#so he latches onto an impossible ideal instead

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i get tired of fandom stsg takes every second of every hour of the day but one of my least favs has to be the myriad of people on twt and tiktok that will swear up and down suguru was not jealous of satoru even in the slightest…… what manga did we read

[julesinsummer]

I loved your fic about Theo getting upset because the readers' parents said they couldn't go to Italy for the summer. I was wondering if you could do something similar. The reader says she's not allowed to stay with him for the summer, but theo trys to convince readers mom to let them go to Italy, but he finds out that her parents said she could go. And Theo confronts the reader.

I don't know. I thought it could be a cute angst/fluff fic I've never requested before, but I love your writing, so I thought I'd give it a shot. Thanks:)

Little Lies (Theodore Nott x Reader)

angst&fluff, happy ending | requested!

"Theo, they said no, I really can't argue with that," y/n sighed as she closed the book she was reading.

Theo groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Let me talk to them, then," he tried, "they love me! They'll listen to me, won't they?"

Panic surged through y/n's body at the mention of Theo talking to her parents. "It'll just make them mad at me! It's just not happening, I'm sorry my love."

The truth lay beneath her panic-stricken words: she hadn't even asked her parents. Truth be told, they'd say yes immediately if she had asked. It was no secret that y/n's parents adored Theo and would do anything if it meant that the two would stay together long enough to breach the topic of marriage.

y/n hadn't mentioned going to Italy for the summer with Theodore for one simple reason: Theodore Nott Sr.

Nott Sr. was an imposing man with strict ideals and rules and little to no morality. He scared everyone that he came in contact with, especially his only son and heir's girlfriend. He was often controlling and angry, with yelling and cursing being his most used vocabulary. Theo loved to hate his father and hated to love him, but by way of only having a father his teenage life, he'd come to respect him for what he could do.

y/n was not so lucky. She was a stranger to the violence that unfolded in Nott Manor, to the hurt that a father could cause his only son. It was impossible to watch when Theo would appear perfectly groomed and poised, all the while hiding the bruises and scars that lay just below his collar. It broke y/n's heart to pieces, and she refused to house herself under that roof for an entire summer's break.

But she couldn't tell Theo that. Perfect, poised, handsome, loving Theo who only wanted her, his source of comfort, to be with him in a picturesque setting.

So instead, she lied. And as everyone says, lies cannot be kept forever.

y/n's parents had invited Theo for dinner the next night at their manor, reveling in the laughter that ensued from his witty jokes and ignoring his blatant hand on their daughter's thigh.

"I did want to ask you something, Mr. l/n," Theo said softly as dinner winded down. A sick feeling invaded y/n's stomach, with its only visible traces being the red color that latched itself onto her neck.

The older man nodded, "Anything, my boy. What is it?"

Theo shot Mr. l/n a smile, one that he'd learned almost exclusively from the business dealings of his father. "My father and I would be overjoyed if y/n could join us this summer at our home in Italy. It's in Rome, near the city center. He wanted me to extend the invitation to her. Would that be alright?"

Time seemed to slow to a grinding halt. y/n was sweating, her hands shaking as she clasped her glass and avoided the eyes of her parents.

"Of course, of course!" Mrs. l/n replied for her husband, grinning widely at Theo. "I'm sure she'd love to as well, wouldn't you dear? And that just means that we can have a child-free summer of our own!"

Theo's eyes dropped onto y/n with such sadness and frustration that it made her skin crawl. She saw the disappointment under his features, trying desperately to escape his gaze. She only managed a nod.

With a few more pleasantries, dinner concluded and y/n and Theo were free to escape to her bedroom. Once the door had closed, Theo scoffed loudly.

"What was that all about?" he asked angrily, his face turning a pinker hue than normal. He was angry, that much was clear.

"I... I'm sorry," y/n managed, dropping her head low. She fidgeted with the rings on her hand, half of which Theo had gifted her.

Theo scoffed again. "You're sorry? I didn't ask for an apology, I asked for an explanation! You told me they said no!"

y/n sighed loudly, dropping to sit on her bed with her head in her hands. "I never asked," she admitted softly.

"You never asked?" Theo had begun to yell, quickly casting a muffliato charm on the room. "y/n, I asked you about this months ago and you said they told you no! Why did you lie to me?"

"I had a good reason, Theo! Okay?" y/n shouted back, tears springing from her eyes. She and Theo never argued, but when they did, it was awful and hurtful.

"Oh good, I'd love to hear what a good fucking reason you have for making me look like an idiot with your parents! Or for lying straight to my face for months!" He was screaming now, fisting at his hair and coming closer to y/n.

She flinched a little at the action, staring up at Theo intensely. "You'll just get mad at me again if I tell you, so what's the point? I'll go, okay! I'll spend the whole summer with you and your asshole father and be uncomfortable for months!"

Theo paused at that, the room going deathly silent. "Uncomfortable? You're uncomfortable spending your summer with your boyfriend who has told you so many times that he wants to fucking marry you? What, are you going to be so uncomfortable at the thought of spending time with me that you'll tell me no?" His tone got angrier with every word.

"I'm not uncomfortable because of you, you asshole!" y/n shouted, standing up suddenly. She and Theo were close and the anger radiating off of them was palpable. "I'm uncomfortable because your dad is a fucking sadist and wants everyone around him to hurt! I don't want to watch you get beaten for existing for months, Teddy! I can't do that! And if you don't understand that or if you don't think it's a good reason to say no, then I don't know what planet you live on."

They were close, close enough to make one wrong move and end up completely engulfed with one another. Theo was the first to speak.

"And you couldn't have told me that in the first place instead of lying to my face, y/n/n?" he asked softly, his anger dissipating by the second. "You don't think you can talk to me about that?"

y/n let the tears fall freely down her cheeks. "You wouldn't have listened to me, just like you're not listening now! I'm sorry I lied to you, honey, I am. But you never listen when I tell you that I hate your father."

Theo stayed silent for a while, his eyes indicating that he was lost inside his own head. He finally moved after what seemed like an eternity, wiping the tears off of y/n's cheeks with a soft brush of his thumbs.

"I'm sorry, amore mio," he apologized softly, moving his hands to tangle in her hair. "I... I didn't think about it."

y/n sobbed a little, nuzzling into his touch. "You never do."

Theo nodded sadly, resting his forehead on hers. "You don't have to come," he mumbled, closing his eyes. "I should've thought of you first."

y/n shook her head slightly, sniffling. "I just don't want to see you hurt or getting hurt or anything but happy. He makes you miserable."

"I'll figure it out," Theo replied softly, kissing y/n's head. "I'll figure it out."

"He sucks, you know that?" y/n asked with a small, humorless laugh. "If he wasn't there, I'd go. If he wasn't involved, I'd go anywhere you asked me to."

Theo nodded, looking into her eyes. "I love you," he whispered, meeting their lips into a passionate, emotional kiss. "I'll figure it out, I promise. I'm sorry for yelling at you."

y/n pulled him into a tight embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. "It's okay. I shouldn't have lied to you."

"If I can convince him to not go... would you come?" Theo asked, hugging her tighter. "I can figure it out."

y/n nodded, pulling back just enough to see his face. He had that determined look that he sported on occasion, like when he played quidditch, or when he was working on an assignment. "I'd go anywhere with you and only you."

Theo nodded silently, kissing y/n again, this time as a promise. "It'll be done. And no more little lies."

"No more little lies," y/n agreed, pulling them both down on her bed.

-

i hope you liked it!! as always, requests are open!

[cartoon-buffoon]

I've posted a few of my crappy art related to my OC/persona Toon before—uhh here he is again for reference

And in those posts I briefly make jokes and or reference some lore for him. Now Toon is technically an extension of me and his personality mirrors me in lots of ways to the point I obviously use him as a pfp because he technically IS me—that being said this post is the exact lore for Toon and his story! (Also before anything the 3 demons I reference in his lore are just my favorite characters of Skitzo, and The Cartoon Cat & Dog... I like attaching my character to pre-existing characters from media, so what?). Anyways lore below if anybody cares ↓

In an abandoned studio one day there was born a creature of unknown origins, it was an amorphous blob of ink who awoke in absolute desolation with no idea who or what it was. It had intelligence and oddly enough had knowledge from what had happened in the world since roughly the 1930s to the 80s, yet it has no idea who it was. Faceless and without a body it wandered the barren halls to try and find anything resembling an identity, trying to find a name or appearance it could latch onto. After searching through room after room clouded in dust and mold it found a few partially intact film reels, these films showcased old cartoons that were...subpar in quality to say the least. The main character was drawn sloppily, constantly off model, sometimes lacking certain features, or even showcasing entirely new attire or a different body type. The backgrounds were also pretty low quality, often times just being pitch a solid pitch black color making the main character blend in with the background. Despite the inconsistencies and quality the main character had something that stayed constant, some the the blob needed. A face. The cartoon character was a weird mix of a rat and rabbit with white fur, long ears, some fluff, a triangle nose, and the most noticeable trait was a black stripe that ran across its face like a raccoon's mask.

The cartoons staring the character obviously were broken, heck the characters name wasn't even shown due to the fact that the opening sequence on the reel wasn't intact cutting that introduction out. Yet it was a face, a face the blob of ink felt an odd connection with.

Slowly but surely it took note on the cartoon character’s appearance and mimicked it, building up a visage similar from its own ink. The black liquid that made up it solidified and changed colors mimicking what it saw on the reel, it even altered the texture to feel like normal animal fur. With a newfound face the creature decided to take up the moniker "Toon", the full title being "Toon the Ratbit" seeing as other cartoon characters last names were their species he too wanted that for himself. After getting a name and face it realized it needed a body to go with its new look. For some reason though when it tried to mimic the character's body on screen it's ink got confused, the several inconsistencies made it nearly impossible to get an exact form down and it would always be slightly off from what felt comfortable. The living cartoon did the best he could, he fashioned legs, a grayscale rat tail, and hands that looked like a cartoon character's gloves. After creating all that it could the torso still remained unfinished, it didn't know what kind of appearance it wanted yet like the face it wore it wanted something that felt comfortable. It wanted a body that felt like it's own, it just couldn't figure out how to create that body.

In desperation Toon scoured the empty halls, rummaging through box after box, uplifting animation desks, even breaking into janitor closets in some desperate hope to find more film reels. He just needed some footage to mimic that was concrete, an ideal body he could connect with, latch onto, and take for his own. An appearance is what he desired the most, instead what he found was a few burnt reels with film that hung onto the metal by charred paper that wrapped around it. There was numerous warnings and labels on the reels strictly stating do NOT play them although in his haste he didn't care and slotted all three into projectors and started them up. In doing so he awoke 3 creatures that looked like demented cartoon characters and acted like monsters. All three were dragged out of whatever hell they called home and into the physical world where they were free to commit whatever atrocities they desired. Their plan was sadly foiled upon finding out they couldn't get too far away from Toon, if they tried they'd inevitably burst into flames and the very hellfire that brought them into existence would try to drag them out forcing them to stay within a somewhat close proximity to the one who awoke them. The worst part is they couldn't even kill Toon to break their curse, they could maim and harm the little hybrid to their hearts content, yet some invisible force stopped them from killing Toon.

Ever since then they were all forced to coexist, Toon never found a body that felt comfortable so it covered itself and the inky mess that was its true form with a faded red hoodie. As for the the three psychopathic cartoon characters who found themselves bound by invisible strings to the one who summoned them, they tormented Toon from time to time yet the hatred and disdain the three felt faded over the years. The three didn't get along either, there was constant fighting between the trio and Toon would be swept up into it the havoc usually.

The once faceless blob of ink now found itself in a chaotic life full of the constant threat of being stabbed, slashed, gutted, or beaten. Oddly enough though it didn't mind despite the torment it faced. The world was boring and dull, yet with the other cartoon creatures life was chaotic and random, the chaos felt comforting in a way. It made him feel like he was an actual toon and not just something pretending to be one, whenever he'd stop and gaze at his body which never had a solid form Toon would embrace the chaos and it felt like he belonged. Life was a weird symbotic relationship, they all lived in the abandoned studio Toon woke up in and soon became accustomed to each other. Instead of getting mauled now Toon only faced pranks and the occasional (frequent) mean spirited comment, it was annoying and sometimes frustrating yet it sure beat getting hurt. Life with crazy malevolent creatures attached to him did have perks for Toon, the rodent could do and get away with anything considering the demons couldn't let him die do they became begrudgingly protective. There was also the fact that they had knowledge of the unnatural and strange which would come in handy from time to time, and Toon had access to all this and the only thing he really had to do was put up with them and occasionally keep peace.

It was chaotic, nonsensical, and sometimes bloody, yet it was a life Toon found enjoyment in, even between all the ups and downs. Mainly downs... A whole lotta downs….

[succubirevenge]

Sharing is Caring

Mirio uses his best friend to get his girl off...

Saw this image of Mirio and had to do a part 2 to my exhibitionist!Mirio drabble. Credit to Kuroshinki

Kinks: Mean Dom!Mirio, Sub!Tamaki and reader, female relieving oral, dubcon, exhibitionism, tentacle play ig

...

Mirio keeps at least one hand on your body most of the day. It used to be impossible to find him without seeing his large hand wrapped around your shoulders or curled across the curve of your back, but hero work and 'professionalism' has limited him.

It also isn't uncommon for Mirio to have an in-depth conversation with Tamaki about confidence with the general public. Today, however, he has one hand wrapped around your back cupping your breast, deeming it the ideal resting spot for his impromptu pep talk. You’re a rat caught in a trap and the small jerks you make do nothing to detach his muscled arm.

“___, can you please stop for a second I’m talking.”

Mirio’s sharp rebuke bring a warm heat to your cheek as you soften your stance, giving in to his demands. His fingers follow a worn-out path to the furled bud of your nipple. He plucked and twisted your hardened nipple with no shame and a dexterity few can match. You can see Tamaki's bashful eyes flicker to your body every once in a while, but this is hardly the first time this has happened nor will it be the last. Despite his considerate demeanor, Tamaki makes no attempt to stop Mirio. He never has. Instead, he steals glances at the sumptuous swell of your tits, storing them for late nights and lonely weekends.

What is new is when Mirio roughly tugs down your low v neck top, allowing one soft breast to be completely revealed: the delicate ring of your arolea blending into your puckered nipple. As your breast pours over the stretched neckline, its supple fat forms creases and folds that Mirio's pale digits trace. Jiggling the soft fat to draw Tamaki's blushing attention to your exposed body. Only to curl his fingers around your nipple and tweak it, your body twitching with every graze of the bud.

At some point, mid-sentence Mirio uses his hand to pull the nipple of your breast upwards. You helplessly push your chest towards his face watching as he latches on to a nipple. His plump mouth forms a tight seal around your areola as his tongue follows tight circles around your nipple. He tears his lips away revealing your glistening flesh to Tamaki before pulling his lips away from his teeth and making a show of slowly biting into the very tip of your tit. You squeal at the jolt of pain that shoots up your body, but your hips can't stop rubbing against the seat looking for some friction desperately. Then after soothing the abused bud with loud smacking kisses and wet long strokes of his tongue, he pulls away to finish his sentence and carry on the conversation.

Thankfully Mirio decides that he can't keep his arm stretched so far indefinitely and he pulls away only to move to the button of your pants. He makes sharp jerking motions with his hand and you stand up wondering what he wants. It's only when his deft fingers undo your button and begin drawing your zipper down that you grab his hand with yours trying to stop his progress.

“M-Mirio, please. Not now.”

Your plea finally makes him look at you but all he says is "oh it seems ____ wanted to add something to the conversation". Both of you know you are too worked up to even know what Mirio has been talking about so you bow your head, ignoring the heat that again blisters on your twisted face. He moves on from your interruption and it isn't long before your jeans and underwear are on the floor. His hands then urge you back onto your bar stool pushing your thighs apart to reveal your glistening slit. The sheer amountof slick weighed down the curls of your pubic hair. It takes Mirio standing up his chest to your back, arms curving over your surrendered body and the pads of his fingers digging into your lips to peel apart your slimy cunt and reveal your clenching canal and throbbing clit. Two of his fingers keep your lips wrenched apart as his other finger circles around your clit. You whine and buck your hips closer to his experienced touch. By this point Tamaki is standing, his body has curled over your legs and his face is inches away from your pussy. Mirio hasn't given up pretending to carry on the conversation, by this point he's moved onto the weather. Unable to put on the cognitive energy needed to talk about something difficult.

When the friction of his finger against the edge of the base of your clit gets too harsh, he rewets the appendage with the wetness seeping from your canal. Light butterfly touches are the closest you get to Mirio pleasuring you. Accidentally grazes of his finger drawing swirls around your clit. When you clench your cunt around the air, he drags his finger down the circle of the empty hole drawing Tamaki's eyes to your desperate need. He makes no move to ever fill the empty ache of your cunt instead he takes the hand covering in your pussy juice, shoves it in Tamaki's hair and pushes his face into your cunt.

The pressure after being denied any stimulation for so long is heavenly and you eagerly moan and arch your back against Tamaki's bewildered face. Thankfully the shy boy understands your silent pleas and makes quick work of shoving his tongue into your hole. Mirio continues his grip on Tamaki's hair pushing him up and down your slit and watches you desperate hump him. His nose nudges your sopping wet bud, and his chin digs into your canal but you can't help groaning in bliss. Mirio's clutch of Tamaki is heartless, gripping onto his thick lush hair tight and he allows you to hump his face like you would the pillows at home, unconcerned if your wet flesh suffocates his best friend.

Tamaki soon begins to feel lightheaded, the musk in the little air he does get from your cunt and the moisture of your cunt clinching to his face. Mirio does grant him some reprieve by turning his face to reveal his sharp features coated in your shiny juices and instead pressing his cheek and the side of his face against your clit. You carry on making small jerking movements against the hard surface that Tamaki's cheekbones provide.

Moans babble out of your drooling mouth as you begin your surge towards completion. A few pants of air are all Tamaki gets before being once again submerged in tour cunt. His faint awareness of your desperate actions pushes him to act as he stiffens his tongue spearing your pussy. A brief reminder of his quirk urges Tamaki to shift his finger into a tentacle and shove one beside his tongue into your clenching cunt. The thick appendage is far more dexterous and substantial than his tongue and he finds that swollen bump on the roof of your pussy. He uses the cup of his tentacle to suction on to the spot, feeling your pussy spasm.

“My pretty little fucking slut. Just take whatever you need.” Mirio urges on You carry on riding Tamaki's face to the edge of your pleasure and it's the tugging of Tamaki's tentacle that pushes you over. Your body crumbles with a quake and your hips jolt away from Tamaki persistent appendages that continue to press on your g spot. It's the wrench of Mirio's hand that pulls Tamaki away. Thin transparent strings of fluid stretch from your cunt to Tamaki's face. Mirio then drags his tongue over the layer of slick that glazes Tamaki's face.

"That was a great conversation."

[imthepunchlord]

What would change if Chloe was the transfer student instead of Alya, while she and Marinette are a part of the established students in Origins?

Oh man, this is a thought that occurred to me, a what if Audrey did take Chloe with her back then, was her only parental figure in life hence forth, and doesn't return until Style Queen.

Which I guess is what we'll do here, unless we want to roll with that Andre went with her and he pursued his passion as director instead of politics. And they return sooner for Origins.

But for sure, class wise with no Chloe there at all, here are the changes I've thought of:

- Marinette is more confident and thriving, and she's the more residential popular girl, the one everyone knows is going to be a solid leader and you can go to her for anything and she'll help you out no matter what. She's known to be reliable and very loved. Best friend wise I don't know yet but I don't think it'd be Alya, what sparked it off was Marinette needing help against a bully that had Alya stepping in; but that's not happening here. They'll be on good terms, but not best friends.

- Alya's best friend is actually Sabrina. No Chloe, Sabrina is able to thrive and come into her own. And with it, a passion for justice and all fairness, and the best symbol of is Majestia! She and Alya are best friends through a mutual love of Majestia and the ideal heroes fighting for the greater good! Sabrina still likes to be a follower and that's what has her clicking with Alya, not just a shared interest and love, but the factor that Alya likes to take charge in her relationships and to be the one to call the shots.

- Mylene and Nino are actually best friends. No Chloe, no Mylene feeling a need to sit by Alix to discourage Chloe from targeting her. And with a shared interest in film, Mylene and Nino connect really well, with him being director and her his main lead actress. They're also a big help to each other. Nino helps Mylene calm down when she starts panicking and she was able to help him through mourning when he lost his brother.

- No need to sit by Mylene to ward Chloe off, Alix goes to sit by her buddy Nathaniel.

- Ivan isn't so feared by the class as Marinette went out of her way to make sure he was more included and the class got to see that he's a big softie. Because of this, Myvan happens sooner as Mylene isn't scared of Ivan and approached him when she noticed he was being weird around her and wanted to check on him.

- Everyone else is pretty much the same, Juleka may be better about being heard but still on the quiet side. Ultimately though, no Chloe, the class is more relaxed and thriving.

- With Adrien, with no Chloe to see all that often and she wasn't always available to talk as she's off in NYC, he's even more lonely so when he goes to school, he desperate to latch onto the first person he can connect with. He also heard from Chloe that she's coming back to Paris and they'll be attending the same school so is doubly excited. Potentially he sits with Chloe, or with someone else that he connects with first. Most likely, it will be Marinette he connects with first as she's very friendly and personable and would be the first to welcome him. It could go either way if Adrien sits with Marinette or Chloe. Depends if you want more Chloe-Adrien issues addressed or more wholesome Marinette-Adrien friendship that may be strained a little depending on Chloe.

Now with Chloe, there are two options. Either Audrey solely raised her alone or Andre was also there. If the latter, Chloe is essentially the same as canon as Andre is there to spoil her and make up for Audrey's harsher parenting (and like canon, she just gets to a point to give up and pursue her work, potential set up of a divorce and remarries Mr Lee).

Andre Chloe:

Is coming in ready to dominate, but she has no political power behind her as her dad isn't the mayor but a director.

She's immediately met with a lot of resistance as it's her vs the whole class that have no established unease with her.

Adrien is swift to distance himself from her as the friend he was looking forward to reconnecting with is being unreasonably mean and everyone is clearly against her and he's the new student that doesn't want to be the odd one out. He's even more certain as Chloe likes to climb all over him and he doesn't like it at all.

So she's the bully who doesn't have a lot of grounds for being a bully and is going to be forced down a road of redemption as the class isn't going to have a lot of patience for her.

Could potentially tease Chlonino or Zonino, as Nino is a fan of Andre's films, but his fav director's daughter is just impossible OR his stepdaughter is actually pretty cool and they hit it off well.

Audrey Chloe, raised with no Andre in her life post Audrey leaving, but he is still mayor:

While still quite mean, she's actually quite diligent and effective, she actually does her own work and aims high in life, ready to succeed. Biggest difference is that she doesn't go out of her way to be mean for her own amusement. You have to irritate or catch her attention first.

The class still warily regards her, but it's not because she's a bully, but just ruthlessly honest. Alix kinda loves it as now she's not the only one and the two like to verbally go at just for fun.

Adrien and Chloe are equally excited to see each other and can both relate to being so busy and both wishing to have people they can connect with. Audrey and Gabriel are both interested in swaying the two to get together and neither are exactly opposed to the idea. There are some definite strains though as Adrien's more goofy than Chloe would like, and he's not so good at owning up to his actions.

Chloe actually has a lot of admiration and respect for Marinette, and deems her a fitting rival in the fashion industry. Only thing that's unimpressive is that Marinette is such a giver and let's people walk all over her. Chloe can see Marinette's potential, but can also see how she's not going to get far with that.

Things are strained with her father as he wants to give her gifts to help reconnect, and while she adores getting gifts, it also rubs her wrong a little as it feels like he's trying to buy her love. Things aren't perfect with her mom, but Audrey feels like she knows she's worth Chloe's time. With this gifting, Chloe feels like her dad is setting himself up as beneath her and that doesn't make her so interested in him.

With Fu and who has what miraculous wise, ultimately, it comes down if anyone wants this change up to effect where Fu does his two tests.

But for sure, with transfer Chloe au, there's no gum incident, no umbrella scene, no anxious self conscious Marinette, and no drama. Stoneheart isn't even the first akuma. Potentially could be Chloe (Andre present) or someone else at random.

[eliemo]

Silence Speaks

Summary: Virgil can't get out of bed. Days like this are nothing new, he just doesn't know how his new family will react to him being so pathetic.

TWs: Depression, depressive episode, brief death mention, self-hatred, temporary nonverbal episode

Notes: Found this fic in my drafts from a few months ago, so I cleaned it up to post since LB and Permafrost are taking a bit. Enjoy <3

Virgil knew it was going to be one of those days when the third hour passed with no change.

Everything was too much. His chest hurt, every breath was just too much work, all he wanted was to sink into the blankets and sleep the rest of his life away. He’d been staring blankly at the wall since he’d woken up, curled up on his side with tears pooling in his eyes. He couldn't get up, couldn’t get back to sleep, couldn’t even call out to ask for help.

It had been a while since he’d had a day like this, when just the thought of getting out of bed made him sick,

They’d used to be more frequent, back when Virgil was alone and shut out, hated and scorned by the people he just wanted to protect. The resentment took its toll, and sometimes he couldn’t find a reason to get out of bed.

It wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. He was supposed to be over this. He was supposed to be better.

He had everything he’d ever wanted. He had his family, Thomas listened to him, and he wasn’t just needed- he was wanted.

He was wanted. He knew he was. Sometimes it was just...hard to convince himself of that, despite the overwhelming amount of kindness he’d been given for months now, the reassurances and patient understanding that felt too good to be true.

But now here he was again, unmoving in the dark of his own room, closed off like the brooding villain he was trying so hard not to be anymore.

God, he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be anywhere. He didn’t want to be awake, he didn’t want to go back to sleep, and he didn’t want to get up and go downstairs.

He just...didn’t want to do this anymore.

Why couldn’t he just disappear?

Virgil thought he could hear voices downstairs, but nothing was really registering through the fog settling around his head. His room was pitch dark, the curtains pulled tightly shut, leaving it impossible to tell how much time had passed.

He thought it might have been a few hours by now, and he hoped everyone would just continue on with their day and leave him here forever, trapped in his own body with a brain stuck trying to sabotage his happiness. He’d fade away on his own, and they’d forget about him, never bothering to even question his absence.

Virgil knew better than to really believe that. A year ago he could have gotten away with it, he could lock himself up in the dark for days and nobody would care. They’d probably celebrate.

Now...now they would notice he wasn’t coming down for breakfast. He had a job to do, he had people who actually cared. Virgil couldn’t just lay here, pathetic and useless. He was letting himself waste away and fail everyone who had taken a chance on him. They’d given him so much. He couldn’t undo all that progress because he was feeling a little sad.

But he couldn’t get up. He couldn’t. It would be so much easier if he could just die.

Virgil still wasn’t sure how much time had passed, laying there wide awake without the energy to move a single inch, but suddenly a knock on the door sliced through the haze around his brain.

More tears gathered in his eyes, frustration and dread making his chest unbearably heavy. He didn’t want to be ridiculed and yelled at right now. He wasn’t ready to be forced out of bed, selfish as it was to want to stay here.

A few seconds passed before the door creaked open, light spilling in from the hall, the faint smell of coffee wafting into the room.

“Virgil?”

That was Logan, even though Virgil couldn’t bring himself to turn his head to look. The logical side’s voice was comforting and familiar, but he wasn’t sure he could handle his blunt judgment right now.

He’d think Virgil was ridiculous, his refusal to leave his room illogical and stupidly selfish. He’d made everyone worry for nothing. Anxiety was just being lazy again.

“Virgil, it’s almost eleven,” Logan said, and Virgil kind of wished he could just die right here and now. Death would get him out of being lectured. “You need to wake up and eat something. You missed breakfast.”

Virgil still couldn’t move, but his breath caught in his throat at the reminder. He knew he was being stupid, and he knew he was behind schedule, but the thought of food just made him feel nauseous.

He heard footsteps, carefully tracking Logan’s movements as he came closer and listened as he carefully set down what was probably a mug of coffee on the dresser.

“Virgil?” he called, and it was getting harder and harder to see as more tears built up. “Are you awake?”

Virgil still couldn’t bring himself to answer, even as Logan moved around to the side of the bed. Virgil didn’t glance up to his face, but there was no way Logan couldn’t tell that the anxious side’s eyes were open and aware.

He tensed, waiting for anger and judgment, or even just an annoyed huff. He waited to be told that it was easy to get out of bed and Virgil was just being difficult, that he needed to stop being so pathetic or they had no reason to keep showing him so much kindness.

He needed to be useful, or they wouldn’t want him around anymore.

But Logan was suddenly kneeling down to his level, eyes kind and worried behind his glasses.

“Are you alright?” he asked, frowning when Virgil just clenched his jaw in response. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Virgil couldn’t force words to form no matter how badly he wanted to, and to his dismay a few tears slipped free, trailing down his jaw and seeping into the pillow.

Logan’s expression softened, but the concern in his eyes only grew. He reached forward, slow and careful, and somehow Virgil managed to move just enough to latch desperately onto his hand.

He didn’t have the energy to choke out any apologies, although he was almost certain Logan was about to demand one.

“That is alright,” the logical side said instead. “You do not have to talk. Do you think you can manage a nod or headshake?”

Virgil forced himself to respond with the tiniest of movements, even though just reaching up to take Logan’s hand had felt like running a marathon.

“Alright,” he said gently. “Are you feeling ill?”

Virgil wished he was just sick. That would be so much easier to explain. Being sick was fixable, and it wouldn’t look like he was just making excuses to be lazy.

But he didn’t see the point in lying, and he certainly didn’t have the energy to deal with even more anger if he was found out. He managed a small shake of his head, even as Logan reached up with his free hand to carefully feel his forehead. He had to force himself not to lean into the touch.

“Are you in pain?”

Yes. Everything hurt so bad and he wanted it to stop. His chest felt like someone was sitting on it, his head felt like something was pounding at the back of his skull, and every bone in his body felt heavy and useless.

But he couldn’t say that, because he knew it was all in his head. It wasn’t real.

He shook his head again, choking on a small sob, and something like realization dawned in the other side’s eyes.

“I see,” Logan said. “Is this...just a bad day, then?”

Logan had finally figured it out, because of course he had. Virgil being stupid and useless probably wasn’t a difficult conclusion to come to, anyway.

He nodded, tense and staring at nothing as he waited for Logan to rip his hand away and demand Virgil grow up and stop wasting everyone’s time. Or maybe he’d just roll his eyes and leave, closing the door and locking Anxiety back in the dark where he belonged.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Logan said, and to Virgil’s surprise his hold only tightened. “Are you able to get out of bed?”

More tears welled up at the question, dread rising in his chest. Because he couldn’t imagine even standing up right now, but of course he couldn’t expect to be able to get away with that. Logan was being polite about it, but they had a schedule to stick to.

“It’s alright if the answer is no,” Logan continued. “I have no intention of forcing you. I only thought it might be easier to take care of you today if you’re set up on the couch.”

Wait...what? Take care of him?

Logan seemed to sense his confusion, and the hand that wasn’t currently being held hostage moved to run gently through his hair, smiling sadly at Virgil’s barely audible whimper.

“If you’re more comfortable here you can stay. But I know being left alone with your thoughts is not always...ideal. We can keep you company in the living room if you like. If you’re overstimulated, the lights will be kept dim, and the noise to a minimum.”

Virgil hesitated, trying to figure out if Logan was joking- or if this was some kind of cruel trick to teach him a lesson. They didn’t need to do anything. He didn’t deserve it. And he wasn’t sick, he was just being a baby.

Logan was suddenly cupping Virgil’s cheek, wiping tears away with his thumb. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, Virgil. Would you like help sitting up?”

And Virgil felt ridiculous, because he had no real reason to feel so weighed down, but he gave another timid nod.

Logan didn’t even hesitate before moving to help, a steadying hand against Virgil’s back as he guided him up to lean against the headboard. He didn’t complain, didn’t lecture Virgil about how inconsiderate he was being, just silently assisted and pulled away when he was done.

Again Virgil wanted to apologize, but the words got stuck in his throat, buried deep beneath the fatigue.

“There is no need for an apology,” Logan said, and Virgil wondered when he’d become so predictable. “If you aren’t able to walk, I’m sure Roman would be more than happy to carry you to the couch. I only need your permission to inform him and Patton of what is happening.”

Virgil wasn’t sick or injured, he was competent enough to get himself out of bed and down the stairs. People were busy, and he was already being awful by forcing Logan to stay.

But just the thought of getting out of bed and walking out of his room was enough to make him want to bury himself under the covers and dissolve into sobs. He curled in on himself and eyed Logan warily, hoping that was enough of an answer.

“Alright,” Logan said, squeezing Virgil’s hand. “I’ll go get him, just wait here a moment.”

Logan squeezed Virgil’s hand, and he’d known the logical side long enough to know the smile he sent was nothing but genuine.

Virgil felt cold when Logan pulled his hand away and moved off the bed, but being unable to talk meant he couldn’t call him back as he disappeared through the door.

He let out a shaky breath and pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He squeezed teary eyes shut as he rested his chin on his knees.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before Virgil heard footsteps in the hallway, his bedroom door creaking open as the creative side cautiously stepped inside the doorway with a small frown.

Virgil tensed, because if anyone was going to make fun of him for this it would be Roman- well meaning but so brash and over the top at times- and he could already picture Roman’s mocking laughter, his exasperation as he tried to just drag Virgil out of bed, his—

“Hey there,” Roman called, softer than Virgil could ever remember him sounding. “Feeling under the weather today, Stormcloud?”

Virgil shrugged, hunching his shoulders and staring at his own hands. From the look in the Prince’s eyes, it was clear he understood.

“That’s ok,” he said, ducking his head to meet Virgil’s eyes as he smiled and made his way to the bed. “Bad days happen, Doom and Gloom. You just have to ask for help.”

Virgil let out a pitiful whine, the closest he could get to telling Roman that he couldn’t. Even if he could, he didn’t know how. He’d never been able to ask for help before. The Prince’s smile turned sad, and he slowly lowered himself on the bed beside Virgil.

“I know,” Roman said, and Virgil watched as he opened his arms in a quiet invitation, looking so ridiculously hopeful. “But we’re here now.”

Virgil broke. What little walls he’d still been holding up crumbling at the Prince’s simple words, and he choked on a sob, vision blurring with the tears he finally allowed to fall. He collapsed forward into Roman’s chest, shuddering when strong arms wrapped around and pulled him close.

Roman didn’t speak, and he didn't force Virgil to even try, just held him tight and rocked them both on the edge of the bed, the Prince’s chin hooked over Virgil’s head, almost cocooning him in safety.

Roman held him, strong but gentle all the same, letting Virgil cry into the Prince’s shirt as long as he needed, hushing him through violent sobs. He didn’t rush him, didn’t tease or berate him, just kept him close and safe.

“I’m here,” he said when Virgil had quieted down a bit. “Is it ok if I take you downstairs now? Logan and Pat are worried about you.”

Virgil nodded with his face still buried in Roman’s chest, breath catching in his throat when the Prince carefully maneuvered them both towards the end of the bed. He kept one arm wrapped firmly around Virgil’s back, the other hooking under his knees.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered when Virgil clutched desperately at the back of his shirt, squeezing his eyes shut as Roman stood from the bed, Virgil secure in his hold. “We’ve all got you, Virge.”

Virgil kept his eyes closed, breaths coming out as nothing more than pitiful, hiccuping sobs. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to talk to anyone, look at anyone, or be seen by anyone. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to exist today.

But Roman’s embrace made him forget that for just a moment. The memory of Logan’s comfort and the promise of Patton’s care made it just a little more bearable.

It was all a blur, Virgil barely able to focus on the world around him, overwhelmed and so so exhausted. The curtains in the living room were drawn, keeping the room comfortably dim, and Patton and Logan moved quietly, keeping everything blissfully peaceful.

Roman set him down on the couch, letting Virgil curl up on his side and pull the nearest blanket over him, taking a moment to run his fingers through the anxious side’s hair.

Patton kneeled beside him, searching his watery eyes for silent permission before leaning in to kiss Virgil’s forehead with a soft smile.

“Hey kiddo,” he said, just as loving as Logan and Roman had been. “You want your old dad to make you some hot chocolate?”

Virgil blinked, not sure how to respond to that. It sounded nice, but...but he was already convincing them enough. They were all busy, and probably annoyed and—

“It’s not an issue, honey,” Patton assured, like he could sense Virgil’s internal panic. “We didn’t have much planned for today. You can relax.”

He had his suspicions that Logan had actually just changed their schedule in favor of keeping an eye on Virgil while he rested, but he wasn’t exactly in the place to ask questions, as panicked as the thought made him. He’d make it up to them tomorrow.

Virgil couldn’t quite look Patton in the eyes, but the parental side seemed so eager to help, and...hot chocolate didn’t sound terrible. He gave a hesitant nod, chest loosening a bit at the way Patton positively beamed.

Patton hurried into the kitchen, only to come back less than five minutes later with the biggest mug Virgil had ever seen, overflowing with marshmallows and whipped cream. Roman perched on the arm of the couch, close enough to keep running his fingers through Virgil’s hair.

“Just rest, Virgil,” Logan said, smiling when Virgil took his hot chocolate with unsteady hands. “We can put on a movie if you like. Or we can leave you alone if you’re overwhelmed.”

Virgil bit his lip, a few stray tears still running down his cheeks and dripping onto the couch. It was a bad day, not his first and definitely not his last but it wasn’t the worst he’d ever had. It was already getting a little better.

He took a steady breath, raising his head to meet Logan’s eyes, mustering what little energy he had to force his voice to work again, the words small, breathy and ragged, but clear all the same.

“Stay? Please?”

Logan smiled, Roman scooted closer, and Patton gave Virgil’s forehead another kiss. They gathered around him on the couch, similar to how they usually ended up after a bad panic attack.

Roman and Logan ended up on either side of him, while Patton let Virgil put down his mug for a second to wrap his arms around the moral side’s waist, relishing in the warmth of one of Patton’s hugs.

There had been more days like this than Virgil could count, everything weighing down on him until he just wanted to disappear. He’d never...had this before. He’d always been alone, locking himself away until he could face his own existence again.

This time his family was on all sides, Patton holding him tightly, Logan taking his hand, Roman still playing with his hair, reminding him that it would be ok soon. He had a reason to fight through it.

Virgil couldn’t bring himself to thank them, not out loud again, but he knew they understood.

[bittydragon]

Chains

Notes: Look! I made something for the collective prompt! I couldn’t stop myself from writing Bad and Skeppy, I love them if y’all couldn’t tell. I hope you enjoy!

Skeppy wasn’t too worried when he couldn’t find Bad anywhere in his cave. It was common for the giant demon to be out gathering food, water, or any other supplies he might need. So Skeppy decided it would just be better to wait for his giant friend in his cave. He sat down on a boulder, swinging his legs idly and waited for Bad to return.

The carefree diamond boy became much more worried when the sun was ready to set and Bad still hadn’t returned. He figured that Bad had probably forgotten about meeting up today and went out to meet up with other giant friends. 

Skeppy slid down from the boulder and stuck his hands in his pocket as he began his walk back to the village. Without Bad here to bring him closer to home, he needed to leave now to get back before dark. He’d rather not be caught in the forest when the monsters start coming out.

He glanced back at the cave entrance one last time, a tinge of worry pulling at his chest. Something about Bad not showing up made Skeppy feel uneasy, he just wasn’t sure why.

As he walked back home, Skeppy glanced up at the sky and couldn’t help the soft smile at the beautiful sight. The sky was a pretty ombre of reds, oranges, and yellows bleeding into the parts of the sky that were still blue. It looked very similar to how the sky looked the day Skeppy met Bad.

That was a day neither of them would ever forget, not that they wanted to. Skeppy had found himself cornered by a creeper that had wandered out of a nearby cave and he had quickly found there was nowhere for him to escape. He had really thought he was about to die in that moment, it was one of the few times he would admit that he cried. 

But then a giant clawed hand crashed down onto the creeper, leaving only a small pile of gunpowder in its wake. Skeppy had been even more terrified to see a giant demonic looking creature staring down at him with glowing white eyes. All his fears disappeared when the demon began worrying over the state of the small human.

Since that day, Bad has saved Skeppy plenty of times. Most of them were due to Skeppy’s own fault, the aftermaths of pranks gone wrong. Very rarely was Skeppy in danger of dying when Bad saved him.

When Skeppy got closer to his village, he started to hear a loud commotion. Normally that wouldn’t be concerning, but at this time of day the village was always dying down. It is like an unspoken rule to allow for peace and quiet once the sun begins to set, even Skeppy follows that rule and he refuses to do pranks past sundown.

Skeppy picked up the pace. If there was commotion at this time of day, it could only mean nothing good. He didn’t even make it all the way to the village when he froze, finally seeing the cause of commotion.

There lying on the ground next to the village, bound by many chains, was Bad. Skeppy stared horrified at the sight of his giant friend held tightly in place by the iron chains, unable to move or get away.

Never in all his days did Skeppy ever think he would see Bad helpless. Bad was strong, nothing could defeat him. But apparently he was wrong.

Skeppy ran towards a group of people who were talking in a hushed tone right outside the village. They noticed him coming over and one of them sighed in relief.

“Oh thank goodness you’re alive! You were missing when we did roll call after the giant was caught, we thought this beast had got a hold of you.”

Skeppy bit back whatever insults and retorts he had for this person and instead plastered on a fake worried smile. “I was just out exploring the forest, I had no idea there was a giant out there! How long has it been caught?” Referring to Bad as nothing more than a horrid beast put a sour taste in Skeppy’s mouth. Bad was the sweetest and most protective person Skeppy had ever met and Skeppy’s own people were treating him like a feral animal.

Thankfully, they seemed to buy into Skeppy’s act. “The guards noticed it close to the town around midday. I think it was caught by surprise too, by the time it began fighting back it was restrained by the chains. We got awfully lucky.”

Skeppy wanted to punch this person here and now. It took every ounce of his self control to not lash out.

“That’s a relief. It’s been a long day for me though, I’m going to go sleep now!” He had heard enough. If he had to listen to anymore, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to hold himself back. Besides, Skeppy has messed with those chains before. He’s fairly certain he can mess with them enough to allow Bad to escape.

The group wished Skeppy a good night before returning to their conversation, probably about Bad’s fate. Skeppy’s blood boiled just at the thought but he continued walking in the direction of his house in order to avoid suspicion. 

As soon as he was positive they couldn’t see him anymore, Skeppy turned the corner and began to run towards where Bad was currently trapped. 

It was even worse actually being there. Seeing the giant demon like this, bound tightly to the ground by tight metal chains, made Skeppy feel unbelieveably angry. If the village had even a clue at how friendly Bad was, none of this would be happening.

Skeppy approached Bad’s face. He noticed that Bad’s eyes were shut tight, as if he was trying to imagine himself anywhere but here. Skeppy was extremely saddened by this and reached out a hand to gently rest on Bad’s nose.

The giant’s eyes flung open, panic written all over his features until his gaze settled on the small human before him. Bad smiled before instantly going back into his panic.

“You can’t be here! If your town finds out, they’ll kill you!” Bad’s hushed tone relayed all the panic Skeppy needed to hear, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he rubbed Bad’s nose in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

“Don’t worry, I am leaving.” He began walking towards the nearest post where a chain was attached to. “And so are you.”

Bad watched with wide eyes as Skeppy quickly got to work on breaking the locks on the chains. If Skeppy could break or at the very least damage enough of them, Bad would be able to do the rest of the work and escape.

After an agonizing half hour, Skeppy was becoming more confident that he was going to free Bad. But then he heard yelling in the distance that was beginning to grow closer. He whipped his gaze up to see the town’s guard running towards them. He’s been caught.

“Skeppy! Just go!” Skeppy shook his head and quickly tried to finish breaking this lock. He was not leaving without Bad, he couldn’t.

The chain lock Skeppy was working on suddenly snapped, startling Skeppy and making him fall back. He cheered as he realized he got through another lock.

Glancing behind him, he realized he was quickly running out of time. It would be impossible to do anything else to help free Bad. Instead he sprinted towards his friend, screaming loudly as he got closer.

“Bad! It’s now or never! You got to get out now!”

Bad hesitated for a second. He’d rather not cause any more chaos than he needed to. But then he looked at the angry mob of people that was coming for Skeppy for daring to help the giant and he snapped.

Skeppy watched as Bad pulled at one of the chains and his eyes widened as the chain snapped off of the pole. The mob stopped their advances as Bad continued to break out of the chains, Skeppy’s work having worn them down enough to make this easy work for the demon.

As soon as Bad was able to completely break out of the chains, he leaned down and scooped Skeppy into his hands. The giant demon stood up on shaky legs while holding Skeppy close to his chest. Skeppy leaned into the warmth of his friend, just glad that they were getting out of there.

The small diamond golem stayed latched onto Bad’s hoodie as the giant ran through the trees. His claws were curled protectively around Skeppy’s tiny form, clutching him protectively to his chest as he weaved through the trees.

Eventually, they came to a stop back at Bad’s cave. Bad leaned against the wall of the cave to catch his breath, still holding Skeppy close. From his position against Bad’s chest, Skeppy could hear every shaky breath Bad took and the giant’s sporadic heartbeat as he caught his breath.

Bad slid down the wall, moving his grip on Skeppy to look at him a bit better.

“Thank you Geppy. Thank you.” Bad brought Skeppy up to his face a nuzzled his nose into the golem’s chest. Skeppy hugged Bad’s nose, relishing in the warmth of the giant. Bad had always ran warm and made an amazing heater for Skeppy, especially in the winter.

“Skeppy.” Bad pulled away from Skeppy, leaving Skeppy with his arms outstretched for Bad to come back and a pout on his face. Bad ignored it, though it was a bit difficult to do so. “You do know you can’t go back to your village right? They’d kill you if you did…” 

Skeppy let his arms fall down to his side as he let out a dejected sigh. “I know. But you and I can go find somewhere new to live! Together!” Skeppy knew the current situation was anything but ideal. But as long as Bad was alive and safe, he didn’t really care.

Skeppy grinned as Bad smiled down at him and went back to pressing his nose against Skeppy’s chest. “You’re right. We can make a new home together!”

Skeppy giggled as he hugged Bad’s nose. He doesn’t think he’d ever get sick of these moments. He planted a small kiss on Bad’s nose, laughing as the demon heat up at the motion.

“You and me against the world, Bad. Always.”

[ahkaahshi]

11:00 PM [kita shinsuke]

pairing: kita shinsuke x fem reader

genre: fluff

warning(s): just a hint of cursing

word count: 2.1k

overview: you learn more about kita with every evening stroll the two of you take together

At 11:00 PM on the dot, Kita arrives at your front door with a knock for the evening walk he said he wanted to take with you. Of course, he’s always right on time, whereas you’re tripping over the sweats you're pulling up as you rush to the door to answer it.

“Hey Shin,” you greet him a bit more breathlessly than you would’ve liked. His dark gaze meets your own (e/c) one before drifting down to where your hands are still adjusting the waistband of your pants. A small chuckle bubbles in his throat once he’s gathered that, as per usual, you’ve gotten prepared at the last possible second.

Swooping down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, he asks, “Ready to go now, sweetheart?” Your body flushes with warmth at the tender pet name that leaves his lips, though it’s been spoken before many, many times, and you nod. “Don’t forget yer jacket.” He grabs it from the coat rack near the doorway and slides it over your arms for you in another one of his kind gestures before you bend down to tie the shoelaces of the sneakers you’ve stepped into.

After shoving your keys into your pocket and locking up, you wonder, “So, where do you wanna go?”

His warm palm slides against yours, prompting your fingers to weave themselves between his as he shrugs. “Not sure.”

“Kita Shinsuke? Not sure? Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” you tease, mocking surprise in a way that brings another smile to his face.

“How’s the park up the street sound?”

“Ah, there he is.” You give his hand a playful squeeze and move closer to him as the two of you make your way out of your apartment complex, into the cool, dark night.

In spite of your earlier teasing and urge to grill your boyfriend about his intentions behind suggesting that the two of you go on a walk at a time when he’d usually want to be settled down in bed, you find comfort in the silence that fills the air. In between the whistles of chilly gusts that sweep over your cheeks and past your ears, you can hear the leaves of the trees above you whispering as they brush against each other and the gentle hum of the still bustling city in the distance.

Due to your housing situations and busy schedules, the times when the two of you get to fully enjoy each other’s company without any distractions are relatively few and far between. He understands and appreciates the value of the time he’s spending with you now, as he always does, by walking with a slow and relaxed pace rather than a quick, rushed one. It’s refreshing, you think, to simply stroll down the sidewalk with a destination in mind but no scheduled time for when you have to arrive, and Kita seems to feel the same way.

There’s an ease to his demeanor that you can sense, and which quiets your own thoughts for a few minutes. You enjoy seeing him this way since you understand the mostly self-inflicted burdens Kita likes to place on himself with his ideals and expectations of the way his life should be.

Beneath the pale, fluorescent lights in the park, his hair glows a haunting shade of white that makes you wonder, for a moment, if this whole experience is just some fever dream. If you’re really just fast asleep in your bed, so desiring of your boyfriend’s company that your subconscious has manifested him. But a glance he sends down towards you accompanied by the sensation of his warm lips against your temple reminds you that—thankfully—everything you’re experiencing just happens to be a pleasant part of your reality. A tender moment that will soon become a fond memory in time.

His hand unclasps yours for a moment as the two of you gravitate towards the swings hanging in the middle of a sand pit nearby to sit down. The cool plastic of the seat seeping through the rear of your sweatpants makes you shiver slightly, and you use your legs to rock yourself forward and back as your hands wrap around the chains keeping it suspended.

When you turn your attention to your boyfriend once more, you find that his gaze is glued to the playground nearby, as if he’s trying to find his thoughts hiding somewhere amongst the metal structure. Before you can ask him what’s on his mind, he gives you the answer. “Remember our high school team’s motto?”

With a small chuckle that sends a small cloud of steam into the air in front of you, you answer, “Ironically enough, yeah. Why?”

“Remember how I always disagreed with it?”

“Of course.”

He sighs a deep and heavy sigh, as if there’s a giant weight on his back pushing all the air in his lungs out at once. Dark brown eyes turn away from the play structure to focus on yours instead as he mentions, “I remember thinkin’ how disrespectful, in a sense, it was to ask a question like that. Who needs memories?” His light hair shifts against his forehead as he shakes his head in a self-deprecating manner. “But now, I kinda wish that I’d appreciated it a bit more. Memories help you grow, shape ya into the person you wanna be, ‘nd all, but they make it impossible to live a life without regrets.”

Your heart sinks in your chest at his words, and you somewhat instinctively reach across the gap separating your swings to latch onto his hand. He shows his appreciation towards your action by ensconcing yours in both of his, surrounding it in warmth. “Is there something you regret?” you wonder softly, voice barely above a whisper.

A low, contemplative hum echoes behind his lips as he presses them to your knuckles. “Not regret, per se, but wish I did differently,” he admits, “I wish I’d allowed myself a bit more freedom back when I was a teenager. I mean, I appreciate havin’ routines, of course, since they help give my actions a sense of purpose and meaning, but I really don’t think my life woulda turned out much different if I’d’ve let myself go a bit more ‘nd been less concerned about makin’ some of those stupid, teenage mistakes, ya know?”

“Stupidity doesn’t have to be limited to your teenage years. Just look around you. It’s everywhere, at all ages. You still have a chance.”

He snickers. “I know, sweetheart. But what I’m sayin’ is that a little bit of spontaneity wouldn’t’ve hurt me back then. Wouldn’t hurt me now, either.”

“Well,” you say with a devilish smirk as you scoot out of the swing, your shoes sinking into the sand when you stand up once more, “it’s a good thing I’m here, then, ain’t it?” Maintaining eye contact with him, you saunter over to him and slide your hand out of his before moving your head towards his. Placing your palms on his shoulders prompts him to lean down closer to you, and you murmur, “What do you say to a friendly game of tag, huh? Because—” you turn on your heels quickly and shout over your shoulder—“you’re it!”

Without turning to look behind you again, you sprint through the sand towards the grass field nearby to put as much distance between the two of you as you can. Over the sound of your own breathing and the wind whipping past you, you’re sure you can hear the clinking of metal indicating he’s left his seat on the swings to pursue you. Sure enough, a few moments later, you feel a firm tap against your shoulder that marks a switch in your roles. When you whirl around to find him, he’s already jogging away, a small smile playing on his lips as he casts a sneaky glance over at you.

“You’re too damn fast, Shin!” you whine breathily as you run after him.

He replies, “You’re the one who wanted to play, (f/n).”

Eventually, after a series of fake outs and narrow escapes, you manage to tag him again and sprint away. However, while you bolt across the grass, you feel droplets of water splashing against your skin that start out small, but soon grow larger and larger. “It’s raining!” you squeal, abandoning your mission of running away from your boyfriend to make a beeline for the gazebo you spot not too far away.

As you speed through the field, you feel Kita’s hand wrap around yours, keeping you close to him while he runs with you. Upon reaching one of the tables tucked beneath the metal roof of the small structure, you plop down onto a bench and try to recover from your sudden stint of exercise. Clearly, as a result of the spontaneity, you hadn’t thought the entire thing through; because if you had, you might’ve decided on a different game given how spry Kita is.

“Truce!” you breathe heavily, waving a packet of tissues from your pocket up in the air as a white flag.

He laughs at your quick surrender but accepts it, nonetheless, and seats himself beside you. As he watches you flash a bright smile at him while you work on slowing down your breathing once more, he feels heat rush through his body in a wave that radiates from his chest. His heart thumps quickly, but not just with exertion, and the sound echoes in his ears over that of the rain hitting the earth as the heavens open above the two of you.

“What’re you looking at me like that for, huh?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow at him rather teasingly in spite of the butterflies flitting around in your stomach.

Placing one arm over your shoulders to bring your warm body closer to his while his other hand comes to rest on your cheek, tilting your chin up towards his face, he makes a simple yet powerful proclamation: “I love you.”

He kisses you harder than you think he ever has before you can respond. It’s searing, the sensation of his lips on yours, and you’re robbed of your breath in what feels to be an instant. The quiet gasps of air you take each time your lips part for a few, painstaking seconds is lost beneath the downpour of rain pounding on the metal roof and the pavement surrounding the gazebo. You melt into his arms and drape yours around his neck to keep the distance separating your faces to a minimum. It’s been too long since you’ve shared a kiss this intense and passionate, and you both lose yourselves in the moment, choosing to focus on the now rather than the then or the next.

However, just as quickly as the sudden torrent of rain comes and goes, his kisses grow gentler and softer until his lips disconnect from yours entirely to trail along your cheek while he pulls you into a tight hug. Breathlessly, you tell him, “I love you too,” as you nestle your face in the crook of his neck and relish in the familiar comfort he always brings. “What brought that on, though, baby?”

“Just felt like kissin’ my girlfriend, is all.”

You chuckle against his skin before moving your head away from him so you can plant another, tender kiss on his lips that he reciprocates without hesitation. When you pull away again, you both take a quick look at your surroundings to see droplets of rain still pattering against the now soaked pavement. Its sudden arrival seems to be an unspoken invitation for the two of you to stay out longer and enjoy each other’s company, so you suggest, “Wanna wait it out?”

“Yeah,” Kita answers with a nod, raising his hand to brush a few strands of dampened hair away from his eyes. Shooting him a small smile, you rest your head on his shoulder and allow him to welcome you back into his arms.

“Do you have any other regrets, Shin?” you ask as you watch the rain form patterns of ripples across the puddles pooling on the paths.

“I think sayin’ I wished I did things differently earlier was a bit harsh.” The hand he has around your waist gives you a gentle, affectionate squeeze. “At the end of the day, I don’t regret how I lived my life because all the things I did somehow led me to you.” 

His lips meet the crown of your head before he continues, “And all of my favorite memories are the ones I’ve made with you.”

when night falls masterlist ⭐︎ treat me to a coffee!

taglists (send an ask to be added to the when night falls taglist!)

when night falls: @aoyukai, @why-aminot-dead, @yamagucji, @toutorii, @shibayamasbae, @tsukkisbean, @devlovesiwa-channn, @captain-shittykawa, @ghblh, @postsfromthe6, @omibaby, @deerixiie

general: @dinablossom, @newfriendjen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin, @kac-chowsballs, @osamusmiya, @nit-sir-hc, @arixtsukki, @shinsurou, @ichorizaki, @dominikmagnus, @tendo-sxtori, @krynnza​

kita: @pretty-setters​, @misora-msby​, @heyhinata​, @caxsthetic​

[stormobsessed]

Avatar: The Last Bondsmith

So, I had made THIS POST about a Zuko Windrunner and his Spren Iroh, and there were a lot of comments about other radiant orders for the other characters, and a strong argument for Zuko not actually being a windrunner because his arc was less about protecting people and more about facing hard truths. That may be Lightweaver, but Lightweaver is personal truths, and Zuko doesn’t have a lot of personal lies, but is entrenched in the lies of his nation. I feel like fixing that is very Truthwatcher. 

Then… this happened, I hope you enjoy. 

The Fire Nation was full of Lightweavers. It was a court of secrets, of hidden faces, of lies. Men and women and children claimed loyalty when they felt fear, claimed morality as they killed innocent, stayed silent when they wanted to speak, and were practiced at confessing to only their spen rather than risking the words aloud. As time wore and generations changed, it came to pass that nearly every radiant in the Nation was accompanied by a cryptid, one corrupted Sja-anat and blessed by Odium to accept voidlight. The Fire Lord claimed that was good, for the Lightweavers were clearly the strongest order of radiants, with powers and abilities that overshadowed all others. He proclaimed across their country that it was this that showed that they alone deserved to rule. 

The Cryptids loved this lie. 

Was it a lie though? After all, they killed Honor and every one of his windrunners when Odium sent a comet leaking voidlight through the sky. 

Odium loved the passion and anger of the Fire nation as they utilized it and stormlight to begin razing the rest of the world to the ground, the cryptids cared not for honorable or right, only true. Sometimes the truth was cruel and ugly. 

Firelord Ozai was not shamed by truths other men dared not speak. He fully confessed to himself that he was cruel, a monster, that his campaign was about personal growth rather than the love of his nation. He held those truths so clearly, that his power was great. Great enough that when he touched his son’s face in a duel and felt dry, flaking skin, he said ‘you are fire’ and it did not disobey. 

Not even when the child screamed. 

The son was failing, only sworn to the first ideal, if any. Ozai had never seen his son’s spren, in fact if any had it would have been his traitorous, Stoneward mother with her weak oaths of being there for others. She’d broken her oaths though. She was not here for her children. In assassinating Azulon and fleeing she’d saved her son, but killed her spen. 

The boy was weak. He was too hot headed, too honest. He wore his heart on his sleeve and said every word that he thought. Sometimes Ozai doubted that he had Truth to speak at all. He was completely unlike his sister, a prodigy who could weave illusion nearly as soon as she could walk. She soulcast before the age of five. She was the most skilled Lightweaver to be born in decades. 

She had to be. She couldn’t reveal that she could not say the last truth, could not make herself try to accept it, even if the ghostly lightweaving vision of her mother that visited every night said it without fail. She couldn’t accept it. After all, if she was a monster without even the love of her mother, then surely no one could blame her for the atrocities she commited, it was simply in her nature. It was why she could smile at the duel, why she could laugh as her brother was sent on an impossible quest, why she could focus on how much closer that made her to the throne. 

Odium liked that, the passion of her people, the passion of her family, her passion. 

Zuko had passion as well, but it was not a kind that Oduim enjoyed. 

So Zuko was banished, for an impassioned speech to save men Odium considered no better than discarded toys. An impassioned plea for a useless passion. 

Zuko was almost relieved, for it gave him the opportunity to hide that his spren was not a cryptid at all. His mistspren, Iroh, spoke in a light accent that almost always had a proverb or a chuckle, and the few times Zuko risked looking into shadesmar, he found a rotund, smiling old man. Upon materializing in the material world, one of the first things he did was hear someone offer a cup of tea to a man who was distraught, and had latched onto that. Zuko could barely say a word without the kindly spren suggesting a tea break. 

Zuko feared the day that he would be material enough to actually carry the tea leaves to a cup. 

But Zuko… couldn’t say the ideals. He didn’t know what they would mean. Not at first. It wasn’t until he left a stonewards home in the Earth Kingdom, after days of hearing nothing but hate and fear towards his people, that he felt the words at his lips. 

“I will seek the truth, even when it is painful to me.” 

“Well done, Prince Zuko.” Iroh had said. “Now, how about some tea.” 

“We’re in the middle of the dessert.” 

“So?” 

“There’s no tea anywhere within a hundred miles of here!” 

“Well, all you need for tea is leaves, yes? I will find pre-tea.” 

“No, it’s not any leaves! You can’t just-” 

But Zuko almost feared that oath, for what did it mean for his mission that would restore him to his home? He was more powerful now, but would that be enough to capture the Bondsmith that he had been chasing for months? 

The bondsmiths were rare, after all, only three spren could form a bondsmith pack, and two had been damaged so dearly that they were as dead as a Spren of their nature could be for nearly a century. There was only one spren whose identity had been unknown, the spren created by the slain honor, the Avatar. 

A century past, when all manner of radiants were formed in all manner of locations, Windrunners found themselves drawn to one another, taking shelter in mountain top homes across the world where they could immediately be sent out to help others. For warriors, they were a peaceful people who desired not to fight, but to protect. Though honor spren bonded men and women of every people back then, nearly every member of the Air Nomads was a windrunner, as the men and women lived and taught their ideals. 

Aang was young when he bonded his spren, not the youngest but still young. The Windrunners wondered why they never saw the boy’s spren after he swore the first ideal, but reasoned that while honor spren were not often shy, each had their own distinct personalities and a timid spren could only help the foolhardy boy. They questioned why he did not use the gravitational lashing, though relaxed when he was able to use the surge of adhesionc Different people excelled at different elements of surge binding after all.

However, Aang was seeing a world that was starting to crack under the pre-war tensions. He saw merchants refusing trades with other nations, sneers and insults and hate. When his two closest friends, Bumi and Kuzon, both confessed that their parents forbade them from playing together, he couldn’t take it. He hated to see the balanced world tearing itself apart and uttered the words with a yell “I will unite instead of divide!” 

He was the youngest bondsmith to ever bond a spren, but the Avatar, a spren element of honor who upheld balance and unity, was sure of its choice oice. However, ironically the bond did nothing but divide him from others his age. It drove a chasm between him and his playmates, as they recognized his unique and great power. When the elders spoke, and threatened to separate the boy of unity from the only family he’d ever known he’d panicked and fled, ending up in a storm and utilizing his powers to create a protective shell around himself and his pet, his ever-renewing stormlight keeping him alive as his body froze. 

As a hundred years passed the world changed. Spren were killed, oaths were broken, and radiants were captured and tortured, until in some places, such as the Southern Water Tribe, no radiants bonded at all. None except for one girl, Katara, the daughter of a chief who saw a decimated people barely able to survive and vowed not to forget them. Who saw their pleas for help being ignored and promised to listen to those without a voice. The edgedancer glided through the stiffest snow like it was clear ice and scaled glaciers like the handholds formed at her whim. She healed the sick and wounded as her brother, Sokka, a non-radiant protected and bore the tribe’s last, hidden shardblade. 

Their father had entrusted the shardblade to him before disappearing to fight in the war, knowing that the benefit to having the blade would be outweighed by the enemies that would seek it, and the allies that were willing to become enemies to obtain it. The blade was large, a straight line of sheer unworldly black. If one were to peak into shadesmar, they would find a peakspren with skin of dark stone following the blade. If they looked closely, they might see the spren tilt its head when the boy lovingly talked to his weapon. 

In this changed world there is also a willshaper. A young girl in a gilded cage who longs to be free and wishes that others have that same option. A girl whose parents immediately, upon seeing cloudy eyes, traveled to the Nightwatcher in search of their boon and curse. Perhaps they hadn’t been clear enough, for they asked that their daughter could see the world, but her eyes did not grow clear. However, as the child began to walk upon stone itself, discarding fancy shoes and plush carpets, she found that with each step she could feel and hear the ground beneath her feet. The stone would tell her where she was, what was near, and what those around her were doing. She found a vision far beyond mere sight of the eyes, a vision constantly being renewed by light leeched from the stones themselves, just enough to keep this one power constant. This was the boon of the Nighwatcher. What was the curse? None can say. Perhaps it was that the girls parents would never truly understand the gift of the boon. Perhaps it was that the girl would never feel happy in the left they wished to foist upon her. Perhaps it was something else entirely. It didn’t matter, for when the Bondsmith, the Edgedancer, and the Shardbearer came, she could no more stay with her parents than she could break her oaths. She was taking the chance to be free. 

There were others in this world as well. There was a warrior in a green dress and war makeup, who had bonded no spren but enjoyed watching the windspren dance around her fans. The Honor spren were said to all have died in the genocide but… she couldn’t help but hope as she protected her people, then left to protect others that needed her. 

There was a princess with white hair, with startling insights into the truth of the spirit world and who would one day use her stormlight to use regrowth on a spirit, condemning herself to death on wounds she didn’t have light enough to heal. 

There was an elderly inventor, an elsecaller who had used transportation to bring himself and his crippled son to a safe place where he could work on creating fabrials to stop the war. Though, when he was discovered by the Fire Nation his work did nothing but perpetuate it. 

There was a teen of messy hair, whose spen formed dual blades. He was a skybreaker, bound to the ideal that the Fire Nation was evil, that their very presence in the world was a wrong that needed to be corrected. He lashed himself into trees and created a home for children, teaching them his ways and bonds. 

There was a girl of the Fire Nation, who was so often mistaken for her own many siblings that she was determined never to forget anyone else. She danced on the world, walking wires like it would be impossible that she should fall, gliding when others walked. 

Her friend, a willshaper who had been trapped by chains of propriety and expectation, who spoke to the ground to form weapons of peerless balance, who would appear without warning, and whose enemies often went down before knowing they were in danger. 

Zuko sought the Avatar’s Bondsmith, facing foe after foe as he travelled the world. He could find no edgedancer or truthwatcher who could heal the scar that marked him traitor, that marked him an honorless traitor. His surges were weak with the second oath, and Iroh could not form a blade until the next was spoken, leaving him with simple steel. 

In fact, it wasn’t until he had achieved his purpose, the Avatar-Bondsmith supposedly dead through the bold of ribbon that Azula had soulcast into lightening, that he was able to profess the next ideal. Name restored, sitting at the right hand of his father, he realized that there was no truth in the Fire Nation. He realized that everything he had learned his whole life were beautiful lies. He knew the truth now, and Iron sat at his shoulder with a weakening voice, imploring him not to break his oath. 

It was only then that he knew what words were pushing at his mouth, as he whispered to himself, broken, “I will see the truth declared, in spite of those who would try to hide it.” 

When he stood, Iroh was a set of Dual Doas in his hand, and he marched to confront his father on the day that Odium’s Voidlight would be eclipsed. 

[heyheydidjaknow]

I finished it, finally! Yee fucking haw! It’s not perfect, but I’m not feeling terrible about it, and the next one is going to be fun. Unless something happens, the next chapter should come up on Sunday as planned. Knowing me, it won’t, but I wanna hope. As always, the table of contents and the previous chapter is at the bottom, and a full list of the shit I’ve published is at the bottom of the table of contents. I’ll do a proper proofread tomorrow. Right now, Grammarly and Kami are carrying the team, so if there’s a mistake, take it up with them.

Chapter 14

“I trust you won’t be creepy.”

“I’m thankful.” Yoshi runs his thumb along the rim of his cup slowly. “You have little faith in me, as I understand it.”

You try not to be disrespectful. “Well, things in your life could’ve gone better, right?”

He seems to consider this for a moment. “I suppose so.” He takes a slow drink. “Mistakes from my youth have led to many hardships. Still, though the road has been a long and strenuous one, I would not want to change my past.”

Your untouched drink is cradled in your hands. “You don’t regret anything?”

“It is a foolish and maddening thing, longing for a life unobtainable to you.” He closes his eyes, your own scanning the walls for the photograph you know is in some nook or cranny. “Besides, if things hadn’t happened the way they did, I wouldn’t have my sons.”

You can understand, intellectually, he does not mean to be—and likely is not— as arrogant as you perceive him. Still, something about the way he sits, the way he speaks, even how he looks at you now makes you feel painfully inferior, as if you reacting the way you are makes you somehow beneath him in more than a literal sense.

You decide against arguing the point, eyes flickering from the shrine back to the man in front of you. “I guess that’s true.” You know you are not going to drink any of what he has offered until you have to. “And you’ve always thought like that?”

He nods. “It was what I was taught.”

Nodding, you look back down at your cup, a deafening stillness settling between you two. ‘He convinces me to come here,’ you grumble silently, ‘and all I get for it is a lecture and an awkward silence.’ You look back up at him, setting the clay vessel on the ground and pulling your knees to your chest. ‘I could be doing something else, like fixing my shirt or something.’

“Speaking of them,” he continues, “Donatello tells me you have been experiencing night terrors.”

‘Snitch. Did he tell me he told him?’ “You don’t?”

His eyebrows rise. “Sorry?”

“We have the same trauma,” you explain simply. “Both our families died in fires we caused. Think that counts.”

He does not even flinch. “I’ve never thought of it that way.” He smiles softly. You want to punch him in the face. “I suppose so, yes.”

“You seem pretty calm about it.”

He chuckles at your expression. “I’ve had fifteen years to come to terms with my loss,” he takes another drink. “And,” he jokes, “I was often simply too exhausted to have nightmares back when the wound was fresh; caring for four young boys is tiring, you understand.”

“Right.” You crisscross your legs in front of you. “Yeah, the makes sense.”

“Having said that,” he continues, voice lowering, “I can’t imagine going through what I did at your age.” He sighs. “If something like that happened to one of my boys at this age, I can’t honestly say how they would cope.”

‘Poorly. I’d guess they’d cope poorly.’

“I understand that you and I have differences in ideals and morals.”

“You could say that.” Your mouth stretches into a wry smile. “I honestly only started hangin’ with and helpin’ y’all as a way to make up for my manslaughter. With this exception, I live by the adage, ‘Not my circus, not my monkeys.’”

“As I said,” he covers his mouth to hide his amusement, “we differ in that respect. I take it that’s why, when Donatello explained the situation—” you break eye contact—“he was unable to explain in any sort of detail what they were about.”

“Not his circus not his monkeys. ‘Sides,” you shrug, “he was already being really caring and understanding, and I was already sobbing my eyes out, which I’m sure he already told you, so.”

You stare down at your tea. “Are you going to elaborate?”

“Not if I don’t have to, no.” Your face heats up.

“Do you want my help?”

‘I hate this,’ you squirm. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be here if Donnie hadn’t asked me to.”

“For someone who believes in leaving people to their own devices,” he notes, “you seem to value the requests of my son a great deal.”

Your knees are back up to your chest. “He’s important to me. He’s been there for me. It’s the least I can do.”

He takes a beat to gather his thoughts. You brace yourself for a lecture.

“You care for him, then.”

You nod once, treading carefully.

“Romantically?”

You still do not look at him directly, staring instead at the gorgeous screen door. “I dunno.” Your fingernails scratch at the surface. “I’m not exactly in my right mind, you understand.”

“I can’t say I do.” A pause as he takes another drink. “Then again, I’ve only felt for one woman all my life.”

“Look at that,” you try to joke. “Another difference between us.”

“Do you mind letting me in, then?”

“A little,” you admit, “but I will since there isn’t really a point to being here if I don’t.”

“That’s the spirit.” You can hear his smile.

You set the cup down again, glancing up at him before fiddling with the laces on your shoe. “People under stress and without anywhere else to turn tend to latch onto the first people they relate to,” you explain, practicing your knot tying with fumbling fingers; there is no harm in practicing your dexterity. “He was the first guy I met after I died, got kidnapped, and almost got killed by a giant vine creature. I like him,” you clarify quickly, “I really do, but it’s hardly fair to pursue that sort of relationship, especially considering everything going on with the Kraang and Shredder.” Your eyes go out of focus. “We get along great,” you mumble. “He’s sweet, kind, generous, and empathetic. He deserves to make sense of his feeling properly without me muddying things up with my possibly trauma-induced attachment.”

“So,” he clarifies, “it is not that you aren’t in love with him, but, instead, you’re worried for his sake?”

Your face goes scarlet as you choke on your saliva. “T-that’s a bit—uh—extreme, isn’t it?” You rub the back of your burning neck. “I’m not even sixteen, Yoshi. You don’t understand love properly at sixteen!”

“I fell for my wife at thirteen,” he smiles. “It’s certainly not impossible.”

“That’s—look,” you protest, “that is entirely besides the point. The point,” you state, “is that is completely irresponsible for me to pursue a relationship with your son. Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t agree.”

“He cares for you. You know that. Who am I to decide who he does and does not pursue, especially when that person makes him happy?” He reaches for a worn kettle sitting between you two on a table, pouring its contents back into his teacup—you remember Leo telling you that it is technically called a yunomi. “I find love typically does no harm so long as it does not consume you. Moderation is key.”

You look up at him. “So, you don’t have any reservations about it?”

He takes another drink. “I wouldn’t say that. He is my son, after all. In truth,” he admits, “I was more concerned that my sons would never experience what I did than anything. Given the circumstances of our existence, I’m sure you can understand my wish to give them a relatively normal, happy life.”

You sigh. “I guess, yeah.” You adjust your blanket again. ‘Seems counterintuitive, teaching them the art of murder, but I guess that’s his normal.’ “That’s just a generally good parenting thing though, right? I’d hope you’d want that even if you weren’t a giant rat and they weren’t anthropomorphic turtles.”  

A parent. He is talking to you like one might speak to their kid.

“I suppose so,” he nods. “It’s been difficult, but we’ve certainly come a long way over the years.”

The screeching of tires pierces the still air, the chattering of his four sons bouncing off the concrete walls.

You strain to hear what they are saying. “I never noticed that there was an echo in here. It’s less noticeable than in the tunnel.”

“That’s by design,” he explains. “I’ve made something of an effort to dampen it.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” You set the yunomi on the table. You sigh, holding your breath and downing your now gross, cool tea in three quick gulps. “I hate to cut this short,” you lie, wiping your mouth with your sleeve and tottering to your feet, “but I’ve gotta check to make sure everything went smoothly on their mission and adjust my timetable accordingly.”

He nods, deciding not to point your tell out. “I won’t keep you, then. Would you like to borrow my cane?”

This is not the first time he has offered. You, of course, refuse.

“Oh well. I thought I’d offer.” He sets his cup down, staying seated. “It has been pleasant talking with you, Y/N.”

“Likewise, Mr. Hamato.” You nod once in acknowledgment, hopping over to the door and slipping out into the hallway.

Your stomach churns at the stench coming from the lab—you can smell the gasoline. You lean against the wall, making a pointed effort not to eavesdrop and rapping your knuckles against the door. Their voices immediately lower to hisses and someone drags the door open.

“Hey,” Mikey beams. “We were just talking about you. Need somethin’?”

“Just is an over-exaggeration.” There is a considerable amount of protest as Donnie pulls him away from the door with an uncomfortable edge to his voice. “P-please, come in.”

A beaten DIY van sits pathetically on the subway track, looking not dissimilar to a burnt, crushed soda can from where you stand. The once hot pink graffiti has most certainly seen better days, and you squirm at the thought of the sound it must have made if you understand the situation properly. Raphael, who you glance at out of the corner of your eye, looks similarly beat up. Of course, you are not going to say anything because you value your life.

You whistle, smiling incredulously. “So,” you try not to laugh, “I take it you took on the cucaracha.”

“Made it my bitch is what I did,” boasts Raphael. “Shot it with a laser.”

“Cool, cool.” You chuckle at his excitement. “You take care of the egg?”

Is there a better sight than watching the light in someone’s soul die? You would hesitantly say no. “The what?”

“Right outside the building,” you elaborate. “On the side of the road. Looks like a horrifying imitation of an orbee?’

He takes a slow, deep breath, holds it, exhales. “I’ll be right back,” he says calmly, and sprints out of the lair.

Michelangelo laughs. “Were you being serious or are you messing with him?”

“Serious.” You readjust the blanket, trying to subtly figure out how to breathe without being assaulted by the mechanical smell. “I won’t joke about that sort of thing. It’s cruel.”

He hesitates. “… speaking of, are you alright? I didn’t get to ask before.”

The other two are quietly watching the interaction with an odd amount of intensity.

You shrug. “I guess. Probably.”

“Alright,” he nods. “Just lemme know if you need to talk, alright? Donnie’s no—ow!”

“Don’t talk bad about people in front of them,” Leonardo criticizes. “It’s rude.”

“You called him special, like, four hours ago!”

“The word of the day is hypocrisy.” Donatello puts his hand down.

“Hypocrisy’s right” You rub Mikey’s shell reassuringly. “To be fair, though, Leo could honestly probably just dodge it anyway.”

He leans into it. “I guess,” he grumbles, shooting a look at Donatello. “Favoritism.”

“It’s strategic favoritism,” the tallest brother corrects. “It’s to encourage parti pris.”

“Cronyism,” you tease, grinning. “You mean cronyism.”

“Hey, I’m plenty qualified!”.  

You stifle a giggle as his face reddens, looking back over at the battered vehicle, raising an eyebrow.

“That was a team effort.”

“Yeah, okay, Hamato.” You blow a strand out of your face. “How long do you think it’ll take to fix?”

“Half a week? Maybe a bit less.” He looks back at it ruefully. “The spy roach completely jacked it.”

“Clearly.” You remove your hand, Mikey seemingly thoroughly comforted. “Then mind if I borrow a needle and thread so I can fix my jacket? I have school tomorrow.”

“Do you have the dexterity for that?” Leo crosses his arms across his chest absentmindedly.

“If I can hold a pencil,” you reason, “I can do basic stitching. ‘Sides, it’s only gotta hold until I get home.”

“I didn’t know you sewed.”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking now.”

Donatello pipes up again. “I really don’t mind—”

“Dude,” you reason, “you have to fix a whole ass van. I’ll manage.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket. “It’s a quarter to twelve. You won’t finish before midnight.”

“Then sucks to be me.” You shrug. “I’ll fix it here and walk home.”

He looks at you with a surprising amount of incredulousness. “It’s New York City.”

“You go out at night all the time,” you protest.

“I can carry you—”

Immediate panic. “Nah, I’m good!” You try to sound confident. “I walk home all the time, remember?”

“Not at midnight.”

“What’s a couple hours difference?” You would rather get attacked or kidnapped than fly over buildings again.

“A hundred-twenty minutes,” he states. “You know that crime is statistically more likely to happen at night, right?”

“That tracks. What’s different?”

“Violent crime peaks at midnight.”

Mikey butts in. “Why can’t she just go in the blanket? It covers enough.”

Donatello rolls his eyes. “Mikey,” he sighs, “she’s a teenage girl walking around with her torso covered by a single conspicuous quilt. Let’s use our heads here.”

It takes him a minute. “So you’re worried about her getting, like, attacked?”

“… were you paying attention to any of the conversation? Or the lesson we just learned?”

“Dude,” he protests, “when do I ever?”

“What, you mean the one where y’all learned to face your fears or the one where talking about people in front of them is rude?”

The bitter edge to your words is not lost on him. “Look,” he reasons with you, “I-I’m not saying you’re incapable of taking care of yourself—”

“You are, but that’s not the point.”

“Shut up, Mikey.” You are surprised he did not punch him, though, admittedly, you can hardly argue the point. “What I mean is that if you put yourself in harm’s way, you’re going to get hurt.” He nods at Leo. “He’s a really experienced fighter and even he gets overwhelmed if he goes out of his way to do something reckless and dangerous like Karai.” He spits out her name like it is poisonous.

“Since when have you had a thing against Karai?”

The eldest brother sighs. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

“Unimportant, and nope. Point is,” he continues, fingers twitching at his sides, “it doesn’t make sense to tempt fate.”

You open your mouth to argue. You close it again. He has an extremely valid point all things considered, especially considering everything that has been happening, and although you are completely certain about your stance on him carrying you home, you would be lying if you said the idea of stumbling home without your walker or shirt sounds very appealing.

“Then what exactly are you suggesting?”

He looks off. “I’m suggesting she stays the night, Leo.”

Mikey blinks. “What, in your room or on the couch?”

“It would be up to her.”

That works for you. “Your home. You pick. Where do you keep your sewing supplies?” You slip out of the circle the four of you have formed.

“On top of the bookshelf,” he points. “Behind the cardboard box.”

You nod, hopping over.

Mikey offers his two cents. “It makes more sense for you two to share a room. It’s kinda cold in the front room, and you guys’ll probably end up going to bed at around the same time anyways. She also has your blanket.”

You stand on your toes, fingertips brushing against a plastic container.

“That’s a fair point.” You catch it before it cracks open on the ground. “Training starts pretty early, so she should have time to grab her things before school.”

“See? Foolproof plan.”

“Would Master Splinter approve?”

“Leo,” you call over your shoulder, “he’s slept over at my house twice already. I really doubt he cares.”

“But we don’t know.”

“Then you can go ask him.” You turn around. “Where’s the jacket?”

“In the cardboard box.” Donnie starts towards the train wreck on the tracks.

You pull it down, taking your shirt and jacket and sitting down, crossing your bad leg under the one you can use, despite the nausea. ‘Exposure therapy.’ “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You glance up at Mikey, who crouches down next to you as Leo waves to his brothers and leaves. “You need anything?”

He shakes his head. “Just wanted to hang out with you is all,” he shrugs. “You didn’t go after Donnie.”

“I didn’t,” you nod in agreement.

“Why?”

“Because car.” You unlatch the box, carefully digging around inside for some pins. “That, and the smell is bad enough from over here.”

He crosses his legs in front of him. “That’s fair.” He taps his foot absentmindedly. “You think he knows?”

“I thought I made it pretty damn clear,” you shrug, “but it’s Donnie, so I wouldn’t bet on it.”

He grins at that. “Then do you wanna hang out while you work on that out front? He isn’t exactly talkative when he gets in the zone.”

You shake your head. “If I do, I won’t get much done,” you admit. You unwind a long portion of the thread, snapping it apart. “Besides, the only way to get over a fear is to face it head-on.”

“Alright.” He hops to his feet. “Thought I’d ask. Have fun.”

”Bet,” you mumble through a bit tongue, shaky fingers making threading the needle almost impossible. “You too.”

“See ya.” He waves, running out of the lab.

You let out a breath, picking a piece of loose wire off of a table and creating a poor imitation of a threader. While you genuinely enjoy talking with Michelangelo, you have some things to think over.

Clumsy fingers start on a running stitch. If your timetable still holds true—which, surprisingly enough, it has thus far—the episode after next’s plot will take place in about three weeks. Your cast is coming off in two. You do not know where and when The Kraang are coming through their portal, or if there is any way for you guys to know, but seeing as you are skipping the episode where the turtles get stuck in a labyrinth under the assumption that, without Baxter being bullied by the Shredder and his goons, he has no reason to construct it, you would tentatively estimate the next episode will happen in about a week. You are still fairly sure that Stockman will not get involved with the Shredder without his input until Oroku finally opens his eyes to the dangers and powers of the Kraang, which should happen around the same time as the next episode.

Your eyes glaze over as you get into the groove of it. ‘The next episode is also when the guys get on Karai’s shit list because they betray her, and, if that happens, the episode where the Shredder starts getting involved with the Kraang and comes to appreciate their resources." You prick your finger. ‘It wouldn’t be long after that before Saki gets the idea to create a mutant army, and with Baxter already somewhat on the villainous map, our best chance to make sure he doesn’t end up under his employment is to…’

You wipe the sticky liquid on your jeans, careful of the bandages on your back. ‘It’s not a guarantee that he even knows Baxter exists.’ Your eyebrows furrow in concentration as you try to keep the stitches separated at equal distances. ‘Hell, it’s not a guarantee he’s even alive. Still, it’s better to air on the side of caution and not think about how you’ll have to do it until the time comes.’

You let out a soft sigh. “I’ll buy a gun, when that happens,” you murmur to yourself. “Just want more time where bodily harm is all I have to deal with is all.”

 --

 You slide your poorly stitched jacket over your shoulders under the blanket, pulling your sleeves into place and zipping it up. After folding the blanket up and draping it over your arm, you pull yourself to your feet, hopping over to Donatello and his death trap as he sat down, looking over his work. “How’re the repairs comin’?”

The two of you have not spoken for the three hours it took you to repair the jacket, and significantly more progress has been made on his end than yours. At the very least, the generally rectangular frame was pounded back into submission.

He looks over at you, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and stifling a yawn. “Fine,” he sighs, looking back at the hulking mass of metal as you lower yourself down next to him. “It won’t blow up or anything if it’s driven, but it still needs another day’s worth of work to get it back to where it was before.” You nod along as he goes into more intimate detail, not understanding half of it, but happy to just listen to him talk resentfully about the whole process that you can tell he genuinely does not mind.

“Sounds like a time.” You rest your head on your good knee. “And you’re not gonna fix the graffiti?”

“It rubs off,” he shrugs. “Besides, it’s not exactly important to the design.”

Your head bends in a subtle nod, cheek numb from the pressure of your knee. “Are you going to sleep today?”

He shrugs. “Maybe? It wouldn’t be a bad idea.” His legs are almost crisscrossed in front of him, and he leans his weight back on his skinny, muscular arms. “I honestly don’t want to leave it alone, though. It would be weird to just leave it unfinished.

“Hardly, but alright.” You sit up for a moment, handing him back his quilt. “Thanks for giving me something to cover myself up with, and for not ditching me on a roof, and patching me up, and—I owe you, is what I’m getting at.”

He smiles tiredly. “Don’t worry about it, really,” he reassures you, his face flushing and muscles relaxing slightly. “You’ve made it up plenty.”

“I disagree. I’ve never saved your life.” You trace the fading lines on your cast his brother had left.

“I don’t think a ton of people would literally kill someone for me and my family,” he argues. “That’s pretty awesome, right?”

‘Not sure how I feel about framing murder as a positive thing.’ You do not say anything, looking back at his work.

He sighs. “You should go to bed,” he advises practically. “It’s getting late.”

“Never stopped you.” You straighten your legs. “I’ll go if you come with.”

“Tempting,” he teases with a sudden burst of confidence, hoping to his feet and outstretching his arm to help you up, “but what’s in it for me?”

Your face lights up as your face goes red at his borderline roguishness, taking his arm pulling yourself up. “For as much shit as you’re going to get for it,” you promise, pecking where his nose would be with an almost kittenish smile, “I’ll get up extra early, make everyone breakfast, and go topside for coffee.”

His face almost turns the shade of a human blush, forwardness gone in an instant. “C-can’t,” he stutters, clearly flustered. “When I was eleven, I got addicted to it and I’m not allowed to have any anymore.”

“Relatable,” you giggle. You blow the hair out of your face, comfortable as he helps you walk towards the door, the air between you two charged with electricity. “Is that for all caffeine or just coffee?”

He opens it for the two of you, ever the gentleman with the quilt over his shoulder. “Tea’s fine. Don’t bring tea down, though,” he quickly clarifies. “Leo’ll have a very inconspicuous fit.”

You blink curiously, looking up at him as he pulls you along. “Why?”

“It’s the one food thing he’s particular about,” he shrugs, not bothering to hide his gooey smile as you use his upper arm for support. “Couldn’t tell you why.”

“Are you particular about any foodstuff?”

“Not really?” He helps you up a few steps. “I’m not Mikey, but I don’t think I’m that picky about that sort of thing.”

“That’s fair.”

You do not let go of his arm to use the wall. You do not even think to if Donnie is reading your body language correctly. His smile widens as he opens the door for you.

You give a nod as thanks, lowering down onto the foot of his relatively narrow bed. “Alright,” you clap your hands together quietly as he sits next to you. “How do you wanna do this?”

You are sitting on his bed, willing, with no pretense other than sleeping getter. He is currently on cloud nine.

You look back at the frame. ”Too narrow for us to lay side by side,” you note. “You sleep on your front, meaning you will likely take up most of the room." You look between him and the bed, trying to imagine a position that would work. “You could lay on top of me, I guess, but then your legs would hang off the end.”

“I can sleep on my side,” he offers hurriedly. “If that makes things easier, I mean.”

“You sure?” Your fingers fumble with your shoelaces.

He nods eagerly. “S-so long as you still don’t mind being close to me, I mean. The bed’s still kinda narrow.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “We’ve slept together before,” you reason. “If you wanted to pull anything, you would’ve the other two times.”

He glances off, face still red. “Y-yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “That makes sense.”

You gesture to the bed. “Then,” you nod once, “so long as you’re comfortable, you lay down. I’ll work from there.”

He tentatively lays himself down, facing the wall, tensing ever so slightly as you lay behind him, legs curling up under his thighs.

You lay your arm under your head as a pillow, the other pulling the blanket over the two of you. “This work,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“Mhm,” he hums, covering his face with his hands. “We closed the door, right?”

You look back over. “Yup.”

“Locked it?”

“Seems so.”

He relaxes a bit. “Alright,” he nods, quietly reveling in the way your fingers, again, traced the indentations in his shell like the first night.

‘When I wake up tomorrow,’ he realizes, ‘she’ll be right there. Right behind me, in my bed. By choice.’ He smiles behind his fingers. ‘When we get older, maybe we could have our own place. Or our own room, more accurately, where she just lives with us. Imagine her moving in. If—no, when,’ he corrects himself, ‘we defeat The Shredder, if I ever get the nerve, I’ll ask her.’ He reaches his leg back, entangling it with yours carefully. ‘Would we have to get married first? No, you move in before you get married, right? I should’ve paid more attention during those movie marathons.’ He closes his eyes as you drift off, focusing on this train of thought. ‘How long do you need to be in a relationship before you get married? How would we get married, even? Legally, that would be impossible, right? I can’t go to a courthouse. And if we had a child—practically speaking, of course—would they live with us or go to a public school? We could give them a good education, I’m sure, but—’

You shift in your sleep, absently laying your arm over his side and pulling him closer.

He exhales, allowing himself to relax back into you. ‘Not tonight.’ He rests his hand on top of yours. ‘It’s too late, too soon.’ His thumb runs along the back of your hand, letting himself drift off in your arms.

‘It’ll be okay. We’ll last long enough to take it slow.’

Table of Contents

Chapter 13

Chapter 15

[lordofcrowns]

                                    ➤   “If I were to warn you, what would I say...?”

C A P T A I N  C Y R I L  S T A C Y

Cyril is highly defensive, hard to hit, and extremely quick to punish anyone that gets in his melee range. Melee to mid-range is where he’s the most dangerous, because that puts his opponent both within bullwhip range, and grabbing range. In combat, Cyril’s motive is always to subdue his adversary, not to kill. His goal is to force them to surrender, and he will employ whatever nefarious and cruel tactics he must in order to manage this swiftly. He will grapple, choke, bruise, beat and break bones without hesitation if he has to.

His bullwhip is the weapon he’s the most proficient and dangerous with, as well as being the weapon with which he can inflict the most pain and fear. Typically his whip is used for crowd control - it is most often utilized to halt someone’s retreat. It’s common for people to attempt to flee, only to be tangled up in the coils and yanked back into Cyril’s range. It’s common for individuals to suffer dislocated joints or snapped limbs when this happens, to say nothing of the way the whip cuts into the skin upon latching onto them.

Once someone is stunned, entangled, or otherwise slowed enough for Cyril to get a firm grasp, he can use his right hand to shock them and effectively paralyze them long enough to shackle or bind them. In most encounters, once he’s shocked someone, unless there is outside intervention - the fight between those two is over.

U N T O U C H A B L E

While it’s no secret the Captain keeps his right eye covered, the reason as to why widely remains a mystery. Those oblivious to his name and reputation will typically assume he lost that eye somehow, or perhaps that he keeps it covered as some sailors prefer to do, to allow for better sight in the darkness below decks as well as to sharpen one’s aim. Few ask, as it’s of course terribly rude to pry into such things.

Those who do know of him will often insist the covered eye is magic, a source of power and the very thing that renders him “untouchable”. Rumors often circulate that this magic eye is also the source of the crackling lightning that sparks and manifests from his right hand, allowing him to knock people down for the count so easily once he merely gets a hold of them.

As if to deliberately reinforce the frankly wild belief and ridiculous rumors that he is invincible, Cyril outwardly bears no scars nor marks on his body.

[ bold for often  //  italicize for situational  //  strikethrough for never ]

commander /  duelist / “honorable” / dishonorable / would have others do their fighting /  stealthy  / long-ranged / melee / technological / sorcery / superhuman abilities /  has fought in an illegal tourney / a lover of fighting / a hater of fighting  / cowardly / reckless / strategic / uses underhanded tricks  / renowned for their skill / trained ( sword and shield ) /  untrained / keeps skills secret / won a battle / lost a battle / ruthless / merciful

╳   F L A W S

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny | controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | liar | impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry | greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive | spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky

♔   S T R E N G T H S

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave | patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky | intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous | merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming | cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | loyal

Tagged by:  @whitherliliesbloom​​​ & @windupzenos​​​ ( Thank you both! )

Tagging: @verdandir​ @manawalls​ @finalvalor​ @noscean-scholar​ @wanderlust-spirits​ @cero-tia​ @menphinasbow​ @windup-dragoon​ @thebratcat​ @mystellis​ @reshaepocan​ @pearlescent-scales​ @bastets-ocs​ @alun-ura​ @finalsongxiv​ @amurr-reha​ @ennochian​ @mieyun​ @deviri​ @ashadowatthefork​ @unmend​ @candideangel​ @alinteau​ @sati-ffxiv​ @bolt-from-the-dark​ @ishgardianblossom​ @shroudblessings​ @sunnythanalan​​ @windupnamazu​ & anyone else interested!

[ I know I’m a bit late on this one, so no pressure & if you’ve already done it / been tagged - my apologies. Also, please feel free to use me as your tagger even if I didn’t mention you, I would love to read more of these! ]

Full stat breakdown & continued Cyril related ramblings under the cut:

C O M B A T  M O D E :  C A P T A I N  C Y R I L  S T A C Y

★★★★★★★★☆☆  —  STRENGTH ★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆  —  OFFENSE ★★★★★★★★☆☆  —  DEFENSE ★★★★★★★★★☆  —  SPEED ★★★★★★☆☆☆☆  —  DURABILITY ★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆  —  ACCURACY ★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆  —  AGILITY ★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆  —  STAMINA ★★★★★★★★★☆  —  TEAMWORK ★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆  —  STEALTH ★★★★★★★★★☆  —  MELEE ★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆  —  BLADES ★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆  —  BLUNT ★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆  —  RANGED ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆  —  MAGIC ★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆  —  TRAPS ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆  —  MEDIC & ★★★★★★★★★★  —  BULLWHIP

G E N T L E  D I S C L A I M E R : Cyril is written more akin to a thriller genre villain, sometimes teetering over into horror depending on the situation - while still being set in high fantasy. I just realize he might be a bit much, perhaps too dark or violent, depending on your preferred entertainment genre / expectations, so please consider this a soft warning if that’s not something you enjoy!

O V E R V I E W   [ C O N T I N U E D ] :

When in a fight, Cyril typically will come across collected, poised and honestly rather cocky. Cyril is something of an expert at breaking people’s morale and shattering their confidence, and that kind of behavior on his part often starts the very moment he and an opponent, or potential opponent, meet. Cyril will insult, belittle, talk down to, and make a great display of pity towards his adversary - this usually includes offering them ample opportunities to surrender to him before things get bloody.

In the inevitability that someone refuses to surrender, he’ll then dare them to prove themselves to him, which he will equate to proving themselves worthy of autonomy. Cyril will demand their attention and effort, and rather playfully jeer at them the whole time, especially if they seem distracted in any way [ say, for example, if he’s holding their loved one(s) hostage ]. That, however, is typically only his behavior at a distance, or as the fight begins and the two are getting a feel for one another.

Once a fight picks up, and especially once Cyril’s genuinely in melee range - you can expect him to start pushing and forcing himself into his opponent’s personal space. Definitely a byproduct of his confidence, but also typically something he can get away with due to sheer size and strength. He’ll grab, grope, and try to get people into uncomfortable holds they can’t easily wriggle out of. Choke-holds are common, whether he’s wrapped his arm about their neck from behind, or simply clasped his hand about their throat. Getting up in someone’s space may also mean pinning them to the wall, or pinning them down on the ground - he’s skilled at grappling and comfortable with either. It’s also common, both as a way to disorient as well dishearten, for Cyril to slap an opponent if he sees an opening. Usually a slap in the face is paired with an insult - maybe they let their guard down, maybe their footwork is poor - whatever it may be, Cyril will capitalize on any chance to humiliate his opponent.

In addition to getting uncomfortably close, one can expect him to snarl, shout, curse, and even growl at his opponents. Words may still be exchanged, but instead of playful banter one might instead hear whispered threats or extremely dark insinuations and other foul comments. It starts to sound like he’s finished being playful, though that isn’t necessarily the case. After all, he usually treats people like playthings, and encounters are often a game played at his leisure. Cyril likes to scare people, and he likes to see their reactions. He also just so happens to be entirely too willing to make good on any threat he whispers.

At his worst, if an opponent refuses to go down, or say his temper is getting the better of him - Cyril’s restraint will falter and he’ll start being unnecessarily violent. His temper is notoriously fickle, so whether his reaction is appropriate for the encounter he lashes out in or not is hard to say. He has a history of beating people bloody - be it with his whip, his body, or both - until they pass out. Cyril has kicked and crushed people under his boot hard enough to shatter bones and crack ribs, as well as doubtless inflicting many a concussion slamming people against this or that structure. His temper boiling over to such a degree as to see such behavior is rare... but not as rare as it should be.

O U T   O F  C H A R A C T E R  N O T E S :

Cyril is written to be a powerful and ideally ( if I’m doing my job right ;; ) terrifying villain to go up against. He’s supposed to feel impossible to overpower, coupled with losing to him of course having massive & heavy repercussions - both for a hero / heroine and for that individual’s loved ones. I really wanted him to be scary and unforgivable.

While not invincible in any way, he would like to have others believe he is. Therefore, he invests no small amount of effort into selling that invincible image, with a generally rather high success rate. Rumors abound of an “untouchable” Captain Stacy, who boasts no scars and loses no duel. Which... it’s true he’s not yet lost a duel, but why that is can be written about another time.

I’ve written Cyril to intentionally be a villain that someone cannot simply overpower with brute force. Winning against Cyril is going to take strategy, forethought, and ultimately in some cases, stooping to his level or even flirting with a diplomatic relationship. He is a pirate, after all, pirates love to parley.

He’s generally meant to put a hero / heroine in a difficult position, where they’re forced to make decisions and do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do in order to defeat him, because again - simply overpowering him is not going to work. And at the same time, he cannot just be ignored or avoided, because his trade and his tendencies are too cruel and intrusive to cast a blind eye towards. Morally, he cannot be allowed to continue what he does, and someone has to put an end to it. I wanted to make him a villain that challenged heroes on a deeper level than just physical strength.

At least, all of that is what I hope for when I write him. Did I succeed? Who knows. 

Thank you for reading! 🌹

[cross-d-a]

Why Anakin is still the Chosen One

Here are some tired thoughts before I go to sleep:

Anakin literally tells Rey to bring balance to the Force like he once did. He defeated Palpatine in episode VI and brought balance then. Yeah, Palpatine apparently lived but that doesn't mean Anakin didn't bring balance.

Ever since Force Awakens I can't help but think that this whole sequel trilogy is an allegory for our current political state, specifically: Neo-nazism. The Empire is modeled after Nazis. There's no question. Fascist totalitarianism wrapped up in a genocidal Empire?? Yeah, no thanks.

But then we've got the First Order. They're trying to revive past ideals, trying to revive the Empire. They're a whole mix of people: born into a fascist family like Hux, original Empire loyalists like Pryde, children stolen and brainwashed into it like the stormtroopers-- racism and hate comes from a lot of different backgrounds (it can be taught, it can be learned), but they all tend to latch onto certain beliefs and political structures. It helps the First Order that (from what I can tell) the New Republic was a copy of the first. From the prequels it's easy to tell that it's a broken system. The Empire didn't just spring up out of nowhere. Palpatine was a crafty son of a bitch but even he couldn't sway billions upon billions of people to his side. Those feelings of hate and prejudice and greed had to already exist- Palpatine just took advantage of it and stoked the flames (not even gonna go into real world parallels here).

There is a reason why I'm talking about this. I'm talking about Anakin, who was raised a slave. Who was already a victim of hate and all the evils in the galaxy because he was a SLAVE. A little boy who only wanted to help people, who wanted to break the system that allowed him and the rest of his people to suffer. Then he was freed and thrust into a position of privilege within the system that made it possible for Anakin to be born a slave. And there he was, told over and over that he was the Chosen one. That he must bring balance. But it wasn't the kind of balance he sought since he was a little boy. I think Anakin just wanted everyone to be equal, and the kind of balance the Jedi believed in didn't necessarily mirror that since they were an integral part of the Republic.

But I digress.

I'm bringing up Anakin's childhood in slavery (and arguably, his whole life of slavery) because Anakin is was folded into this Nazi-like Empire which went against everything that he believed in as a child. Everything his mother believed in. Palpatine and the Empire twisted him and yes I love Anakin to death and he is such a victim of circumstance (and he is such a nuanced, interesting character), but he did some pretty terrible things as Darth Vader. He became everything that he ever wanted to fight against.

And then he said no.

He watched Palpatine torture his son. He watched Palpatine try it use his son. And we all know how much Anakin values family. Anakin chose to end fhat circle of hate and suffering. He was the first one to stand his ground and save the person he loved and actually succeed- and with that action he became the catalyst for defeating the Empire.

The thing about Anakin is that he has always been the catalyst. His birth was a seemingly impossible thing. The Jedi discovering him set in motion both Palpatine's plan and the Jedi's defeat. And then Palpatine's eventual destruction.

I'm not discounting every single other person in the Star Wars universe who has suffered or fought for what is right (shout out to Ezra 'spark of the rebellion' Bridger). But there is no doubt that without Anakin we would not have a Star Wars series. Everything revolves around him, whether it's believing he's the chosen one, believing he is the villain we must defeat, or knowing he is someone we must live up to and emulate.

Without Anakin's sacrifice, without him remembering what's truly important (family, love, freedom), the Empire would not have been defeated. Luke would have died. Leia probably, too. Palpatine would have utterly destroyed the galaxy (maybe we'd see some actual Dark!Rey way down the line). Anakin stood up, stood his ground and said No.

The real reason why Anakin is the Chosen One is because he IS that catalyst. Because he did rise from oppression and servitude and had the strength to say No.

I'm going to bring up the Neo-Nazism again: the New Republic rose up to replace the Republic. The First Order rose up to emulate the Empire. I would argue that the First Order became so powerful because the structures that allowed the Empire to rise in the first place still existed.

Yoda says in the original trilogy: There is another. (Yeah you know what like I'm talking about) You could argue that it's Leia (it certainly meant to be at the time). You could argue that it's baby Yoda (my boy!!). But I would argue that it is the next generation.

You see, you can't just defeat evil once and be done with it. We certainly hoped we would when WWII ended, but the fight is never done. Neo-Nazis still exist. Terrible, terrible people still exist. And maybe it's learned, maybe it's passed down through the family-- you can learn to hate in a lot of different ways. The structures that allowed Nazis to rise up like they did still exist today. We still face racism and homophobia and anti-Semitism. The battle is not over.

That's why I think these sequel movies are important (despite my problems with it, but I won't go into that here). I would love to think that after episode VI everyone lived a happily ever after. There was no more evil, no more suffering and slavery and thoughtless killing. But it doesn't work like that. Even though that's the ending I want, even though that's the ending I sometimes need-- every generation faces its own threat. Its own call to the past.

I have my own confused reservations about Rey parentage, but I adore that she rejects the legacy of hate. We see what she is capable of. We see that (just like Anakin) she could give in to what she thinks is the lesser of two evils. (It's okay as long as the people I love get to live, right?') We see that she is fully capabale of it even. She struggles with it, much more (I would argue) than either of the other two movies. She struggles to reject that part of herself and she struggles to acknowledge that she is born from that legacy (as so many would). Who would be proud to know they came from a family of Nazis? Not many people I hope.

And maybe it's because her parents chose to "be no one" that she is able to find the strength to think "maybe I don't have to go down this path." I would love to know more about her parents and how they chose to completely defy expectations, but I'll content myself for now with this:

Rey chose to reject the legacy of hate, and instead followed Anakin's own defiance. She's choosing her own legacy: combatting of hate and violence. Embracing love and hope. Learning from the mistakes of the past.

In a way, Ben Solo is right: let the past die. We must destroy the hatred and intolerance of our past. We must tear down the structures our forefathers put in place that allowed this hatred to arise and take over the galaxy. But he's also wrong. We have no way to know how to be better than our forefathers if we don't remember their mistakes. If we don't remember what they fought for and believed in. That's why "a thousand generations live within [Rey] now." She chose to follow the legacy of love and hope that the Jedi embody. And yes, the Jedi have their own problems, but that doesn't change the fact that they did their best to fight for what they thought was right. And, this is something to remember:

Yoda said: We are what they grow beyond.

Luke and Leia continued on that legacy of hope where Anakin and Padmé and Obi-Wan were unable to continue. They succeeded where those three failed. And, I hope, Rey (and Finn and Poe) will be able to succeed where Luke and Leia and Han couldn't. Where the Jedi couldn't.

It's up to everyone that comes after us to remember where they came from and discover how to grow beyond where we failed.

And now I'm back to where I began: Anakin. He tells Rey to bring balance to the Force like he once did. We hear many other voices (Luke's, Yoda's, Ahsoka's, even Kanan's and Ayala Secura's), but to me Anakin's was by far the most prominent. I love that we hear Obi-Wan's voice first ("These are your final steps"), and perhaps this is a parallel to Obi-Wan trying to call Anakin back to the light so many years ago. But Anakin's is so prominent. Ben and Rey are extremely important each other (and there is so much to unpack there), but Anakin's final push is what gives Rey strength and hope.

Anakin reminds Rey of the past. He reminds Rey that He broke free from that cycle of hate and that she can, too. Anakin is so, so important. He's the prime example that you can end the hate. End the violence. You don't have to be a Nazi like your shitty grandfather.

"Be with me. Be with me," she repeats over and over and over again. She trying to connect with the past. She's trying to understand her position in the universe. And she does, once she accepts her heritage. Once she accepts where she came from. And Anakin is there to help her take those final steps.

This whole sequel trilogy is about legacy. It's about repeating the mistakes of the past. It's about desperately trying to live up to expectations and failing them. It's about desperately trying to forget where you come from and trying to find yourself amidst the echoes of a chaotic past.

And, as always with Star Wars, it's about finding hope in the darkest of places. It's about love and family and saving the people who can't save themselves. This is the legacy that Anakin Skywalker left behind when he saved Luke from Palpatine, and this is the legacy that will continue to be remembered for every generation to come after that.

So Anakin Skywalker is still the Chosen One. He's that bright little slave boy who grew up twisted and lonely and got beaten into submission, yet still found the strength to claw his way back to the light. We all have that strength within ourselves to be better people, and now Rey can carry on that lesson and pass it down from generation to generation.

[heartbreak-of-a-marauder]

Rogue (3)

Title: The Impossible Girl

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Words: 3306

Note: It’s been a long old while but I’ve finally finished my dissertation! University is officially over for me!! It took me a while to work on this part I’m still not super happy with it, I hope you like it. Taglist is open, previous parts are linked below. Let me know what you think!

y/n = you name y/h/c = your hair colour y/f/n = your first name y/l/n = your last name

<- 3 ->

~*~*~*~*~

Age 18

The frigid night air steals the breath from your lungs before you can inhale, wispy white puffs of smoke form as you release another lungful. An invisible band seemingly tightens around your chest making you breathe shallower. Your feet hammer furiously against the mist-covered ground not feeling the stones or twigs that puncture and tear at your skin. The muscles in your legs are beginning to burn, begging for a reprieve; instead, you push harder. A shiver passes over you causing the hairs on the back of your neck to raise, the compulsion of self-preservation increases tenfold.

The thin night shift you wear billows behind you, it provides no protection from the icy temperatures. Your y/h/c hair swishes from side to side past your shoulders, smaller strands that had escaped your plait sneak round to whip at your skin or stick to your face. Roughly, you push the strands away knotting them in the process. You didn’t have time for this. Tears begin to form as you continue to run, blinking you force them out leaving wet trails down your cheeks, yet still, you don’t stop.   

Something was out there in the dark, lurking in the mist. You could feel it following you. The adrenaline of the flight reflex descends on every other thought in your brain. ‘Nothing else matters’ it seems to say. What it is, where you were, how you got here. None of it mattered anymore, you simply had to keep going. 

But what?

You register a burst of pain in your toes just as the world flips on its side. You crash forward, your knee makes painful contact with the ground first as layers of skin rip against the abrasive stone. Your hands, arms and elbows follow suit when you try to catch yourself. Despite your attempts your head makes contact too, the darkness around you explodes with spots of flashing light as your brain rattles inside your skull.

‘Keep going’ drifts around you, carried along with the delicate curls of mist. 

The palms of your hands sting as you push yourself back up onto your feet. Your knee aches in protest at the movement, the skin already beginning to tighten and swell. ‘Go’ a voice from inside commands. You step forward with your injured leg but pain shoots up your leg as your knee gives way. You pant trying to catch your breath, summoning the courage to get up and try again. For some reason you had to, every impulse seemed to be overpowered by the need to keep running.  

Warm. 

That’s what it felt like. 

You risk a look down at the toes on your right foot. A darkness deeper than the night sky had attached itself to you, it was small and unmoving but you could feel its warmth and the way it pulsed. Your hand trembles as you reach out to brush it away. The heat intensifies as soon as your fingers make contact, the blob seems to surge to life crawling up your foot; engulfing you in darkness. You swipe frantically at it trying to get it off, you fingernails scrape your skin but still, it grows. 

“Help! Someone Help!” You call into the surrounding quiet.

Panicked whimpers escape you as the darkness ascends your body, the pulsing sensation became more of a throb with every inch it climbed yet still you couldn’t get it off. The darkness was unaffected by your attempts of prising it off, when it rose above your hip you resort to more abrasive methods using the skirt of your shift you rub furiously at your skin.

“Please!” You scream, a strangled sob catches in your throat when it starts on your arms. 

“y/n?” a distorted voice drifts from somewhere but you don’t dare look away from the darkness.

You wipe down your arms trying to push the darkness back, trying to slow it down, but the darkness holds no consideration for your feelings. Your breathing comes in short, sharp pants as it reaches your shoulders. Dizziness, heat and the throbbing of power consumed you while tears fall freely from your eyes.

“Mother! Loki! Allfather! Someone help me please!” you call desperately, when it disappears out of sight.

“y/n!” the voice calls again, it sounds closer, more familiar now but you can't concentrate enough to place it.

“No, no, no, no-“ you mutter feeling the heat begin to lick your skin as it weaves its way through your roots.

“Mother!” a final scream rips through you, hurting your throat. “Save me! Save-“ 

“y/n!” You are jolted awake, your eyes frantically scan your candlelit bed-chamber expecting to see the same eery gloom of the dream. Your eyes finally land on your mother, her features morphed in concern as she grips onto your shoulders. 

You waste no time latching onto her in a vice-like hold, burying your face in her chest you breathe in your mother's familiar smell. It keeps you grounded, reminding you it was just a bad dream. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t hurt you, you were safe. Your mother cradles you in return. Peeking your head over your mother's shoulder you wrinkle your nose at the sickly sweet tang in the air, it was stronger again tonight. Your eyes adjust to the dim glow allowing you to see scorch marks and cracks that marred your -. Every day it got worse, spreading further, doing more and you didn’t know what was causing it. 

It had all started a few days after your sixteenth birthday. At first, you would just be running endlessly through the gloom, knowing something was stalking you in the mist. It would leave you drenched in a cold sweat, your y/h/c would be tangled and stuck to your neck and forehead. The clothes would stick to your body, the bedsheets wrapped around you, trapping you. When you removed your clothes and cleaned yourself off you would catch the sickly sweet scent for just a second. 

By seventeen the nightmares became more frequent, but they had begun to change, you knew what had been chasing you, what had struck so much fear into your heart. As your seventeenth year went on the darkness was starting to win, you had stopped being able to outrun it, and with each dream, it consumed more and more of you. You would wake up terrified, squinting into the darkness, paranoid the horror of the dream had followed you. Eventually, you would manage to go back to sleep. Though it was never peaceful. 

You wouldn’t notice the damage until the morning when the sun had risen, casting beams of light through the gap in your curtains. Your bleary eyes would look around the room, the world coming into focus as you rub the last remnants of sleep away. Your eyes widen as you scan the walls of your bedroom, the pictures, the diagrams, the paintings, the edges of every image of childhood memory was singed. Panicked, you tore them all down, stashed them away from sight. 

Buried. 

Never to be seen again. 

You would shiver to wonder what you’re mother would do should she ever find them. It only got worse from there. The destruction became more noticeable, more widespread. Your mother was beginning to notice things going missing, trinkets, ornaments. At times you were afraid to close your eyes, you knew what came with the dark. You would force yourself to stay awake, teetering on the edge of oblivion until exhaustion took over. You began to dread sleep. The destruction was undeniable, you were no longer able to hide it, so you did the only thing you could think to do. Lock it away.

Your mother disapproved greatly of your secrecy but soon gave up trying to convince you otherwise. She accepted it as a phase of your youth hoping you would grow out of it. She would always mutter on about how she was once a young girl going through womanly changes. While it was true, it wasn’t the only thing. The world around you was changing too. During your classroom conversations, your mother had sometimes mentioned that Asgard was being rocked by some unexplained phenomena. The quaking that had once been unnoticeable shudders lasting for less than a second was now more pronounced. 

The Allfather had apparently tasked a team of senior advisers to survey all of Asgard to find the source. They were to search high and low; never to stop until the source was found and dealt with. As of yet, that had come up empty-handed. 

_ _ _ _ _ _

The recipe for ‘Draught of Sleep’ had become a staple in your knowledge as you grew up. While you felt bad for every time you used it on your mother – praying to whoever may listen for forgiveness – it became a welcomed method of escaping the monotony of your routine in isolation. On a few occasions, you had run into Prince Loki, or rather he had stumbled across you. 

He never seemed to change. The tall, raven-haired prince was as handsome as ever, the last time the two of you had met he had outgrown his boyish charm. It had been replaced by something more manly. No doubt a result of the adventures he had been on with his brother Thor and the Warriors Three. However, there were some things about Loki that would never change like the way his eyes glinted with mischief or the way the corners of his mouth would quirk upwards when he grinned. You were always grateful for his friendship but you envied him in a way, the same was a caged bird envied those who were free to soar in the skies.

You sat in a secluded garden, enjoying the late autumn sunshine. It was ideal for you as it was just a stone's throw away from your chambers and hidden well enough that no one would stumble on it by accident. Loki had shown it to you in the spring while he had been bragging about knowing lots of little secrets about Asgard. 

The rays of the sun were comforting against your skin, making you feel warm. You scrunch your brow slightly concentrating even more on the sentence you had already read five times previously but it was no us the words weren’t making much sense. You sigh, rubbing the back of your hand against your forehead. After last nights nightmare, you had been too afraid to go back to sleep and exhaustion was setting in. blinking once more you attempt the sentence again, this time feeling your heavy eyelids begin to lull closed. Shifting your position on the stone bench you try to wake yourself up a little more, you didn’t want to fall asleep. You couldn’t fight it anymore.

‘Five minutes won’t be long enough for a nightmare’ you think hopefully as you let your eyes slide closed. 

It doesn’t toy with you this time. The chase is shorter, it already knows how terrified you are part of you wonders if it enjoys how frightened you are. When it does catch you, it wastes no time in beginning its journey up your body. In every other nightmare you had had, its ascent was slow and deliberate. This time you barely had enough time to comprehend that it had attached itself to you before it started moving. 

You could hear a distant rumble echoing through the bleak mist, but it was overpowered by your screams and pleas for help. Why weren't you waking up? Every other time you had managed to wake up before it had consumed you completely. This time you didn’t, the dream would not surrender you so easily. 

“y/n!” a voice shouts, it is muffled but you can hear the panicked edge.

You could feel the earth rattle beneath you like a rag of angry horses were stampeding. In an instant, it grows to something deeper, more ferocious. What had started as a rumble now roared all around you. You hear your name echo around you once more but it is smothered by the noise. 

“y/n!” Your eyes fly open to making contact with a set of familiar green. His hands ghost over your body, his eyes follow the movement scanning you. Your eyes focus on his hand as it wraps around your wrist with ease, you frown slightly noticing the coating of grey dust on the sleeve of his normally pristine tunic.  

“Loki? What- I don’t... what is happening?” Your body moves on autopilot as Loki pulls you with him, your mind still a few steps behind you. Somewhere around you, you hear the sound of pebbles skipping over the stone and another person's heart-wrenching cries.

“It was another earthquake, it brought down part of the east wing, I thought, I-” Loki jerks you towards him, before wrapping his arms tightly around you. The dust on his clothes makes your nose itch.

“The east wing?” you ask pushing out of his hold. The east wing housed your chambers. Now you were truly awake. 

“Was anyone hurt? Was my mother, where- mother, I-is she alright?” you stumble over your words, your mind working faster than you can speak.

 Loki’s fingers tighten on the fabric of your dress he can still reach, it keeps you close. He doesn’t answer your question. His normally bright features morph into a look of sadness giving you an answer. 

“It's alright, I’ve got you,” Loki soothes pulling you back for another hug. “I will keep you safe,”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You didn’t remember much of what happened next. If someone were to ask you how you had gotten into one of the royal chambers you wouldn’t have been able to tell them. Royal handmaids worked quietly and quickly to clean the dust from your skin and rubble from your hair. None of them spoke to you. None of them looked you in the eye as they gently dabbed away the tears that leaked from your eyes. When they had finished their work, healers escorted you to their work station. They did not speak either. You stared up at the ceiling as they worked, talking in hushed whispers to one another. You didn’t understand what they were looking for, as far as you knew you had not been injured during the quake. 

You did not find solace in the quiet if anything it created a vast breeding ground for feelings of guilt and self-loathing. Why did you have to be so selfish? Why did you need to give your mother the ‘Draught of Sleep’ today of all days? Would it have changed things? - would she still be here?

That last thought stuck with you, you let it burrow deep in your heart; scarring it. A constant reminder that your only family in life was gone. 

Lost if grief, you didn’t hear the clinking movement of Asgards soldiers. One of them bent over you, his mouth moved but the words sounded like and meant nothing to you. Another seized your arm and pulled you from the examining table. They held a tight formation as they led through the castle, you could only see flashes of your surroundings when their shoulders jostled apart. The once brilliant glittering gold of the palace had dimmed somehow. Sorrow had settled everywhere. 

You were presented to the Allfather in the throne room. The show of power had seemed excessive, was this how the King normally expressed his sympathies? Gathering your thoughts together you raise your gaze to Odin. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when you meet his stoic, stormy eyes. It didn’t take a genius to work out that something was wrong. You notice a small group of men gathered on either side of the dais, perhaps they were his team of advisers. 

Hands clasped. Worried expressions. 

Good.

Their king was displeased with them, they had failed to find the cause of the earthquakes at the expense of Asgardian lives. They should fear his ire. 

“You are positive?” Odin looks to a man on his left, the rotund old man with rosy cheeks simply nodded in affirmation. “Very well,” Odin replies gravely.

“y/f/n y/l/n, do you know why you have been summoned here today?” The Allfather leans forward on his knees, sounding more like a disappointed parent than a king.

Your y/h/c hair sways past your shoulders as you shake your head in response. 

“An independent investigation conducted into the recent geological phenomena plaguing Asgard has found you, and you alone responsible,”

Your eyes bulge in disbelief, you attempt to step closer to the Allfather but the guards flanking your sides grip your shoulders, stopping you.

“Me?” you breathe incredulously. “How could I, w-why would I? My mother is dead and I am the accused?!” the guards now hold you by your arms too, keeping you in place.

“For this crime, you are charged with reckless endangerment to life and accidental manslaughter,” he motions to a nervous-looking gentleman on his right who brings forth two golden bands sitting on a red velvet cloth. 

“No!” you argue desperately. “It was not me! I swear on my ancestors, Allfather, please! I was not responsible for this,” you rush, voice rising with every syllable. Your eyes follow the bracelets as they get closer. 

“Enough!” Odin bellows, silencing your ranting. “It has been decided to protect the good people of Asgard, you shall be bound forevermore by the bracelets of Sindri,”

The guards flanking you push down on your shoulders when you don’t submit one of them bumps the back of your knee forcing you into a kneeling position. You thrash against them as they hold you still, allowing the sweaty advisor to deposit the bracelets onto your wrists. Still fighting, you watch as the bracelets glow in an ancient language before shrinking down to fit snugly against your skin. The metal that looked hot enough to burn when it glowed is as cold as ice. 

“You cannot do this to me Allfather! I did nothing wrong!” Your head whips towards the Allfather again. The bracelets glow once more and you notice Odin’s frown deepen. 

“y/f/n y/l/n, through the uncontrolled forces you possess you have opened this peaceful realm and the innocent lives that reside in it, to horror and death.” Frantically you shake your head, the bracelets on your wrists glow brighter.

“You have betrayed those you love, and those who loved you. I have taken from you your power, in the name of my father, and his before,” A mystical wind rushes past you, making you squint to keep your eyes fixed on Odin, as you do colours that remind you of the Bifrost begin to dance behind him, they pick up in speed swirling faster; it's difficult to keep your eyes open.

“I, Odin Allfather, cast you out,” 

An unseen force hits you squarely in the chest forcing you backwards, you brace yourself for the impact against the floor, it never comes. Instead, you keep falling, you scream and wonder if anyone will hear you. The feeling of weightlessness making you feel nauseous. Cracking open an eye your senses are assaulted by the bright colours of the Bifrost's transportation. 

Just as you feel like you’re going to fall forever, your back collides with solid ground, knocking the air out of your lungs. Rolling to your side you cough and gasp for breath. Your fingers dig into damp soil, an earthy smell invades your nose. Your vision still swims around you, black begins to rim your sight. You head feels like it weighs a ton as you raise it to look out across the expanse of green. 

Where had he sent you?

The distant sound of water sloshing was the last thing you remembered before you succumbed to darkness.

TAGLIST: @hellethil  @icunee @bloatedandlonly @khadineberry @abrunettefangirlnerd @whothehellsbucky @dark-night-sky-99 @nonsensicalobsessions  @batsdothings @crazymclazy @shesakillerkween @nxts-xsf @alwaysincaffeinatedstate   

[obutsuwrites]

Play with Fire (dabi x reader, pt. 2)

Summary: Dabi tilted his head, his earrings illustrated by the early sun. A snarl now planted on his features.

“Brat.”

warnings: vaginal fingering, omorashi

part one

word count: 2,053

my ao3 for more shitposts

my inbox open 4 requests or wateva~!

The ritual had, indeed, worked. The fruit of the woman’s labor stood before her; a fire demon known as the Dabi. However, the website didn’t prepare for his sarcastic edge. Every word a veiled insult, the demon akin to a schoolyard bully. Dabi had explained the options available to the woman. He was quarantined to the living room. The ash was his prison. 

“You can break the original circle to free me.” Dabi revealed his teeth, a set of razor fangs in between a red tongue. The demon itched for anarchy. The world of humans was a realm he neglected, preferring the netherworld. A place of debauchery and sin, the woman was told. 

Curious orbs observed the demon, her eyes occasionally fixed upon his horns. So cold, so soft. The thought caused a light flush of crimson. 

“They’re horns,” he deadpanned, obviously annoyed by the woman’s blanant interest. “A brat such as yourself isn’t touching them again.” 

She ignored his teasing. “I read online you’ll trick me. I let you out, and Dabi throws the world into fire and brimstone.” The woman had operated on the assumption the ritual would be a failure. She only wanted witness fires started with no accelerant. Well, and the burning wildfire of a house ablaze. The little things in life.

Dabi laughed, a deep rumbling vibrated from him. He stood across the room, the demon believing himself to be above human furniture. Soot foot prints followed him. By all means, fuck up my floor more. 

“I conjure fire. I’m not a fairy.” He caught her glance; his lips twisted into a smirk. His fangs threatened exposure. “You like what you see?” The absolute bastard thought she was checking him out? 

Crimson flooded the woman’s cheeks. The flush now noticeable as heat began to radiate from her. She had to admit, the demon before her boasted lean muscles, but had the personality of coal. He was rude, sarcastic.

“Your horns look like shit.” 

☼

The rest of the weekend fell into a blur. The fire demon known as Dabi roamed the living room, apathetic hands digging through human trinkets. This annoyed the woman, but felt like a small price in exchange for the brilliant displays of fire. Fireballs localized to her living room. Blue flames that enticed her. 

☼

It was Monday. She was groggy, clearly not a morning person. The woman stepped out of her bedroom; the light scent of smoke lingered in the living room. A reminder of her new guest. 

“I’m not your personal lighter. You want to let me out,” Dabi reasoned. A fire demon now demoted to a sentient cigarette lighter. The woman only called out to him when she was in need of a light or wanted to destress through flames licking at paper. She now kept printer paper around for this very reason. Every fire almost scratching the itch of an uncontrollable blaze. 

The woman blinked away sleep, Dabi’s form coming into focus. 

“Who says you aren’t? Dabi, you said I could do whatever I want,” she yawned. Feelings of arousal were stuffed inside her. The demon had a large enough ego; he didn’t deserve to see a mewling mess as he conjured an inferno. Tired hands clenched. The thought of Dabi’s devilishly handsome features set against a pyre was an occasional guilty fantasy.  

Dabi tilted his head, his earrings illustrated by the early sun. A snarl now planted on his features.

“Brat.”

She ignored his insult. The woman focused on her morning routine. Not owning a car meant carpooling. An activity the young salary woman hated. Strangers occupying such a small space should be filed under torture. 

A soft voice echoed from the bathroom. “I’ll be home late, going to attend a bonfire. Don’t go through my shit again.” Since acquiring the demon, the woman would return home to the living room in chaos. Cabinets opened, the contents thrown across the room. Boredom was dangerous for Dabi. Little fire rat.

“Whatever.” 

☼

The intoxicated woman struggled to unlock her apartment. Soft giggles flowed from her. She eventually conquered the lock and stumbled into the dark living room. Dabi’s lean form leaned against the couch. His typical stoic expression painted across his face.

“How was the fire, brat?” Dabi asked, his lip piercings illuminated by the moon. A smirk threatened to pull at his lips. Calling the pyromaniac a brat was satisfying. 

Another giggle bubbled from the woman. A grin plastered. “It was fucking cool! The fire was so big, Dabi!” The woman’s voice displayed blunt excitement. Dabi’s fire is cooler, though. Fuck.

“Bonfires don’t compete with the demon of cremation. You look flustered.” Dabi hoped the comment would plant embarrassment within the woman. He wanted to see her squirm. Revenge, he reasoned, for all the lustful glints the pyromaniac held during demonstrations of Dabi’s fire. 

She touched her cheek; the heat was still present. 

“I drank tonight. Never seen a drunk human before?” 

The woman swayed. The room spun. Dabi’s form now a blurred vision. 

Dabi wasn’t disconnected enough from human culture to forget the important ritual of alcohol. The demon wasn’t stupid. Dabi found his eyes wandering her form. The woman’s clumsy nature was cute. A loud mouth brat reduced to a flustered mess. 

“Fires must get you all wet, huh? Unless a brat like you got sweaty,” Dabi said, a hint of teasing in his tone. It was impossible for the demon to ignore the legs that pressed together during his free showings of blue fire. An obvious attempt to hide her passion. 

She looked away from the demon. Blurry eyes now glued to the hardwood floor. She could feel the steam rising from her face. Dabi was overstimulating in such a drunken state.

“No, Dabi. It was fucking hot. Bonfire and all.” Dabi admired the way his name left her lips. He wondered what she’d sound like chanting his name in desire. Would she whine? 

Dabi stood up, a bundle of want now hot against his thigh. The young pyromaniac was the subject of his fantasies while she was gone. Masturbation was second nature to demons. An act that was necessary. He crossed the distance between them. The woman’s eyes still focused upon the floor. 

“Like this?” he questioned, as an azure flame blossomed from his palm, the flame small. The demon wanted to rile her up. Dabi knew the look in her eye. 

Eyes tried in vain to ignore the fire before them. The woman chose to instead stare at the cremation demon. Dangerous looks married with disfigured skin. A devil in sheep’s clothing. 

“N-no, stupid. I’m tired. Going to bed.” 

Wobbly legs attempted to make an escape, eyes trained upon the floor. Dabi knew his window of opportunity was closing. “Look at me.” A mangled hand reached out and latched onto her wrist. 

The woman froze. Dabi had never touched her before. The demon’s hand felt like a grave. Frigid and wilted. His staples were cool against her skin. Reminders of what he was. Reluctant eyes met his gaze. Raven locks obscured his eyes. 

“Let me go,” she hissed. The woman now painfully aware of the implications of a stranger in her home. The hint of smoke evaporated from the air and was replaced by the burnt smell of cinnamon. Azure fire burned in the demon’s free hand. 

“Look,” Dabi pressed, the fire now a small inferno within his palm. The sight was almost orgasmic for the young pyromaniac. Cobalt flames swirled in his hand, the beginning of a tornado. A muffled sigh betrayed her. Her attention finally on Dabi. A smirk broke out on the demon’s face. The object of his desires engrossed in him. 

“Really fucking cool and all, Dabi, but I’m tired.”

Dabi’s grip on the woman’s wrist tightened. A wince shot through her face. His patience was wearing thin. “Stop being such a brat.” He pulled the toxicated woman towards him, the fire in his free hand now extinguished. She bumped against his fleshy chest. Cold staples rested against her face. 

The  young pyromaniac buried her face in the demon’s chest. His lean muscles offered the ideal camouflage for a blushing face. He smelled of ash. Even his scent was alluring. 

“You smell nice,” she mused, swallowing his scent. The ash only coaxed her. A giggle bubbled from her. “Can I touch the horns?”

Dabi debated his answer. The possibility of undressing the woman before him was too great. His mind danced with crude images of her naked form, his need now hard against his thigh.

“Wow,” Dabi said, sarcasm dripping from his words, “it’s surprising you asked.” A scarred hand sneaked around her waist, the woman too inebriated to notice. She felt soft against his mangled form. Warm. 

She leaned further into him. The alcohol reached a peak. “I’ll give you my stupid panties… To… to touch your horns.” Words slurred together. The confession muffled against him. Dabi’s other hand pulled the woman closer. The demon now greedy for her touch. 

Dabi ruffled her hair. 

“You’re giving me your panties anyway.”

Suddenly, the urge to pee hit the woman. Her bladder reduced to a pea. Alcohol ultimately caught up to her. She didn’t remember how much she drank, but judging by the hiccups and slurred speech, she was wasted. Her mind a drunken cloud except the erotic thoughts of Dabi. 

“I have to piss first,” the woman blurted out. The words rushed out of her and hung in the air. A silence fell over them. Their bodies frozen together. 

Dabi was certain the woman could wait. His desire was far too dire for her to run off to potty. The demon now intoxicated by her presence. “I think you can wait.” Without warning, Dabi dipped patchwork fingers under her pants, resting atop the hem of her panties. “I can smell how wet you are.” A slender finger ran down her slit. The woman shuddered from his touch.

“Seriously. I have to fucking piss. My bladder,” she whined. Her bladder felt as if it might burst, the pressure almost too much. 

He ignored her complaint. The demon gingerly moved the woman’s panties to the side, her womanhood now displayed to him. A pink core slick with arousal. His interest proved too much as he traced her swollen clit with a thumb. The soft flesh throbbing against him. 

“Such a brat and yet you’re soaked. Don’t be so impatient. You can wait,” Dabi said, his tone assuring. In one motion, the cremation demon slipped a finger inside her. Moist walls contracted around him. Her cunt. All mine.

Slowly, Dabi pumped his finger. Ritualistic moans murmured against the moist sounds of her body. His finger prodded against her bladder, the pressure increasing. The woman’s bladder threatened to explode. 

“Dabi,” she begged, “I need to fucking pee. Please.” Her begging only encouraged him; the demon now roughly pumping his finger. Dabi began to curl his finger inside her. Selfish hands hungry for her moans. Her sounds were euphoric to him, even better than his fantasies, the sound delicate and heavy. Hot breathe rhythmic against his bare chest. She leaned into him, nerves desperate for him.

The stimulation proved to be too intense. The intoxicated woman released her bladder, pee leaking down her leg. Relief washed over her, leaving her spine tingling. Her face burned. A crimson blush radiated against her skin. 

The sentence tumbled from her. “I’m so fucking sorry, oh my god. I -- I told you, stupid! It’s not my fault… you -- you didn’t listen!” She was adorable like this. A stammering, embarrassed mess. Dabi licked his lips. Predator explaining their prey. 

“Is the little brat embarrassed because she pissed herself?” Dabi teased, fangs against the moonlight. 

“Shut the fuck up.” The young pyromaniac tried to detach herself from the demon. Dabi held fast, hands tangled across her body’s landscape. “I’m not a brat.” Her face again escaped within Dabi’s lean chest.

“Make me, brat.”

The flustered woman took the challenge, two hands captured Dabi’s face. With the aid of tip toes, she kissed him. Two lips trapped in lust. After an eternity, they separated for air. Both pairs of lips now exposed to the cool air.

She hiccuped, the sound quiet and soft. “I’m -- I’ll take a fucking bath, okay? Get naked.”

[sykilik101]

Colloyd Week Day 7: Free Day

“Lloyd!”

-didn’t turn in time-

“Lloyd, watch out!”

-panic, shoved to the dirt-

“Colette!”

-that sound, the sound of her screaming from-

-blood-

“Colette!”

-don’t die-

“Colette!”

-please, please, don’t die-

“COLETTE!”

In a flash Lloyd’s eyes snapped open, his body jolting up from the bed. Breaths came in strained gasps as his drowsiness and oncoming asphyxiation clouded his ability to realize his throat had practically reduced itself to the size of a grain of sand. His clothes clung to his body as sweat dripped from every pore, the moisture in his eyes making the darkness of the inn room that much murkier. Reaching for his neck, his survival instincts denied him his attempts to reach inside and force his throat open so he could remind his windpipe that it served a purpose.

“Lloyd, snap out of it!”

In his terror he hadn’t immediately noticed Genis shaking his shoulder, trying to pull him back into a sane reality. Through the haze he could make out the silhouette of his best friend, along with Regal kneeling beside his bed. Both wore dismayed expressions on their faces, though the older of the two was quick to rest his hand on Lloyd’s knee. “Lloyd, try to relax and focus your breathing.” He gave Lloyd’s leg a squeeze, as if trying to inject the words directly into his bloodstream.

Seconds felt endless as he gripped his fingers around Genis’s, the adrenaline making it difficult to concentrate. As he slowly found his heartbeat he began identifying the rest of his body’s functions, picturing his lungs and the way they expanded and deflated in the presence of oxygen. Blinking back further tears he found himself suddenly hyperventilating; less than ideal, but at least he was no longer in danger of suffocating.

“Colette!”

His nightmare returned to him, turning to Genis as he swallowed with a dry tongue. “Where is she?”

“Lloyd, who are you-”

“Colette! Where’s Colette?!”

It was impossible to tell if the half-elf was more shocked at Lloyd’s raspy voice or his outburst, but as he still possessed a rational mind, he seemed to look past it and give Lloyd another gentle shake. “She’s probably in the other room with the rest of the girls. What are you-?”

The last of Genis’s words became background noise as Lloyd’s paralysis vanished, bolting out of his bed and making a beeline for the door. Throwing it open he sprinted down the second floor walkway, eyes locked on the doorway at the end. In seconds he was pounding at the wood, disregarding - or drowsily obvious to - any of the other potential visitors in the inn. “Colette! Colette, are you-”

His fist gave way as the door suddenly opened. Before him stood Raine, her half-lidded eyes an indicator of her exhaustion or her exasperation, though likely both. “Lloyd Irving, just what are you-”

He knew he’d owe her an apology later, but he shoved that thought into the back of his mind with the same potency he used to force his way past her into the room, immediately spotting the blonde-haired girl rubbing sleep out of her eye. There she was. Alive. Breathing, certainly better than he was. He didn’t even realize how quickly he’d made his way to her bedside, kneeling down and taking her free hand in his. “Colette, are you okay?”

The hoarse panic in his voice was enough to wipe away the remnants of her sleepiness, her blue eyes flashing with concern. “Lloyd, w-what’s wrong?”

A magnetic pull drew his attention to her stomach; beneath the cloth and stitching there he knew scar tissue and blemished skin marred her otherwise healthy torso. Human flesh was deathly allergic to monster attacks, and not even the Chosen was exempt from that rule. Flashbacks of the horrific incident flooded his mind, but he willed himself to drain the thoughts away as he floated his gaze back up to hers. “You- you’re okay, right?”

In an instant the fear she wore was replaced with understanding and comfort, resting her palm atop his. “Lloyd, I’m fine. I promise.”

His hands memorized the softness of hers, running a thumb along the barely raised skin that held a vein. That’s where blood belonged, not decorating the dirt in the middle of a road not even a few miles from town. The look of agony he’d seen on her face, of fear, raised every hair on his body to attention. Had it not been for Raine’s insistence on allowing her to tend to Colette, he’d have pulled her close and wiped the tears that had begun to shed below her eyes.

Yet here she now sat, playing the role of comforter as his composure teetered along a razor-thin wire. “Are you sure?”

To answer him she ran her fingers along her stomach. He instinctively flinched, though she showed none of the pain he expected from her at touching the injury. “The Professor spent a lot of time making sure I was all better before we went to bed.”

A hand landed on his shoulder, sending a jolt through his already fried nerves. Rained looked down at him, stern but compassionate eyes piercing into his. “I’ll examine Colette once more to be safe, and if there’s any issue with her injury, I’ll tend to it right away.”

Lloyd swallowed, still mentally shattered at the way his heartbeat couldn’t match his breathing. In his mania he tried concentrating on Colette’s hand and Raine’s words. Colette didn’t appear to be in pain, and Raine would do everything in her power to make sure any wound Colette had was healed. His eyes wavered back and and forth between them, eventually landing on Raine. He forced down a shaky breath before nodding. “Okay.”

His voice was tired, worn, but he’d choose her safety over his vocal cords any day. He looked back at Colette, offering what he hoped was a relaxed smile when he knew his worry was practically palpable. Standing to his feet he noticed Sheena and Presea had awoken, wearing the same look of concern. Guilt and awkwardness coursed through him, offering a meek hand wave as he headed for the doorway. “Sorry for waking you all up.”

Closing the door behind him he leaned against it with a sigh, fighting to calm his breathing and the maelstrom in his mind. Not ten feet behind him, Raine was inspecting Colette’s injury and making sure she wasn’t in danger. In a few hours he’d be back to sleep, and by daybreak he’d wake up and Colette would say good morning as she always did. Everything would be okay.

The cold, erratic grip around his heart said otherwise.

With another breath he willed his feet towards his room. As the door drew closer his peripheral vision took notice of the couch down in the middle of the foyer. The idea of immediately returning to the bed, and the night terrors, made his stomach churn. He’d heard Raine once comment how some time on a couch might do him some good. He hadn’t understood it at the time, but between a cushion and the vivid images of Colette’s near-death experience, he’d happily go along with Raine’s past suggestion.

Descending the stairs he plopped himself down onto the couch, his fingers falling into each other. In seconds they had resumed their shivering; he’d hoped a firm grip would ease them, but trauma was stronger than his grasp as panic sprinted through his head. It had been a normal battle, nothing that they hadn’t handled before. A pack of wyverns had attacked, but the party was accustomed to a fight like that. Lloyd had managed to cut down one of them, but another had managed to escape his vision. Then he’d heard the voice, and before he could register its owner his back was on the ground and Colette was-

His breaths began escaping him in shaky hisses, his veins freezing over as images of Colette’s body on the ground overtook him. He pleaded for his mind to stop, to erase the memory and never let him have to see her like that ever-

“Lloyd.”

Raine’s words sliced through his anxiety as he turned his grieving gaze to the foot of the stairs. She stood with a caring expression, but in it he could also see that stoicism that constantly accompanied her. Having gained his attention she walked towards him, her footsteps an echoing presence in the otherwise silent lobby.

“Is she okay?” He didn’t have the conviction to hold a steady voice, but in the moment proper articulation was the least of his worries.

She nodded, and the gesture alone slowed his heart to recordable speeds. “You don’t have to worry, the injury is fine, although it’ll still take some more time before she’s fully recovered.”

The malignant mirage of Colette’s lifeless eyes vanished from his mind, but his hands continued to shake. Raine took a seat in the armchair across from him, leaning forward. “Are you still thinking about the earlier battle?”

His chest tightened, the sound of the wyvern’s screeches ringing in his ears. “Colette got hurt because I was careless. I should have seen that monster.” Guilt began pumping heat into his face, twinges of anger and self-doubt mixing with his already potent internal ache.

She shook her head. “Lloyd, no warrior is perfect. Being able to count on your teammates in a fight is crucial when dealing with a group of enemies.”

“But I’m supposed to be her protector. I swore that I would keep her safe until our journey is over.”

“Does that mean Colette isn’t allowed to protect you, too? Or any of us, for that matter?”

Her words, calm and composed, allowed him a moment of reprieve as he latched his gaze onto hers. Without waiting for a response from him she continued. “Colette acted because she cares about you, just as you care about her. Being upset that she hurt herself to save you is no different than being upset at her for her willingness to ensure your safety. Instead of blaming yourself for not protecting her, acknowledge her as someone who would risk her life to save someone dear to her. After all, she’s no longer the girl who needed protecting that first left Iselia, is she?”

Years of friendship and fondness materialized into the mental image of Colette. Where he normally saw the klutzy, silly childhood friend of his now stood a Chosen of Mana, carried by scintillating wings and an adeptness with chakrams. He’d watched her for months and months, seeing the way she’d laughed, apologized, worried, but also grown and fought beside him. Raine was right; the girl who’d left Iselia would hide her insecurity and worry behind a smile, but the girl who he fought for now had earned her own warrior spirit.

A soothing peace wafted through his body, and for the first time in nearly a day he felt his shoulders relax. He inhaled, refreshed at the way oxygen had regained its taste. “I guess you’re right.”

Raine looked to be on the cusp of her proud teacher’s smile, that slightly upturned lip and its matching eye glint visible even in the dim room. “If you recognize that, then keep bettering yourself so you can keep each other safe. That includes protecting yourself, for her sake.”

“I will. Thanks, Professor.”

The creak of an opening door caught both of their attention, looking up to the second floor to see Colette standing above. Any ounce of sleepiness that should have been in her eyes was filled instead with concern, her fingers wrapped around the railing overlooking them.

Raine rose to her feet, walking towards the foot of the stairs. “Colette, I thought you had gone to bed.”

The girl shook her head. “I couldn’t go back to sleep, and besides, I...I was hoping I could talk to Lloyd for a bit.”

Raine’s eyes glanced over at Lloyd for a moment before turning back up to her. “Alright, but don’t be long. You still need to rest.”

The two traded positions as Raine made her way back to the girl’s room. Colette took a seat next to him on the couch, twiddling her thumbs together as she seemed to scour him for any residual distress. “How are you feeling?”

Lloyd took in another breath, giving his lip a gentle nibble. “A little better now, but I’m still worried about you.”

She nodded, sending a few strands of her sleep-groomed hair over her face. “I’m sorry for scaring you, Lloyd, but when I saw that monster attacking you when your back was turned, all I could think about was that you might be hurt.” Her fingers tucked the stray tresses behind her ear before resting on her chest. “I just wanted you to be okay.”

Lloyd sighed softly. “You dork, you don’t have to-”

Acknowledge her.

Raine’s wisdom replayed in his ears, and his normal habits gave way to her advice. “I mean, that was a really brave thing you did.”

“Really?”

He nodded, finding an enamorment in the way her eyes searched for his assurance and strength. “I spent our journey always thinking about how I was your protector, and that making sure you were safe was my responsibility. But yesterday, you actually saved me. I guess I didn’t realize you could protect me, too.”

Fluster and a cute awkwardness melded in her expression, her finger grazing her cheek before interlacing with her other hand once more. “The truth is, in that moment, I wasn’t really thinking about being a protector, or a Chosen, or anything else. I just saw this image of you on the ground after the monster had attacked you, and I…” Her voice hitched for a moment, but a shake of her head reset it. “I just didn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Nothing else really mattered.”

It was almost funny how he could imagine himself saying those exact same things to her, and it only solidified what it was Raine had been trying to tell him. “I feel that way about you a lot of the time, too. Sometimes I’ll worry that the next fight is the one where something goes wrong. Yesterday was...I was so determined to keep that promise of keeping you safe, and I guess I thought just by thinking I could keep that promise, nothing bad would happen.”

Colette’s palm landed on his hand, and he found solace in how her fingers curled into his. “You always do whatever you can, Lloyd, and I treasure how much you care.”

He intended his smile to reflect more joy at her words, but the demons born from the memories still whispered in his ear. “I realize that just thinking about making the promise doesn’t guarantee it’ll happen, and now I’m…” He felt the quiver in his hands returning, clenching them in the hopes of keeping them still. “I’m scared that it’ll happen again, but you’ll actually die next time.”

Die had no business sitting in the same sentence as her, and the word felt disgusting on his tongue as he said it. He was grateful for her other hand moving atop his; it took both of hers to cover his one, but the act was intimate and wonderful in a way that pushed back at the pain. She offered him a smile of warmth and admiration, her eyes glowing with that angelic endearment that he admired about her.

“Lloyd, you always try your best, no matter how big the challenge is or how scary the fight.” She inched closer to him until their hips pressed together. “If you’re worried about me being safe, just remember that you’re not the only one protecting me. Everyone in our group always does whatever they can to keep us all safe.” Her smile softened and suddenly her hand found its way onto his cheek. “I care about you too deeply to let anything happen, so I promise that I’ll keep getting stronger, too. That way you won’t have to worry about me as much, and I can keep you safe, too.”

Conviction rested in her voice; determination in her gaze. The esteem that he’d once held for the title of Chosen had long since dissipated upon learning its intended role in the world, but as she sat beside him now, a rush of pride overtook him. He was sure that there’d never been a nobler Chosen before her, someone so willing to care for and love those around her.

Love.

His throat hitched, pulling at the collar of his shirt. With the nightmares at ease it fully registered in his mind that he was alone with her, the sole audience to her words of reassurance. The fluster in his cheeks was no longer a symptom of his distress, and he wondered if the heat would transfer to the fingertips that caressed him.

“Thank you, Colette.”

Hers was now a blissful smile, and despite his alleviated heart, the idea that such a smile could be stolen from the world snuck into his head. Thoughts of her future, about the world they were trying to save and how she deserved to see it; endless images of how he wanted nothing more than for her to experience all of that consumed him. She’d believed all her life that she was meant to die; either the travels would kill her, or Cruxis would. He almost felt as if this journey wasn’t just about saving the world, but ridding Colette of her sacrificial notions.

There were some things she deserved to enjoy before she died. Things she deserved to know.

In the impulsive manner that had guided many of his actions, he rested his hands on her face and touched his lips to hers. In all his musings he’d never have predicted this would be how he’d tell her, but the way her palm slowly moved to cup his cheek, the way she sagged into him and returned the kiss, felt more vivid than any of his daydreams. He could swear he felt her mouth smile against his, and the way his heart fluttered around his chest compelled him to return the gesture.

Eventually time no longer sat still and he moved himself away from her. Moisture sat along the rim of her eyes, a new form of elation splayed on her face. “Lloyd…”

Without a word he eased his hands from her face to her arms, pulling her into him. He breathed her in, savoring the warmth of her body, alive and here with him. He didn’t know what the future would hold. Tomorrow could be another dangerous battle; the day after, even more hazardous. However, she wasn’t alone. She could protect herself, and she had him and everyone else ready to stand by her at a moment’s notice.

The inner demons wouldn’t beat him. She would be alright.

“I’ll protect you, no matter what.”

He felt her hands press into his back, deepening their embrace. She nodded into his neck, sending a shiver through him. “I know you will. And I’ll protect you too, Lloyd.”

Her voice was gentle, but quiet resolution rested on every syllable. He wasn’t ready to end the hug, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her presence, as close to him as she could be, was evidence that she wasn’t gone. Yesterday was proof that she wasn’t invincible, but it was also proof that she wasn’t going to die easily. Lloyd would make sure of that, as would everyone else in their party.

She would be alright.

xxxxx

I tried SO very hard with this story, and I’m REALLY happy and proud with how it came out. I wish I could’ve finished this for Colloyd Day, but I’m glad I took the time to really focus and try to give this story some of the love it needed. This (extended) week was so fun to participate it, and I’m really happy I did it!

[destinychose]

Does Giyu like hugs? What are his hugs like?

When he was younger, Giyu used to be the clingy type. His hugs were warm, tight and full of love. To him, hugs were the biggest source of comfort, especially from his older sister, Tsutako. After she died, he shifted his attention to Sabito and latched onto him instead. He didn’t care if he was called a crybaby by his best friend, so long as he was allowed to seek out the comfort he craved.

Needless to say, a lot of that changed after Sabito’s death. Giyu closed his heart to the world that had caused him so much pain and stopped reaching out to those around him. While he never lost that kindness his sister nurtured within him from childhood, his warmth was locked away.

As things stand now, Giyu doesn’t much enjoy physical closeness with others unless he can avoid it, and certainly not for personal fulfilment. These days, embraces are never initiated from his end and are met with stiffness if offered, often going unreciprocated.

However, this is untrue in the iterations of Giyu’s canon verse where he’s in a relationship, such as with to Toshiro ( yeonban ) or with Sabito ( wordwove ).

With Toshiro, while Giyu isn’t always fond of physical affection due to the fact that he closed so much of himself off after losing those he held dear, he slowly begins to open up to it as his relationship with Toshiro deepens. Toshiro is able to tap into the warmth and kindness he’s kept buried for years, coaxing it back to the surface. Eventually, it’ll get to a point where his affectionate side shines through and Giyu’s hugs will last as long as Toshiro ( or circumstances around them ) allows them to.

With Sabito, Giyu isn’t as cold or aloof in verses where he loses him. While he mellows a lot in adulthood, traumatised by the experiences he goes through as a Demon Slayer, he’s quicker to smile, easier to talk to, even gentler than usual. Hugs are offered regularly when the two of them have a chance to be alone, with great attentiveness and affection. He hugs Sabito a lot in his sleep, so good luck trying to get away from him.

Is Giyu good at flirting? How does he flirt?

This perhaps goes without saying, but no, Giyu is not good at flirting. He wouldn’t know where to start, not that he’s ever really in a position where he needs or wants to. He’s much too straightforward for something like that, and any attempts at flirting with him will typically go over his head. If he ever says something remotely smooth, the likelihood is that it was completely by accident and it’s best not to look into it too much.

Is Giyu good at gift-giving or does he struggle to get it right?

In verses where Giyu isn’t in a relationship, his gift-giving is terrible. He doesn’t pay enough attention to those around him for him to be able to succeed at getting things the recipient will like, and it’ll often end in disaster.

However, with Toshiro or Sabito, things are much different. As he pays close attention to both of them in their respective verses, he has a better idea of what the other might like or find practical/enjoyable. Typically, he’s more likely to offer affection as a form of gift as opposed to something materialistic, but he’s not opposed buying a good tea, or something that reminds him of either of them when out on his travels.

Is Giyu quick or slow to give his heart away?

Painfully slow. Giyu does not fall easily, nor does he notice when he’s starting to. He’s buried his emotions so deep, that it’s virtually impossible for him to recognise positive feelings such as love. After all, he equates love with loss ( every person he’s ever cared for, with the exception of Urokodaki, have died ) and tends to keep people at arm’s length for that reason, which is without touching on the fact that he doesn’t believe that he’s worthy of love in the first place.

If someone is able to get past all of that and ease their way into his heart, it will still take him time to come to terms with what he feels for the other and accept it, but acting on it is another thing entirely.

Does Giyu find ‘I love you’ easy or hard to say?

He’ll never say it with words, even if he feels it, not because he finds it hard to say, but due to the fact that the words ‘I love you’ will never hope to hold a candle to what he truly feels. Giyu doesn’t see the point in saying something without meaning, and much prefers to show his partner how he feels instead.

Does Giyu get jealous in a relationship?

Giyu isn’t the type to get jealous in the slightest. He’s much more likely to fear not being good enough for his partner as opposed to getting jealous.

Is Giyu a good kisser? Why / why not?

At first, not at all. He’s awkward, stiff, lacks emotion and doesn’t really know what to do with his hands ( much less his lips ). As his relationship deepens and he warms up to the idea, he’ll start to relax more and properly engage with his partner, but those first few kisses will be rough. Once he begins opening up to his own feelings, kissing becomes easier — it turns into an act of affection that allows him the perfect way to express himself as opposed to attempting to use words, which is something he’s always struggled with.

Who does Giyu love?

In a romantic sense, he loves Sabito ( wordwove ) and, in an alternate verse, Toshiro ( yeonban ) without question. The two of them bring so much light to his life in different ways, and I personally can’t imagine him having better partners. In their respective verses, they’re both there for him at a point in his life where he needs them most and keep him from falling into despair. They help him heal, in different ways, and give him the chance to love and be loved.

In a platonic sense, Giyu has come to love and cherish Kyouka ( florabled ), Tanjiro and Nezuko. He sees them as younger siblings, has witnessed their struggles and cares for them a great deal. There is very little that he wouldn’t do to protect all three of them.

What is Giyu’s ideal date?

Visiting a restaurant to share a meal, or walking through a pretty garden/forest, with either Sabito or Toshiro.

Is Giyu a romantic or a cynic?

Giyu falls somewhere in between — he cares very little for romance, as it’s not something he thinks he’ll ever experience ( nor does he believe he deserves to ), so he certainly can’t be called the romantic type; he wouldn’t have the slightest idea of where to start. However, he’s not exactly cynical either. While he remembers very little about them, Giyu’s parents were very much in love while they were still alive, often going out of their way to show the other that they cared/thought about them. Their kindness, and love for each other, definitely helped shape him as a person, even if a lot of it has gotten buried beneath his crippling survivor’s guilt.

Does Giyu like / use pet names?

Giyu won’t ever use them with a partner, but a lot of his feelings are rather openly conveyed through the tone of his voice and the use of his partner’s given name. So, if you know what to listen for, it’ll be pretty obvious how much his partner means to him.

As for pet names directed at himself, Giyu is largely indifferent at first. He neither dislikes them or likes them. However, over time, he definitely gets used to them and even comes to anticipate them. Once he gets over the fact that he’s allowed to be loved and love someone in return, it feels nice to be called something affectionate by his partner that’s meant just for him.

Does Giyu get protective easily?

Yes, incredibly so. When it comes to those he cares about, whether in a romantic sense or a platonic one, Giyu is fiercely protective of them. After losing so many people he loves, Giyu is, in a sense, frantic to protect those he has left, even if it were to be at the cost of his own life.

In a scenario where death or injury isn’t a threat to his loved ones, Giyu will step in to quietly assist his friends/partner if he thinks they need it, but he isn’t the type to be overbearing unless their lives are at stake. He tends to let his friends/partner stick up for themselves and only act as a back-up when it seems that the situation isn’t taking a turn for the better.