than woman: uh huhhh

“We’re the same sort of woman, ah, aren’t we?”

Charybdis tilted his head. “Are we?”

“Well, you are a woman, ah?” He paused, in case he’d somehow been wrong, and waited for a denial that didn’t come. “And so am I. But — he, and all that, and yet you wear dresses anyhow. You know Ichari doesn’t. Ever.”

“No, Scylla neither. Not anymore.”

“And Anna only wears those drab robes all the time. But I suppose that’s her culture.” He crossed one leg over the other and went on: “And you’ve been with women, of course, the same as I have. We’re not supposed to do that back where I’m from.”

Again Charybdis’s smile was slow and creeping, like he was trying to hold it back. “No. Not at the temple, either. I suppose we are the same, then.”

6: cinquedea spades: the OTHER main character. as a trans woman (she calls herself a “self-made woman”), a bisexual, and a gladiator, she is maybe the coolest person in the world. sorry about the A cups

Spades had been uncomfortable about this part in the beginning, the first few times she’d been hurt bad enough to merit it. The nakedness. Particularly with her chest near-flat as it was. The morning draughts she’d been taking since twelve had smoothed her face, sleeked her limbs, curved her hips ever-so-slightly, let her shift from a small and silent boy to a small and knife-edged girl and then into a woman. But they had done little for her in the way of breasts. At this point, though, she was past caring. She’d been ground into the sand often enough that most of the medics in the arena had seen her shirtless.

7: she’s also long-lost nobility and god she is so traumatized but SO fucking funny about it

“It’s always setting the story straight,” said someone else, leaning forward — Luna, maybe, pale-haired with a scar running over her chin. “Let the rumors run too far and you’ll never catch them back. You know people still say Sun Ru’s boy escaped sixteen years back when they took the whole greedy nest out—”

Spades spread her already-relaxed stance, made eye contact with Vulpa over Ki’s shoulder, and observed, “I’m pretty sure that’s a myth.”

+ then our bonus. the citizens of farria said “can we please have some rights” and the city said “best i can do is everyone uses your pronouns”

“You know how the ones from the lower city are,” Carron said. “Too much time spent scraping for scraps and they get hungry for more than a meal.”

Spades kept her voice measured: “I wouldn’t say that any louder.”

Carron curled her lip. With a hint of scolding reproach: “Am I to hold my tongue for you and not the world, Dea?”

“I fight for my scraps, too. Does my blood make it different?”

“Oh, I’m the last person who can put stock in bloodlines. I was a street brat once, you know, or I wouldn’t speak with such confidence. But you’re a warrior. Your friend looks at the world like they’d sell their soul to stick a knife in its back, never mind if they go down with it.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Little Bones 1

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); harassment, general creepiness

This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down

Note: So, I’ve made some positive changes in my life. I am working away at original work, I’m drinking more water, I’m taking my dog on big walks and being more active, and I’m doing my best. So, I was struck with an old yearning to return to Birch. I’ll be updating here and there as I feel and won’t be pushing myself like I did before because I realise how unhealthy and stressful it was on me.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: It gets so sticky down here

A city girl in a small town. What could be sadder than that?

In the city, life went fast. In a place like Birch, the days dragged by as if to remind you of how helpless you were beneath the unyielding and inevitable tick of the clock. The hand wound around and around as you waited for what would never happen. The dreams of your childhood eroded beneath the rolling years leaving trail of crumbs you could not follow back to the beginning.

A woman just beyond her prime trapped in an antiquated career. The empty aisles between the shelves full of books bespoke of a bygone era. The forgotten library at the far end of the main street rarely saw a new face and those familiar were fewer by the day. The staff had thinned to three of you; Melissa was older than you with a daughter nearly your age and Colin was close to retirement if not well past.

You got on well enough, as well as you could given Colin’s faulty hearing aid, and Melissa’s wandering mind. They meant well but they shared the lethargy of the old small town. 

You weren’t nostalgic for the smog or the flashing lights of the city, but there was no life to this place. Only the impending reach of death rattling closer in the roar of the motorcycles and the rumble of the old railroad that ran through the middle of town.

The air nipped at your cheeks as you approached the library. A morning of yawning had you craving a latte from the bakery and the quiet girl behind the counter cheerfully steamed the foam before handing it over. Everyone in this town was familiar, everyone knew everyone else, and yet, you still felt like an outsider.

You felt the heat of the cup through your glove and you looked up as you sensed two figures by one of the thick columns of the library façade. Melissa stood chatting with her daughter, hugging her sweater around her as she’d left her coat inside. You peeked up at the grey sky as snow threatened at any moment with the mid-November bite.

As you thought to pass them and leave their conversation uninterrupted, your name drew you back.

“I was just telling my daughter,” Mel began as she waved you over with a chatter of her teeth. “About that podcast you mentioned. She loves those old Hollywood stars.”

“Oh,” you blew the steam away from the lid of your drink as you neared, “It’s alright. The stories are worth the narrator’s schtick.”

“Yeah? I’ve been closing at the bar and I like to listen to something once it clears out.” Mel’s daughter said. “You wouldn’t mind giving me the name?”

You told her the title of the podcast and helped her find it on Spotify to follow for later. Mel shivered and stood closer to her daughter who was bundled up against the onslaught of Birch’s blustering winter. You knew about her too. 

She was friendly but you saw in her a cynicism more common to city folk. You got along but you were weary of her associations. The local club of crass bikers were neither subtle nor savoury. In the city, it was easy enough to ignore the patch and all that came along with it. The seedy figures were distilled by the broader population but not in Birch. There, the club was the town.

“Mom, you can’t stay out here.” She poked her mother’s arm. “It’s too cold.”

“Little better in the library.” You grumbled and sipped your latte. “The radiator’s broken again.”

“You mean Colin broke it trying to fix what wasn’t broken,” Melissa shook her head, “and I’m fine, dear. I’ve spent more than fifty winters in Birch and been through worse than this.”

“Yes, but you were younger then--” Her voice dwindled as she turned her head to listen to the distant roar of exhaust.

You followed her gaze and noted the way her forehead creased at the noise. She swallowed and turned to watch as a dark rider turned onto the main road from the highway. It was the man who kept her entwined with the club, the one who marked her latent authority over all others. The only one who outranked her.

She swore and looked over her shoulder at her mother. Her mother touched her arm. It was a telling and surprising moment. Her expression read of all the disgust you felt for the bikers.

At least a dozen bikes followed the first and Bucky raised his glove hand to signal the others to slow as he pulled up to the curb just before the library steps. You backed away as his breath clouded around him and he waved Mel’s daughter closer. He craned to kiss her as she bent, her fingers picking at her jeans as she did, then he nodded his greeting to Mel.

“What are you doing?” He asked tersely.

“Can’t I see my mother?” The daughter challenged and the biker scoffed.

“Of course,” he killed his engine and the others mimicked him in fine order. “I wouldn’t keep ya from her but you didn’t tell me you were going downtown.”

“You were gone.”

You listened to the conversation as you stayed close to the column, thinking of sneaking up the steps into the library before you heard too much. Your curiosity had you searching the crowd of leather jackets as their wearers tried to conceal their impatience with their boss’ impromptu halt.

Among them, a large man sat casually in his seat, his feet planted on the cold pavement as he rolled slightly back and forth. Strands of his thick blond hair were drawn back beneath his helmet into a thick braid as the rest hung around his shoulders. His patch was different from the rest, an old Norse symbol you didn’t know the meaning of. There were several others who wore the same cut, including a dark-haired woman who chatted with another golden-haired rider.

You tasted your latte again, it cooled quickly as the cold air battered the cardboard. As you sipped and sidled around the column, your eyes were caught by another pair. The very man you’d just been watching was now focused on you. You stopped, hoping like some frightened animal that your stillness would ward off his attention.

“Barnes,” the broad blonde man spoke as he finally looked away. “You’ve not even introduced me to your woman. I assume that’s why we’ve stopped.”

Bucky shifted on his bike and sighed. You hadn’t expected the man to have an accent. His voice was deep but the subtle lilt defined his tone as unforgettable. The dark-haired biker of Birch rolled his eyes before he pointed to his girl and gave her name, then to Melissa as he explained their relation.

You sidestepped around the column to the stairs of the library and turned away. You were stopped again by the same voice.

“And that one? The quiet one?”

You spun back slowly and looked at each biker, many unconcerned with conversation, as a few stared back at you or at the viking-like rider. Bucky shook his head and furrowed his brow at Melissa’s daughter. She hesitated before she gave your name coolly referred to you as just another librarian. She was trying to deflect the focus and you were thankful for it. You wondered at her own blatant spite for that breed of man.

“No one important,” Bucky grabbed his keys. “Come on, honey. I’ll give you a ride back.”

“I can walk.”

“Get on.” He said gruffly and turned the keys.

The motorcycles thrummed back to life in a cacophony. You flinched and turned back to the library doors. Your lunch was almost over as it was and the cold was starting to make your head hurt. You heard the bikes tear off as you reached the door and you turned back to watch as Melissa ran up after you.

You held the door for her and paused as you watched riders tear away. The blonde remained and watched you with a smirk. He winked as he slowly rolled after the others and pushed off. You followed Melissa inside and pulled the door shut tightly behind you.

“I’ll finish the returns,” you slipped past her, “you should try to warm up.”

“Thanks, dear,” she rubbed her hands together as she neared the curve desk you all shared, “God, that man makes my skin crawl.”

“But your daughter--”

“She handles him as well as she can,” Melissa sat and logged onto her boxy PC, “she’s stronger than me, that’s for sure.”

You sat and chewed on the thought. You just assumed her daughter leaped at the opportunity to date the most powerful man in town. What else could a girl from Birch hope for?

“She doesn’t…”

“He keeps her safe, I guess,” Melissa muttered, “I don’t say nothing against it. I won’t, for her sake as much as mine.”

You lowered your lashes and turned to the stack of unscanned books. You took the first and opened the cover.

“I didn’t mean to-- I don’t really know anything about the… bikers.”

“Hope you never do, dear,” she said listlessly. “Those men, if you can call them that, are the lowest form of humanity.”

💀

You always took the same route home. It wasn’t very far. You lived in the studio apartment above Tammy’s, the clothes shop where all the local seniors got their outdated outfits. The store itself smelled like a retirement home but you were not often disturbed by the activity below. Like everything in Birch, it wasn’t very exciting.

Your walk took you past the diner and along the stretch across the street from the town’s sentinel, The Asp. The bar was the only place in town which always seemed to be bursting with life. You had an old Chevrolet parked behind the building but you never drove to work, only on your odd trip to the city to get away from the suffocation malaise of main street.

That day as you fumbled to get your earbud back in, you heard a whistle. You got a few comments now and again about your habit of blocking out the townsfolk and the town itself with your music. In the city, you didn’t just say hi to every person you walked by and you had little inclination to change that habit.

You kept going and the whistle came louder. You heard boots hammer across the street and you stopped as the earbud once more fell out of your ear.

“Eh, kitten,” you turned to the long-haired biker. A golden hammer hung from a chain and peaked out from the open collar of his jacket. He tucked his hands in his pockets as you faced him with blatant irritation. “We didn’t get to meet properly, did we?”

You stared at him and let out a foggy breath. You leaned on your left heel and shook your head with a scoff.

“No.” You said and turned back along your path.

“No?” He repeated and his footsteps followed closely. “I’m only being friendly, kitten. I’m not from around here and I’m just tryn’ ta make a few friends.”

“I’m not interested,” you march onward and stop short. 

You realised if you went any further, you’d lead him straight to your door. You didn’t need him knowing where you lived. You veered off and crossed the street, he stayed close just like your shadow. You’d stop by the liquor store and wait him out there.

“Where are you going, kitten?”

“Can’t you take a hint?” You nearly tangled your own legs as you pivoted sharply. “I’m sorry for your luck that you’ve ended up in Birch but I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you.” You grasped the handle of the liquor store door. “Oh, and my name isn’t kitten.”

“I know your name. I remember it.” He grinned and you swung open the door. He caught it behind you and you let out a frustrated sigh as he trailed you inside. “It’s almost as gorgeous as you.”

“Do those work on the women where you’re from?”

You stared at the shelf of fruit wines and tried to ignore him. You were starting to build a real thirst for the bottles.

“I don’t meet a lot of women like you, kitten.”

“Would you stop it--” You blinked and stomped further down the aisle.

“Thor. My name’s Thor.” He offered gallantly. “But you can call me whatever you wish.”

“I could think of a few things.” You bent down to read the label of a wine from the Maritimes.

“Mmm, my thoughts run wild, kitten.” He purred and you looked up at him in confusion.

You swiped the bottle from the shelf and stood straight. His eyes clung to your ass and as you turned, they swiftly found your chest. Neither were well-hidden by your jacket, even as thick as it was. Your weight often deterred the whistles and the leers, but not this time.

“How many ways can I tell you to go away?” You hissed and move to step around him. He turned and watched you pass. He shivered as you brushed against him unwillingly in the narrow aisle.

“So, you got a man?” He questioned as again he tailed you to the counter. You grabbed a small bottle of Vodka from the rack beside it and dug out your wallet.

“Does it matter?”

He bent and leaned on the counter beside you and you ignored his attempt to look you in the face. You paid and took your change as the clerk bagged your purchase.

“To me, everything about you matters, kitten.”

You shot him a sharp look and took your paper bag. You hugged it close and glared at him as he straightened. “Stop calling me that.”

“Here,” he gripped the top of the bag, “I’ll help.”

“I’ll smash this bottle over your head,” you threatened. “Now I’ve told you to leave me alone.”

He chuckled and dipped his head. His hair slid down the leather and he scratched his thick beard.

“Don’t worry, kitten, I like to play.” 

He looked at you again, his blue eyes twinkling. You were startled as suddenly he ‘woofed’’ at you. You backed away and he kept close as is to chase you, ready to salivate like the dog he mimicked.

“Get away!” You shouted and raced for the door.

His barks turned to laughter and the bell announced your stagger out onto the street. You didn’t look back as you charged across the street and narrowly missed being mowed down by Linda Karling. You reached the other side as you heard the liquor store door clatter a second time. You sensed his shadow as you turned down a side street.

You walked until you were certain he wasn’t following. The cold blew up your jacket as you mapped out your way back. You could sneak around the back of the clothes shop and sneak up the metal escape. You peered back and forth, the old house just at the town limits nearly faded into the dimming sky and main street shrouded by brick walls.

“Hey,” a small voice surprised you as a woman neared, walking the same route as you. “Whatcha doing all the way up here?”

You stared at her dumbly. It was the woman who worked at the bakery. She hung out with the club too.

“Nothing, I…” You grabbed your earbuds and put them back in your ears. “I was listening to my music and got carried away.”

“Oh?” she chittered like a mouse. “No one comes this way. Only me to see my ma.”

You nodded at her and gave an awkward smile. “Mmhmm. Well, thanks. I probably would’ve wandered right out of town.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said forlornly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“For your latte. And you always get the banana loaf when it’s on special and tomorrow’s Tuesday.”

You sniffed and rubbed your neck. You hated that. You hated that everyone knew you, that everyone knew what you did, and that they assumed they knew everything else. But she was sweet and you couldn’t hate her for never being freed from the prison of Birch.

“Oh yeah,” you squeezed the paper bag so it crinkled and pulled out your phone with your free hand, “tomorrow.”

[sagittariuswritings]

Your Touch

TFATWS EPISODE 4 SPOILERS Pairing: Helmut Zemo x f!reader Summary: Y/n was dragged along Sam and Bucky’s “Zemo mission” by Bucky. She’s a mutant herself, an empath to be exact. After the blip, Bucky became her new neighbor. They became good friends, and got to know each other, and he offered to teach her self defense. When he asked for her help, she never knew she’d catch feelings for a criminal. Warnings: Language, angst, soft!zemo, fluff, and h*nd h*lding Word count: 2.3k+ A/N: I know I know I posted a screenshot of this days ago but I’ve been really busy at the barn lately and I always have to go to bed before midnight and I’m typically busy until 8pm so I’ve been really meaning to finish this!! AO3 link (not my gif)

The new plan was for Sam to try and talk to Karli. Of course, Y/n didn’t expect Zemo to actually go through with that. Zemo called Karli a supremacist, which just about earned him a punch across the nose from her, but she held herself back - more like Bucky caught what she was about to do and he grabbed her by the elbow to drag her away like a child.

Y/n wore gloves nearly all the time, in all weather. With her empathic powers, and no one to guide her with them, she didn’t know how to control them or contain them, so she resulted in wearing gloves instead. Sure, it sucked when summer came, but in her mind it was worth it in the end.

Of course, John Walker himself had to butt in. The four of them (Sam, Bucky, Zemo, and Y/n) were on their way to Donya’s funeral, and low and behold John Walker’s been tracking them down. “Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit.”

“Ah great - How’d you find us now?” Bucky immediately spoke up when they rounded the corner to fully see John and Lemar.

“Come on, man, you really think two avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Started Lemar, but then John butted in. “No more keeping us in the dark. You could start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.”

“Technically speaking, he did that himself-” Y/n started, but John cut her off.

“And who the hell is she?” He turned, looking at Sam and Bucky while jabbing a thumb in her direction.

“She can very well speak for herself, off-brand Captain America.” She said with her arms going over her chest. She couldn’t stand the guy already. Her and Bucky were together to watch his little football game thing, and she could practically see the steam coming out of Bucky’s ears. She could feel the anger, too. “I’m simply an acquaintance helping my friends, none of your concern.”

“None of my-” “Yes, none of your business. I know where Karli is.” Zemo interrupted him, starting to push past John, but he stopped him. “Well where?” Sam spoke up for Zemo, “All we know is, it’s a memorial, so we’re gonna intercept her there.” Lemar said something about being careful due to civilians, but Zemo, Y/n, and Bucky were already starting to walk off.

John tried explaining his quote on quote plan and that of course led to bickering between him, Sam, and Lemar. All Y/n could do was roll her eyes and earned a small chuckle from Zemo beside her. “What?” “Oh, nothing, it is just entertaining is all.” “What? Me getting frustrated or them bickering like children?” Zemo paused. “Both.”

John, yet again, tried stopping them, and having already been around their bickering, Y/n was getting fed up. This time, it was Zemo who held her back. He gently wrapped his hand around her elbow before she could speak up, and she reluctantly listened to him, letting the rest of them deal with his bullshit.

“I’ll deal with you later.” John pointed at Zemo. “Yeah, sure you will.” She mumbled, and before John could snap back, Zemo spoke up. “My associate is just up ahead.” And with that, they were finally moving again. Y/n figured there would be a trick or two up Zemo’s sleeve, but using a child to show him to the funeral was the last thing she expected him to do. As he gave her the money, she couldn’t help but smile a little. It was nice to see a man that looked extremely closed-off do something good. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

Before Zemo could even speak, John cuffed him to a piece of machinery. “You’ve got ten minutes, then we’re doing things my way.” He told Sam over his shoulder after cuffing Zemo.

“Aggressive. But I get it.” In all honesty, Y/n wasn’t against this. More often than not her gut feelings were correct, and she certainly had a gut feeling that Zemo was going to do something either stupid or bad within the next hour or so.

Y/n sat down beside Lemar, bringing one knee up to her chest and letting her other leg hang off the edge of this machinery. She didn’t hate Lemar the way she hated John. Lemar seemed to have a good heart, one that was set in the right way and that wouldn’t change no matter what. He wasn’t like his associate, and Y/n could feel it. John had an aggressive and arrogant type of energy, meanwhile Lemar had a passionate and determined energy. There wasn’t a dangerous edge to the man.

The entire ten minutes - well, at this point it hadn’t even been eight let alone ten -, John paced nonstop and was driving her and Bucky insane. Her and Bucky seemed to make eye contact out of frustration nearly every time John would pace. And Zemo just stood with a grimace on his face the entire time. “Do you ever stop?” She finally said. “Stop what?” “Trying so fucking hard to be the hero of every situation.” “Excuse me?” That seemed to irritate him because he stopped pacing and came up to her, barely leaving much space between them.

“Y/n.” Bucky spoke, his tone a warning. “Leave it be.”

“No, I’m not going to leave it be. Not when I can’t hear my own thoughts over this guy making a trench in the concrete.” She sat up as she defended herself, not even bothering to look up at John when she talked to Bucky. “You try so hard to be the good guy. You have this mindset that you’re in control of everything just because you gave yourself the label Captain America. You think just because you’ve been labeled as Captain America, you can just go about bossing everyone around. You’re a spitting image of your average American, however.” With that, she got to her feet. She was smaller than him, but that didn’t stop her from continuing. “You’re a rich white man with beautiful blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, but you think because you’re a rich white man that you can control everything. You’re one spitting image of the American Government: Fucked up and corrupt.”

You could hear a pin drop. It was so silent. Y/n could feel the pure anger in John begin to bubble up, and right when she thought he was going to hit her, all he said was “I’m going in.” She was left standing there as Lemar jogged after John, just her and Zemo being the only ones left in the room.

“That was… Impressive.” Zemo ended up speaking first. Y/n snapped her head over at him, and there were tears welling up in her eyes. She didn’t normally get like this. The energy in the room was tense and her emotions got caught in the tension. “It wasn’t.” She mumbled, a sniffle following her words as she made her way over to Zemo. “I don’t exactly trust you but,” She pulled a bobby pin out of her hair. “This is a bit much.” It took her a second, but she was able to unlock the handcuffs.

Zemo seemed to stare at the cuffs for a moment while he rubbed his wrist, his eyes meeting her own. “Thank you.” “It’s nothing. Just go do your thing and I’ll be your babysitter.”

-

The large metal door slammed before Y/n could follow Zemo into the boiling room, and she heard him shove things in front of the door. “Zemo?” Silence. “Zemo what the fuck, let me in!” She shoved her shoulder against the door, but it didn’t budge. “It’s for your own safety.” She scoffed. “My safety? You better be worried about your own safety if I get my fucking hands on you after this, open the door.” She heard his footsteps retreating and she slammed her fist against the door out of anger, probably bruising her hand in the process because god that hurt.

Gunshots went off. She didn’t want to leave the spot in fear of getting lost, and within minutes Bucky was jogging down the hallway. “Zemo locked me out and I just heard gunshots-” Before she could continue, bucky managed to get the door open by kicking it, then he just had to push it open. By the time they got in the room, Lemar entered from across the room and upon looking down, Zemo’s unconscious body was in the center of the room while John stood some feet away from him. “What the hell happened-?” Y/n breathed out, running down the stairs and dropping to her knees by Zemo’s body, her fingers instantly going to his pulse beneath his jaw. There was a very obvious pulse, but she was still shaken up.

Why was she shaken up? He was a bad man. He was a criminal. He used Bucky to destroy people’s lives. He was supposed to be her enemy, so why was she worried about whether or not he had a pulse?

“Karli got him.” John came up behind her, but she stood up immediately. “Would you just back the fuck off? You don’t need to butt in on everything or be involved in everything. Get it through your stupid fucking helmet to your brain.” He started talking but she turned around and got back to Zemo’s side. She lightly hit his cheek with her gloved hand, and when he didn’t budge for a moment, she muttered a sorry before slapping him. That seemed to wake him up. His head lifted off the concrete, and his eyes fluttered open to meet her own.

“Oh, good, you’re alive. Let’s go back to your home now. Bucky?” She looked up at him, a soft pleading look in her eyes that said help. Reluctantly, he wandered over and helped her get Zemo to his feet.

-

Bucky and Sam had left to find somewhere for food, and left Y/n alone with Zemo in his home. She didn’t mind, if anything it was her suggestion. While the pair left the building, she guided him to his couch. He originally sat up but she put a hand on his chest and gently put pressure on his chest to ease him into a lying position. “I’ll get you some ice.” She quietly said, making her way to the kitchen.

“A cold cloth, please. Not a fan of ice over my eyes.” Zemo managed to speak up, his voice drifting to the kitchen. “As long as you’re sure.” She answered, grabbing a washcloth from one of the many drawers of his kitchen.

Quietly, Y/n stepped into the living room. “Lift your head.” She ordered. “Feisty.” Was his response. She rolled her eyes and sat where he had lifted his head. “Lay back.” She ordered again. Reluctantly, he lowered the back of his head onto her lap. “Close your eyes.” “I like the sound of that.” He muttered, his lips forming into a smirk. “Keep it up and I’ll make your headache ten times worse.” She quipped, gently laying the cloth over his closed eyes. “Now open your hand for a glass.” And she gently placed a shot glass of one of his strongest alcohols in his hand. “Do you want any pain meds or anything?” She asked, looking down at him. “Your touch would be enough, mein liebling.” His voice was quiet.

Of course, Y/n wore gloves solely to not have any physical contact with anyone. She feared feeling others’ emotions, seeing as she didn’t have a clue of how to control them. She’d told Zemo that she just had sensitive skin to certain material, which she figured he didn’t buy it, but he never said anything else.

With hesitation, she removed her gloves and placed them on the coffee table to her left. “Alright.” She spoke, her voice barely above a whisper as she reached for his right hand with her own. When she placed her hand in his, she felt him flinch. “You didn’t have to take your gloves off if you didn’t want to-” She cut him off. “It’s okay, Zemo.” “Helmut.” “Pardon?” “Call me Helmut. It’s my first name. Zemo isn’t my first.” Her brows raised in surprise, but she nodded.

Within moments of her slipping her hand in his, he intertwined his fingers with her own. A soft shade of pink settled onto her cheeks, and she was thankful that he couldn’t see her.

Surprisingly, she didn’t feel anything she’d feared when she touched his skin. She could feel faint pain and sadness from the past, but she also felt kindness. “You have a kind heart, you know. You put on a stone cold expression, but you’re kind.. I can feel it.”

With that, he placed his glass on the table and very quickly removed the cloth from his eyes, even though it hurt him to move his head too much. “I knew it.” She looked at him, a brow raised to toy with him. “Knew what?” “You’re an empath.” There it was. She knew he knew. “I am.”

“Am I… Hurting you?” Her heart nearly exploded at how soft his voice was. Very quickly, she shook her head. “No, no you’re not. I promise.” She smiled down at him and her eyes softened when she saw that look on his face. He was like a completely different person. He was touch starved. It was clearer than a crystal.

“Rest, Helmut… You need it.” She whispered, leaning over to gently press a kiss to his now cold forehead.

“You don’t need to tell me twice when you’re lulling me to sleep.” He snuck a smirk in before she laughed softly and covered his eyes with the cloth once more.

[keingleichgewicht]

WERE YOU KIDDING ABOUT THE ASK GAME if not i dont have any specific lyrics in mind but i always thought the lyrics to the mill were so cool and maybe you could get some thoughts out of them? :0

YEAH GOD OKAY LET’S TALK ABOUT THE MILL. LET’S TALK ABOUT UHHHHHHHHH [THROWS DARTBOARD]

this line. this MIGHT go on for a while so i will............  readmore

so the mill feels kind of notably different to the rest of the pafl songs, which tend to be unusually literal for lyric, either straightforward retellings of events (punch it, punk!) or character piece monologues set to plot visuals (strike 3) or both (all of them, but for instance particularly comfort zone, which is just dmitry’s horrible manifesto until it gets hijacked by a death sentence in the second verse.) the mill is a lot more like what we expect from poetry these days, which is to say it’s heavy on imagery, low on clarity, and fucking confusing!

I’ll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold on to your battered hand Rocked to sleep beneath the snow, she is bathed in youthful glow ‘Strong enough to let it go,’ he says, but darling, I don’t know

a lot of the mill is about circles. this is in the name: a mill is something which turns. a waterwheel is a circle, a grindstone is a circle. it’s even in the melody: the chorus is a cyclic, pentatonic four-note riff that keeps going up and down and up its own ladder, chasing its own tail, not really reaching resolution. and then it’s also in, you know, the story:

the meat grinder!!!! everyone’s favorite fucking hellhole!!!! it is only semi-explicitly identified in the song but that’s because it’s a concept from the source material - both tarkovsky’s stalker and roadside picnic feature the meat-grinder, as a location nicknamed thus by stalkers because it is even more fucking deadly than the rest of the zone, all of which is already ridiculously fucking deadly, and if you’ve seen the movie:

it is more or less instantly recognizable in the mill as well. so here we have a circle! here we have a mill (the title has about seventy double meanings but this is certainly one of them,) and as it turns out, this mill at least will absolutely kill you. and horribly too. interestingly though, in roadside picnic (the book) the meat-grinder is not a tunnel, and it’s not round - it’s just a nondescript patch of ground which will wring you out like a dishcloth and kill you extremely dead if you walk into it. on the other hand what we have in the book in terms of circles is the golden ball, which is the equivalent of the movie’s the room, which is, well,

in short both stories ultimately hinge upon the idea that there is a something in the zone which can give you your heart’s desire. anything you want. everything you want. whatever you want. it is infinitely powerful; it is infinitely capable. the catch is that it will only give you what you want. the catch is that giving you what you want is not the same as giving you what you are asking for. the other catch is that in both cases you have to get through the meat-grinder first.

(so, by the way, what the fuck, right? does pafl’s zone have a wish-granting factory? is it also behind the grinder? where were the original trio going when they got themselves fucked up? and did they get there?)

but the point is: the golden ball, the wish-granting factory, is also a circle. it’s just sort of a sphere. it’s a big round fuckin yellow thing. you know, sorta like:

which is THE ONLY TIME yellow is used in occam’s razor not counting the full-colour shots, and it drives me CRAZY, but it is also me going full conspiracy board so let’s not even worry about it. THE POINT IS.

the circle is the death-machine and the wish-machine. neither of these things are really.... very good. the circle, or at least the arc, is also very closely associated with death:

(розовая дуга предрассветного, ‘rose arc of pre-dawn’. if i’ve fucked up that nominative please feel free to stone me to death!) 

in the gdoc notes to message lost ferry briefly refers to the dawn as if it were a good thing, the dawn of hope, which is a usage that sort of agrees with the desolate and deathless hope of strike 3′s ‘everything will pass / a day will come,’ but on the other hand it really is very closely associated with dying. nikolai bites it; nikita bites it; sergei and olga left significant chunks of themselves behind. and the thing about ‘this too shall pass’ is that it’s always true, as is ‘everything ends’, but of course that’s ‘cause the thing that ends might be you. and as we know

dawn is an ending. so that seems concerning!

i think the circle, the arc, the bolt falling back to the ground, is not a good thing. i am getting a little conspiracy board here in general but forgive me, i cannot make you a wholesome answer, my wit’s diseased. i think the circle is an enclosed space. it’s an unbroken cycle. it’s the grindstone. it’s the mill. it’s about what pafl’s always been about: about being trapped, about having no chances, about being bordered upon. the circle’s the geometric figure of equidistance from a given point, and you can walk on it forever, and nothing will ever change; you will never get closer, you will never get further away, you will never get out! the sun rises, the sun sets, and you are no closer to anything you wanted. it’s worth noting that anya’s borderline city, the zone-edge port town she complains is trying to crush all her dreams, her mill

is a circle. (a cog in a machine! a grind-wheel! a cage!)

and yura, whose dreams have already been burned out of him, who starts the series already resigned to never getting out of here, calls it ‘this dire deja-vu’, i am specifically resisting putting the accent marks back onto that, which is to say, it’s a repetition that haunts him. it’s going round and round and getting nowhere.

so if we bring it back around: drawing a line in the sand, as the phrase is generally used, means setting a border, means saying this far and no further. often it’s yourself you’re setting the border for. you hit some divide you can’t abide crossing so you say this stops here, it may be too early or too late, but i say it stops here. so logically: drawing a circle in the sand means you’ve locked yourself in completely.

I’ll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold your battered hand

the whole first half of this song, i think, is olga promising to grind herself down in a hundred ways if it means she won’t be left alone. how hard can it be to never let it overflow? she may feel lower than the low, she may wish she could just disappear out here, into the postindustrial rust, but though it gets harder all the time she will keep pretending. she isn’t going to burden sergei, or indeed anyone, with her problems, her fears, her scars. she is hurt, but she’s used to it, she’s gotten used to being haunted long ago. she keeps her bad eye covered. she stays within her circle she has drawn. she keeps going round and round. she will take the smallest sliver of human connection and be happy, she promises she will be happy, she promises she won’t ask for more, she will take just the ‘hello.’

but you knooooow it’s not true. you know it’s grinding her down, that she’ll be milled to nothing pretty soon, and really she knows it too.

i am perhaps seventy percent sure that this line is a reference to the windmills of your mind by michel legrande, which features such lines as

Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind

which on one hand seems sort of obscure to be a purposeful reference but on the other hand would be a hell of a coincidence if it wasn’t, wouldn’t it. either way it characterizes circles ambiguously, but definitely unsettlingly. going around in circles is chasing infinity, but what in god’s name would you do with it if you caught it? what are you even hoping to accomplish? and: 

the second half of this song is bitterer, sharper - staring down the mouth of the meat-grinder she’s a little more willing to admit to herself that this is going nowhere. she is running out of cages to keep herself in. she is very tired. it’s easy to say why don’t you leave it all behind, it’s easy to say, she’s strong enough to let it go, it’s easy to say, too strong to die. it is a lot harder to actually live.

this is also where the flashbacks admit to us how badly hurt they really were - sergei with his whole side in shreds, she still hides her eye but at least we get to see it’s bleeding. this moral compass is forever misaligned, she says, so there is damage, and it is lasting. and she can’t settle for hello, she can’t live like this, she needs someone by her side. the trouble is whether she can believe she has any hope of getting that

as for who ‘her’ is, or the ‘she’ of ‘she is bathed in youthful glow’, i figure there’s two possibilities: either it’s nadya, who haunts olga too, because nikita’s abandonment of nadya represents exactly what she most fears for herself, or it’s olga’s younger, unbroken, binocular self - both of whom were so young, and so easily hurt, and are now unfindable.

and then there’s this conclusion: ‘the sun will rise, until then / i’ll be waiting for you on the other side.’ which maybe is a sort of hope after all? she’s reached no real conclusions in the zone - she knows there must be hope but she can only barely believe in it - she thinks she is destined to self-destruct. but on the other hand she still has that, a version of sergei’s own ‘a day will come’

you may be hurt, but if you can hold yourself together, you can hope for a dawn someday. an ending. a change. but the trouble’s that there’s more than one kind of ending. and there’s more than one meaning for other side. there are cages, and then there are cages. and you know what else looks like a tunnel, a circle?

staring down the barrel of the gun.

[five-rivers]

Cultivar

For @feministhotline

.

Consider Brassica oleracea, wild cabbage, a single species of plant. Once humans got their hands on it, they bred it into useful and radically different cultivars. Cabbage, kale, collard greens, kai-lan, brussels sprouts, broccoli, and cauliflower, to name a few. Not to mention the cousins of the species, which included turnips, bok choy, rapeseed, and mustard.

If people did this for a moderately tasty plant, it was, therefore, foolish to think that there was only one cultivar of blood blossom, a plant that could affect ghosts in such an intimate way.

The blood blossoms ghost hunters had gotten their hands on had been bred to cause ghosts paralyzing agony when in close proximity. A good idea in theory, but short sighted in the long run. Especially when the cultivar was unable to affect half-ghosts in their human forms.

There were more interesting varieties.

The one commonly known as ghost nip, with its lily-like flowers, compelled ghosts to consume their stamens, which both induced a sense of calm and euphoria in the ghost and caused the ghost to begin producing pollen for the flower, which in turn would be spread to other flowers when the ghost moved on, fertilizing them. Those were valued among some ghosts as a recreational drug and reviled among others.

The ­tattoo rose’s microscopic seeds would take root and spread delicate, glowing vines just under a ghost’s skin, feeding off their ectoplasm. When prepared to reproduce, thumbnail-sized red flowers would burst from beneath the ghost’s skin. The process tended to weaken the host, render them lethargic and hungry, but tattoo roses were also beautiful and, somewhat counterintuitively, had a notable stabilizing effect on the ghosts they inhabited. Many weak ghosts, or ghosts on the verge of dissolution, had been saved by the tattoo rose. It was lucky for everyone else, however, that the tattoo rose was not, like its namesake, permanent, but only lasted through three blooming cycles before fading.

Hanahaki was a very niche cultivar, one that subsisted exclusively on the stresses and emotions associated with unrequited or unconfessed love. It grew primarily in the mouths, throats, and lungs of ghosts unfortunate enough to have them. Although ghosts have no need to breathe, those afflicted often lost the ability to speak. It had been bred in one of the Cherry Kingdoms, as a punishment for one of the Empress’s suitors.

Meanwhile, false poppies – named for their effect more than their appearance – made ghosts drowsy. There were stories of ghost falling asleep in beds of false poppy blood blossoms and waking only when their blooming season was over, roots having grown over their still forms. Less potent false poppies could, if one were careful, be harvested for sedatives.

Witch’s clover was another one that had first been used by humans. Ghosts exposed to it became more suggestible, gullible, pliant, and vulnerable to other forms of control, such as hypnosis. A boon for a group of people who gained power from their dealings with ghosts. Of course, some ghosts had use for it as well.

The saltseed varietal had sparked the myth that ghosts were repelled by salt. In truth, the tiny, cubic white seeds of the plant simply absorbed ectoenergy so quickly and so efficiently that ghosts would recoil from it.

Then, on the opposite end of that spectrum, was the wishing rose, which would give any ghost who touched it a massive boost of ectoenergy—all while injecting them with one of its seed pods. Which would eventually explode to spread their seeds. The explosion typically wasn’t fatal to the ghost, but that didn’t mean it was pleasant.

None of this even touched on the hybrids Sam was developing. It was a tricky proposition. It was difficult to tell exactly what any given hybrid would be like, what traits they would pick up, what new traits might arise from the combination. None of the ones she had tried so far had the combination of effects she wanted.

However, she had a much greater ability to experiment than any other ghost or human. Her father’s power combined with her human immunity to most blood blossom effects guaranteed it.

The hybrid she was currently carrying showed promise in early trials. Now, she was taking it to the real test.

She emerged from the great forest that had grown in the ruins of Amity Park and smiled at the sun on her face. Her dress of petals rustled behind her as her father’s vines shifted behind her.

Ahead of her, on a small hill, stood a dome made of blood blossom vines and scavenged ironwork and glass. Concentric rings of blood blossoms, each containing a different mix of cultivars, surrounded it. She checked the health of the plants as she passed, revitalizing the ones that seemed to be wilting with a thought.

When she reached the dome, she gestured, and the vines peeled back, opening a hidden door as they went. It squealed, announcing her presence.

In another life, she might have thought about oiling the hinges. Now, it didn’t even cross her mind as she entered her greenhouse, her miniature garden, which she had constructed for one person and one person alone.

One person who was, aggravatingly, hiding from her. Again.

She rolled her eyes and surveyed her surroundings as the gate shrieked shut behind her.

It was hot and humid in the dome, the air full of luminous clouds of pollen, thick enough that even a person without allergies might have trouble breathing, might feel drowsy. More practically, it prevented the inhabitant from using a certain sound-based weapon.

The blood blossoms were healthy, for the most part. The ones whose vines comprised the main structure of the dome were thick and strong, their hanging blooms full of color. A version of false poppy, they kept the ghost contained within from destroying the dome in partnership with the saltseed planted around its base. Elsewhere in the dome, the more healing varieties were largely untouched. Although, the ghost nip had been destroyed. Again.

(How stubborn. She had planted them with the hope that he would, for once, relax.)

The fruits and vegetables, some ghostly, others largely human, which had been planted to provide more material sustenance for the garden’s inhabitant, appeared to have been cared for and harvested since Sam’s last visit. Good. She didn’t want to deal with a pointless hunger strike.

The spring at the center of the dome burbled merrily.

“Danny,” called Sam. “I have something for you. Won’t you come out? We haven’t talked for so long.”

She could, of course, give him her gift without being anywhere near him, such were the powers her father gave to her, but she really did want to talk to him.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” said Danny, who was hiding in a tree.

“There’s always something to talk about. My offer still stands. It gets boring without you, Danny.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you used everyone else for fertilizer!”

“Well, I can’t exactly take it back,” said Sam. “It was something father decided on.”

Silence.

Danny, scowling, jumped out of the apple tree. He stumbled somewhat on landing. The prolific blood blossoms combined with his sporadic eating habits and the heat had weakened his core. His skin was slick with sweat. Or, perhaps, he had taken a dip in the spring, earlier.

Sam felt a fond smile spread across her lips. It really had been too long.

“What do you want?” asked Danny, leaning against the trunk of the tree. He kept glancing at her but seemed unable to hold her gaze for any length of time.

She walked closer.

“It’s good to see you, Danny. Isn’t it enough for me to want to see a friend?”

“Yes,” said Danny, bluntly. “Why don’t you go see Tucker?”

Sam sighed. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Danny.”

He flinched. “Stop saying my name,” he muttered. “You aren’t her.”

Her smile became more forced. Well. He was back on that, now, was he? No matter.

She flicked her fingers, sending the miniscule seeds she had brought with her to Danny, and waited. Tattoo roses rooted quickly, and so did this hybrid.

She knew the process had started when Danny hissed and started clawing at his skin. She grabbed his hands, stopping him.

“W-what—” he started before Sam shushed him.

This hybrid had a number of useful features, having been developed from tattoo roses, witch’s clover, and false poppy. It was, as was the case with all tattoo roses, impossible to get away from. The mild false poppy effects lowered the ghost’s defenses and provided an analgesic effect that was necessary given the greater size of the cultivar compared to the typical tattoo rose. The contribution of the witch’s clover was pliability, rendering the affected ghost docile and obedient. Finally, as an extra treat, Sam had discovered that the hybrid could last up to ten blooming cycles. Cycles she would use her abilities to draw out for as long as possible.

Danny sunk to his knees, his breathing, already heavy, becoming ragged.

“Hurt-sss,” hissed Danny, shuddering.

Sam cradled his head, noting how feverish he felt, a welcome change from the frigid, hypothermic temperature he’d maintained for the months after Amity Park fell. “Shhh, shhh, it won’t last long.” She traced the slightly raised and vibrantly glowing skin that indicated the presence of a vine. As she did so, she started to feel the leaves unfurl and tiny buds begin to form. “There we are. How does that feel?”

Danny raised his head. His eyes were foggy, unfocused, his pupils blown wide. “Who?” he slurred.

“It’s me, Sam.”

“Hmn, Sam. Id’nfeels’g’d.” He let his head drop back to her lap as small flowers began to force themselves out of the skin of his scalp.

Sam examined the flowers closely, pinching off the ones that seemed ill-formed. She would have to monitor Danny carefully for the next little while, to see how he adapted. He took so much care to cultivate. Truly, a tender, delicate, hothouse flower. But it was worth it.

After all, out of all the plants her father had given her, all the flowers in her garden, blood blossom cultivars included, Danny was surely her most prized.

[svtkillua]

milk and tea > 1

rating: [pg-13 / angst] genre: soulmate au pairing: todoroki shouto x reader warnings: cursing, heartbreak, angst! word count: 5k

listen while you read here! join the discord!

chap 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 [final]

Some people related gold to beauty, to the shade of the sun when it reflected off of water in the summer. They associated the colour with the way the wind blew the warm toned leaves off of trees in the fall, pictured sunlight peeking through scattered blooming branches in the spring. Gold was the tone of wealth and wonder, a shade so beautiful that it was coveted as royalty, as otherworldly in design. It was the shade that flickered in the middle of a fire, it emitted the feeling of whimsy, of something bigger than it appeared. For you however it made your heart sink, the colour that filled your gut with dread and turned your blood to an icy sludge. You’d liked it at one point, had admired the way the tone shined in a straight line from the base of your palm straight up to the tip of your middle finger. But now it made you feel alone, hollow, like a constant shimmering reminder of the life you were meant to live, completely by yourself.  

A reminder that while the rest of the world had a soulmate, you had no one. 

It was funny how something you’d loved about yourself when you were younger had become the glaring marker of things you disliked now. The golden slash on your palm had been something you showed off to friends, comparing soul marks with the other kids on the playground, giggling about the possibilities of who you could match with. You used to all day dream about it, if one of you would pair up with the prince or princess of a country, if one of you would marry a celebrity and become a famous duo. The magic around it hadn’t begun to fade until your friends all got paired off one by one, birthdays starting to fill you with pain rather than the giddiness of a child. Looking at your palm was like staring at a ticking clock, one counting down to the moment everything you feared became the truth, the moment your twenty second birthday started and any chances of finding your soulmate were gone. 

Soulmate marks didn’t do much, almost serving like a tattoo you couldn’t get removed or cover with makeup, the skin varying in pigments and shapes from person to person. You didn’t taste what the other tasted, didn’t feel what they felt or know what they were thinking, you just saw them, matched their mark, and knew. Everyone spoke about feeling like they’d been hit by a tidal wave of emotions the first time they saw their other half, like the world stop spinning and all the things that didn’t make sense before suddenly had answers. You didn’t know how it felt, to meet your soulmate for the first time, to see them and feel that gush of emotions everyone spoke about so vividly it made you desperate to find it. You thought you had once, imagined for a few seconds that the way your heart started pounding and throat caved in that you had found him, the person made for you. 

He was beautiful, his duo-coloured locks a complete mess as the wind blew straight through the sweater you’d tossed on that morning. He’d spilled his coffee all over you as you both dashed through the park to get to opposite trains, his eyes wide when you looked up into them, lips parted and ready to spew out agitated jabs, but they’d never came. You thought you’d found it, tasted the possibilities of where things could go next, pictured yourself tracing your fingers over his pale skin as he stared right back at you and the noise of the park fell silent. You let yourself imagine a future with him, one where you’d finally get to be the friend that told everyone you’d found your person, your soulmate, the one who made your lungs give out and pulse pound so hard it bruised and broke apart your rib cage.

But then you saw his palm, his mark not golden but navy blue, the shade just slightly darker than that of a bundle of blueberries. His mark was not one line but one with multiple added on the sides like a tree spreading it’s branches out to each finger tip. It was it the same place as yours, the same straight edges. It was similar to yours, yes, but not the same. 

He was meant for someone, just not for you. 

Looking at him now you could still picture him from three years ago, could still feel the way your heart sped up just staring at him sleeping on your bed like it’d done the day he poured coffee all over your front. He wasn’t meant for you and yet your soul still breathed for him, he wasn’t designed to occupy your thoughts and despite that he was all you ever dreamed about. He was the thing that kept you up at night and greeted you when you fell asleep, the person that gave you even the smallest taste of what it could feel like to be someone’s something, even if all of it was only in your head. 

Shouto Todoroki. 

His hair was draped across his forehead as he mumbled into the pillow bunched up beneath his temple, lips apart as a breathy sigh fell from them while his knuckles bent, fingers digging into the duvet. The moonlight shining brightly outside casted through the windows and onto the planes of his face, accentuating the way his chest rose and fell like the weight of the world was, for once, not on his shoulders, the gentle pitter patter of rain meeting your eardrums and melting into the somber sensation in your veins. It wasn’t fair that he wasn’t yours. It was cruel that you got to be so close to him but didn’t get to love him freely, that your birthdays ticked by year after year with no soulmate in sight when someone so perfect was close but off limits. 

You had to meet them before you turned twenty two, that was the rule with soulmates, the reality not many had to face. If you didn’t meet your someone by then, you didn’t have one. It didn’t happen often, the cases of it far and few between, but still prevalent enough for facilities to offer counselling for people like you. People who were meant to be alone, people destined to spend forever without someone there next to them in the mornings when they drank their cup of coffee. People made for no one but themselves, left to wonder what exactly they were worth if they weren’t worth the universe giving them someone to love. 

Todoroki had come over because he knew that even if you kept insisting you were fine you weren’t, that the minutes ticking by that day weren’t like the normal ones because they were the last ones you could spend with an ounce of hope left. It seemed almost fitting, that you’d be alone when the clock struck twelve, that the sky would have opened up and started pouring buckets just a few minutes before your birthday officially began. Your time was about to be up, the digital clock on the bedside table glaring a bright red 23:57 at you when you took another glance at Todoroki, whose arm had sprawled out and now hung slightly off the too large mattress. 

You two had gotten lunch that day he crashed into you, neither of you mentioning the solid minute of silence that had passed after you laid eyes on each other in the park, pretending that neither of your chests had deflated when you looked at the other’s palms and weren’t met with the mirror of their own. He’d insisted on paying you back for the sweater and after some convincing you let him, that apology lunch turning into another, and another, until eventually you found yourself calling each other at two am to talk about how confusing life seemed to be. You felt connected to him, attached almost from the second you first heard him speak, like your heart had decided it belonged to Todoroki even though it wasn’t supposed to be. He’d become your constant over the past three years, your best friend and the only person who ever filled your day dreams, the one who was proving to be your ‘almost’. 

You two spent all your time together, it was almost like you wanted to make yourself hurt, like you adored to make believe the two of you could have a happily ever after when it wasn’t ever going to happen. For a while you’d grown selfish, thinking that maybe neither of you had a soulmate and in turn you could become each other’s, pretending that the stares you’d catch him sending your way meant more than the friendly half smiles that followed. You’d wondered if maybe he was silently wishing for it too, hoping that the universe had made a mistake and not made your marks match. That perhaps you’d end up together after everything was said and done and the pain of thinking you’d end up alone would have been worth it, because you would have had him. 

And then he’d met her. 

His soulmate. 

Your eyes fell shut at the thought of her, body shifting back towards the large-paned windows of your apartment as the rain splattered against them, oxygen leaving you in shaky puffs of held in emotions. You never liked to think about her, didn’t want to focus on the girl that was allowed to love Todoroki in ways that you weren’t. You couldn’t hold his hand, couldn’t touch him in public past pats on the arm or brushes when you passed each other in a crowded hall. You didn’t get to hold him at night or whisper quiet ‘I love you’s’ that made his thin lips spread into dazzling lazy grins. You didn’t get to love him and she did, and you hated how angry you were at the girl when you’d never even spoken to her, despised that you weren’t happy for your best friend like you were supposed to be. Just because you were meant to be alone didn’t mean he had to be, and yet in the bottom of your heart it didn’t feel right, like you’d spent so long convincing yourself maybe you could have each other that reality was a pill too tough to swallow. 

Momo Yaoyorozu was stunning. The midnight black hair that cascaded over her shoulders when she walked, a delicate smile that looked like that of a doll’s, a pleasant voice that flowed like a feather in the breeze. She was beautiful, and from the few bits Todoroki had told you about her, she was incredibly kind and smart, finishing up a degree in teaching so she could work at her own preschool someday. Her family was wealthy, about as wealthy as Todoroki’s was, and it was almost laughable that he’d end up being meant for someone so cookie cutter perfect for his parent’s standard.

Todoroki and his family hadn’t always harboured the best relationship, the family focused more on how things looked than how they felt, caring more about Todoroki’s potential future and life than his now or his heart. Maybe they had good intentions, deep down, just wanting their son to live a safe life, one with stability and comfort rather than hard work, freedom and passion. They wanted him to go to college and he decided not to. They pressured him to become a hero like his father. They pushed and he pulled back, a constant cycle of a someone trying to grow but being shoved back to the ground, like a flower in a garden trapped under a rock. 

You were someone they’d never cared for, not since the first time the pair of you bumped into them at the store during your lunch breaks from work. His father had shook your hand with a smile that turned stiff after a once over, your ears picking up on his mother’s not so subtle ‘you should stay away from her, people will get the wrong idea‘ as you excused yourself to finish shopping. Todoroki hadn’t listened, clearly, filling his afternoons and evenings with you most days, the pair of you near attached at the hip.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” 

His voice made you jump, eyes peeling open but body not turning as his fingertips skimmed the edges of your elbows, tone raspy from the sleep still thick in his throat. It made your stomach twist, feeling the heat of his body so close, his thin white shirt doing little to prevent it from radiating out of his chest. He was always hot, like the sun that kissed his skin was living inside his body, pouring out warmth and life that made you revolve around him like he was the center of your universe. 

“Why would I have woken you up?” 

“Because it’s your birthday.” 

Your head turned slightly at that, eyes focusing on the digital clock now blaring a bright red 00:04 that reflected off the glass topped table while you shrugged. He was staring at you, you could feel the way his eyes followed yours when you turned to look back out the window, focusing on the beads of water rolling down the damp panes rather than how delicate his touch was as his palms encased your folded forearms. You wanted to melt into him, wanted to fall back into his chest and savour the feeling of him so close to you while you could. You were silently desperate to pretend that he was your soulmate, that when you woke up in the morning he’d still be there in the bed next to you and not back at his house with her. 

“Happy Birthday.” He was being quiet, like if he spoke too loud you would crumble to pieces, his arms inviting themselves to snake around your waist and pull your back into his chest when you hesitated to do so yourself. His hair was tickling your cheek as his chin dipped down to rest on your shoulder, your lashes fluttering as your lids clamped shut and lungs deflated, memorising the way his heartbeat faintly pounded against your flush skin. It felt like a gentle melody, like a soothing thumping that reminded you he was real and not just a perfect mirage in your head. 

It was intoxicating, being in his arms, feeling the heat from his skin spreading through his shirt and into you, aware of his breathes as they barely skimmed the side of your cheek and neck. You wondered if he could tell how rapidly your pulse was pounding, if he knew that even when the world felt dark he was like the lone candle still flickering on, refusing to go out and plunge you into an abyss. You questioned if he knew just how much he meant to you; if he knew just how completely in love with him you were when you’d never uttered a single word about it. 

“Thank you.” You mumbled, hands raising to just barely skim his knuckles before you were pulling from his grasp, taking a few steps away from the window to sit down on the edge of your bed. You looked at him finally, focusing on the way his chest rose and fell while he followed you over to the mattress, his body sinking down beside yours and making the bed dip, your thigh scooting flush into his from the gravity. “I don’t know if I’d exactly call it happy though.” 

“I know.” He sighed and flopped back onto the mattress, hands resting on his lower stomach as his shirt bunched slightly. You looked down at him, admiring the way his hair fell off his forehead still messy from sleep as it fanned just barely around his ears, watching his jaw clench and relax as his mind worked languidly, taking yet another note of the scar that donned his left eye. The rain was creating odd shapes on his front, like moving shadows that couldn’t sit still, creating darkness on his light in its stagnant state, his body a canvas for the night sky to paint upon. 

He didn’t like to try and comfort you with words, usually, never forced out vague reminders that everything would be okay even if you didn’t have a soulmate. He knew that you loathed it, that the pity filled glances of people watching you grow to be alone made your skin crawl with frustration. Todoroki never babied you, never forced out whispers that he knew how you felt when in reality he never could. He still was there for you though, still calmed the waves of self doubt that churned in your gut with gentle brushes of his palms on your arms, silenced the screams in your head with his light laughter and fingers lingering on your hand longer than necessary. He’d been with you a lot more than usual lately, and you weren’t sure if it was because of your impending expiration date or if he simply didn’t feel comfortable yet sharing a place with Momo. 

They’d just moved in together a few weeks ago, the next natural progression in the relationship given his parents pushing for Todoroki to not hesitate so much with things. Momo and Todoroki had barely known each other for a few weeks before their families were urging them to move faster, to be thinking about marriage rather than getting to know the little intricacies about each other. The entire world was watching, waiting to make sure they followed the rules, that they weren’t fighting against something that was required by law to follow. He had pushed back against it for a while, wanting to take his time, to get to know the girl he was supposed to be with, but also had a hard time ignoring the pressure dumped on his shoulders. The place was nice at least, you’d seen it before they got their furniture moved in, let yourself imagine a world where the quaint home was for the two of you and not him and another girl.

It was hard to think about, Todoroki being with Momo, his lips touching her lips and his hands touching her palms. It made you want to vomit, imagining them together, to picture the closeness the two of you shared then mimicked between them, only more intimate, between lovers rather than friends. It stung to picture him bending down on one knee to ask her to marry him someday, burned a whole in your chest to envision him on his wedding day and you not be the one walking down the aisle to greet him. Sometimes you wanted to run away, to leave and move to a different city just so you wouldn’t have to be here when those moments happened, just so you could avoid the inevitable all ending heartbreak that was growing closer by the minute. 

His palm encased your knee fleetingly, drawing your attention away from the shadows dancing across his stomach, focusing on his eyes as his lips spread into a gentle smile. He looked incredibly handsome, perfect skin seeming to glow even in the dim cool toned lighting, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he blinked, weight being pushed up onto his elbows as he nodded once past you. You hesitated to look away, wanting to stare at him a while longer, wanting to memorise the way his lazy grin made your heart feel, wanting to follow how his eyes darted across your features like a painting only he had realised was a masterpiece. 

“Open your present.” 

His fingers left your knee to instead tap your elbow as your head turned, Todoroki sitting up beside you as your vision landed on a white box resting on your bedside table. You hadn’t noticed it before, the bow on top a pale grey that blended in with the pale light, fingers clasping around the box as you moved it onto your lap, peering down at it. It seemed dangerous, like the small container was actually a bomb in disguise, like it was nothing but false hope for the dreams inside your head when he did things like this. He always got you birthday gifts, always remembered to call and make sure you got home okay after a night apart, always texted you to check in when he went out of town or was too busy to see you. It was like he was unintentionally stoking the fire that burned for him in your gut, like he almost wanted you to stay so attached to him, so desperate to be next to him that you thrived off the morsels affection he’d pass your way. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“Shut up and open it.” 

He laughed faintly when you rolled your eyes, your lips parting at the delicate necklace that laid inside the box. It wasn’t anything fancy or grand, a simple silver chain with a small moonstone pendant dangling from the centre, but it made your chest sear like it had been scorched. It felt like he’d grabbed hold of your lungs and squeezed with all his might until no air was left within them, like he took a needle and was sewing his own initials into your heart. You could tell he was staring at you, could feel his eyes burning holes into your cheek as your fingers traced over the delicate gem, pulling it from it’s confines and up further into the light, watching the way it glinted as it swayed. 

“Wow.” Your speech came out breathy, like it was a part of your natural breathing, eyes drifting from the chain pinched in your fingers to Todoroki, who was smiling like he’d never felt more relaxed in his entire life. “You shouldn’t have, Shouto.” 

“Do you like it?” 

“Of course I like it.” You looked at him when his hands encased your own, focus drifting over his features as he took the necklace and reached around your neck. It made your heart pound, feeling his thumbs skimming the sides of your throat, being so close to his lips that you could have leaned in and tasted them. “People just might get the wrong idea if they found out you bought it for me” 

“I don’t care.” He shrugged, smiling faintly at you when his fingers brushed the back of your neck, fiddling with the clasp until he moved his palms down to rest on his lap, the pendant landing just between your collarbones. You instinctively reached up and touched the surface of it, eyes flickering up into Todoroki’s as he watched you closely, like you were under a microscope. It made your lungs shrink in your chest, made your brain seem to malfunction as his calloused fingertips brushed along your knuckles, gentle as a breeze in the summer. 

The silence that fell was comfortable as you glanced down at your fingers, his own weaving through yours before your palms moulded together, the soul marks that were mismatched flush against each other. Your eyes followed his thumb as it moved back and forth over yours, tingles shooting up from your wrist to the top of your elbow, like fireworks were going off in your nerves simply from being so close to him. His free hand rose from its place beside your connected fingers and landed on your cheek, your gaze shifting up as he tucked your hair behind your ear, watching how his lips parted as a heavy exhale exited his body. You wondered what he was thinking, questioned if he could feel you swallow harshly when his touch skimmed over your jawline and made its way slowly along the side of your throat. You wondered if the small proximity between the two of you did the same thing to him as it did to yourself, if his heart was screaming for him to fall into you just like your own was begging him to do. 

“Thank you.” His lips tugged slightly into a smile when you spoke, head bobbing in a nod and causing a few of his long strands of hair to fall further onto his forehead. You wished you had his camera there now so you could capture how stunning he looked, hoping he had at least some idea of how breathtaking he could be while he focused on the beauty the rest of the world held. 

“You’re welcome.” He hummed, fingers caressing the necklace that hung from your neck, knuckles brushing your bare skin in the process. His gray and blue eyes only danced away from your own for a moment, thumb never once stopping its movements along your own as he reconnected your gazes with a blink of his eyes, grip on you tightening. “It looks beautiful on you.”

“I meant for staying.” Your voice was just above a whisper, scared of disturbing him or making him move away, like if you spoke too loudly he’d realise how little space there was between you. You didn’t want him to move away, didn’t want to feel a centimeter further from him ever again, not even for a second. 

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” 

Being so close to him felt like you were in front of the sun even with the rain drizzling just out the window, like you were being baked by the heat and letting the worries melt off your skin. Todoroki was dangerous, because he was so incredibly perfect to you, even in his flaws. From the way he ignored everyone when he was trying to do paperwork to his the gentle humming he did when he fell asleep on the sofa that jolted in volume from his odd snores, you adored every single thing you’d ever found out about him. He was like a walking day dream you’d never get to really feel, like a perfect ice cream cone on the hottest day you’d never get to taste. He was everything you wanted and couldn’t touch, the man you desired who belonged to someone else. 

The man who was made for another woman. 

The man you loved to the very core of you, with every single cell in your body. 

The buzzing of his phone in his pocket was what pulled you apart, the quiet vibration drawing his eyes away before your own, hands fumbling with the object as his grip on you vanished. You knew it was her when he moved to stand and look out the window, voice quiet but loud enough for you to pick up a few words. Momo probably wanted to know when he’d be home, with how late it was, not to mention he got off work hours ago. You couldn’t blame her, even if you hated the thought of him leaving, even if you loathed the times like now where the bit of daydreaming you allowed yourself got ripped away. It was like reality came to smack you back into place, like it wasn’t cruel enough to let you stay happy with Todoroki too long, because the ending was one you knew and kept ignoring nonetheless. 

He sighed when he hung up, shoving the phone back in his pocket as he stared past the glass at the dreary world down below, your body rising from the bed to stretch, ignoring the ache in your soul knowing that he had to leave, knowing that you’d be alone here and he’d be at home with her. He turned to look at you with his lips pressed into a thin line, your vision barely able to make out his features with his body blocking the light as he bent over to grab his jacket off a chair. You wondered if he meant what he said before, if he really would rather be there with you than anywhere else. You questioned if he meant it with the entirety of his heart attached like the sentiment would mean from you, or if it was empty words from a friend trying to patch up holes in your already sinking ship. 

“I gotta get going.” 

He didn’t say why and you didn’t ask, because you already knew, and you imagined perhaps he wasn’t saying why because he knew how much it hurt you. You wondered if he had any idea how in love with him you were, if he hesitated when he kissed your forehead on the way out because he was aware of how desperately you wanted to feel closer to him. You questioned if he paused when he went out the door to turn and promise to call you tomorrow because he could see how lonely you already felt without him inside, if he waved from the street below up to you in the window because he knew how sickeningly much you wished he was going to be in bed with you when you woke up. But he didn’t stay, he couldn’t stay, because he wasn’t supposed to be with you in the first place. 

He was supposed to be with her. 

And when you looked down at the shimmering gold on your palm, the straight line that caught the small bits of light refracting through the glass panes of the window, it made your throat tighten, eyes feeling as wet as the raindrops dripping from the sky. Because it was a reminder that while he was driving off to be with her, with his soulmate, you were here. It was a reminder that he got to be with someone, got to love someone fully, that the rest of the world got to have someone who cherished them and held them and longed for them with every cell in their body. Because it was a reminder that he was meant to be for her and never would he belong to you. Because it was a glaring reminder that you had only been meant for one thing. 

To be alone.

-

[next chapter]

[haminflower]

recently finished the six of crows duology / trilogy(?) (i’m really late i know but shhh) and I can fully say that I’M OBSESSED.

the chemistry between every characters were undeniable and I love love love kaz and inej!!!

here are few quotes that has kept me up all night and I need to get it out,,

SIX OF CROWS: (e-book)

Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason. (p26)

“who’d deny a poor cripple his cane?” “if the cripple is you, then any man with sense.” (p30)

“no mourners.” “no funerals.” (p33)

besides, she was the Wraith — the only law that applied to her was gravity, and some days she defied that, too.” (p33)

“i’m a businessman,” he’d told her. “no more, no less.” “you’re a thief, Kaz.” “isn’t that what i just said?” (p39)

but the night’s work wasn’t yet over, and the Wraith didn’t have time for traitors. (p55)

“when everyone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.” (p61)

“greed is your god, Kaz.” he almost laughed at that. “no, Inej. greed bows to me. it is my servant and my lever.” (p62)

“men mock the gods until they need them, Kaz.” (p63)

“we’ll be kings and queens, Inej. kings and queens.” (p100)

“please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honour of acquiring me a new hat?” (p103)

brick by brick, i will destroy you. (p107)

Nina just liked to flirt with everything. he’d once seen her make eyes at a pair of shoes she fancied in a shop window. (p112)

“you may still die in the Dregs.” Inej’s dark eyes had glinted. “i may. but i’ll die on my feet with a knife in my hand.” (p132)

Matthias was dreaming again. dreaming of her. (p150)

her curls brushed his cheeks, and he felt that if he could just hold her a little longer, every wound, every hurt, every bad thing would melt away. (p150-151)

the heart is an arrow. it demands aim to land true. (p195)

many boys will bring you flowers. but someday you’ll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. and even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won’t matter because he will have taken the time to know you as no one else does. only that boy earns your heart. (p196)

“close your eyes!” “you can’t kiss me from down there, Wylan.” (p211)

“talk to me, Wraith.” “you came back for me.” “i protect my investments.” (p220)

maybe Inej was right. maybe fate did bother with people like him. (p230)

he was the same Kaz — cold, rude, impossible— but beneath all that anger, she thought she’d seen something else, too. or maybe she was just a romantic. (p233)

“i loved your laugh, Nina. and your fierce warrior’s heart. i might have loved you, too.” (p251)

“fine. But if Pekka Rollins kills us all, i’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.” Brekker’s lips quirked. “i’ll just hire Matthias’ ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.” “my ghost won’t associate with your ghost,” (p259)

“he was afraid for you.” “Kaz isn’t afraid of anything.” “you should have seen his face when he brought you to me.” (p264)

“i know some people don’t understand, but Kaz told me… he said it was my choice, that he wouldn’t be the one to mark me again.” (p266)

“you’re too good for him, you know.” “i know. so are you.” (p282-283)

“you know i can do it, Kaz, and you know i’m not going to refuse. so why ask?” because i’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to you for two days. (p285)

“i’ll get us out. you know that.” tell me you know that. he needed her to say it. // he needed to know she believed in him. (p286-287)

“i don’t want your prayers,” he said. “what do you want, then?” // you, Inej. you. (p288)

“it’s not natural for women to fight.” “it’s not natural for someone to be as stupid as he is tall, and yet you stand.” (p322)

Kaz was right about one thing at least. she and Matthias had finally found something to agree on. (p358)

Inej felt like she and Kaz had become twin soldiers, marching on, pretending they were fine, hiding their wounds and bruises from the rest of the crew. (p360)

it was because she was listening so closely that she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel and the deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted. (p382)

he hated that Inej had seen him this way, that anyone had, but on the heels of that thought came another: better it should be her. (p389-390)

“stop being dense. you’re cuter when you’re smart.” (p405)

“if it were a trick, i’d promise you safety. i'd offer you happiness. i don't know if that exists in the Barrel, but you’ll find none of it with me.” // better terrible truths than kind lies. (p433)

it was as if once Kaz had seen her, he’d understood how to keep seeing her. (p433)

“i feel sorry for you, Brekker. there is nothing sacred in your life.” there was a long pause, and then Kaz said, “you’re wrong.” (p482)

there was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken. (p561)

the harbour wind had lifted her dark hair, and for a moment Kaz was a boy again, sure that there was magic in this world. (p562)

she’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. it terrified him. (p562)

that she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. that he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. that without meaning to, he’d began to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near. he needed to thank her for his new hat. (p563) (this whole paragraph *sobs*)

“... i can hear the change in Kaz’s breathing when he looks at you.” “you… you can?” “it catches every time, like he’s never seen you before.” (p598)

Inej turned to go. Kaz seized her hand, keeping it on the railing. he didn’t look at her. “stay,” he said, his voice rough stone. “stay in Ketterdam. stay with me.” (p603)

he took a breath. “i want you to stay. i want you to… i want you.” (p603)

“i will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. or i will not have you at all.” (p604)

speak, she begged silently. give me a reason to stay. for all his selfishness and cruelty, Kaz was still the boy who had saved her. she wanted to believe he was worth saving, too. (p604)

“stay,” she panted. tears leaked from her eyes. “stay till the end.” “and after,” he said. “and always.” // “Nina,” he whispered, “little red bird. don’t go.” (p607)

Kaz knew the instant he made his mistake. they’d all known it might come to this. he should have trusted his crew. his eyes should have stayed trained on Van Eck. instead, in that moment of threat, when he should have thought only of the fight, he looked at Inej. // Inej can fend for herself. she’s a pawn, not the prize. but he was already turning, already sprinting to get to her as the Grisha attacked. (p627)

i’m going to get my money, Kaz vowed. and i’m going to get my girl. Inej could never be his, not really, but he would find a way to give her the freedom he’d promised her so long ago. (p635)

[siren-dragon]

Cultural Studies -- The Cat Returns fanfic

Hello again, guess who wrote another one-shot! Anyway, this prompt came to me (along with several others, lol) so I decided to write something for it. Also, big thanks to everyone who enjoyed my first story. Also, Haru’s outfit is based on the yukata from the Love Nikki game and I may draw something for this story at a later date. Anyway, please enjoy!

AO3 story link    Tagging: @mysticsoulgirl

Prompt: Summer Fireworks Festival

=======================================================

Though the Sanctuary, and by extension the Cat Bureau itself, experienced many a visitor wishing for assistance with one thing or another- it wasn’t exactly a stationary place. True, anyone could follow Muta from the Crossroads and through the twists and turns of Japan’s alleys to locate the entryway arch, but that wasn’t truly the Bureau’s physical location. Anyone who was in need could find the Sanctuary entrance, all they had to do was merely look for it. So, while Baron was not unaccustomed to a variety of clients (even if the quantity seemed to have diminish over the years), it was always a study in new cultures when a guest appeared. Even when the cat figurine made a point to be open and courteous to a visitor, there were often a few things he gained new knowledge of.

“A fireworks festival? I’m afraid I’ve not heard of such a thing before.” He spoke, handing Haru a now size-appropriate cup thanks to the Bureau’s magic.

The dark brunette offered a small word of thanks and a bright smile before continuing. “Really? Oh, they’re great fun. Originally it was started as a festival for the dead; to mourn the lost one while celebrating life. But nowadays it’s just a fun activity to watch while eating festival food with friends.”

“Did I hear someone mention food?” Muta spoke, closing the front door behind him. “Hey Chicky, you bring any snacks with you today?”

From the upstairs balcony came a snort of displeasure. “You ever think of anything aside from your stomach,” Toto drawled, rolling his eyes at the cat’s one-track mind.

“What was that birdbrain?!”

“Oh, come on, think of a new insult piggy-cat!”

Before the fight could escalate anymore Haru, now a more convenient size for Baron’s home, rose from her seat on the sofa and lifted a bag where the scent of sugar and fresh fruit wafted throughout the room. “If you two are going to fight, then Baron and I will eat this by ourselves- including the mulberries I got special for you Toto.”

Both cat and crow immediately silenced themselves before tossing a glare at the other, “You got lucky, big chicken.”

“Sure thing, marshmallow.”

Baron sighed, taking out the necessary cutlery before Muta decided to forego the use of utensils. “Muta, have you experienced such festivals in the Human Realm?”

“What festivals?”

“The fireworks festival coming up this weekend,” Haru clarified as she handed Toto the collection of mulberries she brought.

It was here that the ex-con feline grinned, “oh yeah. Gotta love summer festivals in Japan with all their fried food and sweets. Best time to be a cat.”

Toto snickered, “why am I not surprised; you only think from your stomach.”

“Shut up!”

“There’s also games where you can win prizes and some shops as well. And at the end there is large fireworks show everyone watches to celebrate the summer season.” It was here that Haru’s excited smile seemed to dim slightly, “I was going to go with Hiromi, but she has a family reunion to attend. And my Mom will be out of town during that weekend- so I’ll just be watching it from my house.”

As a figurine being made out of wood, anything associated with fire was typically something Baron tried to actively avoid. And while he would deny it fervently later onto a rather smug looking Muta and Toto, the slightly disheartened expression on Haru’s face sent a rather unpleasant sensation through his chest sent nearly all thoughts of self-preservation out the window. It reminded him of their previous adventure in the Cat Kingdom; with her clad in a fine, pale-yellow gown and wearing a look of absolute despair despite it having been her so called “wedding day”. And so, it was not 2 seconds later that he found the words tumbling from his lips without any kind of second thought.

“Perhaps we can accompany you to this festival instead, Haru.”

That certainly caused the brunette to stare at him in surprise, yet a spark of joy danced within her caramel eyes. “Really? You guys would want to go with me?”

“Hey, if there’s food then you can count me in.” Muta shrugged, finishing his slice of chiffon cake.

Toto nodded, “I’m sure it’d be a great experience; what with the lack of clients to the Bureau.”

Haru beamed brightly with sheer delight, “Thank you everyone, I’m sure you all will love it!”

When Haru had finally left for the day, a definite spring in her step, Muta couldn’t help but turn a sly grin to his fellow feline. “Well, that was rather generous of you to volunteer us for something you didn’t even know about till 30 minutes ago.”

“I’m not sure what you are inquiring Muta. It was quite clear that Miss Haru was looking forward to this festival and it would be unbecoming of a gentleman to allow her to merely remain home alone and miss the event entirely.”

Toto nodded, “I have to say, I agree with Baron on this one. But I don’t think it was that difficult to persuade you after that melancholic expression crossed her face.”

Baron gave a displeased frown to his colleague’s rambunctious laughter, which did nothing to hide the slight tint of pink beneath his cream-colored fur. Honestly, since when was chivalrous behavior become a source of mockery? And yet… the sight of Haru’s joyful smile was more than worth it.

“So, are you going to wear a yukata?”

“A what?”

That answer only made the hefty white cat laugh louder.

 ======================================================

“Muta… are you quite sure that this garment is placed on correctly.”

“If the picture is anything to go by, then yeah. Besides; you can’t wear a suit with tails to a summer festival- you’ll stick out too much.” The large cat answered, glancing down at the newspaper advertisement in his hands before looking back to his much shorter friend. “Hmm, I think that’s right.”

“You idiot, tie for the sash is supposed to be in the back.” Toto commented, taking the advertisement with his beak to compare the image to Baron’s new attire. “See, there isn’t a giant bow in the front.”

“Okay first, it’s called an obi and second, stop butting in birdbrain!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you knew what you were doing, fluff-ball!”

Baron was going to attempt to silence their bickering before the sash about his waist loosened slightly causing the robe to flutter open and expose part of his chest and collarbone before the ginger feline took hold of the garment’s sides and quickly held them closed. He briefly wondered if it would perhaps be better to merely wear his typical suit before a knock sounded on the door- halting Muta and Toto’s argument. The crow quickly flew toward the door and swiftly opened the door to reveal Haru. She too was clad in a traditional yukata of navy blue with ivory and cream-colored stars swirling around a crescent moon at the hem of the dress before continuing upward. The sash wrapped around her waist took on a pale blue color while the right sleeve of her dress shifted colors; with the stars now dark and the fabric white shade. Though her hair was cut short, it was still pinned back by a blue, yellow, and orange silk flower with the latter two colors matching the shade of his own fur. To be perfectly honest, she looked quite breath-taking.

“Baron are you wearing a yukata?” She grinned, noticing his change of attire immediately which only made the statuette cling to the folds of the loosened robe all the more tightly. “I didn’t even know you had one!”

“Well, Muta saw fit to inform me this is the traditional attire for a summer festival so it is a recent addition to my wardrobe. However, I seem to be having a bit of trouble actually dressing.” He answered, unable to prevent the sigh from leaving his lips at his current dishevelment.

Haru giggled, placing her small bag on the sofa before approaching him. “Don’t worry, it’s always challenging for a first-timer. Here, you just need a little bit of adjusting…”

Despite his attempt to remain calm at the innocent offer, Baron couldn’t help the heat rushing to his face as Haru approached and began shifting the obi about his waist he had attempted to tie on earlier. He still kept his hand clenched about the folds of the yukata as Haru expertly straightened the robe, to which he gave her a very grateful smile. Soon he was now properly clothed, even wearing the haori properly before Haru stepped back to admire her handy work (though Baron felt a slight twinge of disappointment at her shift away from him). “There we go, a perfect fit.”

“Thank you, Haru. And may I say, you look lovely as well.”

She beamed at his reply as she moved to retrieve her bag. “Thanks Baron. But if you wanted to wear a yukata, I could have helped you find one.”

Muta shook his head, “that would have ruined the surprise Chicky. Plus, nothing was more amusing than watching Baron try to put it on.”

“As always, your assistance is greatly appreciated Muta.” Baron replied dryly, remembering the past hour where both his friends tried to guide him in how to wear the clothes.

As they walked through the archway of the Sanctuary, Muta walked ahead of them now on all fours while Toto took to the skies. However, as soon as Baron exited alongside Haru, he grew till he was once more a head taller than the dark-haired young woman instead of a foot-tall figurine. But the fact that his feline appearance remained gave Haru pause- knowing most would not really take the appearance of a half-cat man kindly (even if people believed it to be a ridiculously realistic mask). But it seemed her thoughts were rather evident on her face, because Baron was quick to assuage her fears. “Do not worry Haru, there is a spell in place masking my real appearance. You are the only one who can see the truth.”

“I didn’t know you can use such spells, Baron.” She asked curiously.

He nodded, offering his arm to her which she gladly accepted. “Yes, though I am afraid they are only temporary. But I thought this would make our evening engagement far more enjoyable without any disturbances from bewildered onlookers.”

“It’s no trouble at all, actually I think it’s a good idea. It does make me curious as to how your disguise looks.”

Baron paused and gestured to the glass window of a shop they were walking past, “see for yourself.”

Turning to the window, Haru looked at Baron’s reflection nearly jumped in alarm upon not seeing the familiar feline characteristics she had come to cherish. Instead, the face of a young man who looked a few years older than herself gazed back at her from the reflection. His hair was a light tawny blonde the same shade as Baron’s fur, perfectly coiffed to suit the Creation’s usual debonair attire. Where once fur and whiskers existed was now fair skin and a rather amused smile taking in her slightly bewildered expression. Yet despite the disguise, Haru took comfort in the fact that Baron’s eyes were still the same shade of mint-green.

“That is rather impressive, if a bit shocking at first.” She laughed a little nervously.

Baron frowned, “does it bother you too much?”

“No, it’s not that,” she answered with a shake of her head before beaming up at him. “I just prefer you the way you are, that’s all.”

It was the second time in the past few days that Baron found his words failing him once again at her kind, yet honest words.

 ======================================================

Perhaps the first thing that caught Baron’s attention were the vibrant banners illuminated by dozens of lights and lanterns. The street was lined with colorful booths, each hosting a different attraction as friends and families traveled back and forth to every single one. It was a rather jarring change from the peace and quiet of the Cat Bureau, but as he glanced down at the excited grin on Haru’s face as she enthusiastically explained each booth’s function, Baron couldn’t help the pleased smile drifting across his face. “So then, what would you recommend we do first?”

“Food, I’m starving!” Muta cried from about their legs before he bolted down the street, causing several people to laugh at the rather large cat obviously following the scent of frying food. “Takoyaki, here I come!”

Haru laughed, “well, food always is a good choice. Though we’d best pace ourselves, festival food is great, but not exactly healthy.”

“Then I shall follow your lead, Haru.” Baron added, glancing around briefly with a bit of confusion drifting across his face, “I must admit, I thought a fireworks festival would have more of that particular attraction.”

“That happens at the end of the night, mainly because it’ll be darker and it’ll give us a chance to see most of the booths before we have to find seats to watch the fireworks. But we’d best find Muta before he manages to pilfer too many snacks.”

Baron chuckled, “I think it’s more of his charming attitude that wins him such favors.”

Haru couldn’t help but laugh at that, and judging from the faint cawing above their heads, Toto heard it as well. “Well, we’d best hurry before that charm gets a bit carried away.”

The couple soon found their way further into the festival and managed to find Muta, who looked rather smug at having charmed a piece of taiyaki from a group of teenage girls. True to her word, Haru managed to procure a few treats for them all to try, ranging from takoyaki to kakigori to some onigiri before they walked to where Toto waited upon a nearby but isolated tree. Muta had nearly claimed all of the takoyaki while Toto took a liking to the plain onigiri and the roasted chestnuts Baron was eating. Though Baron was not overly found of the deep-fried food, he couldn’t deny that the kakigori Haru offered was quite delicious.

As the sun soon sank below the horizon and the sky turned dark with the coming night, many people started moving away from the bright lights of the festival stalls to await the oncoming fireworks display. “We don’t really want to be too close to all the larger crowds, so we’ll stay on the outskirts instead.” Haru informed them, taking a seat beside the grass. “And I wanted to thank you guys again, for coming with me.”

“Nonsense Haru, this was most enjoyable and we were happy to accompany you.”

“Even though you had to forgo your suit?” She replied with a teasing grin.

Baron gave a slightly sheepish look, “I will admit that dressing did pose quite the challenge, but well worth the effort.”

“Even still, thank you for being such a good sport about it. And I’m glad you had a good time.” Haru chimed happily, turning to look at the ever-growing groups awaiting the final event of the festival. “Hopefully we’ll be able to see everything with so many people…”

“Well, we merely need a seat with a view; and I believe I may have a solution.”

“What do you mean by that?”

The ginger gentle-cat only offered her a hand with a secret smile, “Just trust me.”

At the familiar words, Haru rested her hand upon his and watched as the world around them seemed to stretch upward as her height plummeted to its usual size whenever she visited the Bureau. Toto then landed beside them, offering a place upon his back with Baron holding on tightly the Stone Creations black feathers and Haru wrapping her arms about his waist. Once they were situated on the now gigantic crow, Toto rose high into the air (though not before snatching Muta in his claws much to the large cat’s displeasure while muttering something that sounded like “always a showoff.”) before gliding through the evening sky.

They were only flying for a few minutes before a high-pitched whistle sounded only to be followed by a large explosion of white and gold lights as the fireworks show began. Haru watched in silent amazement as they soared the atmosphere as each of the colorful illuminations danced around them like falling stars. She a joyful laugh at sheer sight of the fireworks show from a literal bird’s eye perspective, “alright, now this is a view.”

“I must agree,” Baron added, though it was hard to hear over the sound of the fireworks.

Moving her head forward, Haru placed a gentle kiss upon Baron’s fur-covered cheek before leaning to rest her cheek against his back. “Just for the record, this is the best fireworks festival I’ve ever been to.”

And for the third time in Haru’s presence, Baron found himself at a loss for words as a pleasing warmth started to overcome his face. Yet as he turned to watch the brilliant lights display with the young woman beside him, he had to admit that it certainly was an enjoyable evening.

[thosewickedlovelies]

Be the Girl You Wish to Meet in the Bar Bathroom

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x F!Reader

Summary: You make a new friend in the bar bathroom. She and her friends help you lure in the hottie she spots checking you out ;)

Rating: T for suggestive themes

Tags: Brief mention/implications of alcohol use.

Word Count: 3,359

A/N: This one goes out to all the drunk girls you've ever met and been uplifted by in bar bathrooms <3 Also for @nathan-bateman ❤

---

“Ugh, my feet are killing me,” your new friend groans as she lowers herself onto the toilet. “This always happens when my friends make me dance with them.” Still seated, she bends over to rub what she can reach of her heel.

Despite the thumping music and the din of bar conversation in the background, you can hear her perfectly fine, seeing as you’re sealed in the tiny bathroom together. You met her a moment ago in line, after you almost stumbled into her and she immediately proceeded to compliment your dress. Now you’re chatting like longtime pals.

A universal feminine experience, a distant part of your mind thinks, with a fuzzy sense of warmth.

“Yeah but you’re so lucky though,” you tell her earnestly, while washing your hands. “My boys hardly ever dance with me, they’re soo lame.” You make an exaggerated pouty face.

You only ever went out with your boys- Frankie, Will, Benny, and Santiago. You had other friends at work, but weren’t quite at the “let’s go out dancing together” stage with any of them yet. Benny and Santi actually did dance, but while you loved them to pieces, it wasn’t quite the same.

Tonight you had reunited at one of your usual spots- a basement bar that was a bit on the divey side, but just trendy enough to have designated space for a dance floor.

“Oh my gosh, you should totally come dance with me and my friends! Every girl needs a girl friend group to dance with.” She looks at looks at you with wide, serious eyes and all the sage certainty of a perfectly tipsy person.

“Oh my gosh, that’s so nice!” You’re genuinely touched at her invitation. “And so true,” you add a beat later, nodding with conviction. You shift away from the sink as she flushes the toilet.

“Yeah!” The brown-haired woman continues to rave about her friends while she washes her hands. “Ready?”

Arm in arm, you leave the bathroom together. You halt almost immediately, however, as the colored lights of the dance floor change abruptly, blinding you with white strobes. You both shriek and giggle as you throw your hands up in defense. You decide to remain where you are while you try to locate her friends.

She spies something else first. “Oooh, don’t look, but there is an absolute Adonis of a man checking you out right now at one of the tables.”

You don’t look, keeping your intrigue under wraps as you continue to scan the room. “Ooh, what does he look like?”

Santiago Garcia had been keeping an eye on the restrooms waiting for you to return, but his relief at your reappearance turns to curiosity as you exit with a woman he’s never seen before. His interest in her fades quickly, though, as the sweeping lights highlight your grinning face and that close-fitting dress. Everything else seems to fade to his peripheries.

He doesn’t know what it is, but he’s captivated by you tonight. Maybe it’s that you haven’t seen as much of each other lately, everyone busy with work and life. He thought he’d been elated at the prospect of a group get-together this evening, but when he kept finding himself frustrated at the guys stealing your attention from him, he wondered if it was just you he’d been excited to see.

Maybe it’s the fact that he can see every man in a ten-foot radius of you right now doing the same thing he is: checking you out. Sizing you up like nothing more than a trophy to add to their collection, as if any of them were good enough for you.

His fingers tighten around his beer as Santiago drags a dark gaze down you. Thinking of all the memories he has associated with you, all the things he’s seen your body do- a connection none of these other suckers can claim. In his brooding, he doesn’t notice the woman beside you noticing him.

“There they are!” Brown Hair squeals. She drags you around the edge of the dance floor to where several people are waving.

There’s a flurry of introduction, but you don’t catch any of their names over the music. A tall woman with noticeably muscled arms; another with deep brown skin and a halo of dense, tiny, blue-dyed curls; a third whose accented greeting you’re just able to catch as the music fades briefly.

Taking advantage of the quiet, Brown Hair speaks. “All right girls, now listen. There was an obscenely gorgeous man checking out our new friend a second ago, and I bet he still is. A few tables behind us, with the hair?”

With the hair? She and you are facing the dance floor, but her friends are facing the bar’s tables, one of which your future man is apparently sitting at. With outstanding coordination and nonchalance, they all manage to identify him over your shoulders, and whistle their approval.

The one who…?” You strain to hear Arm Muscle’s question, but it’s lost beneath a suddenly surging bassline.

Brown Hair darts a quick glance over shoulder and nods.

“That is some nice hair, and I would know,” the blue-afroed beauty smirks and winks at you, before grabbing your hand and tugging you slightly further onto the dance floor. Still close enough to the edge to be plenty visible to anyone seated at a table. “Don’t you worry, we’ll get you that man.”

“I haven’t even seen him!” You protest with a laugh, even as you follow her willingly.

“Girl, all you need to know is that he is insanely hot.” The one with the accent speaks from close behind you. “As your designated girl friend group for tonight, it’s our duty to help you lure him in.”

Conversation becomes impossible in the rhythm of the crowd. You follow their lead, let their hips and hands guide your movements, losing yourself in the uninhibited joy of moving your body to the thumping music. In the whirl of unself-conscious beings all around you, you momentarily forget what brought you out here in the first place.

Until, after some unknown amount of time, Brown Hair twirls to face you. “He’s on the move!” She waggles her eyebrows.

You remember then that you’re supposed to be dancing for some guy. You’re still facing away from the tables, but from in front of you Blue Hair has a clear view over your shoulder. “Mmm, look at his hunky blond friends,” she purrs. “Think he’ll bring them over too?”

Wait. Surely they couldn’t mean…? There had to be more than one table in here with two hunky blond men at it, right??

She spins you around, and you follow her pointing to where Benny and Santiago are standing at their table, the former clapping the latter on the back. Eyes widening, you’re nearly beside yourself wondering which of your boys the girls could possibly be referring to- until Santiago detaches himself from the group.

“Your man is coming!” Accent squeals.

“Wait, he was the one checking me out?” you hiss frantically.

“Undressing you with his eyes, babe,” Brown Hair nods knowingly. The others make sounds of confirmation.

Pope’s dark eyes pin you as makes his way across the room. He weaves through the tables like they aren’t even there, like you’re the only thing worth his attention. Your lips part in shock.

You’d always thought the vague chemistry between you and Santiago was merely a side effect of his natural sexual charisma. Like a power he could turn on and off at will, you’d seen it in action enough times to recognize it. Although...it had never occurred to you to wonder if the chemistry was not, in fact, a side effect, but rather an intended result. Had Santi been deliberately using his powers on you?

Watching him go, Benny chortles. His gaze slides past Santiago to the other women who are still blatantly eyeing their table. “Looks like you might be DD for just yourself tonight, Catfish.” He smirks devilishly and runs a hand through his hair. “Come on, brother.” Will doesn’t react to his sibling’s invitation as he saunters after Pope, only sipping his beer contemplatively.

Frankie snorts at the older brother’s obvious interest. “Get out of here man, they’re definitely checking you out, too. I’ll hang here for a little while longer.”

Will cracks a smile. Draining his glass, he unfurls himself from the table, bright blue eyes roving appreciatively over the women flanking you.

“You’re the man, Francisco.” The taller blond gives him a nod of thanks before following his brother.

Frankie only shakes his head, a faint smile on his lips as he observes the scene unfolding between you and Pope. Finally.

With the hair, indeed. That should have tipped you off straightaway. You’ve been encouraging Santi to grow out his gorgeous curls for probably as long as you’ve known him, but he rarely took leave for long enough to gain any measurable growth. Even short, however, his greying locks reflect the colors of the roaming spotlights as he approaches, making his beauty even more otherworldly.

Dumb with surprise, you don’t have time to plan any kind of reaction before Santiago is there, standing before you with one upturned hand outstretched. “Can I cut in?”

Cooing, your new friends part to allow him unhindered access to you. Although there’s a suave sort of expectancy on his face- he knows what the girls were doing- even in the dim, shifting light you can see the genuine question in his eyes.

You’re still unsure of what he’s playing at, but Santi has never let you down before. Your hand doesn’t waver as you place it in his.

His fingers curl around yours, warm and reassuring. He tears his gaze from you only to briefly address the girls: “My friends are single, by the way.”

As if on cue, you all become aware of Benny and Will sidling up in Santiago’s wake, like two blond, shameless, bad ideas.

Santi is wearing that big shit-eating grin when he turns back to you, and you can’t help but smile at his familiar antics. Laughing, you let him sweep you away, guiding you toward a more remote corner of the dance floor and into a sway that’s breathtakingly gentler than what you were expecting, given the moves with which you and the girls were taunting him.

(If his hold feels gentle, he makes sure it doesn’t look that way: flexing his arms where they rest around your waist and brushing his nose along your hairline, breathing you in and sending menacing glowers to anyone still looking at you.)

You’ve never been this lost for words around Santiago. You’ve danced with him before, technically; but it had never felt like this. You want to speak, but your tongue feels clumsy in your mouth, heavy with the energy between you. As your thoughts churn, his hold shifts, one arm wrapping all the way around your waist to draw you nearer, the other sliding up your spine, fingertips tracing the skin above the back of your dress.

It may have only been a song or two during which you held each other, but it felt like much longer. His light caress sets the blood fizzing in your veins, sparkling like drink mixers, sweet with the promise of bright memories to come.

Finally he speaks. “Is this okay?” Santi murmurs.

Hearing his warm voice in your ear, instead of making you more nervous, grounds you. That familiar, steady timbre, his quiet confidence and trust in you to answer him truthfully. Which you do, because you trust him, too.

“Very,” you profess into his neck. Your nose nearly tucks beneath the collar of his button-down. “Santi…” you hesitate, knowing you want to ask but unsure of what the question is.

He waits, his subtle swaying never faltering.

“Why tonight?” It’s a vague, possibly lame cop-out of a question, but it’s the only way you can think to phrase it. He’ll understand though. Santi can play the fool when he wants, but he knows you, and now isn’t the time.

For several heartbeats, the only response is the rasp of his stubble against your jaw. You swear you feel his lips brush your skin, but before you can properly register the sensation he’s withdrawing to answer.

“Mmm...Well, I don’t need to tell you what those dance moves of yours do to me.” He pinches your side in emphasis, but despite your squirm and flush, you scoff. Santi has seen you dance like that before- he’s been the one dancing with you like that before.

Santiago chuckles, the sound liquid dark. He knew you wouldn’t buy that. “Honestly, I don’t know. Seeing all these other assholes eyeing you up like they’d have a chance...I couldn’t stop myself. I’m just putting them out of their misery, really.”

You snort at his dismissive shrug, knowing his irreverence masks real emotion. You can read it in the lines of his face, each one as dear and familiar to you as the beauty marks on your own. Green and red lights stripe his skin as you study them.

He can’t quite meet your gaze, suddenly. “What are you staring at,” Santi grumbles, burying his face in your neck again.

You giggle at his gruffness, at his breath huffing on the sensitive skin.

“Just your pretty face, Santi,” you croon. You tighten your arms around his shoulders, deliberately wiggling closer so you’re pressed more firmly against him.

His sharp, surprised inhale juts into your chest. But any response he might have given is lost beneath the sudden blare of trumpets from the speakers.

The familiar melody makes you both pause. You lean back just far enough to meet Santiago’s eye; you know he’s anticipating the same thing you are and you both shout: “Shakira, Shakira!”

You squeal as Santi leaps back from you, grabbing your hands and twirling you in a familiar routine. ‘Hips Don’t Lie’ had become, thanks to Benny, Pope’s song, a claim he always pretended to roll his eyes at when the boys brought it up. But he secretly loved it, and rarely missed a chance to show off why.

Your muscles leap into action as he does just that, dancing you to the Latin beat. You’re breathless with laughter, sweat beading on your hairline.

I don’t, don’t really know what I’m doing, but you seem to have a plan...

The tripping guitar notes swirl around you, but Santiago doesn’t let you stumble. He guides you in time with the pounding percussion, his whole body undulating to the rhythm.

All the attraction, the tension...

His arms cross above your head as Santi spins you so your back is pressed to his chest. He holds you close, hands low on your hips, and you lean back into him, relishing the strength in the muscles shifting against your spine. Warmth radiates from him, all-encompassing. He hooks his chin over your shoulder and you turn your head to look at him.

His face is much closer than you were expecting; a thrill bursts in your chest. Curiosity kindles, however, as you take in his expression. You’re not sure if you recognize it. Happy, but searching- like he’s gauging your reaction, or seeing something he hasn’t before.

You don’t have time to dwell on it, though- the song is approaching Benny’s favorite line. You tip your head as if listening, raising your eyebrows at Santi expectantly.

His eyes widen, sparking with recognition at your signal. You jump away-

Let me see you move like you come from Columbia…

The saxophone trills its long, fluttering note and you whoop in admiration at the sight before you. Santiago loops his hips rapidly, letting them sling him in a circle, his elbows held square at chest level. His lips form an “o” of concentration in a spicy expression that would make anyone else look ridiculous. But Santi’s obvious skill and the self-assured confidence with which he always carries himself only makes the whole thing ridiculously sexy.

Santi’s movements cause his shirt to ride up, exposing a sliver of taut, tan skin. Shamelessly you appreciate the visible, flexing muscles in his arms and thighs. His butt in those jeans.

He is grinning and giddy when he faces you again, one corner of his smile crooking higher as he witnesses your glee. Laughing, Santi pulls you back into his arms.

“How many times have you seen me dance like that, cariño? And every time you have the same reaction.” His voice is breathless in your ear.

You bite your lip at the warmth of his broad hands, at what is definitely the kiss of his mouth on your skin.

“I like your dancing, Santi,” you say simply. His pulse thrums beneath your lips as you slowly skim them up his neck in return.

Into the line of his jaw you admit “...I like when you dance with me.”

Santiago brings one hand up to cradle your head, leaning back slightly to look at you. His brown eyes are full of affection. “I love dancing with you.” Creases fan out from his eyes as he smiles and he is so beautiful it makes your heart squeeze.

The moment hovers, both of you hardly daring to hope. Your gaze skips down to his lips despite your best efforts.

You know he sees it when his grasp tightens, his hold at the nape of your neck becoming more deliberate. His face is merely a breath away.

“Cariño?” he murmurs. You’re surprised to see the faintest trace of uncertainty, the question in his eyes. He’s asking if you’re sure.

One eyebrow quirks the tiniest bit. “Santi?” You are.

The uncertainty vanishes, and you kiss him.

He lets out a soft groan in the back of his throat. He hauls you as close as he possibly can, and you arch into him, trying to get closer.

You plunge your hands into his silvery curls with a sigh of satisfaction. You’ve touched his hair before, but never like this- never used it to hold his face to yours. The damp traces of sweat as you twist your fingers in it only add to the surreal euphoria of it all. The flashing lights leave colored impressions against your closed eyelids; the music is a muffled, fading pulse as your senses fill with him.

The sturdy press of Santiago’s body, the smell of him- lingering cologne and the musk of his earlier exertions. His mouth velvety hot, his tongue curling against your own in a way that makes heat expand low in your belly. Increasing desperation infects both of you as you realize you should have done this ages ago.

Dimly you become aware of raucous cheers coming from somewhere nearby. With a gasp you pull your mouth from Santi’s, chest heaving. His lust-blown eyes clear somewhat as you share a shy grin.

Then he looks up, toward where the Miller brothers and your girls are hooting at you. Benny cackles as Santiago gives them a one-fingered salute. You shrug helplessly at the girls, noticing with delight the way they’ve paired off: Benny with his arms around both Accent and Arm Muscles; next to them, Blue Hair’s beautiful brown skin contrasting with Will’s paler complexion.

Overcome with mischief, you duck your head into Santiago’s neck again. Placing your lips where it curves into his shoulder, you flutter your tongue delicately against the flesh before biting down with purpose, laving and nibbling to leave a mark.

Santi sucks in air and you feel a subtle shudder wrack his body. He is still facing your friends; scandalized oooohs sound from their direction, and you're impishly delighted to have made him react in some visible way.

His grip on your head shifts so that one thumb is pressed beneath your chin, guiding your head back up to look at him. He breathes your name, his expression dangerous- but questioning all the same.

Radiating innocence, you grin in answer. “Wanna get out of here, Santi?”

Relief quickly vanishes beneath the promising gleam in his eyes as he takes your hand.

[marmolady]

The Fountain

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC

Summary: Post-EndlessEnding. A Broken Chains AU. The world has been restored, but at the price of Taylor's life. And Estela isn't ready to let her go.

Word Count: 2121

Warnings: Major character death.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove

Hug prompts-- 29. group hug. Thanks @mauvecatfic! I'll make Raj's next hugs more cheerful.

Through the rumblings of an oncoming rainstorm, the silent figure of Estela Montoya limped and crawled through the thick La Huerta jungle, driven by a thought that had become a need… to see the face of her beloved again, to hear her voice.  It spurred her on, a tiny glimmer of something worth living for that she clung to with desperation that increased with every unsteady step.

Estela’s last memory of her wife, of her beautiful Taylor, wouldn’t be that hollow shell-- bloodless, devoid of all the fire and spirit… all the easy warmth that should have been there-- that she’d laid sobbing next to the dark medical room. No. She was going to take her minute more. Everyone else… they had a world raised from the dead; a world that meant absolutely fucking nothing to Estela now. After everything she’d sacrificed… god, Taylor… the world owed her that moment.

The Fountain of Youth was a long and arduous trek from Elyys’tel at the best of times, but half-dragging a savaged leg, it was near insurmountable. If it weren’t for the promise of hearing that voice, of seeing those sapphire eyes alight with life… well, Estela would endure the harrowing journey over again if that was the end. Her knees, the heels of her hands… they were badly grazed and muddied from catching herself as she’d stumbled again and again. Her senses, usually alert to her surroundings, had been dulled by the haze of grief that preoccupied her every thought. She was lucky to have gotten all this way through La Huerta’s treacherous jungles without coming to serious harm, but it was of little concern to Estela. The worst that could happen was that she’d die. And that…. In all honesty, it would be welcome. What was there worth surviving for now? Were it not for all that had been sacrificed so that she might live, she’d end her fucking life herself and be done with it. There was no future… no future save for this time they had together. When their moment was over, Estela would be once again plunged into the abyss that was the depth of her grief, an abyss that would surely swallow her up. She couldn’t look that far ahead-- she just couldn’t. She had to keep it together for Taylor… one last time.

Estela fell to her knees as she came through the doorway of the abandoned temple. Dread flooded her body. All that was left now was for her to summon the courage to reach out to the woman she loved from across time… to do so knowing that she’d been setting in motion the last minute they’d have together. Once it was done it was done; that much she as certain of. She could keep going back to that tree until she drove herself to insanity-- but doing so would be to inflict that pain on Taylor, forever colouring her too-short life with a darkness she didn’t deserve. Just once. Just once in the rest of her life-- that wasn’t asking too much, was it? Estela’s stomach turned as she thought it out. There had been no thinking it out while she’d slogged through the jungle; she’d moved onwards robotically, her mind and body detached from one another while grief drove her to the last hope, the last scrap of her person. Only now did she doubt everything. She hauled herself back to her feet, her weakened leg trembling violently beneath her weight. And she kept walking forwards, all the while her mind whirred.

It wasn’t as though Taylor would see this future, see the heartbreak in her wife’s eyes, and be able to change the path she’d set herself on. This path had tortured Taylor. She’d sacrificed herself because she simply couldn’t live with the alternative. And she’d died with hope. A hope that had been for naught, a spark extinguished along with the life in her eyes, but a hope that had given Taylor the courage to give away her very life force. What right did Estela have to take that away?

But I need her. I need her!

She’s gone.

The minute would be over and… Taylor would still be… gone. Would Estela hurt any less? No, but she’d endure a world of pain for even a second of feeling Taylor’s presence there with her. She’d endure it again and again, over and over until it killed her.

If it’s gonna hurt her…?

Estela’s shallow breathing became even more rapid as she stood before the tree. Tears spilled down her dirty cheeks. Blind grief had gotten her this far, but she’d been so blind. She couldn’t do this. Not now, not ever.

Taylor was dead. Dead and gone. They’d said their goodbyes down beneath Atropo, before Taylor had touched that damned crystal.  She’d close her eyes and see the terrible, sickening way her sweet Taylor had writhed in agony… the way her face lost almost all semblance of her self as it contorted with the pain. As Estela had seen again and again, near constantly since she’d woken to a healed world, but a world without Taylor. It was more than she could bear.

With tears and snot rolling into her mouth, dripping from her chin, she stumbled toward the tree… toward the Fountain of Youth. If she was careful, if she thought it through properly, she could find solace elsewhere. Panting for air, Estela wiped her face hurriedly. She couldn’t be crying for this, no matter how much she was tearing up inside.

She’d told herself she wouldn’t do it. It was risky; she’d need to be certain not to say or do a thing that could alter the events that would shape, well, everything. But it was different now. She needed it; she needed her mom to tell her everything would be okay. Because the person she’d otherwise have turned to was lost forever, and… because it wasn’t okay…. She wasn’t… she wasn’t.

Raising her hand to the tree’s surface, Estela closed her eyes and imagined her mother’s face… the words of comfort that would come. Just enough… just enough to keep her from crumbling. But as her fingers were about to graze the bark, she hesitated. That face in her mind warped with shock and fear. Of course. That fucking scar. She wouldn’t even be able to get a single word out before it would be clear to Olivia that something had gone wrong… that she’d been badly hurt. Estela felt the cold weight of her heart sink down to her toes. She… couldn’t do that to her mama.

A tortured cry wrenched itself from Estela’s lungs as she threw her body forward against the hard, cold bricks. There were no more loopholes… no cheats that could give her even a moment more of an existence that wasn’t this fucking, fucking nightmare. She screamed into the damp ground, and screamed until her throat and lungs were raw.

Why did she have to go on living?

It was like she was drawn to people who were like her-- people who cared too much, people who would die for a cause. They’d die and they’d leave her. She’d tried to warn Taylor off; ‘you get close to me, you’ll get hurt’. Bullshit. Because no matter how Estela might put her life on the line for what she believed in, somehow she ended up the one still breathing. But she didn’t fucking want to. She didn’t want to live anymore. She didn’t… want to….

She howled.

_________________________

A small party emerged at last from the thickest part of the forest, the ruins of No’ox Naj illuminated by a flash of lightning as if to welcome them to shelter.

Shivering from the wet that sent a chill to his bones, Diego huddled close to Varyyn, who guided him with a gentle steer of a long and muscular arm.

“You must watch your step. It would be easy to slip on the wet moss.”

Gazing around the temple, taking in the gloom that hung there, Raj shuddered violently. “Maybe it was all that talk of ghosts and the whole ‘dead Zahra’ thing, but this place just gives me the heebies….”

“Well, yeah. That’d… that’d do it.”

“Estela?” Quinn called out, her voice echoing off the stone walls. “Esteeelllaaaa…!”

No answer. Diego’s heart sank. He’d been so sure he’d been onto something. Not only was this place a strong connection to the Endless-- and by association, with Taylor-- but it held within a magic gift that could never be more tempting than it was right now.

“We should go further in,” he decided. If this ‘Fountain of Youth’ thing did work, maybe they could ask…? The thought made a hard lump rise in his throat. The thought of seeing Taylor again. But they couldn’t… they couldn’t.

“You’re right,” Michelle agreed. “As if Estela ever comes running when anyone calls her name at the best of times…. If she’s anywhere, she took herself there to be alone; she was never going to make this easy.”

Diego winced so hard he was certain it hadn’t gone unnoticed by a single one of the group. She’d have come running for Taylor. Every time. He cleared his throat. “We should at least check around the tree. Um, maybe check in with the others?”

Somehow, he’d found himself leading the search party. A role, he was so painfully aware, that would usually have naturally fallen to Taylor. That should still be falling to Taylor. His imaginary friend had left him, so… so it was time to grow up. To step up. He supposed it helped that everyone was handling him with kid gloves just as they were Estela; if Diego needed something to happen, everyone just about fell over themselves to make it happen. Right now, all he wanted-- all any of them wanted-- was to know that Estela was safe. If anything happened to her now….

Quinn checked her phone; still a bizarre feeling after so many months without such communications. Her face fell, even expecting no different to the response she got. “Still nothing on their end. But the Elysian could take days to check properly, even with whatever scans Iris has access to, and all the cameras-- just because they haven’t found her there yet, doesn’t mean….”

“We’re not losing anyone else!” Michelle said shrilly as she paced the floor. “I’ve just lost one sister and I’m not about to… about to….” She gasped and dissolved into sobs. “…Taylor would be losing her mind.”

There was a shuffling sound… stumbling feet. Everyone hushed, a joint breath held.

Limping into view, one hand-- stained with blood as were her forehead and knees-- propping her up with the wall as she came forward; Estela.

“It’s okay. I… I’m safe.”

Safe. Not ‘okay’, but safe. It was all she could give them.

She could have hidden away. Her friends--- though she loved them so much-- were living reminders of what had been torn away. She could not look at a one of them and not see Taylor.

“Oh, thank god!” Michelle exclaimed, and she rushed forward. She had a moment’s hesitation, holding back from taking her friend in her arms and squeezing her to within an inch of her life, not knowing if any physical show of affection would be welcomed. But Estela reached out, her eyes welling, and Michelle guided her into an embrace.

The feeling of being taken in a friends arms, of being held… it was wonderful, and yet it hurt, and all at once the dam broke and Estela could not have held back her tears if she’d wanted to. She collapsed to the cold, damp floor, eased down by her friend's steadying arms.

Raj was next in-- never one to hold back when a group hug was in the offing. As he got down on the ground, Estela flopped forward and cried into his chest. There was nothing to say, so he just wrapped her in a hug and squeezed her there, while Diego and Varyyn, and Quinn piled in too. There they wept together. Sharing in loss and relief and exhaustion and a deep and overpowering sadness.

In the centre of the mass of arms and bodies, Estela closed her eyes against Raj’s warm chest… surrounded in a scent so reminiscent of happy memories and better days when the world was not so dark… feasts and laughter and… her. Her Taylor. She sighed deeply… and let herself feel it.

The comfort she needed was right there. It wasn’t enough-- how could it be when her world had ended?-- but it was warmth and it was love, and her heart was not breaking alone.