#tales as old as time collab

[yinyuedijun]

NIGHT FLOWER: part i

Your place in the world was one of a tool. This was true of every slave: you were all things to be used. Kakavasha understood this about you, and he understood this about himself. It was how he survived all those years ago, and it’s how he survives now. And so, when Aventurine goes into his first heat in years and decides to suffer it alone, you can only think of one way to get him to accept your help: You offer to let him use you.

written for @/lorelune's spring fever collab & @ficsforgaza

13.5k words of omegaverse, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst with an eventual happy ending. gn alpha reader + omega aventurine (they each have both amab and afab genitalia). explicit piv sex, reader bottoms, the sex is consensual but emotionally complicated and deeply sad. cw slavery, racism, gendered violence, including very brief and non-graphic (but direct) references to sexual abuse during slavery. the sa and slavery are not eroticized. dead dove do not eat, mdni.

thank you to @acerathia, @minnaci, @owlespresso for all your help with beta reading and to @kosmiccarma for brainstorming omega aventurine hcs!

“I’ve alw███ l█ved ███, Ka██v█s███”

You knew it from the moment you met him.

Gaunt, pallid, weighed down by heavy chains. Irises that glowed like the auroras back in your world. Delicate features that made every passerby in the market stop to read the description on the placard. (Sigonian, it said, although you couldn’t read at the time. Avgin. Male. Omega. Sixteen years old. Sixty Tanba, no tax.) He had an all-consuming scent that was impossible to ignore—one that possessed you, made your heels dig into the dirt, every atom in your body resisting the impatient jerk of the chains at your wrist. Even through your muzzle, through the perpetual stench of carbon-steel and blood, you could smell it: honey and wildflowers. A fragrance that settled deep within you, flooded you with a warmth that felt like home.

Aventurine is not a spiritual person. He once told you this, his smile cold in the glow of an artificial moon. He'd been deeply religious as a child, but hasn’t since cared for fairy tales about fortune and fate, three-eyed goddesses or merciful rainfalls. Hasn't thought about anything like a destined love. He thinks the idea of a true mate is laughable, that no such bond could ever be forged between an omega and an alpha. That nothing so unconditional could ever exist.

You know differently, of course. You've known it from the moment you met him, from the second you laid eyes on him and thought, I need to help you, and I need to protect you, and I need you to be safe, and you’d never once heard the word ‘love’ in your life—slaves are never loved by their masters, after all, and you'd always been nothing but a slave—but every atom of your being knew that you loved him, that you'd always love him.

And when your master cradled your face that night and crooned that he owned you, that you'd always be his obedient, alpha pet—for the first time in your life, you knew that he was wrong.

You didn't belong to your slaver.

You belonged to him.

To Kakavasha.

These days, Aventurine does not smell like honey, and your jaw is not restrained.

Your muzzle was one of the first things that Aventurine threw away when he bought your freedom. According to the Amber Era system, it had been several months since the murder of your shared master. Ninety-five Star Calendar days after the Interastral Peace Corps had arrested Kakavasha. An entire rotation around the black hole at the centre of your wretched galaxy, all of which had been spent in the captivity of some new mistress. She picked you out because she liked your calming scent and the look of your face, but mostly she used you for the fighting pits just like your old master.

Aventurine had been sitting in the audience of your final match, then bought you out right after you won. “I’m in need of a fighter,” he’d said, smiling in his thick furs and jewels. He played the part of a slavemaster perfectly, his gloved hands wandering the span of your aching shoulders, touching the bloodied maw of your mask. “And I’d be willing to pay top credit for yours.”

She protested. You were her most prized possession, one of her greatest investments. Slaves from your planet were hard enough to come by—alphas capable of reproduction, nearly impossible. And you were so well-behaved, so poised, so endearing in a way that was rare for alphas. She was fond of you. Her omega slaves were fond of you too. They would be distraught if you left, and that would complicate her household affairs—and surely Aventurine, as a respectable owner of human capital like herself, could understand how inconvenient that would be?

Aventurine bared his teeth in a gracious smile. (You’d never seen Kakavasha make such an expression before—so disarming, so cunning, a crescent moon beneath snake eyes. He’d never smelt like this either, like an expensive cologne layered with bleach, and it left you feeling nauseous, wondering if he was ill.) He flirted his way into her good graces, made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and then he brought you into the first-class ship on which he’d arrived. You were so stunned by its luxury—the handwoven carpets, the crushed velvet seats, the imported tea from several galaxies away and the custom-ordered outfit he had bought for you—that you nearly missed the tremble in his hands as he punched numbers into the remote control lock for your chains.

He had regained his composure by the time he pulled away your muzzle, though. He threw it carelessly to the ground—your titanium chains, too. Then kicked both away with his shined leather shoes.

“There,” Aventurine said, smiling cheerfully. “Much better, don’t you think?”

“Vasha—” you started, voice thick with wasted grief, and all you wanted to was reach for him, to double check that he was real, but he placed a finger to your lips and stopped you. You stiffened at the satin touch, but he seemed unbothered.

“‘Aventurine’,” he corrected.

You stared blankly. “What?”

“‘Aventurine’. Like the gemstone. That’s my name now.”

“You—” Your voice caught in your throat. You realized that you’d been holding your breath. You always had the habit of holding your breath in the luxurious, private rooms of very rich men, because you never liked what happened in them. Forcing yourself to breathe, you asked, “You gave yourself a new name?”

“No. The IPC gave me a new name. They gave me a job, too.”

“A job?” you asked, voice faint. Now that you were breathing again, you were noticing once more just how bizarre he smelled. Sterile and expensive and completely foreign. “You’re free now?”

“Well, I’m a freedman, but I don’t know if I’d call myself free. I’m a bit… indebted to the IPC, let’s say. But that’s fine. I can’t complain. I mean—look around. This beats the fighting pits, doesn’t it?” He gestured lazily at your surroundings, and you nodded.

“It’s nice here,” you replied, feeling absurd but not knowing what else to say. Once Kakavasha got talking, it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.

“You like it here? Good. This room’s yours. Mine is the next one over. You’ll live and work here, with me. I’ll make sure you’re paid well. Full benefits, vacation, salary, and overtime. The standard pay for your role is seventy-thousand credits per month, but I’ll see if I can get you more. HR is pretty strict about their hiring policies, but—”

“You’re hiring me?”

Aventurine went very still, his smile tightly controlled. His eyes remained fixed on you, but they seemed less snake-like, now. They looked more familiar. More afraid.

“I’m offering, yes,” he said neatly. “You’ll be part of my personal security detail. I don’t have the contract for you to review yet, unfortunately. I didn’t arrange one ahead of time because, well”—he laughed, as if this were polite conversation and he were making a joke about the weather—“I didn’t know if I’d find you alive. But things worked out in my favour. They always work out in my favour. I’ll make sure they’ll work out in your favour too, so long as you’re with me. So you’ll consider it, won’t you? Staying with—working for me, I mean.”

Your eyes went soft. Beneath the artificial fragrance, you finally caught a hint of his familiar scent—more wildflower than honey at that moment, the way it always is when he’s scared.

“Kakavasha—”

“Name your price,” he said loudly, “and I’ll match it.”

You sighed. “Vasha,” you said more gently, and his shoulders relaxed at the subvocal shift in your timbre, at the famed alpha Voice that necessitated your muzzle, “I don’t care about the money. Of course I’ll stay here. But—what happened? Why did you kill him yourself? Why didn't you let me do it? That was the plan. It was always supposed to be me.”

It was my job, you thought then, just as you had thought to yourself every night, curled up in your bed and trying to recall the scent of fresh honey, to keep you safe.

He shrugged and said, “It would have been too risky to involve you.”

“You were caught and sentenced to death. The risk was already too high.”

“But the stakes weren’t,” he replied simply, and before you could ask what he meant by that, he continued, “and it worked out, didn’t it? I work for the IPC. You work for me. We’re freedmen now. Whatever I've lost, it doesn't matter. Our gains far outweigh it.”

“And what have you lost, Vasha?”

He smiled at you, charming and distracting. A crescent moon beneath snake eyes. “Nothing of value,” he reassured you, and even though you could feel the calm of an omega’s voice washing over you, even though it released all the tension in your body, all you could smell was cologne and wildflowers, and you knew that he was lying.

Vasha once told you, curled up and quiet on the basement floor, that he despised his eyes. They were supposed to be a sign of blessing from Gaiathra Triclops, but they'd never brought him anything but trouble. They were the first thing that the slavers always noticed about him, the feature that made him such an alluring commodity. Their aurora glow, their strange beauty, their promise of a rare opportunity: a chance at owning a specimen of an exotic, endangered species, possibly the last of its kind. These are all things that you've heard in the parlour of your master’s house as he entertained rich company, the crowd of them gawking at his human curios.

Avgin are said to make the most beautiful slaves, he'd often say. And Avgin omegas are said to be the most beautiful among them. What do you all think? They'd all hum, peering closely at Kakavasha’s features, and inevitably someone would joke, I think I'd like to borrow him sometime, and then they would all laugh while your pulse ticked up and you imagined tearing at their throats. Vasha would search for your gaze in these moments, giving you a long, pointed look: Don't do anything stupid.

He’d always been so blasé about it, the way people fixated on his Avgin blood. You'll never understand how. He didn't react to any of the comments, the groping, the innuendos. He was, however, distinctly unimpressed at the way that your master liked to play him up as a rare and expensive acquisition, as a sign of his own status. It's embarrassing to watch, Kakavasha had remarked. Everyone knows that Sigonian slaves are uncommon but cheap—people always think we’ll bring them more trouble than our worth. This was how Kakavasha had ended up in the market in the first place: because his last master had been robbed, and he'd been wrongly blamed for it.

The blame, to this day, has never stopped. People—powerful people, politicians, businessmen, socialites—look at Aventurine’s eyes and immediately reach for their pockets. You've seen it for yourself, these spineless despots and scammers feeling for their wallets. Sigonian, you know they're thinking. Liar, cheat, thief, whore, worthless, worthless, worthless. Your hands tighten around your blade each time, a loaded gun with a finger on the trigger.

Alphas are said to be violent by nature. Aventurine has often called you the one exception to this rule: the most docile, good-hearted alpha he's ever met. But this is a lie. You do have a predator instinct, and it comes out in full-force whenever you’re around these particular types of men. These types who notice Aventurine’s eyes and see a thief; these monsters who see his irises and imagine what it would be like to bed him. You’d kill them if you could. It would be so easy, especially now that you are an IPC dog. The Company is already such a violent force; what would be one more murder?

But Aventurine has never ordered you to punish anyone. (Don't do anything stupid, he always tells you with a glance, smiling through every humiliation.) Nor has he ever seemed bothered enough by these meetings to try concealing his heritage.

A fellow Asset Liquidation Specialist once asked why he didn't just hide his eye colour—it would likely be better for fostering relationships, negotiating deals—but Aventurine had shrugged it off. I'm a gambler working with the IPC, he'd said. Do you really think a pair of coloured contacts would make anyone trust me? He'd laughed, and his voice had carried a threatening edge, and his coworker had shifted visibly at it. Being an Avgin is the least threatening thing about me, wouldn't you say?

You think that Aventurine likes being seen as a threat. Sometimes you wonder if this is why he doesn't mind wearing his eyes so much, but abhors keeping his scent. He washes his clothes until they're free of his disarming sweetness and then masks himself with an unsettling blend of ambergris, jasmine, and wood. And he is on suppressants all the time—hasn’t had a single heat since the day he killed his master. Hasn't smelled like himself, either.

At the end of the day, it’s manageable being an Avgin in this business, he often comments, spraying half a bottle of masking cologne on himself, but you can't be an Avgin and an omega. Wouldn’t you agree?

You'd know better than me, you reply, noncommittally—and truthfully.

But you're an alpha, he observes. Don't you have an opinion?

You don't pay me to have opinions, you always remind him, stone-faced. You pay me to stand here and look scary. And Aventurine always laughs at this, and he always wires you money and calls it a bonus as he pesters you for an answer, and he always gets distracted and starts scrolling through all his shopping wishlists instead. I saw this thing the other day and thought of you. And this too. Would you like either of them? Would you like them both? I’m a very generous manager, you know. I'll buy you anything you like.

But even though he always gets distracted, Aventurine never forgets. Sooner or later, he inevitably circles back to these questions—these anxieties about his scent, about his eyes, about his blood. He never cares for anyone else’s opinions, but he's always been curious about yours. Even when he was Vasha, he wanted to know what you thought.

He’d been sixteen years old and delirious with heat the first time he asked you, face wrinkling with pain as he spilled his thoughts. It was so incoherent, so sad, you thought it must have been about a fever dream. Mama Fenge, he kept saying. Mama Fenge blessed me, She blessed me, I'm blessed, it rained when I was born—did you know that? My luck, I was lucky. The Katicans, they never caught me. They got everyone else, but not me. I was blessed by Her. I'm going to save my people. I will. I'll save my sister. My eyes are proof. My mistress liked them. Said they're beautiful. Worth sixty whole coppers. A blessing. He pulled you close, pressed his scalding face to your scent gland, and his whole body shuddered with relief. This was the first and only time he'd allowed you to hold him, and it was only out of desperation, out of his mind. Do you like them, alpha? Do you like my eyes? Why? Is it because they're beautiful? Because they're from Gaiathra?

“I like them because they're yours,” you'd replied, and Kakavasha had laughed deliriously.

This is when he told you he hated them: I'd close them forever, if I could.

When you were younger—dumber—you had a habit of squirrelling away every spare coin you came across. You collected them in a little purse that one of the omega slaves had sewn for you—a thank-you for always keeping the other alphas away from her—and you hid it underneath a loose floorboard. By the time that Kakavasha was arrested, you'd saved up twenty-nine Tanba. You’d wanted enough to buy Kakavasha’s freedom and then to set him up for a comfortable life.

It had been a stupid plan. An embarrassing one. If you ever confessed it to Aventurine, he'd laugh at you. Slaves can't buy other slaves, he'd say. Leave the schemes to me next time. You’re too good-hearted for it.

You’d already known that, of course. You knew that you didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him, but you wanted to. God, did you want to—you spent every waking moment thinking about it, every sleeping moment dreaming of it. It wasn't even that you desired him, though he was beautiful and fragrant and more delicate than anything that had ever touched you in your life, which was only your master’s hands and your muzzle and your chains. Aventurine would feel so soft in comparison, you’d always figured. It made your heart ache, thinking about getting to hold something so lovely.

But really—that desire came second. What came first was how mated omegas feel safe around their alphas, and you so desperately wanted him to be safe. Kakavasha had looked so frail, so grim, as your master took his chains and led him home from the market, and you could smell the fear coming off him in waves. And you could do nothing to stop it. You had nothing you could use to stop it—nothing other than your hands that could kill for him and your pheromones that could soothe him and your useless heart that wanted to collect sixty Tanba for him. That was all you had.

So you failed in the end. Of course you did. You didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him. You couldn't even do for him the one thing you could have done—which was to kill. And Kakavasha suffered for your incompetence. He had to dirty his hands with blood and gamble his way into wealth and then suddenly he was freeing you, not the other way around.

And now you are comfortable. You'll lead an easy life from now, Aventurine reassured you when he brought you onto his ship all those years ago, and he's kept that promise. What about you? you'd asked him then. Will you lead an easy life with me, if you're working for the IPC? And he had smiled and lied to you: Yes.

It had been a painfully obvious lie. If you were a smarter person, you'd have never believed it in the first place. Aventurine has no interest in leading an easy life, because an easy life would be less profitable, and less profit would mean less safety. And he is always, always worried about being unsafe. It is indiscernible to everyone but you—an alpha (his alpha, always his, even if he doesn't want you) who has watched over him for so long that you can detect every shift in his scent. No matter how much cologne he drowns himself in and no matter how strong his suppressants are, you know when he is afraid.

And here is the bitter truth, the ultimate proof of your shortcomings:

Aventurine is always afraid.

It is a beautiful day on Agnisahr, and you can tell that Aventurine is about to throw up from worry.

You're sitting in the middle of stunning wealth—Aventurine in his feathers and jewellery, you in your tailored jacket—in a lobby made from marble and pale sandstone, with a view of palm trees and rolling, scarlet sand dunes beyond the window. The waitstaff addresses him as Honoured Guest and they keep his crystal chalice filled constantly with water—one of the most expensive commodities on the planet. Aventurine has been drinking from it religiously, which is strange as he typically has the habit of forgetting to hydrate. A faint wildflower scent is drifting from his slender form. These are the only giveaway to his mood: he's otherwise as pokerfaced as ever, smiling calmly as he discusses his plans to sabotage the local government and acquire the planet for the IPC.

“This is a very dangerous mission,” you state flatly.

“All my missions are dangerous.” He takes a sip, one pinky up. “The IPC pays me well for a reason. As they say—”

“‘High risk, high reward.’ I know.” You try not to sound bitter, though you allow yourself to sound tired. “I still do not think the risk is worth the reward in this case.”

“I think over 5.6 million in credits is a great reward, actually. We could do a lot with that kind of money.”

You raise a brow. “What could an extra 5.6 million get you that you can't already buy?” It is—as Topaz would say—‘chump change’ in comparison to his current wealth, which sums to a number so vast that you can't wrap your head around it.

Aventurine pretends to miss the point. “Tons! We could buy a new spacecraft. Get another mansion. Or—we could take a vacation to Penacony. I hear it's quite nice there.” A playful smile. “I could get us a penthouse unit. With a featherbed.”

You frown. Sometimes Aventurine likes to flirt when you're being stubborn—not out of interest, but as a ploy to distract you. He’d developed the habit after he joined the IPC. It used to fluster you, but now it only makes you cross your arms.

“You could die,” you point out.

“You'll protect me.”

“No, I won't. You always find a way to get rid of me when things are most dangerous.” You give him an accusatory stare. “You never let me do my job.”

He's too shameless to deny it. “And it's worked out fine, hasn't it? I haven't died so far.”

“Yes. Just by dumb luck.”

“I beg to differ. My luck is quite reliable.” He sets down his glass. Glances back outside. A microexpression, brows knotting for the briefest second as he studies the sky. “I'm not worried.”

“You're a shit liar.”

That gets him to look at you, letting a small frown pass over his face. “No, I'm actually a great liar. You're just too good at reading me. It's very inconvenient, you know.”

“I can't help it.” You lean toward him, making a show of it as you sniff. An orchid-like scent—faint but unmistakable—has seeped into artificial ambergris and wood. “It's hard to ignore.”

He hums. He isn't frowning anymore—but doesn't look happy, either. “I should change suppressants.” He taps the side of his empty glass, fidgeting. Aventurine never fidgets: it's an amateur giveaway. “These ones clearly don't work well enough.”

“That won't help. I know you too well.” Your eyes soften. He's looking outside again, the blues of his irises distant. “You're worried, Aventurine. More than usual. Let’s back out of this—let Jade handle it.”

“The mission isn't what's bothering me,” he says patiently. “I just don't like this planet.”

“Because you can tell it's dangerous.”

“No. Well—it is, but nothing I can't handle.” He leans back. “I just dislike the weather here.”

You arch a brow. “...the weather?”

“Yes,” he says neatly, “it's too dry here. I'll break out.”

You open your mouth. Close it. It is possibly the most absurd thing you've ever heard, and certainly the worst lie that's ever come from him. For as long as you've known him, Aventurine has had flawless skin, marble-smooth, and ever since being freed, he’s never really cared much for looking handsome so much as looking rich. But he maintains his serious expression: all-in on the farce. “Did you know that outside the capital, this planet hasn't had any natural rain in a quarter of an Amber Era? And the stellar winds are terrible. I don't know how people live on a planet like this.” His eyes narrow at the cloudless sky. “The IPC is going to need to do a lot of terraforming if they want to make this into a merchant hub.”

“Aventurine.”

“It'll be a pain crossing the desert—the elements will ruin my clothes, you know,” he continues. “It won't be so bad while we're on the ships, but we’ve got to go outside from time to time. Can't make any friends otherwise.”

“Aventurine.”

“And there's nothing to do for fun when we’re not working.” He sighs dramatically. “I can't wait to get our 5.6 billion and leave for someplace else. I'm being serious about Penacony, by the way—”

“Aventurine.”

“—though not about the featherbed. I'll get you your own room, obviously. And I'll buy whatever dream experience you’d like. What kind would you want?”

Finally allowed a chance to speak, you say, “One where you retire.”

“Retire? Why would I ever do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe you decide you've made enough money.”

“No such thing.”

“Then you can settle down with someone.”

That makes him smile. It feels mocking. “Me? Settling down? With who?”

“Who knows. Someone who will treat you better than the IPC, I hope.”

“Anyone that nice would run in the other direction. But never mind me. This would be your dream experience. What happens to you in it?”

“I stop chasing after you and get to live out the rest of my days in peace,” you say dryly, and Aventurine blinks. “Please stop deflecting. The IPC gave you a suicide mission. We will both die if we stay here.”

He looks serious now. “I wouldn't let you die.”

“You can't know that.”

“Well, I do. And I've got decent chances at surviving too—at least one in ten.”

You feel like sighing—a deep, aggravated noise is heavy in your throat—but Aventurine doesn't enjoy it when you show anger around him. It's the one omega instinct that he can't ignore, you suppose: unease around an aggressive alpha. Voice tightly controlled, you say, “You’re going to bet your life on one in ten?”

  “Sure. My chances were worse on the last planet, and things worked out great. It'll be the same on Agnisahr.” Aventurine raises a hand, calls for the bill. The conversation is over. You lean back in your seat, watching sourly as he pays tens of thousands of credits just for water.

“You know, they say the royal family is backed by an Aeon,” you can't help but point out, once the waiter is gone. A last-ditch effort. Aventurine smiles at it, amused. Like you're a child.

“So what?” He glances outside, at the desolate landscape beyond the oasis—nothing but red sand, a blue, rainless sky, and two radiant suns shining above it all. “The protection of a god is nothing compared to the schemes of human beings. And gods abandon their people all the time, anyway.”

During your tenth day on Agnisahr, you realise that something is deeply wrong.

It takes you some time to understand what’s happening. At first you think that whatever political danger you’ve intuited is much worse than you thought, and that’s why Aventurine has been so pale, so discomforted, so exhausted. Then his scent starts changing—he switches clothes two, three times a day (because of all this heat during Agnisahran days, he tells his new business associates) and spritzes his nape with his cologne almost religiously—and you wonder if he is sick with something. If the food in this planet has something that disagrees with his Sigonian biology, or if he has picked up one of the local filoviruses, or if someone’s poisoned one of his meals because they’ve correctly identified him as a threat. Aventurine dismisses every single one of these theories when you bring it up, and—as if in denial—only attributes it to the weather. (I’ve never done well in deserts, he tells you, his eyes on his phone screen. I'm not used to them. It is above 300 Kelvin, and you do not see a single bead of sweat on his neck, and his cheeks are not even a little flushed.)

You only figure it out when he is too ill to get out of bed one morning and forbids all the IPC staff from coming near his hotel room. It sets off alarms immediately—Aventurine, no matter how sick, will work and see through meetings as long as he is mentally capable of it—and so you naturally ignore his orders and check on him, using the spare key to his sleeping quarters that you're given as a policy. And as soon as the door cracks open—as soon as you step inside only to be hit with a violent, cloying sweetness—you realise what’s happening and slam the door shut behind you.

“You’re in heat,” you blurt out, and Aventurine—a shivering, panting mess on the bed—groans in response.

“Why are you here?” He turns toward you, still lucid enough to glare at you through the tangled mess of his hair. His voice is weak, but no less self-possessed: “I was very clear—no company today.”

“I am your personal bodyguard,” you remind him mildly. Your voice is calm—both non-threatening and non-condescending. “Those orders don’t apply to me. If things feel suspicious, I look into it. And they felt very suspicious.” Your brow knits as you study his clothes. Mulberry silk clings to his form, soaked through with sweat. Thin, eucalyptus sheets are tangled up around him. There are only two pillows. No water bottles. No knotting toys.

Nothing.

“You didn't know you'd be in heat,” you realise. “What happened to your suppressants?”

“I don't know.” There’s a quiet, frustrated edge to his voice. Vulnerable too. It makes you think of when you were both still slaves, and Aventurine was confined to the basement of the manor—the one that all omega slaves were made to ride out their heats in. Either they would do it alone or were ordered to spend it with some alpha, usually either a friend of the master or an alpha slave he wished to reward. That's when they're most pliable, he'd tell his guests, or sometimes even you. They get so desperate they'll present themselves to anyone. Then amused laughter from the other party—How obscene!—as you looked away, blood hammering in your ears.

You had been your master’s favourite. His most obedient, most profitable pet—striking enough for his guests to admire, deadly enough for his audiences to bet on, docile enough for him to enjoy. Good enough for him to reward, and he often rewarded you with his most beautiful slave: his Avgin omega. Just don't mark him, he’d said, fastening the muzzle around your mouth. It'll ruin his market value. Who knows if someday he'd sell Kakavasha off to some alpha master who wished to claim him, he said. Though I don't think there's anyone in this star system who'd want a Sigonian for a mate, let alone a Sigonian slave. Then he’d paused, eyes scanning over you. As if contemplating. But maybe they'd try to get Avgin whelps out of him, he added, and you felt like throwing up.

You'd never mate him in those moments, your muzzle always prevented you from saying. You didn't even want to think about touching him, and he didn't want to think about it either. Even in the cruel grip of his heats, with nothing but the thin mat beneath him and his slave’s rags around him, Kakavasha hadn't wanted any kind of contact from you, rejecting any chance of solace. Don't, don't—not again, not again, he'd begged. Then as the nights marched on and his mind grew hazier, he’d start whimpering too: It hurts, alpha. It hurts. Help me. It hurts. Don't touch me. Not again. It hurts. It hurts. Stop it, please stop it.

It gutted you.

It went against every instinct, not to touch him. To let him lie there, in scorching, lonely pain, when all you wanted to do was to dispel it. It would be so easy to press yourself against him and let his skin cool against yours, do the one thing that your body was good at other than killing. But not again, not again, I can't anymore, I don't want it, I never wanted it, and all you could do was sit there, unmoving. Watch as the most delicate, precious thing you had in your life shatter.

And standing here now, watching Aventurine shatter before you once more—it is unbearable. He needs a nest, you keep thinking. He needs a nest and some water and some kind of touch, some kind of relief, but not again, not again, and you’re still a slave, still a worthless and stupid slave, and Kakavasha is still crying on a basement floor and you can't do anything for him.

“You need help, Aventurine,” you say, voice soft, and his whole body tenses. His scent dips, and the scent of florals overwhelms you.

“No,” he breathes, “I don't.”

“You do. You're sick.” You bite your lip. Your heart splits as you suggest it, but you say, “I can call a professional.”

“No,” he spits. The facade is gone. The poker face has cracked. The anger and the pain and the fear are all on full display, and his voice sharpens: “No strangers.”

No foreign scents, you realise he's demanding. A new scent would probably make him feel unsafe.

Then let me help you, you think of pleading, but not again, not again, and you're filled with so much shame at the thought that all you can do is look away.

“Then—can I do anything?” He goes still. “Not—not that, but something to make you more comfortable. I can build you a nest, at least—”

“No.” He takes a deep, shaking breath. “No nests. I don't need one—”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don't,” he says. His voice is wavering now, on the verge of crumbling with fever and pain. “I've never—I’ve never needed a nest, I don't—I don't want to—” He presses his face into his pillow. “I need—I need to be alone, fuck—”

He doesn't mean to whine. The cry for distress is instinct, something that all omegas are programmed to do in heat. You’ve heard that they’ve evolved to make this noise as a way of appealing to nearby alphas for help, but you think this must be a lie as you never once saw your alpha master giving mercy to any of his omega slaves. Still, whether it is your biology or not—the noise that Aventurine makes has your heart aching so much you can't help but step forward. But he shakes his head and inches away, shuddering violently, and then his voice echoes again in that cold basement—not again, not again, and don't touch it anymore, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore, not again, and it's all you can do to back away until your spine is pressed against the door.

“I'm sorry, Vasha,” you say, strained. “I’m sorry. I'll leave you now.”

As the door shuts behind you, you catch a final glimpse him—face pressed into the pillows, shivering.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was crying.

When you were both slaves, Aventurine hated seeing you during his heats.

Kakavasha was normally calm around you. Most of the time, he was even friendly (he was friendly to everyone whom he thought could be useful), but he was different during his heats. Sometimes he was vicious; mostly he was withdrawn. Nearly always, he wanted to be left alone. In those moments, all he could register was your alpha scent and his memories of what other people had done to him during his heats. And while you'd have hated to leave him, despised the idea of him being offered to another alpha—even more than that, you hated violating this boundary of his. Hated that you were allowed to do whatever you wanted to him. Hated being the reason he felt so unsafe.

Hated being an alpha.

Now that you no longer have the orders of your slavemaster hanging over you, it is the least you can do to respect Aventurine’s wish of being left alone. He has every right to privacy, and you have every obligation to give it to him. But instead you have been standing here, outside his door, for a full system-hour.

Every time you try to leave, your body is wracked with anxiety. The thought of other people—other alphas—coming near him in this state makes you seethe, your hands flexing at your side. The predator instinct comes out, and the people around you notice it. Every person unlucky enough to walk down this hall scurries away under your glare, even the other IPC staff wandering about to look for Aventurine: Must be their mate on the other side, they remark to one another, and then they're gone.

It is a hard thing to hear. You are not his mate. You are not even a heat partner. If you were, then he wouldn't be in so much pain. Not now, and not back then.

Aventurine has never had easy heats. You keep replaying your memories of all his past ones, each one a wound in your heart: the aching sweetness of nectar and honey; his withering body as he clutched his abdomen and curled up; the tears and sweat staining the mat beneath him. And above all: the fear. The scent of it, the sight of it, the sound of it in his voice. Stronger today than any other day.

By instinct, you know that he cannot persist like this. That this time is somehow worse than all those other times, and that he will become seriously ill if left alone.

After nearly an hour and a half, you finally open the door, fearing the worst.

“Aventurine?” you say quietly, but there's no response, and your stomach drops as you see him.

His body is pale, listless. If it weren't for the fragrance washing over you or the sweat on his temple, you'd worry that he was dead.

Tentatively, you reach out. Rest a hand on his forehead, and it scorches you. He stirs at the touch, doesn't open his eyes—but the quiet sigh of relief is unmistakable. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to reach for you.

“Aventurine,” you say gently. “Aventurine, I'm going to take care of you. Is that alright?”

He doesn't respond. You grimace, pulling away to fetch things for him: several spare pillows from the closet, an extra blanket too. From his suitcase, you grab a few of his sweaters, all thick cotton and fleece. He’d had a sense that Agnisahr would be cold at night. Deserts always get cold after sundown, since sand doesn’t retain heat, he'd told you while he was packing. Or I think so, anyway. Don't know why. Must have read it somewhere. Then he’d given you a long, unreadable look before saying, Make sure to bring a jacket. The warmest one you have. The elements on a planet like Agnisahr can kill a person—even a person like you.

I’m sure I’ll be fine, you’d dismissed him. I can survive anything. Any kind of weather, any kind of illness, any kind of pain: these are all things your species is known for being able to endure, the trait that made you such a prized slave in your master’s eyes, such a useful agent at the IPC. You hadn’t given Aventurine’s warning any thought and hardly paid attention to what you’d thrown into your own suitcase.

It surprises you, then, that you find one of your sweaters in his luggage. Made from Sedanian cashmere and heat tech designed by the Intelligentsia Guild. Cloud-soft and warm to the touch. Aventurine had bought it for you before you were deployed to Jarilo-IV to collect intelligence for Topaz. Warmest thing in the known universe, he’d commented. One of a kind, too. Remember to wear it, alright? Don't let my money go to waste, now.

You stare at it, kneading the fleece between your fingers. You hadn’t mentioned wanting to bring this sweater. You’d lost it in your closet some months ago and forgot about it. Aventurine must have remembered and gone looking for it, because—why? You aren't sure. Probably because it’s warmer and softer than anything he owns, you guess. Of course he’d want to wear it.

You throw it into the pile of things you’ve collected for him.

You take it all to his bed, the mattress dipping as you sit next to Aventurine. One by one, you scent each item with your wrist, watching him carefully the whole time. You’re quiet as you lay them out around him, leaving him undisturbed as you build a nest. You order water and electrolyte drinks too, and you’re quick about going to the door when you hear room service knocking—with how feverish he is, he probably badly needs it.

Aventurine is awake when you come back. His breathing is still laboured, pained—but calm.

“I said I didn’t need a nest,” Aventurine says, though he doesn’t sound angry. You wonder if he’s too weak to be. His voice is faint, and his eyes are barely open—focused on the pile of blankets and clothing around him.

“You’re welcome.” You open a bottle of water, hold it out to him. “Drink.”

Aventurine pauses, stares at the offering like it's some kind of foreign object. But he accepts it eventually, sitting up and taking it from you. He winces with the movement, which he tries to hide. He ignores your frown as he drinks, and he doesn't stop until the bottle is empty.

“There are more,” you say, pointing at the several additional bottles on the nightstand. “And some food and some painkillers. I don't know how well they’ll work. This isn't a normal heat. If you're alright with it, I'll call a doctor and—”

“Everything smells like you,” he says quietly, and you stop.

“...yes. Unless they’re mated, nests usually feel most comforting to an omega when they smell like an alpha.” You swallow, looking away. “...you don't have a mate, and you didn't want a professional, so this was the only option I could think of. I'm sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He picks out one of the sweaters that have made its way into the nest, the Sedanian one. “I don't mind it.”

“Oh.” You let out a breath. “Then—can I call a doctor?”

His grip on the sweater tightens. “No.”

You frown. “Aventurine—”

“I’ve never needed a doctor before,” he says. He sounds unbothered, but he's fidgeting with the sweater now. “I don't need one now.”

A lie. He almost certainly needed a doctor in some of his prior heats, but you don't push the matter. “Maybe you don't need one,” you say instead, “but it would help.”

“I don't need help,” he says, and you look at him in disbelief. He catches your expression, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Not more than you've already done, I mean.”

“I’ve barely—”

“Contact Topaz. Tell her I'm incapacitated. Tell her…” He hums. “Tell her I have food poisoning. The personnel too. It's not time-sensitive, our business on Agnisahr, so it shouldn't matter if I need a few days off.”

“You really need—”

“Give my regrets to our Agnisahran friends. Deliver it in person. They see you as my right hand, so they’ll most appreciate it coming from you. Topaz can help you with the verbiage. And—try to socialise with them a little, won't you? I think that little omega princess of theirs likes you. Some of the courtesans too, and they have surprising influence.”

“I do not want to be around any omega other than you right now,” you say before you can stop yourself, and Aventurine stops, blinking. His expression is blank, if perhaps a little curious—but his scent shifts. You can't identify how. You add quickly, “I’m not leaving you alone when you’re this sick.”

“Ah. Right.” Aventurine looks away. His voice sounds strange, and his heat must be getting to him again, because it carries a hint of pain. “But you have to. The IPC’s goals take priority.”

You frown. “Your life is more important than the IPC,” you say, and he laughs. Loudly.

“What? This is just a heat. I’m not going to die.”

“You don’t know that without seeing a doctor.”

“I do. I’m willing to bet money that I won’t die.” He cuts you off before you can reply: yes, you're always willing to bet on your life. “And even if I do, that would still be less important than Agnisahr. Do you know how many resources are on this lifeless rock?” His mouth slants. “If we mess up here, I’m dead anyway.”

“I wouldn’t let them touch you.”

“Yes, you would—because they would kill you too.” Aventurine sighs. His eyes close, and his brow creases—a sign that whatever reprieve he was lucky enough to get is about to end. “Go do what I asked. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll… see a doctor if you do.”

You stand immediately. “Alright. I’ll be back to check on you.”

“I know.”

You stop at the door, giving him a long look. Seeing him like this—lying on a proper bed, cradled in a warm nest, with water and food and medicine nearby—you feel a little better. This is leagues beyond what he’d been afforded in his days as a slave, at the very least. Even if he isn’t free, at least he isn’t trapped.

But it still doesn’t feel good, having to step away. The last thing you want to do is talk to other people, pretend to have interest in other omegas. There are an astonishing number of them who are interested in you on this planet—that princess, and some baron’s son, and one of the prince’s favourite paramours—but you can’t bring yourself to care even for business purposes when Aventurine is like this. You can't act as if you are enjoying yourself when you know he is in pain.

You wonder about telling Topaz the truth. You wonder if she’d be worried enough about Aventurine to let you neglect this mission and cover for you instead, without letting Jade or Diamond or anyone else dangerous know. Not that you think that anyone at the Company particularly cares about Kakavasha—it’s only that he’s valuable. Aventurine of Stratagems is valuable. How many worlds have fallen because of him?

But he seemed unwilling to bet on his worth to them. Which is startling, given how often he's bet on it in the past.

“What’s so important about this planet,” you can’t help but ask, “that the IPC would rather you die than lose it?”

He’s silent for a long moment. His eyes are closed—hidden—but you can see his knuckles whiten as he clutches the Sedanian sweater.

“Copper,” he says. “They want it for the copper.”

When Kakavasha first suggested a friendship to you, it had felt like something in between a proposition and a threat:

Go ahead, he'd said. Use me as you wish. You can even stab me in the back if you want. Just be mindful of this: I don't make deals that don't pay off.

It might have been a strange way of making friends in any other circumstance, but in a house of slaves, it was a natural one. You had not been a clever person—still aren't—but you understood that your place in the world was one of a tool. This was the place of all slaves: you were all things to be used. Your body was a thing to be used. It was valuable for its strength, for its hardiness, for its threat in the arena and for its convenience in your master’s bed (or in a dark basement, or within a heat house, or inside whichever omega your mistress ordered you to calm down). It did not surprise you that Kakavasha wanted to use it as well. It did not surprise you that Kakavasha expected you to use him in return.

You never would have, of course. Kakavasha was not a thing to be used—he had always been a mate. Though you were happy to let him use you, because all you were was a tool anyway, so it was really all you could offer him: to be used.

None of this has changed for you. You don't think any of this has changed for Aventurine, either. With each new friendship he makes, he repeats those familiar words: Use me as you wish. And with each person who accepts, this is exactly what they do: they use him, and they use him, and they use him until suddenly they notice he's tricked them and they've got the losing hand.

You damned gambler, they always spit. You Sigonian wretch. All you know is how to manipulate people. Thief, liar, cheat, whore. Despite all these insults, Aventurine always smiles at them. Cry as they might, he’s won his bet and has their world in his palms.

Winner takes all, he sometimes gloats.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. This is all Aventurine knows; these are his great guiding principles in life. (He's told you this point blank, stacking up chips in his favourite gambling dens with a self-satisfied grin.) You often find yourself coming back to these conversations, particularly when you need to convince him of something.

And right now, you very badly need to convince him of something.

Aventurine is ignoring his doctor’s advice. His suppressants are unstable in extreme temperatures, he's been told. During travel on Agnisahr, they'd degraded, and now he’s experiencing his first heat in several years. Of course it's going to be painful, his doctor had said. I can prescribe you some medication to ease the symptoms, but really—nothing will work better than a heat partner. It doesn't need to be a mate. Any alpha will do.

The doctor had been an alpha. You had asked for a beta or omega, but alphas tend to dominate in Interastral Medical Schools, so they're in short supply. Aventurine had been still the whole time, face unreadable, but you could tell he wanted to throw up at the stench of an unfamiliar alpha. You had stepped between the two of them, not bothering to hide the animosity in your voice. We’ll take the medication, you had said, and the doctor had sniffed the air and nodded at you in approval.

Probably won't need it. An alpha like you could sort him out with just a few rounds, he told you, and both of you stayed quiet as he left.

You still aren't talking, or even looking at each other. Aventurine has lay down in his nest again, closing his eyes, while you stand as far away as physically possible—at the door where you'd just shown the doctor out. With the room shut off again, windows closed and door locked, Aventurine’s scent is starting to flood your senses once more. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him shivering.

“What do you want to do?” you ask.

“Nothing.” He swallows. “I'll be fine.”

He's afraid. You can tell he's afraid. And you can tell he’ll be more afraid if you take even a single step closer to him, so you nod and say, “I'll go pick up your medication, then,” and Aventurine doesn't stop you. You can see him curling up in his nest, face pressed into the cashmere sweater.

But he still doesn't stop you.

After a few more days, Aventurine finally breaks.

There is a rare sag to his shoulders when he calls you to the room, along with a taste of dread in the air. You haven't seen him so vulnerable in years. Aventurine is not an open person, so cunning and self-possessed in his wealth—but Kakavasha was more brittle, more powerless, flayed raw and open even though he didn't often get the whip. (It would ruin his value if he ever scarred—his looks were his greatest selling point, your master said.) He was especially defeated when forced to spend his heats with an alpha he didn't want. You wonder, a vice grip of pain around your heart, whether this entire situation is simply an extension of that. Whether he is calling you here against his will, this time compelled by his pain, rather than his master. Whether this luxury suite feels like that wretched basement to him.

He doesn't look at you when he talks, nor does he sit up. He remains curled in his nest, nearly clinging onto the blankets and clothes.

“That stupid medication,” he pants out, sharp even in his heat, “isn't working.”

“I can tell.” Your brow knots. He’s in so much pain, it is palpable. “I”—you hesitate, voice dropping. “Can I help you?”

He goes quiet. As both Aventurine and Kakavasha, he has always been disinclined to accept help from other people. There is no such thing as unconditional help in his mind—only leverage and weakness. He hates it when people have leverage over him, and he hates being weak. Both are things that can be exploited, and Aventurine always needs to be the one doing the exploiting. He always needs to be in control.

Even like this, the last threads of his sanity about to snap, with every circuit of his omega biology trying to drag him into insensible lust, he fights viciously to be in control.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. Control and being controlled. This is how he's always lived. This is how he's always survived.

This is the only way to let him maintain control when he is most afraid of losing it.

“I don't mind,” you say quietly, “if you use me.”

Even through the haze of heat, Aventurine’s eyes sharpen. “What?”

“I don't mind if you use me,” you repeat, voice neutral. Unfeeling. The proposal might sound cruel to someone else, but not you. After all—your place in the world is one of a tool, and this is what you've always done as an alpha and a slave: sleeping with people to take care of their needs, or sometimes just their desires. It did always make you feel strangely hollow, but you think it will feel just fine with Aventurine. All you've ever wanted to do is keep him safe, and surely, this will do that, but—

“I'll only help if you want. I don't want to force it.” You lower your eyes. “But if you do want it, I'll be careful with you. You can lead. I promise.”

“...I know.” Aventurine’s voice is weak, cracks with pain, but you can tell he's speaking with clarity. “I know you will be.”

You look up. “Then you'll let me help?”

Aventurine looks away—a sign that he cannot adopt his usual smile. He’s clutching that sweater again, pressed close to his chest.

“Just your wrist,” he says quietly.

You listen carefully. “What?”

“I just—I just want your wrist.” He looks away. “Your—your scent gland. Only that.”

“Okay.”

You get up, then falter. When it was your job to comfort your mistress’ omega slaves, you were told to enter their nests—no permission needed from them, no permission needed from you, because only her permission ever mattered for anything. The omegas were usually too delirious to care, often had even begged for it with the state of mind that they were in. But Aventurine is different. He's not like you, and he's not like them. He's never bent to any of his masters’ wills. And even if he did, you wouldn't want to have him bend to yours.

Instead of climbing into his nest, you ask, “Can I sit on the bed?” He doesn't answer. “Just the edge of it,” you add, and you hear him exhale.

“Fine,” he says, breathing measured.

“Thank you,” you say, and he gives you a confused look. But then you're reaching out with a hand, offering it, and he is quickly distracted.

Aventurine drops the sweater, grabs your hand almost immediately. He turns over your palms, fingers tracing your heartlines—as if testing you, as if mapping out territory. He runs his thumbs along the veins of your wrists, too, right over your scent gland, and you have to force yourself not to shudder at the feeling. You only stay still, letting him explore the contours of your hands, letting him acclimate to the feeling of your skin. He laces his fingers with your own, a latticework trap, and he finally drags his wrist along yours.

Both of you inhale sharply.

You can't react. You know it'll scare him if you do, but it's hard to keep still. The way his scent blossoms, the way it mingles with yours, the way it all washes over you—what you're doing can hardly be called touching, but you feel like you're going mad. Especially when he flushes like that, his vibrant eyes fluttering shut. Especially when the sweetness of honey overtakes your senses. Especially when you can smell the way his body is reacting, all that wetness and heat and slick dripping between his legs. You don't miss the way his thighs rub together, nor the hard outline of his cock straining against his pants.

Aventurine shudders. He brings your hand up to his face, rests his cheek in your palm. His skin is flushed and burning with fever, and it's no wonder that he's sighing with relief at your touch. You try not to stare at the way his mouth falls open. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze a hazy violet and blue—before he closes his eyes again and presses his lips into your wrist.

Fuck.

“Aventurine—” You have to stop, voice strangled, when you feel the full softness of his lips working against your skin. He’s panting now, laboured breaths sweeping over your veins. Then you feel his teeth catch, a gentle nip on your flesh, and when he groans into your racing pulse—deep, relieved, desperate, a noise that makes your gut flare with heat—you realise you can't do this.

You pull back your hand, and Aventurine startles.

“Aventurine,” you say, voice strained. Maybe we should stop, you want to say, but he cuts you off.

“I need”—a shaky breath—“I need more.”

You watch Aventurine carefully. His pupils are dilated, blue irises nearly eclipsed. His cheeks are rosy, and he can't stop panting. You can fully smell his arousal now, even through his silk clothes. He's desperate, needing to be filled.

But he also looks torn. His brows are knotted, and you can taste a faint hint of fear in the air now. His knuckles clutch at the sheets, almost white, and he stares at them. He can't look up. He can't look at you. His whole body is tense, like he wants to bolt—and if he weren't so weak, you think he might actually.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He doesn't nod. He also doesn't shake his head. His arms clutch at his midsection as he winces. He doesn't look like Aventurine. He looks like Kakavasha. It makes your heart ache as you watch him give into his body’s demands, wearing the same expression he did on the day your master bought him.

“...don't use your Voice on me,” Aventurine—Kakavasha—says quietly.

It takes you a moment to realise what he's asking. “I won't.”

“And”—his eyes somehow grow even more evasive, hidden by his long lashes— “don’t touch my commodity code.”

His commodity code. His commodity code that is seared into his scent gland. His code that, if you kiss, will ease his agony instantly. His code that, if you bite—will chain him to you irreversibly.

“Of course I won't,” you say instantly.

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

“And—” Aventurine looks away, jaw tight. His voice is quiet but wrought with tension: “—I don't like when people put things inside me.”

Something claws the walls of your heart.

“That's fine too,” you reply. “I don't mind doing it the other way.”

Aventurine’s sigh is nearly inaudible, but unmistakable. His scent shifts a little bit, the wildflower fragrance fading ever so slightly. But he doesn't come to you. He merely sits there—waiting. Expecting. Maybe dreading. Even in the senseless daze of heat, he’s too anxious to move.

You approach slowly. Though you're overwhelmed by the bouquet of his scent, though you feel a curl of heat in your belly in response to it—you are slow. Alphas are supposedly victims of insatiable lust whenever around an omega in heat, absolved of every action they take, but you are convinced this is a lie. You have never once wanted to handle Aventurine with such cruelty. You think that inflicting violence on him, more than anything else, would go against your biology. Every molecule in your body would reject putting him in such pain or inciting such fear. So you are careful when you approach him, slow as you inch up to him—but you do not think it helps.

Aventurine lies down, his face turned away from yours. His eyes squeeze shut, like he's expecting this to hurt. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you lean over him, draping your body over his—the only position you've ever taken an omega in, other than mounting them from behind.

(You do not want to mount Aventurine. You never have. It is an impersonal position, a position that omega biology supposedly would force him to enjoy, a position that alphas have likely dictated him to enjoy. You think there is nothing you would hate more. In your weakest, most selfish moments, in your worst ruts, when you’ve allowed yourself to fantasise about mating Kakavasha—you are always facing each other, and he is always looking at you with his eyes you've always loved, and it always feels intimate. Never impersonal. Never dictated. Never forced.)

Aventurine is so honeysweet beneath you. More fragrant than any omega you’ve ever been with. You glance at his commodity code, trying to ignore the scent of his branded skin, then lean down to press your face against the other side of his neck, where a faint scar mars the otherwise flawless slope of his nape. Like every other omega slave you've ever slept with, the scent gland there has been excised: a precautionary measure to reduce the risk of an unwanted mating bite.

(Not unwanted by them—the wants of a slave never matter—but unwanted by their owners. A mating bite would ruin the code seared into their neck, claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. It would hurt their resale value. Only owners are allowed to claim slaves in such a permanent way—and the wants of a slave have no relevance there, either.)

It's a funny thing, this surgical scar. Even with their gland missing, you've noticed that most omegas like having their neck scented by you anyway, probably from some vestigial instinct. You guess that Aventurine won't be any different, that maybe it will comfort him. But when your lips skim the scar left on him by his owner, his entire body stiffens beneath you. His fragrance cuts into your lungs, sharp.

You recoil, as if burned by the touch of him.

“Sorry,” Aventurine is quick to say. He tries to glance at you, but his diamond pupils quickly avoid you again. “Don’t worry about me. Just do whatever you need to do.”

“But you're scared,” you point out, and you see his brow twitch. “You’re scared when I touch you.”

“Not scared,” he lies. “Just…”

When his eyes finally look at you—land on your lips—you understand.

A bite would claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. If you lost your mind—give into the insatiable lust of an alpha whenever around an omega in heat—you might bite him, and then you would own Aventurine.

And Aventurine would rather die than be owned by anyone again.

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already know what you need to do.

“It's okay,” you say gently, and his brow knots. “I have an idea.”

Aventurine is always afraid.

This is a fact that has haunted you since the day you met him. You've wondered about how to fix it—the bare minimum as his mate (always his, even if he doesn't want you)—and you’ve never quite pinned down how. Because when someone has spent their life in perpetual fear, how do you make them feel safe? When their life is constantly at risk, how do you ever make them feel calm?

You still aren't sure of the answer. But after seeing Kakavasha become Aventurine, you now have a good guess.

It is clear from his scent that Aventurine does not feel remotely safe right now. Not when you leave to fetch something from your own room, and not when you return. The anxiety thickens when he sees, in your hands, a very familiar muzzle.

Aventurine stares. He is not smiling, but he also does not reveal his discomfort on his face, even as beads of sweat line his temple. But his voice is too controlled, too calm, when he asks, “You kept the mask.”

You nod.

“I told you to throw it out,” he points out, “when I freed you.”

“I know. Sorry. I don't know why I kept it.” You remember how tightly you clutched it before the incinerator, thinking about how strange it would feel, discarding something that you'd worn everyday since you presented—but you don't tell him this. Instead, you say, “But it’s convenient.”

Before Aventurine can say anything, you toss him the remote.

“You’re afraid of my bite and my Voice, but you don't have to be with this,” you explain. Your tone is gentle, soothing. Probably disarming coming from an alpha, with how he is in heat. Perhaps that's why he’s studying the remote rather than chucking it away. “You'll be in full control if I wear this.”

Control. Mere seconds after you say it, you can smell his fragrance change again, mellowing. It's only a brief moment of calm that fades when you latch the mask onto your face, but he doesn't smell as nearly as stressed before.

Aventurine watches you carefully as the carbon steel swallows your maw, its old and familiar edges biting into you. For the first time in years, you cannot tell what he is thinking—truly poker-faced even to you.

“You aren't bothered by wearing that thing while we do this,” he says—asks?—and you shake your head. The muzzle was part of you for years. You were wearing it when you killed someone for the first time. You were wearing it when you went into rut for the first time. You were wearing it when your master had sex with you for the first time. It doesn't bother you that you’ll wear it when you have sex with Aventurine.

If you could speak, you would ask him, Why do you think it would bother me? But all you do is gesture for him to sit up. To switch places with you. You lie down—something you've never done with an omega—and wait for him to get on top.

Aventurine stares at you for a long, quiet moment. It's followed by a sigh of relief. Disarmed, he—for the first time in any heat you've witnessed—finally relaxes. His scent wafts over you as he climbs between your legs, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hands as he parts your thighs, almost scalding.

He doesn't bother getting you ready, too needy to think rationally, but he doesn't have to anyway. You've been wet ever since you felt his mouth touch your wrist, hard ever since you heard him groan into it. You're equally desperate to get some relief as you feel his cockhead sliding against your opening, leaking all over your entrance as his slick drips onto your thighs. His breath shakes as he enters you, and he can't hear it with how you're muzzled—but you groan just as deeply as him at the tight stretch.

You hear him swear when you clench around him, watch him lean over you. His arms shake as he supports himself, refusing to succumb to his heat even as he chases his relief. You seek out his gaze (just as in your dreams, facing each other, intimate), and his neon eyes catch on your eyes for a brief, breathtaking second—

—before he looks away.

There's a flash of—you don't know what, maybe pain? Or fear?—in his irises as he does. A twitch of the brow, a tell he'd normally rather die than let slip. You have the realisation, as Aventurine moves inside you, that even while you're muzzled, even while he has complete control over you—he still can't stand having sex with you. Probably because he can't stand being in heat in general, you tell yourself. Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore. He'd have this reaction to anyone.

Still—you didn't expect him to have this reaction to you.

Your hands twitch, possessed by an old instinct to cover your eyes. But you'd probably scare Aventurine if you moved your arms, so all you do is dig your fingers into the sheets and squeeze them shut. You tell yourself again and again that he'd hate having sex with anyone in these circumstances—not just you. And then you tell yourself, as a desperate, broken moan leaves his branded throat, that he would also come inside anyone in these circumstances, caught within the cruel grip of his heat.

Aventurine stills inside you as he finishes. He pants, sweat dripping down his temple as he shudders in his ecstasy, his spend hot and thick inside you. You can feel his fever break as he comes down from his high, the heat coming off his body easing into a manageable warmth.

Do you feel better, you try to say, but you can't move your mouth while your mask is on. So you wait patiently for Aventurine to come back to himself, watching him carefully as he pulls out and rolls onto the mattress beside you. He finally glances at you then. His eyes narrow once they land on you, confusion flicking through them. Then displeasure. He reaches for the remote.

To your surprise, he immediately punches in the code to unlock your muzzle. Aventurine has apparently remembered the numbers after all these years, as if the moment he freed you has been since seared into his memory.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing you say, and Aventurine gives you a confused look. He’s still panting, dazed, so you ask, “Can I check your temperature?” And when he nods, you confirm your suspicion: he's still much too warm.

There is an ache between your legs and a strange hollow in your gut (because you aren't very experienced with receiving, you think—your body likely just isn't used to the feeling of it), but you quickly forget them. All you can think of is Aventurine, and how he’s still unwell, and how you need to comfort him. The instinct is so strong that you don't even say anything as you get up, straightening out your clothes.

“Are you leaving?” Aventurine asks. His voice is neutral, completely unbothered, but the thought is so horrific to you that you turn back to him with wide eyes.

“Of course not. I'm going to get you water and medicine.” A beat. You stare at Aventurine’s eyes, then think about how he hid them from you during sex. The hollow feeling comes back, but it's mostly eclipsed by your anxiety at the next thought: “...do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to?”

“I—” I'd rather die, you think. Being forced to leave him right now would feel like tearing out a piece of yourself. You don't know if there's an alpha in this world who could leave their mate in the middle of a heat. And even if he is unmarked, unattached to you—you still think of yourself as his mate. (His, always his, even if he doesn't want you.) “I would prefer not to. I am your heat partner. I'm supposed to take care of you.”

You hear a quiet breath. “Right. Of course. You're always so conscientious.” Aventurine nods, as if convincing himself of something. “Try not to take too long.”

“I’ll come back soon,” you promise, and the air sweetens. Encouraged, you add, voice gentle: “I’ll bring that medication, and then we can have sex as many times as you need after I come back. I'll make sure you're not in any pain anymore.” You pause, studying him. “Is there anything else you need to feel better?”

His fragrance changes once more, this time in a way you don't totally recognize. “No.” His voice sounds strange. His scent is still foreign, fluctuating, possibly hinting at some kind of pain. The heat must be getting to him again—and of course it wasn't enough, what you just did, what you can provide. He likely needs to be filled to get any kind of lasting relief, but you left him empty. “No, that's all I want.”

You nod, forcing yourself to look calm. Ignoring the emptiness in your gut. It didn't feel bad, but you hope it'll feel better next time you have sex. You think it will. Alphas are supposed to be filled with an insatiable lust near omegas in heat, after all. And even though you’ve never felt that before—never felt anything sleeping with all those omegas in your mistress’ house—you are sure you'll eventually feel it around Aventurine.

But the feeling never comes. Even though you can tell that his heat has returned by the time you're back—sweat beading his temples, laboured breaths at his lips, his bottoms now discarded, with full evidence of arousal between his legs—you don't feel much of anything as you reach for your mask again.

“Don't,” Aventurine says, before it can clasp around your face. You give him a curious look. He explains, “Don't. I don't want to have sex again. Not yet.”

You stare at him, shifting. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. Not knowing how he wants to use you. “What can I do?”

He gives you a long look. “Come here. I… I want your scent gland.”

It's a sensible request. If there's a way to seek relief without fucking someone—without fucking you, which he clearly hated doing—you're sure Aventurine would prefer it. So you climb into his nest, holding your wrist out for him, and—

“No.” His voice is quiet. “I want the one on your neck.”

“...oh.”

You stand there, not sure where to move. If he wants you in his nest again, or if he’d rather do this standing. You’re relieved when he demands, “Lie down.”

You expect him to get on top of you when you do. Assume that he wants complete control—but he instead lies down beside you. Presses his body into yours, and then his face into your neck. His nose and lips brush against your scent gland, a full-body shudder running through him, and—

—and now you know for a fact that it is a lie that alphas want nothing other than to fuck an omega when they're in heat. Because even like this, with his lips sweet on your neck, with the sheets soaked with his slick, with his spend leaking out of you—you do not want to have sex with Aventurine. You only want to hold him. You only want him to keep scenting you. You only want to scent him back.

You only want him to feel safe.

You breathe in deeply, lungs flooded by honey. You think of what it felt like to hold him in that cold basement, when he was delirious with fever and pain, and you think about how different his scent is now. How much sweeter it is. How much calmer he feels.

“Do you feel better?” you ask, and he doesn't respond, but you know the answer. His hands come up to dig into your shirt, and he presses into you like you're a sweater in his nest. Silence blankets over you both, calm and warm. His laboured breath starts to improve.

He does eventually speak.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “what you smell like?”

You stare at him. Your master used to say that you smelled good, but he'd never elaborated, and you hadn't wanted him to. “No.”

Aventurine breathes in.

“You smell like—” A little sigh, shaking and feverish, leaves him. “You smell like rain.”

Your eyebrows tick up. “Rain?”

“Yes. Or not just rain, but”—he pauses, next words quiet—“more Iike after it rains. You smell like the desert after a rainfall.”

“Oh.” You don't know what to say to that. Feeling distinctly like it's a silly question, you ask, “Is that a good scent?”

“Some would think so. Especially to people from the desert. You probably smell like a blessing to them. Although…”

Aventurine goes quiet again. You stare at the chandelier above you, all crystal and white gold, and wait.

“Although?” you prompt.

“...although I wouldn't really know,” he says. “It’s just a hunch. I bet it's why so many omegas on this planet like you.”

You couldn't care less about those other omegas. All you care about is Aventurine. “And?” you say. “Do you like my scent?”

His reply never comes. He just breathes deeply again, seeking relief from your neck—not intimacy. Any alpha’s scent would work; that doctor told you so. Any alpha’s touch would work, too. There are no special feelings involved here. Your place in the world is one of a tool, and tools are never especially liked nor disliked. Their value exists only in how they can be used.

You don't know why you even bothered to ask the question.

But then something strange happens: Aventurine curls against you, pressing even further into you. His lashes flutter against your pulse again; it ticks up in response, beating fast against his lips.

“I do,” he says quietly. “I do like it.”

You swallow. “But I guess that's because you're in heat. Any alpha would smell good to you, wouldn’t they?”

“No.” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt. “No, I like it because it's yours.”

You know better than to read too much into his response. Aventurine had already said it earlier: No foreign scents. He's only tolerating this whole arrangement because you don't smell unfamiliar to him. Only able to use you because you are the least threatening option.

But the words break something in you—break the thing that made you unable to throw out that little pouch of copper coins that you were saving up for Kakavasha’s freedom, the part of you that made you wear that carbon-steel mask for him. It is this part of you that has your eyes squeezing shut and your arms wrapping around him. You know he’ll recoil, reject you, but just this once—you need to try.

Aventurine doesn't push you away.

He melts into you instead, inhaling deeply. Your scent gland tingles with the warmth of his breath, the feeling of his lips. He seems—comfortable.

You can't fathom why he’s staying in your arms. Perhaps he's simply desperate for some kind of relief from his heat, just like when you held him in the basement while he was delirious from pain. But Aventurine had spoken to you with clarity just now, and his skin doesn't feel scalding so much as warm, and his scent is so different than from that moment. So sweet and so gentle, without a trace of fear. It makes your heart squeeze. As much as you've always wanted Aventurine to feel safe, you'd never imagined that his scent would be so beautiful when he is.

It makes your heart ache. You've never held anything so lovely before, and you’ve never felt so warm before, and it all makes up for how badly it hurt to let Aventurine inside you. How hollow it made you feel to let him use you. How none of that matters as long as you can keep him safe like this, because you belong to Kakavasha. You'll always belong to Kakavasha, in a fate that was chosen for you on the day you met him.

You're his, always his—even if he’ll never want you.

end part i

thank you so much to lore for hosting a fantastic collab and to my sponsors who funded this fic and got it over the finish line! please go check out @ficsforgaza to find other amazing hsr writers you can sponsor in order to help fundraise! here is my own wip list, if you are interested in seeing more from me!

and thank you most of all to YOU! I appreciate you so much for reading this chapter. thank you so much for sticking it through.

additional end notes

[mixtape-timeout]

Hi Stays, this is a post to warn everyone to be wary of a SKZ author here on Stayblr with the username @/gimmeurtmi

I followed them not too long ago, but they suddenly blocked me. I was confused why because I have my age in my account and followed all of their rules. However, I have some reasons to suspect that this user is a Zionist. As you can see I am very Pro-Palestine, it’s in my blog title and bio, and I think this is why they blocked me.

They made a post showing anger about Stays educating Felix on his live about Coca-Cola (For people who don’t know, Coca-Cola is on the BDS boycott list, they support Israel and built an R&D center in occupied Palestinian territory of Atarot) In their post they said it’s “pathetic” for Stays to inform Felix about this and that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Felix made the effort to read about the issue on his live and chose to apologize to Stay for it, but this user thinks that boycotting a brand tied to a genocidal state is the same as bullying.

((Screenshots are not mine))

They also showed strong support for the new SKZ collab with Charlie Puth. Many Stays are boycotting this collab because Charlie Puth is a raging Zionist, and the track also has an Israeli producer, Johnny Goldstein who is also a proud Zionist. gimmeurtmi even made a whole tag for this collab on their blog to show how much they’re excited for it, even though two Zionists worked on it and will be receiving royalties for it. You can also see the tags in the third post showing them speaking of Tommy Hilfiger, yet another Zionist, in a friendly manner.

Furthermore, I talked to other Stays in the community about this because I don’t want to jump to conclusions and gimmeurtmi blocked other users who are showing support for Palestine, not just me. From reading their posts on their other blog (@/stuckonspidey) you can also see how far their beliefs about this go. That’s not to say them being Jewish means they must be a Zionist, because that’s a completely false idea. There are plenty of Jewish people who are not Zionist and support Palestinian liberation because we recognize that what Palestinians are suffering through is a history repeat of what our people went through. But this added with all the other questionable evidence makes me suspicious that this user is a Zionist, or at least an Israeli sympathizer who treats support for Palestine as an inconvenience.

From these posts on their main blog, you can see them refuse to condemn Israel or even say anything about their crimes when they got asked about it. Instead, they just talk about how this genocide has personally affected them. There are no posts (that I could find) of them showing any sympathy or support for Palestine, all their posts about the subject are just self-victimizing posts about how they feel. Yes, it’s a scary time to be a Jewish person as well, I know this as a person of Jewish ancestry, too. But fighting anti-semitism AND fighting for Palestine can and SHOULD co-exist. It’s a huge red flag that the only thing they have to say about the genocide is how Jewish people are the victims in this. They also made another post where they claim that “Zionist” is just a word people use to be anti-semitic. This is a tale as old as time that Zionists have used to excuse, deny, and even justify Israel’s war crimes. I was once told that a genocide of Palestinians doesn’t exist and is just an “anti-semitic blood libel”. This is the exact same rhetoric that Zionists in my community and Zionist news outlets use (which, I add, almost ALL news outlets are strongly biased to Israel because of America’s ties to it. Israel is heavily backed in support from some of the richest and most powerful countries in the world, it is not the victim and never was).

I am not making this for drama. I made this post just to tell fellow Stays to be cautious of which writers you’re reading from and supporting. If you are against the genocide that has been happening to Palestinians for 75 years now, I suggest not supporting this person’s work, because at best they don’t care about what’s happening in Palestine, and at worst, they actually endorse it. There should be no place in our Stay community for this hateful ideology.

[ts19009]

Seventeen Fic Rec's Part 3

(CONTAINS SMUT AND MATURE SUBJECT MATTER)

(Bold title means favorite)

(UPDATED: September 22nd, 2024)

OT13

seventeen as teachers @fairyhaos

seventeen as dads headcanons @bbyobbyo

Back to School with Seventeen (Seventeen TA Collab! Take a look at our Course Options collated by your favourite writers, taught by your favourite members!) @camandemstudios

Seventeen's reaction to you asking them for a baby @j0shuasw1fey

Tales from Camp Masterlist (Thirteen friends reconnect on a camping trip, reminiscing about their times as camp counselors when they were in college.) @kwanisms

✤ Losing It. (masterpost) ✤ (A series of having virginities given to you. Sometimes they throw said virginity at you with full force, other times, they lovingly hold your hand, bat their lashes, and say some of the dumbest shit you’ve ever heard a man say in regards to getting laid for the first time. ) @ncteez

Kim Mingyu

kmg x reader: healing comes in small doses masterlist (husband! dad! kim mingyu x afab! mom!reader) @tomodachiii

Food Wars pt. 1 (You and Mingyu are rival but friendly chefs competing for a spot to be an executive chef at a new location in Madrid. This position would change your life; no matter how attractive he is, you WILL get that spot) @beomcoups

Crossing the Finish Line (Winning is the only thing that matters, except if you're raising money for a charity event with an infuriatingly good-looking swimmer.) @mr-cha-n

Statistically Speaking... (TA! mingyu, fluff, smut [minors DNI], angst, statistics, ur honour they're stupid for one another, descriptions of stress exhaustion and burnout, academic burden, disagreements, mingyu is smart as hell, shitting on bad professors, smut but its a surprise) @gyuswhore

Always // oneshot (Sometimes, one man's burden is everything another man has ever wished for.) @spamgyu

When I Kissed the Teacher (science teacher mingyu, grammar teacher reader, meddling students, crushes, flirting, lots of candy and coffee) @highvern

Read All About It (Anonymous Life and Sex writer, Not Carrie Bradshaw, takes on a 30-day challenge with her boyfriend, Min. How wild fans would go to find out they're none other than Kim Mingyu and his girlfriend?) @highvern

Hot Wheels [M] (Co-Workers to Lovers, Fluff, Humor, Smut 18+) @milfgyu

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖶𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖧𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖧𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽 (fake marriage au!, fluff, angst, smut (18+ mdni) @wonustars

There's a snake in my pants (Crack/humour. Some fluff. Established relationship. Himbo Mingyu! [I love himbo Gyu]) @whipped-for-kpop-fics

Cross My Heart (Your crush Mingyu wants (to eat) you.) @minisugakoobies

Like A Cowboy Part 2 of 4 (Mingyu only needs to wake up with you once to decide he'll do whatever is necessary to do it every day; even if it means letting you help him outside and figuring out how to help you inside, it's worth it.) @sluttywoozi

Let our lips lock, baby (Friends to lovers smut. Fluff. They are in LOVE okay. Birthday boy Gyu <3) @whipped-for-kpop-fics

I can do it for you (After years dealing with everything alone, you stumble upon an old wishbook from your past. And you jokingly writes down your ideal boyfriend, Mingyu. To your surprise, Mingyu magically appears in your couch.) @hoshifighting

here and now. (secret!agent!mingyu x secret!agent!reader, established relationship) @writingmeraki

Jeon Wonwoo

into the night | jeon wonwoo (when you call wonwoo late at night telling him you're stranded, he drops everything to make his way to you (and bring you home safe)) @etherealyoungk

CLOSER (f2l!wonwoo, softdom!wonwo) @hannieehaee

HER | part six (m). (wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.) @chocosvt (HOLY SHIT, THIS SERIES HAD ME CRYING. SNAPS TO THIS AMAZING WRITER!)

𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 (though it didn’t bother wonwoo that his girl wasn’t a gamer like him, he was over the moon when one day she proudly declared she started gaming. one thing he forgot to ask - what kind of games she was playing.) @babyleostuff

knight in shining armor (non-idol! wonwoo x f!reader) @heartsfromia

endpoint (Senior year of college is meant to be full of celebration and smooth sailing. Years of work culminating in the final semesters that will send you off into the real world where clubs, sports, and weekends packed with hungover volunteering to pad your resume no longer mattered. It’d be a piece of cake if it wasn’t for your fuck buddy turned coworker having the same plan. But only one of you can get the department’s most coveted recommendation that all but guarantees your acceptance. Tension rises and the nearly four year thing you’ve had with Wonwoo approaches its endpoint.) @highvern

heads up! stardew. they r gaming. @nonranghaes

Cookies and Cream (academic rivals to lovers, smut, heart wrenching and tooth rotting fluff (wonwoo is down bad bad)) @seokgyuu

April Shower (Wonwoo meets a lot of people through his career as a travel photographer. Not one of them has ever made him want to stay in one place, until he met you.) @sluttywoozi

HEAVEN (wonwoo has a reputation for being distant, quiet and a bit mysterious. once you get to know him better, though, you come to find the sweet, shy boy underneath the surface.) @sanakiras

Patterns (Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?) @highvern

Daylight (between the endless flirty banter or secret looks of longing, the line between you and your boss had always been slightly blurred. But when a night out with friends has you and your boss meeting for the first time outside of the workplace, that line starts to become nonexistent as mutual feelings are brought to light.) @moonscriptsx

✦ sugar & spice (bodyguard!wonwoo x celebrity!reader) @etherealyoungk

Hong Jisoo

New in the Suburbs – New Neighboor! Joshua @hoshifighting

distracted (husband&dad!joshua, wife&mom!reader, established relationship) @eomayas

SUMMER KISSES (joshua coming home is a pleasant surprise) @arafilez

richhusband!joshua headcannons (just some headcons, but i'm obsessed with them) @number1mingyustan

still the one (5 years after your break up, Joshua tries his best to get your attention. May it be creating a new instagram to get you to notice him, making your brother (Seungkwan) secretly invite him to his birthday party, and his latest act: begging you on his knees in front of your door to get him back. He just never gives up!) @bratzkoo

city lights series | joshua hong (M) [ongoing] (rock singer joshua, neighbours with benefits) @hannieween

best friend’s brother (This had me crying ugly tears. its my fav) (imestep, romance, angsty angst, major feels abt having a crush, lots of flirting, smut, drama, happy tears.) @chocosvt

not according to plan | hjs (fake dating, strangers to friends to ?? | fluff, slight angst, smut) @the-boy-meets-evil

Expiration Date (2/2) (artist!joshua x model!fem!reader) @number1mingyustan

Birds of a Feather ( joshua hong x f reader) @onlymingyus

Timestamp! Aquamarine Au! @mysafehaneul

on second thought (where your roommate, wonwoo, has an interesting solution to all your bad dates. nothing can go wrong with two friends crossing a line, can it?) @the-boy-meets-evil

Yoon Jeonghan

BITE (idol!jeonghan x hybeidol!reader, f2l, meet-cute, very unrealistic schedules for idols lol, jeonghan is a menace, a lot of will they wont they, reader plays hard to get, afab reader, small age gap implied, one mention of the word oppa as a honorific (sorry</3), reader is mentioned to be international (no specific race, just not born in korea), smut, dry humping, penetrative sex, etc.) @hannieehaee

building blocks | yjh (agreeing to be the teaching assistant is the last thing you want in a semester where you're already swamped with work. but, you need a letter of recommendation from the professor and you're out of other options. enter jeonghan, the menace who signs up for the class seemingly on a whim and disrupts your entire routine.) @the-boy-meets-evil (OBSESSED WITH THESE TA SERIES)

"lovie" (all the ways jeonghan uses your nickname) @cherryredcheol

Titty-Shirt! (18+) (pervert!rollercoaster operator!jeonghan x bigtiddie!fem!reader) @beefboyandbabygirl

love café (while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not) @chocosvt

five ways to say "i love you" - jeonghan (how jeonghan shows his love to you, through all five love languages) @p0ckykiss

Xu Minghao

Meet Me In Amsterdam (Artist!Minghao x Artist!Fem!Reader) @okiedokrie

GOODNIGHT N GO (idol!minghao x hybeidol!reader) @hannieehaee

To all the love letters I wrote but never sent (fluff, best friends to lovers) @welcometomyoasis

Birthday Gift l Xu Minghao (It's your birthday and Minghao wants to give you your present!) @jenoslutie

Lee Seokmin

through a different lens — l.sm (meet cute, strangers to something) @miniseokminnies

after dessert (just pure smut lol, but it was good XD) @xurengu0

behind the stands (Seokmin, Gryffindor's star chaser, is widely known as your rival. What everyone doesn't know is that before every game, his lips are always on yours.) @xurengu0

Beautiful Liar (mafia au, dark romance? angst, smut.) @starlightx

Epistolary Yearning (epistolary form, historical fantasy, romance | smut) @himbocoups

Nice Guys Finish First (After a first date with the sweetest man you've ever met, thanks to a mutual friend, you're more than willing to silence his doubts and show him how sexy he was to you.) @celestiababie

midnight rain | lsm (after seven years away, you finally return home. meeting seokmin again wasn't in your plans, but life wasn't willing to let you have it your way.) @wongyuuu

[baddestbittyontheblock]

hong jisoo (joshua) fic recs

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

ꈍᴗꈍ vanilla by @milfgyuu  joshua hong x fem!reader | 11.2k words, friends to lovers, smut, 18+

-joshua has a secret but perhaps it’s not really a secret at all. maybe you’ve just refused to see it in an effort to keep your feelings at bay.

ꈍᴗꈍ vanilla II by @milfgyuu  joshua hong x fem!reader | 8.7k words, friends to lovers, romance, smut 18+

-joshua has you on edge all evening and you’re not sure if you’ll survive dinner with your families. you, however, have him dealing with feelings he’s never had to war with, especially in the bedroom and it throws him into a tailspin. 

ꈍᴗꈍ something more by @sluttywonwoo joshua hong x reader | swearing, smut (18+), masturbation, unprotected sex, choking, degradation, lowkey spit play, 4.5k

-it’s a tale as old as time- your roommate walks in on you masturbating and things escalate from there

ꈍᴗꈍ studio session by @sluttywonwoo joshua hong x reader | swearing, smut (18+), edging, sex toys, fingering, exhibitionism, degradation, 2.8k

-you and your boyfriend decide to try something new- aka letting other members watch him edge you (ft. seungcheol, jeonghan, wonwoo, seokmin, and vernon)

ꈍᴗꈍ your gentleman by @wonwussy joshua hong x afab!reader | smut, (minors dni), camboy!shua, voyeurism, exhibitionism, broadcasted oral (m), swallowing cum, pet names (for reader and viewers), very soft dom!shua if you squint and turn your head to the side 27 degrees, use of “sir”, TALK OF CONSENT (BECAUSE CONSENT IS SEXY Y’ALL); this is part of the collab with svthub, 2.2k

-“do you want to join me on stream this weekend?”

ꈍᴗꈍ honey lemon ginger by @seokmingiggles joshua hong x gn!reader | fluff, established relationship, the reader is sick (with the common cold)

-you’ve unexpectedly come down with a mild cold, yet your boyfriend doesn’t hesitate to leap in and take care of you.

ꈍᴗꈍ joshua blurb by @bbugyu joshua hong x reader

-bf joshua doting his girl

ꈍᴗꈍ lazy nights by @pileofwords joshua hong x reader | floofy fluff, 1.2k

-joshua comes home after a long day to find you in the middle of a beading project.

ꈍᴗꈍ title by @leejungchans joshua hong x fem!reader | fluff, established relationship au, ceo au, brief alcohol mentions and consumption

-in which your husband is all too happy to remind people of your new title.

ꈍᴗꈍ all my love by @jaestrz idol!joshua x idol!reader | fluff, angst

-the sound of soft background music was ringing in your ears as the room was filled with family relatives who knows if you knew them or not.

ꈍᴗꈍ love on air masterlist by @suhnshinehaos joshua hong x gn!reader | non-idol au, university au, childhood friends to ???, so much pining, fluff, a bit of angst, honestly so corny and cheesy

-joshua hong wants you to know how he feels about you, but god forbid he actually say it out loud. instead, he settles on the next best thing : dedicating a song to you every week on the campus radio. too bad you’re too dense to actually figure out it’s all for you.

ꈍᴗꈍ oceans and engines by @renjunphile hong jisoo x female!reader | exes to lovers!au, fluff, angst-ish, idol!au. fluff central. just thousands of words of self-indulgent fluff with little to no plot

-when hong jisoo left his beloved hometown at 18 years old, he also left you, his proclaimed great love. it takes another 7 years for you to catch up to him again and close the oceans in between you.

ꈍᴗꈍ impulsive by @leejungchans joshua hong x gn!reader | food mentions, kissing, fluff, humour(ish), university au, established relationship au, joshua’s flirty in this

-in which you help your boyfriend with yet another one of his 2am impulse decisions.

ꈍᴗꈍ non-flat by @venerex joshua hong x gn!reader | sex descriptions (but no actual sex), reader has some unspecified medical conditions and body insecurities, descriptions of body shape and stretch-marks (might be a trigger for someone with weight-related insecurities), 1.2k

-“something wrong?”

ꈍᴗꈍ smut blurb by @venerex joshua hong x fem!reader | oral (f receiving), head....pushing?

-"it's okay sweetheart, you can do it"

ꈍᴗꈍ forget with joshua by @venerex joshua hong x reader | orgasm denial, cockwarming, intercourse

-imagine coming home after a horrible day to a concerned joshua, who takes it upon himself to make you feel better - orders your favorite food, offers to ready a bath for you, offers cuddles etc.

ꈍᴗꈍ domino by @universecorp softdom!joshua hong x sub!afab!reader | fluff, crack, smut, standoffish reader (only for a bit), protected sex, slow burn, frat parties, Joshua is a butt when he's drunk/hungover, joshua is also bad at feelings, Throwing up (from drinking), past fling with jihoon(so y'all are pretty close), jealous joshua

-after a one night stand on your birthday, you never expected to meet the stranger again. you also never expected him to enter your life permanently.

ꈍᴗꈍ routine by @neonun-au joshua hong x reader | fluff, slice-of-life, established relationship

-domestic bliss

ꈍᴗꈍ simp by @horanghoe husband!josh hong x wife!reader | semi-sfw simping, mention of alcohol consumption, swearing, generally sfw

-joshua being a simp for his wife on a date while a babysitter watches the kiddos

ꈍᴗꈍ late to the party by @sluttywoozi  husband!josh hong x reader | no specified pronouns or gendered terms; wears a dress, makeup, heels, lingerie, has breasts and a vagina, horny and in love husband!joshua, swearing, kissing, dirty thoughts, spanking mention

-joshua would be so extremely down bad for his partner

ꈍᴗꈍ cute blurb by @husbandhoshi  joshua hong x reader

-joshua who, after making sweet love to you, wraps you up in blankets like a cloak so you stay warm before getting up to grab all the aftercare necessities

[kwanisms]

Stranded for the Holidays Collab

➮ a stray kids & ateez writer collaboration

The holidays are typically about family, friends, and gatherings but sometimes it also means inclimate weather and forces beyond our control running amok and ruining what's meant to be a joyous time. So here are 16 stories about being stranded during the holidays brought to you by 9 amazing writers; @anyamaris , @millennial-fangirl , @twisted-tales-of-all , @yoonguurt , @kpop-stories-21 , @staytinyville , @skyechild , @stardragongalaxy , & myself.

index

❅ Swiss Holiday by Booki

➮ best friend's brother!Yunho × f!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 21.4k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: All throughout her formative years, Y/N has always harbored a bit of a crush on her best friend’s brother, Yunho. Having not seen him for years, she doesn’t expect those feelings to come back when she joins the Jeong’s on a family trip to a cabin in the Alps for the holiday. When she meets Yunho and his girlfriend, she’s hopeful that she can finally move on.

❅ Read Now

❅ Purrfect Company by Anya

➮ cafe owner!Minho × reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.7k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Working at a cat cafe has its perks, but your sarcastic boss Minho is definitely not one of them. Despite it being the holidays, you have no one to spend it with so you’ve volunteered to take the shift at the cafe on Christmas eve. A power outage and a surprise visit from your seemingly rigid boss has you discovering things you’d never have known otherwise. Maybe Minho has a softer side than you’d realized.

❅ Read Now

❅ Room 25: a Christmas Love Story by Liz

➮ idol!Changbin × reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Changbin is enjoying his Christmas break from Stray Kids and life. He checks into a ski resort. He runs to an old hometown friend. Who is working at the resort. One can surmise it turns into a Christmas romance.

❅ Read Now

❅ Bittersweet Holiday by Sar

➮ Hongjoong × reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.7k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Christmas has always been yours and Hongjoong's favorite holiday. After all, it was on Devember 24th four years ago that the two of you became husband and wife. But this year is different; not only will it be the last one you celebrate with Hongjoong, it will be the last one you celebrate period. And you can't think of a better place to be when things happen than snowed in with your husband at your family's mountain cabin.

❅ Read Now

❅ Just as the Kids Predicted by Jay

➮ Jeongin × reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When the new student mentor catches first-grade teacher Mr. Yang's eyes, he tries to keep his crush to a minimum. However, then they get too drunk at the annual holiday party and confess their feels for him as he drives them home, he begins making moves, and a snowstorm during a staff-only workday helps them move things along even faster.

❅ Read Now

❅ This Isn't Grey's Anatomy by Kay

➮ Seungmin × reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.8k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Working the night shift at the hospital has always been easy for Y/N because most often than not, everyone eas asleep and there wasn't much she needed to do. However, when she gets Seungmin as a patient because he has bronchitis, her chill nights were anything but chill. With the heating system working slowly, there was only so much blankets could do to heat up the body.

❅ Read Now

❅ Crafting Christmas by Sky

➮ single dad!San × f!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 15.2k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a failed relationship and an ailing mother forces Y/N to move back to her hometown, despite not wanting to. She knows in her heart that everything will be the same as the day she left. Nothing ever changes in a small town... except when it does. A new neighbor, a new hardware store, and two new additions to two will bring the holiday magic into Y/N's life. The question is, will the magic stay or will the Ghost of Christmas Past ruin everything?

❅ Read Now

❅ Home for the Holidays by Mio

➮ Seonghwa × reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.7

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Seonghwa comes gome early the day before Christmas Eve to surprise you, and with the roads being closed to all the snow you were not expecting anyone at your door at 9pm.

❅ Read Now

❅ Naughty or Nice: a Complicated Christmas Story by Liz

➮ Mingi × reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Mingi and you broke off a week before Christmas and was due to get the rest of his stuff on Christmas Eve. Was he being cruel in picking it up on that day, both his and your favorite holiday. Or was he trying to get back together? Either way, you would get your answer since you're now snowed in.

❅ Read Now

❅ Snow Stars by Haru

➮ Wooyoung × reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: On vacation for the holidays, a break from all the busy times have left you feeling under the weather. What better way to warm you up and get better than the brightest star in your heart?

❅ Read Now

❅ A Boyfriend for Christmas by Sar

➮ Jisung × reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.6

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Telling your parents you had a boyfriend always kept them off your back about settling down. Now that they're coming up for Christmas, your lie is about to be exposed and you begin to panic. Luckily, Fate takes pity on you and has you running into a cute barista who captures your heart immediately.

❅ Read Now

❅ Frauds and Festivities by Jay

➮ Jongho × reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.3k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and your boyfriend have been drifting away for the past couple of weeks. It's god-awful timing though, as the planned holiday trip with your friends creeps around the corner. After deciding to stick it out through the holidays, you manage to get on each other's nerves more than ever before, but you must keep up the act.

❅ Read Now

❅ Less Than Perfect by Anya

➮ boyfriend!Yeosang × reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.5k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Your boyfriend Yeosang has planned the most amazing vacation for the two of you over the Christmas holiday. While the journey starts out fine, you both find yourselves in a small town with car troubles and no mechanic to fix it because of the holiday.  What should have been a perfectly planned vacation turns into everything going wrong, or so your boyfriend thinks.  It could just be that perfect isn’t what you’re looking for.

❅ Read Now

❅ the Most Wonderful Time of the Year by Sky

➮ Chris × f!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.6k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Christmas this, Christmas that. The "most wonderful time of the year" is not how Y/N would describe it. Sure, it used to be a magical time full of happiness and love, but she let that belief go years ago. Christmas is all about how much money you spend on someone and making yourself look good to outsiders. Snow is wet and everything is cold during this time of year; makes everything gross. Her best friend is tired of have the Grinch as a roommate, especially when he remembers what it was like when she loved Christmas. This year he finally decides that it's time to bring the magic back into her life. And maybe that magic will bring a little love with it.

❅ Read Now

❅ Ghost of the Past by Booki

➮ ex!Hyunjin × f!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 20.1k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Y/N never expected to run into her ex again, especially not at a holiday party of all places. Nor did she expect for him to offer to drive her home when her ride bails on her. She definitely did not expect Hyunjin’s car to get stuck in the snow and for them to have to spend the night at an elderly couple’s house where they, unsurprisingly, have to share a room and even more unsurprisingly, there’s only one bed.

❅ Read Now

❅ Holiday Warmth by Haru

➮ Felix × reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after bring snowed in from the winter storm and your friends in neighboring cabins, what better way to pass the time as the countdown to Christmas is near.

❅ Read Now

[forest-hashira]

Biblically Accurate

hi guys!!! i wrote this as an entry for my anniversary/200 follower milestone collab event! i have at least one more entry planned for myself, and a few other people are writing/drawing things as entries as well! you can find the event masterlist here. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy this silly goofy little thing 💜

read on ao3 | wc: ~3.1k | cw: gender neutral reader (no pronouns, reader is dressed as a female character for halloween), bickering/banter/teasing, slight hint of jealous gojo, can be interpreted as pre-relationship or fully platonic

“You’re really not putting any more effort into your costume?” you asked, looking Shoko over and eyeing the white sheet draped over her arm as you passed her your hand mirror to hold. You were in the common area of the dorms with her, Nanami, and Haibara, the three of you putting the finishing touches on your costumes.

“Nope,” Shoko confirmed, accepting the mirror and holding it in her lap as you sat down, pulling out your small set of face paints. “Gojo told me my only options were a ghost or a sexy nun.”

“Not even a regular nun?”

She shook her head. “He said if I showed up dressed like a “musty old lady” nun he would refuse to be seen with me.” The way she used air quotes and an exaggerated expression of disgust around the description made you roll your eyes, despite your smile; that sounded just like your senpai. 

“I don’t blame you for picking the ghost, then.”

“Thank you.” Shoko smiled at you, popping a piece of gum into her mouth with her free hand; she’d been trying to quit smoking – on campus, at least – since she’d gotten busted by Yaga so many times already this school year. 

Setting your face paints and brushes down on the table beside Shoko, you stood again, grabbing a few paper towels and filling a small glass with water to clean off your brushes when you were finished. You glanced over at your classmates as you walked back to your seat, smiling a bit to yourself as you saw Haibara gushing over Nanami’s costume.

Doing group costumes by year had been Gojo’s idea, though he insisted the themes needed to be kept secret for each group. Hearing Shoko say what her options apparently were gave you some idea what your upperclassmen had chosen as their theme, but you wouldn’t know until the other boys arrived; you just hoped they weren’t too late, since you knew Gojo was the only way any of you would be able to get into the party he had insisted you all needed to attend. You didn’t have a lot of particular feelings about going to the party, but the idea of getting to spend time with everyone was really nice, since it was rare that all six of you were in Tokyo at the same time and not occupied by other things. 

“What theme did you guys go with, anyway?” Shoko asked, as you sat back down and gestured for her to hold the mirror up for you. “You can’t possibly all be from the same movie or something.”

“We’re not,” you confirmed, wetting your brush and lightly tapping off the excess water before dipping into the red paint. “We’re all from different Ghibli movies.”

“That’s your theme?”

You carefully traced the outline of the first triangle under your eye. “All of our characters are royalty.” You paused, considering for a moment, then added, “Well, sort of.”

“Sort of?” Shoko arched a brow at your words. 

“Yeah, sort of,” you said, filling in the first triangle and outlining the second. “Haibara is actually royalty. He’s Prince Arren, from Tales from Earthsea. The movie came out this year, it’s what made him suggest the theme in the first place.” The brush was dipped back in the red paint, then the second triangle filled in. “I’m San from Princess Mononoke.” You went quiet for a moment, moving your hair apart a bit on your forehead to give yourself space to paint the final triangle. “And Nanami is Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle. He’s not technically royalty, but he has a castle.” 

Glancing over your shoulder at your classmates to make sure they weren’t listening, you leaned in closer to Shoko. “It was Haibara’s suggestion,” you said, much quieter than before. “I think he just wanted to see Nanami with earrings on and his hair down.”

She grinned at your words, both of you only managing to stifle a laugh because right then was when Gojo and Geto decided to make their grand entrance. Geto wore a pair of comfortable looking red pants, a simple black long sleeve shirt, and a red jacket on top. There was a headband with two small red horns atop his head, and a little plastic pitchfork in his hand, and when you glanced down, you saw a red, pointed tail hanging off the back of his pants; clearly he was going as a – the? – devil.

Even without the context of Geto’s costume, it would’ve been hard to mistake what Gojo was supposed to be. The flowy white shirt, white jeans, feathery white wings – which were larger than they really had the right to be – fixed to his back, and the silver halo headband atop his fluffy white hair making it obvious that he was an angel. He was without his dark sunglasses for once, presumably because they didn’t go with the rest of the ensemble he wore.

“No need to worry everyone, your favorite Tokyo Jujutsu High students have arrived!” Gojo announced with a wide, mischievous grin. Behind him, you saw Geto roll his eyes, even if there was a faint hint of a smile on his lips, too. 

“You are not my favorite student,” Shoko and Nanami said in unison, completely by accident. You bit your lip to keep from chuckling at the coincidence, but you lost that battle when you saw the indignant look on Gojo’s face.

The sound of your laughter pulled his attention from your friends, and he scowled as he looked at you, though really it looked more like a pout. “What are you laughing at?” he groused.

“You,” you answered simply, grinning at him. “It’s funny how bent out of shape you get when someone tells you you’re not their favorite.”

He jutted out his bottom lip, crossing his arms over his chest. You could tell he wanted to argue, but was apparently having a hard time coming up with any sort of witty retort. “Whatever,” he said eventually. “What are you supposed to be, anyway? You’ve got red all over your face.”

You just rolled your eyes at him. “I’m San,” you told him, turning back to face the mirror Shoko still held for you, putting the final touches on your face paint. 

“Who?”

“The wolf girl from the movie that came out a while back, right?” Geto asked. “Princess of something, I think…”

“Princess Mononoke, yeah!” Haibara chirped, grinning. “I’m surprised you knew, it feels like not a lot of people have seen it.”

“Because they haven’t,” Gojo said, rolling his eyes. “People only see the good Ghibli movies.”

Irritated, you dropped the paintbrush in the glass of water you’d gotten to clean it off. You turned back to face him, a scowl deep on your face. “All Studio Ghibli movies are good ones,” you snapped, barely refraining from calling him names. “If you can’t understand or appreciate the deeper themes in the movies, you can just say that.”

“What themes?” he asked, looking a bit more genuinely, less snippy. “I haven’t seen it, I wouldn’t know what they are.”

“Environmentalism, animism, disability, true love, cycles of violence—” Geto began, but Gojo waved him off.

“Ok, some heavy hitters, I get it. It doesn’t sound very entertaining, though.”

“There’s a curse that develops from the negative energy imbued in a weapon,” Nanami cut in, expression unchanged and seemingly unenthused by the conversation, but that wasn’t unusual; Haibara was really the only one who could ever seem to get him to smile even a little bit.

There was a brief moment of silence, punctuated by a curious “Really?” from Gojo; it would’ve been funnier if you weren’t irritated over him dissing your favorite Ghibli movie.

Seeming to register the other boys’ costumes then, Gojo grinned. “Haibara, you make an amazing Arren! And Nanamin, you do kind of look the part with the hair and all, but… you know Howl is supposed to be charming, right?”

Your classmate’s expression went from unaffected to irked in less time than it took you to blink, though when Haibara jumped in with a defensive, “I think he’s very charming, in his own way,” he went red almost to the tips of his ears. 

The mischievous flash in Gojo’s eyes was impossible to miss, but Geto smacked him in the back of the head before he could say anything. The white haired sorcerer glared at his best friend, then stalked off with a huff, crossing the room until he stood beside the couch you sat on. Without saying anything, he plucked the mirror from Shoko’s hand and began fussing with his hair. 

“What do you think of my costume, hm?” he asked you, straightening his halo before shooting you a grin. “Pretty great, huh?”

You just shrugged. “It looks like any other angel costume.”

His eyes widened, and he stared at you, open-mouthed, looking deeply offended. “What do you mean ‘just like any other angel costume’?” he demanded.

“White clothes, white wings, halo headband. It’s pretty basic, Gojo-senpai.”

“But nobody else has eyes like mine,” he pointed out.

“No,” you conceded, “but you’re also not showing them all off.”

“…All my what?”

“Your eyes. You’ve got six of them, don’t you?”

Though you fought hard to conceal your grin, the sound of Shoko’s snicker made it impossible, and you barely bit back a laugh.

Finally catching up to your joke, Gojo laughed too. “I think even if I could show all six eyes at the same time it would scare the normies too bad.”

“Yaga-sensei would probably have your ass for it, too,” Shoko added.

“Like how he has your ass for smoking on campus?” Geto asked her, dropping down to sit in the armchair adjacent to the couch, looking smug.

“You smoke on campus too,” she retorted.

He smirked. “Yes, but I don’t get caught like you do.”

“I’m gonna start ratting you out.”

“Sure you will.”

Rolling your eyes as the two upperclassmen bickered with each other, you turned your attention back to Gojo, and you were more than a little surprised to see how much closer to you he’d gotten, leaning down to look you in the eye, despite how he towered over your seated form.

“So,” he asked, “you gonna help me show off my Six Eyes or what?” 

You blinked dumbly at him for a moment. “…What?”

He rolled his eyes, but there was still a smile on his face. “You’ve got paints right here—” he gestured to the table in front of you “— how else are the normies supposed to see all six of my eyes?”

Once you finally processed what he was suggesting, you bit back a grin. The idea was more than a little funny, but you couldn’t let him know you thought that. If he knew, it would go straight to his head, which was big enough already; you’d joked with Nanami more than once that if Gojo’s head got any bigger, he’d have a hard time walking upright. 

“Well?” Gojo prodded, when you didn’t answer fast enough for his liking.

“Fine,” you sighed, “but only if you’ll sit down and shut up long enough for me to do it.”

He stood up straight, saluted you, then mimed zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key. Geto pretended to catch said key, and you shook your head at them, smiling slightly to yourself. As he settled himself on the floor in front of you, you thoroughly rinsed your brush, making sure none of the red paint still lingered in the bristles, then dipped it into the white paint on your palette. 

When you turned your attention back to your senpai, you were somewhat startled to see him staring at you with wide, earnest eyes, though he’d stopped smiling for the time being. It unsettled you a bit, having his full, unimpeded focus on you like that, but… it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, if you were being honest with yourself. “Ready?”

He nodded eagerly, fulfilling your request for him to sit down and shut up. You wondered briefly if your wording had been too harsh, but decided there was no use dwelling on it anymore. You nodded back, then carefully began to make an outline of two more sets of eyes on his face: two extra eyes on each cheek, side by side under his real, already very striking eyes. 

Your lines were far from perfect, but they were steady enough, so you were happy with them. You dipped your brush back in the paint whenever you started to run out, making sure the white covered everything inside each of the outlines. Giving all four spaces a chance to dry, you once again cleaned your brush as thoroughly as you could, then switched to the blue paint. It wasn’t an exact match for Gojo’s eyes, but you figured it was close enough that it wouldn’t matter in low lighting.

“You’re pretty good at this!” Haibara praised, dropping to sit beside you on the couch.

You felt your cheeks heat at his words. “Oh, uh. Thank you, but I’m not a professional, I’m just trying my best.”

“Well I think you’re doing a wonderful job,” your classmate insisted, practically beaming at you. You offered him a smile, then turned your attention to Gojo once again and— was he glaring at Haibara?

Gojo’s expression changed so quickly once he had your attention again that you couldn’t tell if you’d imagined him glaring or not, but you decided not to push it, since that would just wind up being awkward for everyone. 

Just as carefully as you’d painted the whites of each of the eyes, you added the blue irises, trying to make the circles as perfect as you could, though trying to work on such a small space made that rather difficult. You did your best, and the end result was not as terrible as it could have been, you supposed.

Another thorough cleaning of your brush between colors, this time with the sounds of your classmates and upperclassmen chatting to each other as you worked, which came as a relief; when it was silent before, it had felt like everyone was staring at you, and it made you nervous. 

It was still a bit unnerving to have Gojo staring at you the way he was, but there wasn’t really a way around that, so you chose to ignore the way it made your stomach flutter. 

You dipped your brush into the black paint this time, placing pupils in the center of each eye. After getting a bit more paint on the brush, you added the faintest hint of an outline to the underside of each eye, wanting them to stand out a bit more against his already pale skin. 

Once you finished, you sat back a bit, looking over your handiwork. The eyes looked fine, but it felt like something was missing, you just couldn’t figure out what.

“Eyelashes,” came Nanami’s voice from behind the couch.

“Huh?” you asked, turning your head to look at your classmate, your brows furrowed slightly with confusion.

“Eyelashes,” he repeated, voice just as disinterested as before. “That’s what they’re missing.” His eyes left Gojo’s face and met yours as he shrugged. “You were staring at them really hard, I figured you thought something was missing.”

“Thanks,” you said, a bit sheepishly. “I was trying to figure out what I was forgetting. I’ll add the lashes.”

Nanami just nodded, his expression unchanged, though you were pretty sure he was glad to have been of help. You nodded back, then turned back to Gojo once again. 

After cleaning your brush in the now-murky glass of water, you switched back to the white paint, adding delicate lashes to each of the four eyes with light flicks of the brush, and even adding a few little touches to the irises to give them a bit more dimension.

The last few additions didn’t take long at all, and when you leaned back to look at your work again, you smiled. Nanami was right, they did look a lot better now that you’d added lashes to them. “Okay,” you said, dropping the brush back into the water now that you were satisfied with your work. “All done. You ready to see?”

Gojo’s expression lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. Then, remembering he held the mirror in his lap, he picked it up, turning his head back and forth to get a good look at all four eyes. He looked absolutely giddy as he put the mirror down in his lap again to look up at you, but he said nothing. You were confused for a moment, then remembered.

“You can speak now, Gojo-senpai. I’m finished.”

He turned towards Geto then, snapping to get the other boy’s attention, then making grabby hands and pointing at his mouth. Geto also looked confused for a moment, then remembered that he had “stolen” the fake key that kept his classmate’s mouth locked shut. The raven haired boy rolled his eyes, then mimed tossing the key back to his friend. “You’re so weird.”

After “catching” the key, the frosty haired boy was quick to unlock his mouth, then stick his tongue out at his friend. “You’re just jealous that you’re not getting all the attention for once,” he retorted, but Geto just rolled his eyes again.

Turning back to you, Gojo was practically beaming. “You made me look so cool!” he exclaimed, then added, “Well, cooler, because I already looked cool, like always.”

“Oh yeah,” Shoko drawled. “You’re soooo cool, Gojo.”

“I am cool!” he insisted, pushing himself up off the floor as he scowled at her. “Your costume is just a sheet, you don’t get to talk to me about what’s cool.”

“Where did you say this party was again?” Haibara cut in, quickly dispelling the budding argument between the two upperclassmen. 

Gojo beamed down at the younger boy. “It’s a surprise!” he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “But we need to get going if we wanna get there before it gets too crowded. C’mon!” He herded everyone up from their seats and towards the door of the common room, hyping up the party as much as he could. You brought up the rear of the group, but you paused when he turned back to face you.

“Thanks for painting these on for me,” he said, gesturing towards his face. “I appreciate it.”

He turned away again before you could say anything, but it took you a moment before you caught up with everyone again; Gojo had never thanked you for anything before, but you were glad that he did, even if it made your cheeks burn a little bit.

taglist: @mitsuristoleme @redlikerozez @oceaneyesinla @pixelcafe-network @peachsukii 

@lemonloaves @lu-dao-writes @roselleviennesstuff

@dr-runs-with-scissors @entirelysein-e @teddybeartoji @sugurei @whatthefucksatan

@witchbybirth @gods-landing @iesbiangojo @ambiguouslady42 @hayatoseyepatch

join my taglist!

[rebelwithoutabroom]

Here's where he meets prince charming

Dnf || 11k (chapter 1/2) || T rated

Beauty and the Beast dnf AU with beast!dream and a very much clueless gnf. Tale as old as time, right?

This fic is part of the @fairytalesfromthesmp collab!! There's some wonderful works in the collection on AO3!! @voidpidgeon and @wolflyndraws also made some amazing pieces of art for this story, go check them out :DD

[fairytalesfromthesmp]

Settle into your seats, folks, we’ve got some new stories to tell. We are proud to present…

Fairytales from the SMP: Volume II

This year’s storybook consists of twelve incredible fairytales reimagined by a few wonderful minds of the dsmp fandom! Follow some of your favorites through tales of family, friendship, romance, and more as we dive into this spellbinding collection.

Thank you to everyone who made this possible! To all the writers, artists, betas, and backups, this wouldn’t have been possible without you. Thank you to the mods, new and old, and thank you to all who joined us in this journey, come and gone. You’ve all made this worthwhile!

Be sure to give lots of love to all these people because without them, this collab would be nothing more than a dream!

Little Red Riding Hood - Written by Ocean ( @bottleofchaos ), Illustrated by Taizi ( @rebelwithoutabroom ) and Yumi ( @mahikamihan )

Snow White & The Seven Dwarves - Written by Stardust ( @chasing-stardust-22 ), Illustrated by Ocean

Hansel and Gretel - Written by Day ( @day-time-dream ), Illustrated by Zuzu ( @zuzypiia ) and Orange ( @fresh-flames )

Jack and the Beanstalk - Written by Lupine ( @iced-sweet-dt ), Illustrated by Michy ( @michygranger23 )

The Tortoise and the Hare - Written by Blank ( @blankerthought ), Illustrated by Calder ( @day-mark ) and Curo ( @curoopeez )

Robin Hood - Written by Scoops ( @scoops404 ), Illustrated by Thal ( @thal-chandra ) and Root ( @rutadales )

Prince and the Pauper - Written by Cadence ( @dwtdog ), Illustrated by Blank

The Seal Catcher - Written by Chelsey ( @czargasm ), Illustrated by Bicho ( @bicho-callejero ) and VoidPidgeon ( @voidpidgeon )

The Three Musketeers - Written by Amie/Bagel ( @bagelrites ), Illustrated by Litchi ( @llitchilitchi ) and Vi ( @icecreamvi )

Beauty and the Beast - Written by Taizi, Illustrated by VoidPidgeon and Wolflyn ( @wolflyndraws )

The Unwilling Mermaid - Written by Sword ( @swordfright ), Illustrated by Root and Kenjo ( @kenjo-arts )

Rapunzel - Written by Crow ( @mello-when-hi ), Illustrated by Calder and Shishi ( @shishi-neraoiba )

Beta Readers: Echo ( @timetravelkoolaid ), Luna ( @milktearosethorn ), Scrims ( @scrimblyprimbly ), Lobelia ( @unholy-virtue ), Vee ( @twirlybumblevee ), Spri ( @showcontrols ), and Jinx ( @nyxcandie )

Backups: Backup Writer Rav ( @raviolihailstorm ), Backup Writer Lobelia, and Backup Artist Harmony ( @harmingharmony )

[yoonia]

The Bedroom Hymns | myg ● fic teaser

⟶ Summary | Being the only daughter of the Wicked King has kept you living in a sheltered life. Never once were you given the chance to see the world beyond the walls of your father’s old castle, and yet, it had never stopped you from hearing all the dark rumours of your father’s indiscretions which had left you to continue living in the shadows.

When the day comes for your father to send you to live in his castle by the sea, he leaves you with a new rule set in place. You are left with a set of keys, one which would lead you to travel through the thousand magical doors inside his castle, but you are to never leave through the front door or to step foot through the golden door at the end of the hall. The magical doors become your escape, giving you the chance to see the world that you had never seen before. Until one day, your life changes as one of the magical doors leads you to the Fairy Prince.

⟶ Title | The Bedroom Hymns; a Bluebeard Retelling ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader ⟶ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Princess!reader, Strangers to Lovers au, Fantasy au, Fairy Tale Retelling au ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; nothing yet for this teaser, but I will add warnings as I continue writing this ⟶ Estimated word count | 40k words ⟶ Teaser word count | 2,1k words

⏤ Written for the Once Upon A Fantasy collab

⟶ Author’s note | As the result of my latest poll, you have chosen for me to finish this story first out of the rest of my April WIPs. Thank you so much for everyone who voted! If you are interested to join my fic taglist, please enter your information here. If you are only interested to be tagged on this fic, please only enter your url in the replies.

𝕺𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖚𝖕𝖔𝖓 𝖆 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊, 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝕱𝖆𝖗 𝕱𝖆𝖗 𝕬𝖜𝖆𝖞…

Stargrave castle.

The castle with 1000 doors which was built right on the top of the Earthpeak cliff, the ocean edge of the Nythelean Empire’s territory. You have learned a little about this castle on the morning you first arrived, under the guidance of Lord Gordan, the royal advisor working for your father, King Aneas.

You have only been here for less than a week, and you know for sure that you still have much to learn about this castle. The place that is to become your new home. It still feels foreign to roam through the hallways, and you constantly find yourself being amazed at how expansive this place is compared to the manor you have been residing in since your childhood.

No, this castle was said to be your real home.

Your father himself had said so. This is the place where you were born. The place where you had once lived peacefully and happily with your father and mother together, before the Queen tragically passed and you were taken away while you were still a young, helpless child. This is the place that holds the old scars and the wounds that your father must carry with him for many years until he lost all of his happiness and his warm smile.

No wonder he kept you away from this place for so long.

The darkness terrifies you when you try to step out of your bed chamber at nightfall. The long corridors feel like a maze, with numerous doors and several open galleries welcoming you whenever you get lost on your way. Oftentimes, you only feel safe when you are in your private chamber, or when you are having your high tea with Nanny Abigail in the garden, where you would find yourself wasting time until the sun sets each day. There is never a day passed when you didn’t miss your old home, the Seacrest Manor. But as days continued to progress, you soon realise that if this is where you are to spend the rest of your life, you must soon make it your mission to make this place home.

Surely, it wouldn’t be such a hard task to do, would it?

Not with Lord Gordan and Nanny Abigail by your side to guide you through it. And now that you are finally back at the home castle, you will also have more time to spend together with your father compared to how it used to be before. That would certainly help you learn more about this place, about the home territory that you were never allowed to see, and maybe help fix the fragile bond you have between you and your father.

Or so you thought.

“I have to be away for at least six weeks. There are matters needed to be dealt with and it would be too taxing of a journey if you should join me,” your father suddenly announces on the first day of your second week of being home. “Make this castle your home the best you possibly can while I am away and enjoy yourself. You might need help to go around the castle in my absence, so here—”

You barely find the words to respond to him with when he suddenly grabs your hand and places a heavy set of keys right at the center of your palm.

“Here are the keys to various rooms within the castle. As you may have noticed, we have many doors right here at the home castle that has been kept locked because I am always away and you haven’t been back home, and I am the only person who has the access to each of them. Now, you will have the ability to open them all by using these keys.”

You keep your eyes on the keys in your hand, studying them closely with pure interest as your father explains this. Varied in colours, sizes, and materials, they look nothing at all like any set of keys that you would normally see for regular houses or manors. Not even your old home. Your father falls silent for a moment before he continues to explain what the keys are for, his small smile is hidden while you are not paying attention to his face, but simply to his voice.

“These are the keys to the storerooms; where I keep my best furniture and gifts from the many Kingdoms I have visited,” he says as he picks the ones made of brass from the bunch. “Make use of them as much as you need. You can also bring some of them to fancy your bed chamber should you need any changes to be done and make your stay comfortable.”

Hearing this only excites you. For days, you have been thinking of how plain and boring your new bed chamber is, and have been wishing that you were able to take some of your old belongings to fill your room with. Your father seems to be pleased to see your reaction, and continues by pointing at the slightly smaller-looking keys which seem to be made of bronze.

“These are the keys to the treasure rooms; where you can find all the silver and gold plates that I have gathered through my journeys, the casket of jewels which are part of our family treasure, and the safe where I keep all the money which belongs to the family,” he explains, while you are left speechless at how easy he is to hand over such a huge responsibility onto you. As if sensing your doubt, your father raises your chin so he can look at you straight in the eyes and say, “You are free to use them all to fill your needs, as long as you use them wisely while I am gone.”

You swallow hard and nod. There is something in his stern voice that demands your attention, letting you know that there is an underlying threat hidden in his warning, that you have no other choice but to pledge, “I will be responsible for them, Father. I promise.”

“Good. I have faith in you, Princess,” he says, sounding relieved but still cautious, and then he looks down at the keys to point at the pair that looks slightly bigger than the rest. “Now, this is the master key to all the private chambers, including yours and mine. You can use my room or my study should you need them. And this one will take you to the main library. I know that you love your books, and you shall find everything you may ever need to learn more about this land.”

Hearing about the library, all of the disappointment you felt about your father being gone begins to shift, and you start feeling a semblance of hope. If you cannot earn the information that you needed from your own father, perhaps you would be able to find your answers among the books in the library. Maybe you can also learn more about this realm, and how your father’s empire somehow exists between the two realms—the human realm, and the magical realm within the land Far Far Away.

Still with your eyes on the keys, your attention is drawn towards a pair of keys that seem to sparkle brighter from the others, calling for your attention. You look at them both with awe, amused by how magic seems to appear even in the smallest things you can find in this realm. Just like the keys you are holding in your hand.

You study those keys closely without saying a word, marvelling at each detail. One key is made of silver, while the other from gold. Both of them are glowing brightly and are nearly humming with an enticing aura as if they are made with enchantment. It makes it hard for you to look away, as if you are completely drawn to them, unable to ignore their presence and their calling.

“What about these keys, Father?” you question your father when your curiosity gets the best of you.

King Aneas leans closer just to have a better look, even if it is quite obvious that he could already tell which keys you were referring to. With gentle fingers, he pulls the silver one from its bunch. “This silver key will take you through the doors with the silver embellishments. Those doors you may enter, but only under a few specific rules.”

For some reason, his voice sounds ominous as he explains this. You look at him curiously, wondering why this key demands certain rules to be followed, unlike the others. Looking at your father’s face helps only a little to reassure you, as his face is completely stern when he begins to explain,

“Beyond the silver doors lies a strong kind of magic. One that has been so demanding of our family’s powers, and also the type of magic that should be kept secret, no matter what. Once you go through them, you will understand why it is important for me to defend this castle and our home territory.”

As you listen to his explanation about the silver doors and the magic behind them, your curiosity grows stronger. Living in the Seacrest Manor has kept you from learning anything about magic, and now that you are suddenly thrust into the place where magic seems to thrive, you feel eager to learn and experience them yourself to understand everything better. And that curiosity strengthens once your father continues to give you the rules that you must follow,

“You are free to visit each of these silver doors only for one visit each day. You must make sure that you will never remain on the other side of the door of your choice for more than six hours and you must always, always, only return home by going through that very same door you came from. Can you remember this?”

Suppressing your eagerness so as not to make him worry, you simply nod and promise, “Yes, I will remember,” while making sure to remember every detail, every warning, so you wouldn’t make any mistake to disappoint him in the future.

Just as your hope of learning new magic arises, the golden key begins to vibrate in your hand, calling for your attention. Noticing where your eyes are drawn towards, your father’s expression turns grim.

“This golden key—” he says, gently lifting the key from the bundle as he tells you more about it, “—will allow you to open the twin doors at the end of the great gallery on the top floor of the South tower.”

Your eyes grow wide with interest, recalling the night you first arrived at the castle and how the South Tower seemed to be calling your name. You feel the curiosity building, your eagerness to venture to the hidden parts of the castle rising, only to deflate when your father says,

“This one, I must forbid you to use.”

You stifle a gasp and question him. “But why, Father?”

Your father’s expression grows even darker once he takes notice of your interest in the golden door. He places both of his hands on your shoulders before you can ask more. “Never open the golden doors. Never walk past it, and never look what is inside,” he demands with a voice that comes out as a warning, before he softens and begs you, “Princess, I need you to promise me.”

Once again, you are left speechless. Baffled by his demands, yet his voice leaves you no chance to argue that you can only give in and say, “Yes, I promise.”

The King remains silent for a brief moment, as if he is trying to read your thoughts, wondering if you are hiding any intentions of defying him. But then he sighs, and your father finally lets you go with a reassuring nod.

“Good. Make sure never to forget this. Oh, and there is one more thing that you must always remember—” he quickly adds before you can say anything. “You are free to roam about through these doors — of course, except for the golden doors — but you are not to leave this castle by stepping out through the great door at the front gate. Not when I am not around, and never without a guard.”

You find this instruction quite odd. Just as odd as his rules and warnings regarding the magic doors, but you dare not to question him, understanding how little your knowledge of magic is to begin with to help you argue against his demands. So you put all of your curiosity aside, choosing to gain his trust and confidence as you promise him,

“I’ll remember.”

⟶ Estimated posting date | TBA; (hopefully) by the end of April 2023

— © 2023 @yoonia​, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed.

[contentfarms]

What are your thoughts on the YouTube channel EnchantedMob?

The channel is inactive now, and many of their videos did the content farm-esque thing of recycling old clips and reposting them over and over for maximum engagement, but I remember watching some videos and feeling surprised by it being... Shockingly high-quality. Like if the subject matter wasn't Among Us Squid Game FNAF Baldi's Basics FNF Poppy Playtime in Minecraft, the writing could pass as something from a regular show, and the animation + voice acting is genuinely really good.

To my limited knowledge it appears to have gotten popular by animating Minecraft-style music videos of fan songs from FNAF, BATIM, Undertale, etc. back in their peak initial popularity booms. Then I guess it spiralled into content farm-esque stuff (though I don't think it posted frequently enough to fully count as one). It's still always stood out in my mind as an odd channel for the quality of the animations themselves despite them logically being algorithm slurry.

ok, ok, ok. i'm about to blow your mind

enchantedmob... MADE poppy playtime. it's a content farm gone full circle

the studio created Mob Games, that's why the channel went silent. the PPT videos were milking their own game by revealing characters ahead of time. this is also why there's lankybox collabs

my overall opinion on it though? i consider it a more interesting case because they made a game that gets targeted for slop, and made their OWN content to farm of their OWN characters.

enchantedmob is a rare tale of a content farm that made it. from farming the content to planting the seeds themselves

[amethystsoda]

What is time princess about? I've been seeing it on the Play store but I have no idea if to download it

hello anon! I'd be glad to give you an overview and some tips for starting out! :D

Time Princess is what happens when all your childhood dreams of getting transported into a book come true.

At heart, the game is a set of continual isekai stories, transporting you to different "books" with the help of a magic desk and giving you "create your own adventure" options to see how the story plays out.

Your fairy companion Isabelle helps you learn the ropes, and you have to go through one mandatory book (a Marie Antoinette themed story) to get access to your room and the larger bookstore

(I'll put the rest under a read more bc it'll get long)

For each chapter you complete, you earn 1-3 tickets. With these tickets, you can unlock new books! The more you play, the more you earn towards new stories.

The game currency works on a coins and diamonds system--you don't NEED to purchase anything to play (though it may make the game a bit easier in some areas)

You get free stamina to access books and crafting materials every 11 hours and the Time Princess discord server has codes pretty frequently for diamonds, tickets, etc.

I personally splurge for the Fashion Booster every 2 months because I know it helps support the game and the artists! I try not to use real money on the random outfits unless I REALLY want one bc it can get addictive.

One of my favorite parts of the game is that, as you play, you unlock "album" art (full color illustrations that tie into the story!!)

One other thing I love is that the game is very targeted towards Bisexuals, as there are TONS of queer wlw story lines (though because of the games' popularity overseas and censorship, often gets called "best friends" etc)

Another fun part is the variety of stories!!!! There's art history!! There's stuff based on old fairy tales like Swan Lake. There's fantasy stories like The Apothecary. There's a Pirate story!!! There's Chinese, Japanese, and Korean stories. There's a western cowboy story! There's futuristic scifi!!! There's a victorian flavored horror story!!!

Most, if not all, of the stories are with adult characters and have adult storylines!! (the books will also give you a content warning before downloading)

On top of the stories, there's plenty of other fun aspects--mini games, fashion challenges, checking in with your companions every day to earn crafting materials, joining a society, playing events, and just playing dress up with your outfits and taking pics for fun.

The discord community is great too, and there's often interview nights with some of the book authors and giveaways of materials and prizes (I actually ended up winning a plushie Lafayette one time!)

The discord server also has game guides and walkthroughs for everything!

Everyone who plays the game gets really into the stories and characters, so even though the tumblr presence of fans may be smaller, you have an immediate bond with the other players!!!

They've also done some really cool collabs with museums like The Louvre and the Flamenco museum. You get to earn clothes from famous paintings or historical ones during that event period!

Finally, don't forget to save your big clothing crafting for Saturdays! You get double the materials!!

[mynahx3]

For Her, His Heart Yearns

Hello everyone!  This is Part 1 out of 2 of my Knight! Nanami x Queen!Female! Reader at 4.2k words (0-0) This is done in collaboration with @kentopedia collab, Love Through the Ages Hope you like Part 1, Part 2 will be done shortly! I haven’t written in a bit so any feedback is welcomed. Enjoy lovelies <;3 Will have mature themes such as violence and death. Lowkey a slowburn x mutual pining. Different ruling structure cause it's fantasy lol. Reader is aged around 25-30 Nanami is aged around 30-35

Chapter 1

In your life, duty was something you had to always uphold. Sacrifice anything and everything for it. This is what you were taught; the very essence of it is ingrained in your brain. Things were the way they were for hundreds of years, with the women in your position always completing what needed to be done. As the queen, you made it your purpose to be a person worthy of the throne. Nothing less than perfection was expected of you by your family and peers. The entire kingdom praises the very ground you stood upon. A heavy weight was on your shoulders, one you carried with dignity and grace. 

In spite of your attempts to delay it, it was time for marriage. One to build political relationships and strengthen the kingdom. Known across the land as a beauty, kind yet stern when needed, blessed with a brilliant mind along with your looks. It was no surprise you had many courting options, suitors from far and wide came to court you. You knew that your choice would have far-reaching consequences. The future of the kingdom rested on your decision and you were determined to choose wisely. Even so, every suitor had been rejected, much to the dismay of your father. From the elves to the dwarves, no one was deemed worthy, for your eye has already been caught by someone. 

Sitting on your throne next to your father, you frowned, looking at yet another asking for your hand. This one is old enough to be your grandfather. An expression of boredom is clear on your face; your eyes are looking over the court in front of you. Nobles looked upon the royal family with gleaming eyes, each interested in your decision. The grand halls of the throne room are littered with marble, gold, and paintings that line the walls. Paintings that depicted the history of your kingdom. 

Tales of the dragons who hoarded treasures and of knights saving the land. The most known tale of the white robed mage and first king at the center, the very start of your kingdom. The two had found the legendary Stone of Laztierite, a stone of which not much is known other than its ability to give powerful magic abilities. That was when humanity gained an upper hand over the evil magical beings that reigned over them. Together, with the mage’s magic and the king’s mighty army, they used the stone to effectively seal the evil beings into the dark world. This resulted in the stone disappearing to be found once more, as the rumor goes.

After the war, the white robed mage and first king married, founding the Aitrerus Kingdom, which has reigned over the land for centuries, unifying humanity and magical beings together. At times, the evil still escaped, but it was rare. When it did, it corrupted the minds of anyone it touched. The most affected were dragons and their worshippers, who still ruled over some lands. Lands to which no one ventured due to their heinous actions and beliefs. They were forsaken, no other kingdom interacted with them. Centuries later, humans and magical beings lived in peace, now only fighting over land and politics. The stone lost to time; not one soul knew of its whereabouts now.

Twirling a strand of your hair around your finger, a sigh came from your lips at your thoughts. Those tales were surely false, no magic pebble saved the day you thought with a yawn. Today was yet another day of failed proposals, and your father was equally frustrated. You couldn’t wait to end the day; your back was sore from sitting for so long. The plush, comfortable bed and sheets are calling to you, eager to be done with the uncomfortable corset digging into your ribs. While you no doubt looked exquisite, as your handmaidens always made sure you do, you yearned to be in your simple nightgown with your hair cleaned. Now you were dressed in the finest of silks, a deep blue dress with white lacing, and jewels around your neck and ears. An armored chest plate over your dress, dipped in silver and encrusted with more gems, is a good combination of fashion and protection. You couldn't wait to remove your heavy armor and relax in the comfort of your own room

As the suitors continued to plead their cases, you couldn't help but wonder if you would ever find someone who truly understood you. The weight of your father's expectations and the pressure of finding a suitable match weighed heavily on your shoulders. You couldn't shake the feeling that maybe true love was just a fairy tale. Getting lost in thought, you didn’t realize your father dismissed everyone early, seeing the exhaustion in you. Your father turns to you from his seat next to the throne, a sulk on his usually joyful face, footsteps sounding off as everyone left. 

"You need to start taking this seriously," he said sternly. "Your older brother is off in the gods'  know where, doing what he pleases. I won't be around forever to help make these decisions for you." The weight of his words settled in your chest, and you knew that the pressure to find a suitable match was only going to increase. He had only stepped down from the throne due to the sudden passing of your mother when you were fifthteen. It happened during the birth of their next daughter who was stillborn.  She was the love of his life, the grief of losing both at the same time caused him too much pain to continue ruling. 

"I understand, father." You replied, your voice meek, a far cry from the back talk you gave him constantly over the years. Reaching out, he lovingly rubs your hand, eyes just like yours but sadder, dimmer. His hands are slightly wrinkled now from his age, another reminder to you of the importance of your future marriage. 

"You are my only daughter, and I want to see you happy and successful," he said softly. "I will support you in finding the right partner, but ultimately, the decision is yours to make, my sweet flower." With a heavy heart, you nodded in agreement, knowing that the future of your family's legacy rested on your shoulders.

With that, he takes his leave, sending a warm smile to you. Alone in the vast room you lose yourself in your mind once more as you gaze off at nothing in particular. A light tap on your shoulder jolts you to attention. Looking to the side where it came from, you see your knight, Kento Nanami.

He is from a loyal noble family that guarded the royals for hundreds of years, sworn at your birth to protect you when he was only five years old. He stood broad and tall with blonde hair; it was styled neatly, framing his face with warm chocolate eyes, stern like always. It was a wonder he wasn't married yet. The stained glass windows behind him cast him in a soft, ethereal light, adding to his aura of strength and nobility.

"You're going to make your face stay like that, Sir Nanami." You smiled in a teasing tone at him, leaning up to poke his nose. The two of you are quite fond of each other.

He chuckled softly, a rare sight from the stoic knight. "I cannot help but be serious when it comes to your safety, my lady," he replied with a hint of warmth in his voice. The bond between you two was unbreakable, built on years of trust and companionship. 

Getting up, you pat your dress down, taming the wrinkles that have set into the fabric. Without a hitch, Nanami walks by your side, making your way to your room. Going through the many halls, the windows were open to let in the spring air. Smells of honeysuckle and jasmine were flowing with the light breeze. Your little cousins and other children of servants chasing each other with laughs of joy.

The castle was immaculate, with servants running around to maintain it. Each sent you a small smile as they ran by. Normally they would have to curtsey, but you didn’t care for the formalities all that much. Something you got from your father as he is a kind man—too kind at times. He always made sure the servants were treated with respect and fairness, setting an example for you to follow as you grew up. As you reached your room, Nanami waited at your door like normal. Rolling your eyes, you pull him by the collar of his chest plate and into your room. 

"Come have tea with me!" You demand, letting go of him, moving to sit at your table set on the balcony. The sunset casts a golden glow over your room, and the sky is painted in hues of blue, pink, and orange. “I had them bring your favorite tonight.”

Sitting across from you, he poured the drinks into the fine cups. The silence was enjoyed between the two of you with the calming tea. Your balcony gave a beautiful kingdom view from your room always gives you joy. Hills and valleys were filled with flowers that were blooming. The town within the walls is as lively as ever; sounds of laughter and happiness are normal occurrences. Your kingdom was a peaceful one for centuries. As the night grew darker, the sound of the crickets filled the air, creating a peaceful atmosphere. Nanami's presence always brought a sense of calm and comfort to your evenings.

“Your father was awfully restless today.” He broke the silence, looking over at you with soft eyes, recognizing the stress you had over today. 

“He wants grandbabies in his old age.” You laugh, finishing the tea, rubbing your temple. “He wants to go live off the coast, away from this drama, but it may be years before I find someone."

"You'll find someone you think is right when the time comes." He assured, leaning over to take your hand, squeezing it gently. Your smile growing at his kind action, squeezing his hand back; his soft moments were only for your eyes to see. “You deserve to find love, my lady. Be loved just as you give it . Everything you do is for your kingdom and loved ones. Is there a reason you think you do not deserve it?”

Your breath halts in your throat, and words stick as you try to speak. The look in his eyes clearly asks for more; it makes your stomach have butterflies. Looking at Nanami, you thought the moonlight made him look even more handsome. His chiseled jaw and cheekbones were accentuated. With a tint on your cheeks, you turn from his gaze. Taking your hand from his, you miss the way he winces a little. 

"Yes, yes. I'll surely find true love, just as my parents did." You laugh, dismissing his question with a wave of your hand, sarcasm dripping from your voice. Ignoring the pain in your own heart you felt at the action, the two of you knew there were feelings growing; neither of you felt it was right to confess. Teetering on the edge of something more each day but both of you were too scared to take the plunge into the unknown. Too scared to get hurt more than anything. 

“Your majesty. You are more than worthy; any man or woman would be lucky.” He tells you, taking his hand back, his eyes unwavering as he keeps eye contact. The tension between you two was palpable, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. It was clear that neither of you was ready to confront the truth of your feelings. You smile meekly, shaking your head to get up from your chair. 

“I appreciate your kind words, but I should head to bed. The hour is awfully late.” You dismiss, moving to ring the bell for your maids to help you change. 

“As you wish, please rest well tonight.” He gets up, taking your hand to kiss the back of it before he leaves. A twinkle in his dark eyes at your flushed face.

Now comfortable, you lay in your plush bed, free of the tight corset and suffocating layers. As tired as you were earlier, you couldn't help but stay awake, thoughts of him flooding your mind. The moonlight filtering through the curtains illuminated the room, casting a soft glow on your face. The weight of unspoken words lingered, creating a bittersweet ache in your chest. Sleep eventually comes to you as you drift off into dreams filled with his presence, a smile tugging at your lips. The night passes slowly, the memories of the evening replaying in your mind like a cherished melody.

Nanami retreats to his chambers after checking everything is in order, trying to stay busy while his mind races. Images of you run through his mind—how you admired the flowers in the gardens and when you sit upon the throne with your subjects. How you acted was like day and night at times: rigid with people you weren't fond of but then sweet to those you cherished. Your beauty glowed even when you didn't know someone was watching. He found it funny how you would puff your cheeks out in frustration when struggling with a new hobby or when your book turned sour. How kind and playful you were to your cousins and nephews, always playing with them when you could. Not caring when they dirtied your expensive dresses.

Changing for bed, he settled down, expressing a slight regret at his actions tonight with a sigh. His heart is torn between his duty to protect you and his own desires, unsure of how to navigate the complexities of his emotions. As he laid in bed, the soft glow of the moonlight illuminates his conflicted expression, a silent witness to the inner turmoil he grapples with.  

The peace of the night is broken by the sound of shrill screams that wakes you with a shock. The sound of fighting is going on outside your door. Sitting up in bed, you shake in fear, moving quickly for your sword displayed over your fireplace. You pause, listening intently for any clue as to what is happening outside. With a racing heart, you steel yourself for whatever danger may come your way. With your sword pointed at the door, you quickly slip on a pair of riding boots you happened to have out and prepare yourself for the fight to come. Breathe halted as the fighting died down and you heard footsteps approaching your door. 

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you brace yourself for the unknown threat that awaits on the other side, your hands shaking as you hold the blade. While trained, you were rarely put in real danger thanks to Nanami at your side constantly. Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, ready to strike down whoever it may be, raising it up just as they open the door. Relief filled your veins as you recognized the blonde head of hair entering your room. Blood was painted across his white dress shirt, dripping down his own sword. He wore casual clothes, black slacks, and a white shirt with a ruffled collar, having just woken up as well.

"Kento?" You called out in confusion, stepping closer to him and pointing your sword down. He didn't respond, making his way to you with haste, looking over your form for any wounds. Seeing him seemed to have broken down any walls you made, the stress of the situation coming down. You dropped your sword, wrapping your arms around him in relief, feeling the tension leave your body as he held you close. 

"I'm here." His voice was smooth and calm. He hugged you tightly, minding his sword as he did. More screams come from the hallway, making him go back to attention. Letting you go, he grabbed your black cloak nearby from the coat post. Putting it over you, he cupped your shaking face gently with one warm, calloused hand, looking into your eyes with urgency. Thumb rubbing your cheekbone comfortingly, trying to ease the fear he saw in your teary eyes. His face was firm as always, with a level head on his shoulders from his experience. 

"We need to go. We don't have much time," Nanami urged. Without waiting for a response, he led you out of the room and into the night, his grip firm and reassuring. The seriousness in his eyes told you that whatever lay ahead was not to be taken lightly.

Going through the halls, you saw bodies of servants and knights alike, walls painted with their blood and viscera. Men who were not of your kingdom laid with them in black armor. This was clear from the red sigil on their chest, the sign of evil dragon worshipers. Hurriedly, he pulled you through the halls, passing the windows to the courtyard. Down below, it was pure disarray. Fires are going with more bodies on the ground. The knights of the kingdom were defending the castle with their lives. Luckily no one found you two as you made it to the stables safely. Tears welled in your eyes, stinging as they went down your face while he went to his horse. The smell of smoke and blood was overwhelming.

“Where’s my father?” You questioned him, pleading with him for answers. His silence only provided the answer you needed, knowing there was a slim chance of him making it. He was old and had his own faults, but he didn’t deserve this end. 

"I could only make it to you first. I'm sorry." He simply said, moving swiftly to get his white horse, helping you onto him. Getting on behind you, he grabbed the reins, snapping them sharply to ride off.

You both only made it over the hill before an arrow shot into his shoulder from behind. Making a grunt of pain, he looked over his shoulder at a group of men chasing on horseback. Ripping it out, he urged the horse to run faster. More arrows shot around before someone yelled at them to stop, saying they wanted the queen alive. Holding him tighter, you pressed your face against his back. He rode towards the dense forest ahead, wishing to lose them there. Just as you were near the forest line, a fireball was sent nearby, sending the horse flying. 

Coughing, you weakly propped yourself up on your hands, your vision blurry from hitting the ground so rough. Just over you was a dragon, smoke escaping from its sharp teeth, ruby-red eyes looking down. Its vast, inky black body blocks out the moon behind it. Worshippers move to surround you, whispering to each other in glee. Nanami lay nearby, attempting to stand. Blood came from his temple, dripping onto his face. His sword was on the ground in front of you. Grabbing it, you pointed it up with a sharp glare, ready to defend yourself to the last moment, standing in front of Nanami. The dragon looked down at you in interest, with more of its goons surrounding you two.

“Run!” Nanami commanded, barking your name with such a harsh tone. It would've made you shake if it was different circumstances. His hair falling over his face as his eyes scanned over everyone. 

Making the first move, you strike down the closest assailant. Knowing how to fight was a skill every royal was taught. Swiftly move between them, dodging their attacks while sending your own. It helped that they wanted you alive; most of them were trying to grab you over kill you. Standing, Nanami defended you, grabbing a sword from a fallen worshiper nearby. As you both continued to fight off the dragon's goons, you felt a surge of adrenaline fueling your movements. Each strike and parry was executed with precision and determination. The odds may have been against you, but you were not going down without a fight.

Exhaustion soon caught up to you. Being unused to fighting this long, you panted for air. A few bodies lay at your feet dead. One of them saw an opportunity, striking you over the head while taking your blade from you, tossing it away. Falling to the ground with a grunt, you see the dragon land before you. It's sulfur smelling breath hitting your form. The heat of it makes you squint, struggling to stay awake. Nanami screamed your name and tried to run to you but was quickly stabbed through in his distraction, blood seeping from his mouth at the gaping wound in his abdomen. They pulled the blade out, making him fall to his knees. He could only watch as they gathered around you. His vision filled with black dots before passing out, the gushing blood made a pool in the grass under him. 

"Sleep, little queen." It grumbles, its voice is deep and ominous. The last thing you see before succumbing to unconsciousness is the dragon's red glowing eyes, filled with a mix of curiosity and malice. The world fades to black as you drift into a dreamless slumber, unsure of what fate awaits you next.

Later on, you awaken in a plush bed. Still wearing the blood splattered clothes from before, thankfully. Daylight came through the barred windows nearby. The chambers are warm, filled with fur along the floor and silk sheets. Dark reddish stone with almost black hardwood floors. The room is opulently decorated, intricate tapestries adorning the walls and a flickering blue fire in the hearth. Your head had a sharp pain from being hit from behind, making you move idly to sit up. Getting off the bed, you walk towards the door tentatively. As you reach for the doorknob, someone new opens the door, making you jump back. They wore a red cloak, their hood obscuring their faces from view.

“Master is glad you’ve awoken, he hopes the room pleases you.” They say, voice with a slight rasp to it, hands clasped together.

Not giving them a chance to talk further, you try to run past them, only to be slammed into the stone wall by an unseen force. Pain spikes from your head at the impact as you drop to the floor. You struggle to regain your balance, realizing that there is something unnatural about the servant. They walk towards you, shaking their head at that attempt. 

“That’s awfully rude.” They laugh cruelly. "Master doesn't like it when his guests try to leave."

"What do you want, mage?" You ask, glaring at them harshly, anger rushing through you as you bare your teeth to them. Their eyes gleam down at you, laughing a bit at the sight. “Where’s my knight?”

"You'll know soon enough," they say, harshly pulling you up by the arm and dragging you towards the door. Their sharp nails are almost piercing your flesh from their grip. Moving through the dark halls, several red cloaked people roamed about, none sparing either of you a glance. Their snake-like language is foreign to your ears. Moving deeper into the fortress, you go down many stairs, the smell of sulfur and rotten eggs only getting worse. Opening a door, they throw you in which almost makes you fall over. Catching yourself, you turn to hit the door. Letting out a frustrated yell, you kick at it, pounding it with your fist.

"Little queen has a bite to her." A deep voice calls out, a deep laugh from its throat, a voice you knew. Turning, you stood still, the very dragon laying in a giant heap of gold before you. The treasures of the world surround the beast in the cave structure.

"Surprised to see me, little one?" The dragon's red eyes glinted mischievously as it slowly rose to its feet, towering over you with a smirk. You realized then that escaping this fortress would be much more difficult than you had anticipated.

"What do you want?" You ask, voice firm. Surprising yourself at how you acted put together. Your blood rushing in your ears from your heart pounding.

The dragon's smirk widened, revealing sharp teeth as it replied, "Nothing big, dear. I just want to rule the lands."

You felt a chill run down your spine at his words, a cruel laugh coming from them. It vibrated your entire being from his size. 

"You see, little queen, I require something to do that." He continues, moving closer. "The blood of a white robed mage, to be exact."

A laugh slipped from your lips, your hand covering it from the outburst. It was unexpected for the dragon to believe in such fables. The dragon's eyes narrowed at your reaction, sensing your disbelief.

"Believe what you will, but the power of the white robed mage is real inside you," he growled, his tone deadly serious. Your heart raced as you realized the gravity of the situation, knowing that you must find a way to stop him before it's too late.

"What do you plan to do with me, beast?" You asked, standing your ground as it wrapped a tail around you. Not yet squeezing, but the threat was apparent. Leaning closer, you felt the hot breath of the dragon breathe down on you, its red eyes watching you.

"To devour you, my dear little queen," he explained, closing its eyes and pausing to take a whiff of you. "With you, I'll have all the power needed. No one can stop me as I gorge down on humanity. The blood of innocents will run down my throat."

You shivered at the thought of being devoured by the dragon, but you refused to show fear. With a defiant glare, you whispered, "You may have power over others, but you will never have power over me." The dragon's eyes narrowed in response, a hint of respect in its gaze as it considered your words.

"Oh? No groveling? No begging for mercy?" He chuckled. "Careful now. I may like you, little queen."

Hope you liked this! hehehehehe can't wait for the next chapter

ALSO dont fuck the dragon!!!!

[thewatercolours]

King's Quest Ficlet: "At a Standstill" (Collab with GerbilofTriumph)

Not too long ago, @gerbiloftriumph had a really cool idea for a collab, and we buddied up to brainstorm a story with yet more fun for the goblin and woes for our favourite king (she came up with most of the good stuff. ;-) Once the initial ideas were in place, I turned them into a bullet point story, and she created an illustration which you’ll be able to find on her blog! Go check it out! I'll never stop praising Gerbil's amazing triple threat creative powers to the skies (an incredibly engaging writer, a wonderful visual artist, and magic powers at inspiring creativity in others.) It was great fun working together on this together, my friend! And now, without further ado, the ficlet.

---

(Daventry castle) 

Grandpa has a terrible sore throat and a hacking cough. He’s driving the royal physicians up the wall with how poorly he sticks to their advice. They tell him he must be quiet and go easy on his lungs - he must rest his voice. So of course he talks twice as much as normal. 

Valanice shakes her head fondly and suggests Gwendolyn help him pass the time with stories. But just this once, he’ll be the one to listen, not tell. She hands her granddaughter a grand leather tome with a slick blue ribbon and a cover cracking about the edges. It was recently sent as a peace offering from the goblin realm. Naturally, it’s a volume of old fairy tales.

Grandpa settles in as Gwendolyn reads aloud through a handful of familiar ones - “Rapunzel,” “Little Red Riding Hood,” and so on. It is indeed a soothing way to pass the time, and Grandpa soon starts nodding off. Gwendolyn smiles smugly that the scheme to get him to rest quietly is working, and decides to read on just a little further to ensure he’s sound asleep by the time she leaves. 

She turns the page to a fairytale she’s never heard of - “Jorinda and Joringel.” She reads it softly, almost under her breath.

“Once upon a time, two young lovers, Jorinda and Joringel, stumbled upon a castle deep in the forest. What they did not know was that the castle belonged to a witch of fearful power, who did not take kindly to being disturbed. In her fury, she laid curses on each of them. Poor Joringel was enchanted to stand still as a statue. He could only watch as the witch turned his beloved Jorinda into a nightingale and carried her off to a cage in the castle, to be her pet and sing for her. Joringel couldn’t lift a finger to help her until the witch finally tapped him with her wand. With many terrible threats, she warned him to never return. Now -”

“What? Graham interrupts, cracking an eye open. “Tapped him with her wand?”

“Grandpa! Remember what the doctor said. Now, Joringel had heard of a certain beautiful rose that could break spells with a single touch of its petals, so he journeyed far to fetch it from - ”

Grandpa comes wide awake and slams his hands down on the quilt. “SO THAT’S WHAT THEY WERE DOING!” he cries hoarsely. “THEY WERE TRYING TO GET ME TO STAND STILL! The slime - the ropes - it all makes sense now!” He is absolutely gobsmacked, and going back and forth between slapping his forehead in frustration and chuckling. “If only I had known! I thought I knew every old story in the book! Is this an actual fairytale?”

It seems this tale has provided Grandpa with a missing piece, making sense of something that happened to him in his youth, while he and his friends were captives of the goblins. And you can practically see the excitement levels rising in his eyes - if he weren’t old and sick, Gwendolyn has no doubt he’d be jumping off the walls in another two seconds.

He can’t do that, but of course he can tell his granddaughter the whole story. She tells him off, grinning. “Grandpa, that’s exactly the opposite of keeping your voice quiet!”

But when has anyone ever been able to stop an excited Graham? The purple mists of the mirror part, and the memory begins shining over the glass

(Goblin caves)

Young Graham discovers the glowing garden amongst the upper passages of the goblin prison. He is struck by the carefully tended beauty. It seems strange to him that the goblins, so violent and instinct-driven, and clueless to the fact their prisoners are starving, could cultivate something like this garden. But never mind that. He’s got people to save. And look! Roses! Just what the Hobblepots need him to fetch for their recipe! He plucks one, but gets distracted by a noise deeper into the garden. He decides to investigate.

There he sees a group of goblins setting up for their next fairytale, fiddling with hastily stitched costumes and clumsy props. One goblin is trying to get a little clockwork nightingale to work,  but is having some trouble with the mechanism. 

They spot Graham, and go crazy with joy when they see he has a rose in his hand. They shove him into the middle of their staging area and begin acting. One goblin in a tattered but sparkly gown grabs his hand and strolls with him, laying its hand on its heart and sighing exaggeratedly.

Graham has no idea what story this is. He makes some lame, vague guesses, but no good. “Um, okay. So, you’re definitely in love with me. That’s a thing. Am I… the prince in ‘The Little Mermaid?’ Maybe ‘Sleeping Beauty?’ You, because, love? I guess? Um… ‘Three Little Kittens Who Lost Their Mittens?’ No, no.”

 When the witch goblin arrives in its jaunty pointed hat and waves its hands around ‘mystically” and tosses some handfuls of glitter powder,’ all the goblins turn to Graham expectantly, anticipating he’ll go along with freezing into a statue by standing still.But Graham, of course, has no idea what they want. Everyone’s looking at him, clearly needing him to do something. So naturally, he moves - waves his arms, strikes a pose. And they get frustrated with him. They smack him to make him smarten up and get with the program, but of course this communicates nothing to him. A couple try grabbing him, to force him to stand still, but Graham’s already a bit wary of goblins grabbing him, and takes off, full tilt.

He manages to evade them, ducking through the brush and shining mushrooms, and slips out of the garden door when everyone’s safely off searching for him at another end of the garden. He makes his way to the Hobblepots, and triumphantly produces the rose from his cloak. But alas, the rose has already wilted. Who knew it would be so delicate? He’ll need to fetch a fresh one. 

Hoping to avoid the goblins, Graham mentally plans everything else he can do toward saving his friends in the meantime. The next rose can be the last item on his to-do list, and hopefully the goblins will have cleared out from the garden by then.

A few hours later, Graham creeps warily through the door. He scopes out the garden, but all seems clear, besides the little tinkering goblin, still working on the nightingale. But he’s just kind of doing his own thing, and barely seems to notice Graham. So far, so good. Graham nabs a rose and heads out. 

But, surprise - the goblin troupe are coming in the door just as he’s coming out! They’re overjoyed to see him again! Whoops and rejoicing! They confiscate the rose and carry him off on their shoulders to another part of the caves, where they’ve set up a whole scene with clumsy props and a crude castle backdrop. The play begins all over again, with much hand squeezing and kissy sounds. But Graham’s eyes are drawn upward to a weird conglomeration of ropes hanging from the ceiling, full of strange knots and loops. And just a foot away, directly in the path his lover girl is leading him, is something that looks suspiciously like a tripwire.

He makes every attempt to avoid it - “No, no, I insist. You go first, my lady! No, ok. Well then, I’ll just step very carefully over this, um, hunter’s trap…”

The goblin kicks him in the back of the knee. The wire is tripped. Goblins cheer! Ropes descend! Limbs are snagged! Flying lines crisscross and snag and pull his arms and legs tightly in place. If he doesn’t shake free immediately, he won’t be able to move and inch.

With some reckless shimmy, diving, and use of the chopsticks (who knew?) he manages to get free. With every movement, the goblins became more frustrated and frenzied, as they try wildly to trap him again. A wild chase ensues (cue the soundtrack!) at first resembling an obstacle course, as Graham skids limbo-style beneath descending ropes, does an entire double dutch skipping rope routine, and of course there’s a grand finale that resembles nothing so much as trapeze and tightrope walking. 

Graham ends up climbing one of the ropes and finding himself in a little crevice in the ceiling just big enough for him. He unfastens the rope from its stalactite so the goblins can’t follow him up, but immediately regrets it. How is he going to get down now? 

The goblins throw a tantrum and shake their fists, and one stomps Graham’s rose with its stone boot. Once they’ve worn themselves out, they sit down. At first Graham fears they mean to wait him out, but they are distracted by the sound of a gong off in the distance. They dash away. 

Possibly a dinner gong, Graham reflects sadly, thinking about his friends, starving in their cages. The thought puts new resolution into him. He can’t possibly stay up here. He has to get down, and soon, before the prisoners lose even more strength. And, you know, before the goblins think to come back with a ladder or something.

But what on earth is he supposed to do? He’s a fair distance up, and simply jumping would almost certainly mean a broken back or neck. None of the stalactites hang very far down, so sliding down one wouldn’t help lessen the fall enough to matter. Has he got anything in his pockets he can use? He rifles through them, but nothing comes to hand that could be useful.

But slowly, a reckless plan forms in his mind. He only discovered recently that he can fit an entire person in one of his pockets, and that the cloak moves just the same when someone is inside it. Would it be crazy to scoop himself into his pocket, and let the cloak flutter to the ground? After all, fabric lands lightly. But would he? He has no clear grasp of the physics of these pockets, and it’s very possible that this would be just as bad as ordinary free fall. But he hasn’t got a better idea, so he grits his teeth, leaps, and sweeps himself up into the cloak as he falls.

The impact is no worse than when you think there is one more step on the staircase, but it turns out there isn’t, and your foot just lands awkwardly heavily. Graham breathes again, crawls out of his pocket, and sets to planning.

What is he going to do? He needs that rose. He could wait till tomorrow, but every day is so, so precious. He decides to hide near the garden door among some tall rocks. There he can stake the doorway out to be well and truly sure there are no goblins about. 

A couple of minutes in, the garden door creaks open, and the goblins shamble out and head further up the passage. He ducks low to be certain they don’t see him. Once they’re out of sight, Graham gives it a good twenty minutes to be sure they’re not coming back, and stands up - only to hear gasps and shrill gibberish behind him. 

He wheels round to discover that the goblins must have circled round to this chamber by another entrance. They have set up a stakeout only fifteen feet behind him, among the other tall rocks. They were watching for him, but couldn’t see him because he was hunkered down.

He sprints for all he’s worth. They pursue, and this time with a frightening new trick up their sleeves. Goblins with buckets of foul-smelling slime take aim at him. One splash of slime coats his foot, sticking him to the floor and hardening rapidly. He tries to yank his boot free, but it’s stuck as firmly as if the very rock of the ground had grown up round it.  He manages to swivel his foot out of his boot and run for it, running off half-shod, knowing what a disaster it will be if he gets coated in the slime anywhere else on his body.

He ends up running a complete circle, and dashes into the glowing garden, slamming the door behind him and barring it with the sword frying-pan. He has his doubts about how well it will hold, but what else is he supposed to…

He’s not alone.There’s someone else in here. 

Oh no. Of course. The tinkering goblin with the nightingale.

But It hardly pays him any attention. It’s struggling frantically with the mechanism. It’s become more and more agitated because it just can’t get the clockwork going. With a snarl of frustration, it hurls the nightingale against the rockface wall. It smashes to pieces. The horrified goblin throws its hands in the air, and falls to its knees among the springs and screws. Choking back a sob, it grabs for the nightingale’s head and wings, and turns them round and round. It falls silent, then begins blubbering and snuffling, pressing the pieces to its heart. Afraid of alarming the creature, Graham closes the gap between them slowly. The distraught goblin barely seems to notice. By now it’s rocking back and forth, snuffling wetly and cradling the broken toy close.

Graham kneels, and holds out his open hands. 

The goblin stops. It slowly raises its head to look at him. Then it stares back down at the nightingale, and back to him. Graham nods. The goblin swallows back its tears, and with trembling fingers lays the pieces in Graham’s hands.

It’s not actually so difficult to fix. Graham used to like to fiddle with clockwork toys when he was a boy, taking them apart and putting them back together. Or maybe it’s easier with human fingers. Whatever the case, it doesn’t take long for Graham to get it properly working. The little goblin was so close to a breakthrough. 

But it’s a very different kind of clockwork than Graham has seen before - like someone invented clockwork separately and it developed along a different track. And just from the look of it, Graham surmises that this toy was not stolen from the upper world. This is very clever goblin work. And strangely beautiful. How can something crafted by these little kidnapping monsters be beautiful?

He winds it up, and it sings.

He’s surprised by how sweet it is in its own way, and what craftsmanship went into it, and how he hadn’t really given the goblins credit for being able to make something so lovely. And yet, isn’t that what he was thinking about earlier, when he first saw the garden? Their love of stories led them to cultivate a beautiful fairytale garden. To build a theatre full of cheer. To invent a shining full moon underground. To fashion glass slippers and clever spinning wheels and magic tricks just to delight everyone. And as messed up as this whole situation is, there’s something endearing about it. Maybe more than endearing. Maybe it is beautiful.

Graham’s realizing  in a way he hadn’t before how important these tales really are to the goblins. How their love of fairy tales causes a lot of trouble, and man, does he know it. But most of it is harmless, and now and then, just now and then - it’s something really good. This goblin doesn’t want to hurt him. They can’t speak each other’s language, but they got through to each other through this shared moment.

The power of story - of making something fascinating and beautiful just out of what you have available - connection in the strangest of circumstances. Maybe - maybe this approach is something he can use?

Suddenly something lightly taps him. A wand. Held in the fist of one of the goblin crowd. He was so lost in thought he didn’t notice them coming in by the same back way through which they carried him to the “ropes course.” All the goblins cheer as he spins around at the touch of the wand! And now they are more than glad for him to have the rose - one even hands a new rose to him gallantly. 

He walks as slowly as he can out of the garden to take the rose to the Hobblepots, wondering what on earth even happened just now that they were so nice this time. But he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. It’s only a matter of time, of course, before the goblins come up with some new shenanigan to torment him, but for now, he’s got what he came for, and he…

(Daventry Castle)

Grandpa finally loses his voice completely, and has to give up on the last details of the story. Gwendolyn teases him, and they watch the final moments of the story playing out silently in the mirror, as young Graham wanders off into the gloom of the tunnels, rose in hand. 

Gwendolyn reads the last lines of the fairytale aloud. “With the flower to help Joringel, the witch’s magic could not hold. The curse was lifted, and he freed not only Jorinda, but all the other captives the witch held in her power. They made their way far from the darkness of the castle, and stepped gladly back into the light.”

“Good night, Grandpa. I hope you have a nice, quiet rest.”

[watcher-servant]

Rusted Arc dialouge lines

This took way longer than it should've, but I did it.

Side note: His 3rd Ascension is a reference to Ragna from Ragna Crimson & Guider to the eternal edge from Granblue fantasy. He is a 3 star servant coming from an event.

Also, the Witch of the Holy Night Collab is coming out for FGO, and Aoko and Soujuurou look amazing. It also applies to Alice as well, but Alice and Aoko take the cake on NPs for the event.

Summoning (pre event): Greerings, I am the rusted knight, guardian of the Ever after. What's that, a fairytale, I see so you have servants connected to stories. Well then master, what story are you trying to tell?

Summoning (post event): Well, didn't think I see you again. Glad to see you again, Master of Chaldea. Since you helped me, it makes sense I do so in return. So master what will you have this freelance knight do?

Level up 1: Oh, I felt a change, it's almost like some chains have been lifted.

Level up 2: Mastery is a journey that almost never ends. I wonder what step is this?

Level up 3: Seems I reached a new step in my journey. Don't worry I'll always be of help when you need me.

1st Ascension: This form, never thought I see this face again. I guess proper introductions are in order. My original name is Jaune Arc. Though at this point it may not mean much to anyone.

2nd ascension: Hmm no changes huh? Well that's fine, though I didn't expect to return to my 19 year old self. Though it is nice Juniper recognize me instantly.

3rd Ascension: This...what is this apperance? These scars, my hair, and yet the strangest thing is, I feel so close to my aura. I think I reached a new understanding.

4th ascension: So, this is my limit as a Pretender. It's not bad, for a time I only accepted the role as the Rusted Knight just so I can survive. Though now, I owe a lot to the original guardian, if it wasn't for them. I shudder who or what I could've become.

Battle start 1: Despite the apperance, I'm tougher than you think?

Battle start 2: Now then what plan, would work on them?

Battle start 3: Which would you prefer, sword, fist, kick or a headbutt from a stampeding animal?

Battle start 4: Let's see what I can create?

Skill 1: *drinks from a cup* Thank you *hands it to a genial gem*

Skill 2: Think you can get past my shield?

Skill 3: Focus...*Quick burst of aura*

Skill 4: Gotta remember the basics.

Attack select 1: Got it

Attack select 2: Understood

Attack select: Grit your teeth

Noble phantasm select 1: As my decree of the rusted knight

Noble phantasm select 2: So shall we hear a quick tale?

Noble phantasm select 3: Looks like we reached a crucial point.

Noble phantasm select 4: A new chapter is about to begin

Extra attack 1: Go Juniper!

Extra attack 2: Get ready to fly

Extra attack 3: I'll mow you down

Extra attack 4: Now fall!

Noble phantasm 1: After all the leasons she learned, and the friends she made and lost. Who has she become? The leaves in the tress rustle on the wind. There was one question. Who are you? [Ever After]!

Noble Phantasm 2: I hope your next journey is more kind to you. [Ever After]

Noble phantasm 3: Everyone one is in place don't worry I'll patch you right up. [Aura Amp]

Noble phantasm 4: I got your back just leave the defense to me. [Aura Amp]

Damage from phantasm: I won't fall not yet!

Defeated 1: So...this is where my journey ends

Defeated 2: Finally I can rest...I leave the rest to you.

Battle finish 1: Looks like we made it.

Battle finish 2: *Sigh* that took more than I thought

Battle finish 3: Just like that job is done.

Bond lv 1: Oh is there something you need master. Or did you come to pet Juniper?

Bond lv 2: Despite me bearing this title, there was another knight in the Ever After. The best way to describe them would be...my mentor

Bond lv 3: Won't lie I feel really out of place here. There's so many heroes around...if I was my child self. I know he would ask for a autograph...or to train them.

Bond lv 4: What? Surprised I can play guitar? I'll be honest it's been so long I didn't think I could. Guess the muscle memory remained after so long

Bond lv 5: Didn't think I reached a place Ike this. I won't lie I'm surprised I was actually summoned as a servant. Trust when I say I wasn't anyone worth remembering...though most likely it was my connection to my mentor that I ever reached here. To be honest there's probably more deserving from my world that should be here...yet here I am.

Dialogue 1: Oh hello master, you mind helping me brush Juniper? Trying to get some of this loose fur.

Dialogue 2: The master servant contract. To think you manage to hold so many, I think that speaks volumes to kind of person you are.

Dialogue 3: To think I can use and mold my aura like this. The possibilities I can do...let's try test them out master.

Dialogue 4 (Child servants): Hmm what's that? You wanna ride Juniper, I don't mind and pretty sure she doesn't mind either. You guys gotta take turns though at least 2 at a time.

Dialogue 5 (Jeanne D' Arc): Hmm there's something about her...that just makes me feel odd. It doesn't help she looks like one of my sisters. Plus her name as well...an ancestor maybe. Huh? Oh uh...it's nothing.

Dialouge 6 (Jeanne Alter): Oh its...wait somethings off. Jeanne Alter? Hmm so there are servants with counterparts. Something tells me she's really caring, despite her attitude.

Dialogue 7 (Voyager): Hmm to think I meet the original Voyager servant. So far there's only 2 of us, but I think we found good company in our current classes. Seems even Juniper took a liking to you.

Dialogue 8 (Deck of heroes reference): It's strange, I swear it was my first time fighting along side them. Yet I could feel I can trust them. A lingering trust...can't be right.

Dialogue 9 (Tamamo no Mae): Hmm, Hmm huh oh Tamamo no mae right? No, it's uh, it's nothing. No, wait, what are you? HEY!?! OH ohhhhhh

Dialogue 10 (Oberon): Fairy King Oberon or Vortigern? Either way, you wouldn't be the first liar I've been around. As you're the first pretender I'll give respect, but that doesn't mean I'll fall for your lies. Dealing with a certain cat was more than enough

Dialogue 11 (Hephaestion): Pyr...no sorry about that. You reminded me of a old comrade from long ago. It's nice to meet you Hephaestion...quick question you mind a spar?

Dialogue 12 (Tlaloc): Wait you embody a city? That's pretty cool...though a part of me is worried if the Ever After takes a servant form. No wait...the blacksmith is the closest I can think of.

Dialouge 13 (Alessandro): The grand scam artist. I'm not interested in any of your tricks

Dialouge 14 (Lady Avalon): Hmm..Lady Avalon? It's a pleasure to meet you though and if you don't mind me asking...what is Avalon like?

Dialouge 15 (Mordred): Oh its you Mordred, something you need? A sparring partner...alright then.

Dialogue 16 (Atalanta or Atalanta Alter): Oh Atalanta, I believe it's my day to watch over the kids. Don't worry me and Juniper will watch them.

Dialogue 17 (Diarmuid): Seems that curse of yours is still causing you trouble? If you want I think we can seal it for a moment. Oh it seems that's that needed. I wonder how different you fight with swords

Dialogue 18 (Medusa): Hmm, think Pegasus and Juniper might get along. I think they would and it seems she likes you as well.

Dialogue 19 (Medea): I think I see why you were hesitant with me for a while. Jason is...a bit of work. Though something tells me there's more to him

Dialogue 20 (Emiya assassin): Kiritsugu...it took some time but it looks like you find some light again. Even got a family as well.

Dialogue 21 (Frankenstein): Oh hello Fran, is there something you need. Alright I don't mind you tying my hair...no full bows though.

Dialogue 22 ( Edmond Dantes or Count of MC): It's good to see you again Lord Count. I can tell despite the change of scenery your act of guardian is still strong. If you don't mind, I want to have a chat when you have the time.

Something you like: Hmm good question, beside Juniper being on this list. I do enjoy a nice meal with people and maybe be it around campfire. That is a idea though, a nice camping trip.

Something you hate: The merciless pursuit of power...getting innocent folks involved and hurt in the exploits. Another I can't forgive...is a fallen maiden, who doesn't deserve any mercy.

About the holy grail: If I was younger I would've made a wish with the Grail. Though with my experience now...there's always a cost when using such powers.

During an Event: Sounds like something big is going on. Wanna go see what's that about?

Birthday: Your birthday? Have you already told somebody it's today? Know what, follow me. I think it's time to show how fast Juniper can run.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Jamil, Idia: Desires so Deep

Ignore me getting a late start on this new birthday series 💀 (Got busy with irl stuff!!)

Oddly enough, the vignettes don’t mention Jamil’s birthday at all; they’re at the National Art Museum in the Land of Dawning to celebrate its 100th anniversary. It seems this new series (Platinum Jacket) will have vignettes with more focus on how the boys relate to and what they think about important historical figures in Twisted Wonderland!

… Also, the fact that the book 7 part 5 update came out a few days before Jamil’s birthday… and then his vignettes go and show a Maleficent painting in them… Yeah 😭 but what’s even funnier to me is that Idia calls Jamil a chuunibyou WHich iS SO ACCURATE, THANK YoU fOR CALLinG HIS ASS OuT, KING 🙏 What is Jamil doing in that sussy Groovy if not being a chunni…

A Tale as Old as Time.

Contained within a shining platinum frame was an illustration of a starry scene. A man in a fine white turban crowned by a single violet plume. A woman, perched on a balcony, in a refreshing blue-green, a jasmine flower set into her long, dark braid.

They stared longingly into each other’s eyes, conveying an emotion not spoken aloud. No words were needed for what they had: a love so tender it made the night weep. The stars into glittering tears sliding down the face of darkness.

Standing before the painting of the happy couple, Jamil folded his arms and frowned.

… Can feelings truly defy social status?

"A street rat marrying a princess… Hah."

His fingers curled to fists, digging into the pristine white fabric of his suit. Jamil's expression remained neutral, no hint of the bitterness brewing within. He was a master of leashing it.

What nonsense. I doubt their happiness lasted long. The difference in their standing is far too vast to be bridged.

Jamil lowered his gaze and looked away.

Adjacent to the loving pair was a spindly man with a curled goatee. His crimson and black headdress resembled the flared hood of a desert viper—a look iconic to the Sorcerer of the Sands. He gleefully clasped a golden oil lamp in his long, bony fingers. A remarkable achievement, an item he had been searching his entire life for.

Now, here was a great man. Someone who had slaved away and earned his reputation, climbed in social ranks on merit alone. The Sorcerer of the Sands would die a highly accomplished man, advisor to a sultan, renown scholar mage, and seeker of truth.

The very symbol of Scarabia’s spirit of deliberation.

"Jamil-shi?"

The voice was soft and nervous, like that of a specter not yet parted from this world. A faint blue glow fell upon the Sorcerer of the Sands.

Jamil turned, releasing a sigh when he realized who had appeared beside him. "... Oh. It's you, Idia-senpai."

"Eeep!" His upperclassman jumped at the mention of his name. He clung to the doorway, and anxiety evident on his pale face.

"Well? Don't let my presence deter you from appreciating the artwork."

"N-No, that's okay!! It was getting to be too crowded in the main hall, so I wanted to dip and take a breather somewhere quiet to let my stamina recharge... b-but that's completely pointless if other people are still around!"

"You won't even notice me. I not a snake—I don't bite," Jamil insisted flatly. Not unless I want to. "You look suspicious lurking in the doorframe. You may as well come in."

Left with no other choice, Idia awkwardly shuffled into the exhibit.

He positioned himself a good distance away from Jamil, not saying so much as a word as he stared at an ornate figure of a broad-bodied ape. Its lips were twisted into a grotesquely wide smile.

Nestled in the monkey’s palms was a massive red jewel, glistening even in the scarce light. Idia's own terrified reflection bounced back at him in the gem’s many facets.

"Can't believe I got dragged out for this," the third year grumbled under his breath. "I-I wanted to go to that pop-up Sled Over Heels collab cafe with the walk-in museum... Instead I have to be here and gawk at the same pictures I've seen over and over again in magic history textbooks... Aaah, it totally doesn't compare at all to cute anime girls pouring all their passion into the artful sport of sledding!"

Some small, fragmented part of Jamil grimaced at the disrespect, try as he might to close off his ears, to not engage. No good ever comes of provoking a stubborn mule, he chided himself.

But the devil on his left shoulder pounced.

"Idia-senpai," Jamil spoke carefully, a slight edge to his voice. It made the hairs on the back of Idia's neck stand at attention. "Are you not a fan of this style of artwork? Or is it the subject matter you find distasteful?"

His upperclassmen startled. Horrified as the realization that Jamil had heard his every complaint, the tips of his flaming hair colored pink.

"W-Well... I'm not exactly a buff for this kind of thing," Idia stuttered. "It's ancient history. Been there, don’t that. Th-There's really no point in being on that grind cycle if it all just amounts to the same ending anyway. That's basically all history is, anyway."

Jamil bristled—though he took care to not let it show. "I beg to differ. The story of the Sorcerer of the Sands defies such paltry notions. He struggled much in his life, even served under a carefree, incompetent sultan that barely listened to a work he said.”

I know what that’s like.

“Jamil…!”

A smile he thoroughly detested flashed in his mind. So big and pearly and irritating as he offered him his hand.

“Let’s start over. We can be rivals… but we can be friends too.”

But that boy was a fool.

Feelings can’t trump social status. Not then, not now. Not ever.

“And yet it was thanks to his contributions that he is remembered today as one of the greatest men to have ever lived. The Sorcerer of the Sands was able to break free and live as he desired. He acquired the Genie of the Lamp and phenomenal cosmic power. He decided his own destiny.”

"Uweh, sounds like he's your kami-oshi, Jamil-shi... I guess it makes sense though, since you and the Sorcerer of the Sands are the same character archetype and everything. Chunnibyous gotta stick together and all…”

"… What is that supposed to mean?" Jamil planted his hands on his hips. He didn’t understand all of Idia’s slang, but he also wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

Idia's eyes—wide and anxious—cut away from him. “I-It’s nothing important…”

“Then why are you hiding it?”

“B-Because you’re definitely the type who would hold a grudge if anyone pisses you off!!”

“How rude. I’m offended that you think so lowly of me.” Jamil allowed himself a little smirk. “I’ll have you know that I won’t stop there. In fact, I’ll enact a vengeance plot so excruciatingly humiliating that you won’t ever be able to face the light of day comfortably again.”

“S-See?! That’s what I meant!! Y-You’re a certified chuunibyou!!”

“Whatever that means, I assure you that I’m not. Is it so wrong to look back on history and to appreciate how far we’ve come since?”

“Th-That’s…”

Jamil found himself returning to the painting of the Sorcerer with the lamp. He was almost drawn to it, lulled into a hypnotic trance. An item that could make all of his hopes come true…

“Let me ask you this: if you could have any wish granted, what would that wish be?”

“E-Eh?! Any wish…” Idia fiddled with the glittering buttons on his suit. He nibbled on his lower lip, a darkness having swept up what little color there was left to him. “I-I can’t say it, but… more than anything, there’s someone I want to say goodbye to.”

“I see. A fond farewell.”

Letting go.

Jamil’s chest tightened.

In a distant memory, flowers of fire lit up the night. He had been dancing then, hair and fabric flying as he spun and spun and spun. When had he last felt so free? His wings unbound, the sky as his limits.

“As for myself, what I wish for most of all is…”

He glanced back at the painting of the two lovers. Star-crossed, against a star-streaked sky. Adventure calling, liberation beckoning.

A look most malicious graced his careful controlled features. Lips in a lopsided smirk, eyes like daggers, glinting sinisterly in the dark. Concealed weapons rising to the surface.

“… to be well-connected with people who may prove useful in attaining my dreams. Yes, that’s it. Useful.”

[sillysootyboi]

most underrated duo was Wilbur and Grian. They're both different kinds of feral, but where as Wilbur is haunting-cryptid, Grian is weasel-SCP coded.

To illustrate a difference. Wilbur would be one of those entities you see on the side of the road who asks for a lift, then regales you with an eerie tale, and your car keeps looping on the same road.

Or if you're European (or just hate cars), imagine the most ominous thing. A train car with only one other person. Clearly something has happened, but you're tired and just sit down.

Your stop never comes. He tells you a story, strangely beautiful.

By the time you realize time isn't moving forward, the sights outside the train are unfamiliar. But you know them. Office rooms. Alleys. Interiors of abandoned malls. Old pubs. Things that cannot be seen from a train.

Then he simply announces it is his stop. The train slows. He departs.

You blink. Everything is as it was.

Grian's more of the cryptid that rearranges your book shelf to spell out ominous messages and steals only your left shoe.

Or maybe they're similar fae, but of different courts.

Anyway, I would have killed (in Minecraft) for them to have collabed on an actual roleplay.