#that they cleared all the nature from and now it just sits there. ugly & dirt

[jessicatredes]

so happy that a plot of trees near me was bought and destroyed by a real estate company that's either going to build houses that will never sell or be turned into airbnbs

[bluiex]

The Gardens

Been talking to @justfor2am about their Caged AU, and came up with this. 

Time to make you all question if Scar is a villain (he totally is) 

TW: Manipulation, Magic, Villian Fae Scar

Summary: The gardens are pretty, even if sinister. Kind of like their owner. Yet... it's the only place Mumbo enjoys.

-

The grass always smells nice here, the sun is always warm and high in the sky. Mumbo doesn't know if it ever sets. It never hurts his eyes if he stares at it, nor does it burn his skin. The wind is always gentle, cooling him when he feels too warm. It's almost as if everything is alive here. 

Mumbo found this place while exploring for ways out. The walls up have a sheer cliff going down into the abyss. Without magic, it's impossible to make that jump. But.. the place was beautiful. The walls were ivory in color with ivy growing up them, their dark and light green leaves turned up to the sunlight. 

Trees that reached far into the sky, and branches that swayed in the soft wind. Moss grows at the base of the tree and is very soft to the touch. The grass is also soft under his hands and is a vibrant green color. The walks ways are cobble stepping stones, leading back to the main path to the manor that is mostly mulita color gravel. The edges of moss also grow at the cobble circle stones. 

Mumbo finds the gardens seem endless, hedges made into pretty statues of strange creatures. Even a maze that he doesn't dare go into as he has no sense of direction. But, the flowers are the thing that draws in his eye the most. They are the strangest things he's ever seen.

Blues that shouldn't exist in nature, eye popping yellows and oranges that draw in your eye. They grow in small beds here and there, with bushes that contain fae berries. They look delicious, but Mumbo refrains from eating them, he's no fool.  The pond is pretty also, having clear blue water and lilies on the surface. Surrounded by the flowers, and a willow tree that hangs over the edge. 

In some areas the tree roots are so large Mumbo can walk under them! This place always seems to be changing though he finds so long as he follows the cobble paths he will always make it back to the manor. That is both useful and scary to think about, that this place is just magic. 

No matter how far he walks, he just has to step onto the paths and he's always back at the manor. 

Mumbo sits back and looks at the flowers again, they smell so very sweet. It makes his head spin when he gets too close, making him feel warm yet cool at the same time. He knew something was up, as he both knows he should leave, but doesn't at the same time. 

After what felt like only a few minuets a sound blinks him back into awareness. He turns and looks around, where was that coming from? it was a creaking of wood, and the sound of a voice tutting. 

"No no, that won't do at all. Bah, trees, always a pain to work with." 

A frown on his face, that... sounded like Scar. Truth be told Mumbo hadn't see the fae in a while. He moved to the sound, curiosity and a cat. He walked down the path to an area that was... well it was a clearing of sorts. Nothing much other than dirt in the middle of it.  And there stood Scar, he had on pants and a simple shirt. He also didn't have any shoes on, feet half buried into the moss and dirt. He was tsking as his hand waved and a large root moved with it, up and making what seemed to be an archway.  Mumbo watched in awe and shock as to this fae's whims the tree and roots and bark moved. Creating a archway like thing with many flowers weaving through the branches. Scar didn't seem to even be breaking a sweat with this magic. 

Mumbo looked around the clearing, to find mushrooms grew in a circle around the dirt clearing. Where Scar stood was the only place with moss. Inhuman eyes looked at the archway, eyes too large and too green to be human. Teeth too sharp to be normal, and ears pointed up.

"Hmmm that'll have to do for now." Scar waved his hand, "Now to get rid of this ugly dirt- Oh!" he turned fully to see Mumbo standing there watching him. Slowly a smile grew, wide on the face, and sharp teeth. 

Scar walked over to him, ease in his steps, with each one more moss grew under his feet. "I knew you were in the gardens, but I didn't think you'd notice I was here... sharper than you look Mumbo." he said with a smile on his face ever present. A shiver down his spine at how casually the fae said his name. A reminder that he was owned by Scar now. "Ah... I heard you talking to yourself." he said to the fae, honesty was the best thing to do. The fae hated liars.

A chuckle and head tilt, "I was just making a new area for when humans wonder into my fae circles. I change it ever so often." a wave of his hand and suddenly grass and more moss grew in the area. Covering over the rich black and brown soil.  Hands held out, "Come." Scar said, but Mumbo knew it wasn't a offer he could decline. Hesitantly he took Scar's clawed hands as he was pulled into the circle. 

The smile grew as Scar lead him over to the tree he was working on. "I do love terraforming. The gardens is where I spend majority of my days. Sure making and adding rooms to the manor is wonderful, but, the outside if beautiful." he said in a joyous tone, "I could tell you liked the flowers I made."

Shifting a bit at the intense stare Mumbo nodded, for the most part, despite how odd Scar was, he still felt calm. There wasn't immediate danger around the area, they were talking for now. "I've never seen colors so pretty before." he admits to Scar.

"Beautiful, are they?" Scar held out his hand as he created a soft red and white flower. The steam weaving around his fingers, "I do love colorful things, eye catching, bright." a smile at Mumbo that was shadowed. Framed by brown locks of smooth hair, and bright green eyes.  It was hard to look away from, the flower caught the wind, with a bit of pollen with it. The scent was sweet, it made Mumbo feel nice. "They are pretty." he admits in a soft tone.

He's always loved flowers, gardening was something he enjoyed. Something he wanted to do when he made himself a home one day. But... he wondered if he'd ever get that day now. 

A hand on his chin, pushing up to look back at Scar's eyes. "I could teach you." he offered in a soft tone. Mumbo stared at that confused, as Scar moved around to behind him, fingers ever present on his cheek and chin, ghosting over his neck and to his shoulder.

"Flowers are delicate you know, so easy to break, so easy to bend." The other hand trailed up his arm and held up his hand, ghosting the tips of the claws on his knuckles. "What is your favorite color Mumbo?" the voice was rich in his left ears, the chin slotted over his shoulder. Warm breath on the shell of it. 

Mumbo was very aware of how Scar has an arm snaked around his stomach, how the hand gripped his waist. the chest was pressed to his back, warmth like skin despite the shirt. Firm as well, holding him in place as his dark brownish black eyes looked at his hands. How Scar's hand barely held it up to the light.

"Blue." he says softly, voice almost a whisper. He loved the color blue, how rare it was in nature, how the sky gleamed it against fluffy white clouds. How the water reflected the skies surface. 

Scar hummed, "Blue..." he said back, as from Mumbo's fingers green sparks flowed. It jolted down his arm, as Scar's magic tangled with his own. Weaving between the mage's magic, and carefully guiding it along. 

From his fingers a steam weaved around, and put over his index finger. Creating a large flower, that was glowing blue, having light yellow trims. It was bigger than his hand, and had soft, delicate petals.  "Ofcourse you'd make something poisonous." Scar chuckled into his ear as Mumbo stared at the flower. How the steam hugged his wrist and hand, and twined it together with Scar's own. 

"it's..." Mumbo said as the flower glowed softly, "beautiful." he admits, he didn't think he could create things, having always used magic for destructive purposes. 

Another laugh in his ear, deep, melodious, like an organ playing. "Care to help me make more dear?" he asked him in a gentle and soothing tone. Perhaps it was foolish to do so, but.. Mumbo wanted to see what else he could do. 

. . .

Scar was humming as he weaved together the flowers, "You've been so good today Mumbo... after so long of biting back, it's nice to see such a sweet side of you." he laughs lightly to the mage.

Looking away, Mumbo opts to say nothing to that. His head felt fuzzy with the buzz of magic. Scar's own magic still tingled in his right hand. The still ghost touches were there. The air was sweet, and not once had the sun set. 

Now... now they lay here, Scar having pulled him down to the ground, the feel the soft moss under them. Scar purred as he was shirtless now, just basking in it, as Mumbo was avoiding looking at his chest. A fae should not have tits and abs! He should not look this pretty. 

Leaned now against a tree as he finished the crown of pretty flowers. And reached over placing it on Mumbo's head. A pleased smile on his face, as fingers trailed down his cheek. "The garden is yours to explore as you wish... I suppose I can allow you bits of magic back if I'm nearby... the moment you abuse it Mumbo."

The nails running down his neck sent a sharp reminder through his head. Scar then was quick to smile and pets his face again. "You look wonderful though." he said, eyeing Mumbo's face and how the black hair framed the brightly colored flowers.  "Oh, how I could make them root into that head of yours. So you'd always wear such a pretty crown." Scar said cheerfully.

Mumbo felt a sharp stab of fear at those words. The idea of these flowers digging their way into his skin, into his head! he paled as Scar just continued to smile. "but... no... I think a real crown of ivory and gold would be much prettier on your black hair." 

A pat of his cheek, then Scar leaned down and kissed it lightly. The scent of something like cookies and sage. Coiling around Mumbo's nose and into his lungs. "I hope you enjoy my gardens Mumbo." he whispers into his ear. "Do come inside for dinner soon."

"I... sure..." Mumbo said his mouth dry. With that Scar stood up and snapped his fingers as his coat, cane, and shirt came back to him. The smile ever stayed on his face as he turned and left Mumbo in the large clearing of mushrooms and pretty flowers. 

Dark black eyes looked back to the center, at the large yellow and blue flowers... poisonous it was, but hauntingly beautiful. 

'Kind of like Scar...' his thoughts whispered as Mumbo shook them away. 

His face feels warm, the place where the fae's lips were tingled. The words that this crown he made could stay on his head rung loud. Despite how fuzzy he felt, the fear was there, but... a fondness in his chest stubbornly stayed. 

Mumbo hated how pretty the damn creature was, and how his words were just so wonderful to listen to. Gazing up at the sky again he sighed as the wind blew through the willow branches. 

"the gardens are amazing through." he commented out loud to no one.

[sheetal-12]

Dear Theo..

Where is my life going? What make it our mind? He loses things their joy and leads us to melancholy. I rot without my feathers and these colors. With them I recreate things anew. All things become cold and dull after time tramples on them. I want to invent new fonts and colors, other than the ones with which our eyes stumble every day.

All the old colors have a sad glint in my heart, are they so in nature or are my eyes sick? Here I am redrawn as I ignite the fire that lurks in it.

At the heart of the tragedy there are lines of joy I want my colors to show, in the fields of "crows" and ears of wheat with their twisted necks. Even the "farmer's shoes" that filter misery, there is joy that I want to capture by color and movement... Ugly things have an artistic peculiarity that we may not find in beautiful things, and the artist's eye does not miss that.

Today I drew my own portrait, and every morning, when I look in the mirror, I say to myself: You refined face, you ugly face of Vincent, why don't you renew it?

I spit in the mirror and get out... Today I reshaped my face, not as nature wanted it, but as I wanted it to be..

Two werewolf eyes without resolution. A green face and a beard like the tongues of fire. The ear in the painting was protruding I didn't need it. I grabbed the feather, I mean the razor, and removed it.. It seems that I got confused, between my head outside and inside the painting... Well what am I going to do with that lump of meat?

I sent it to the woman who didn't know my worth and thought I loved her.. It's okay let the appendages come together.. Here's my ear, talkative woman, talk to her... Now I can hear and see with my fingers. Indeed, my sixth finger, the feather, can do more than that: it dances, creates and caresses the skin of the painting.

I sit and meditate: the world has grown old and its wrinkles have increased, and the face of the painting is beginning to relax more. Oh my God, what can I do before night falls on the tower of the soul? The brush, the colors, and I quickly fix it: straight and short strokes, sharp and graceful, my colors are clear and primitive. Yellow Blue Red.. I want to bring things back to their spontaneity as if the world had just come out of its first cosmic egg.

I still remember: It was dusk or after dusk and before dawn. The lilac color (denoting the night) wets the horizon... Ah, the shiver of lilac, when we went out into the orchard to steal the cranberries. I was sitting in the middle of the tree watching a green and yellow worm while Ursula the more miserable jumped gleefully among the branches Suddenly she lost her balance and sank, my chest trembled before hanging on my neck, I held her to me, breathing like a frightened antelope, and when she moved away from me a berry had left its night nectar On the white of my shirt, since that day, when I was twelve, I felt its lilac nectar on the white of my shirt.

From that day on, when I was twelve, I feel I would be happy if a lilac hole were to open in my chest so that white might flow, what a lilac tremble.

The idea pushes me a lot, can I not do it Lie in the sunflower, yellow, oh I, absorb the rays of this joyful planet, stare and stare into the sun's eye where the soul of the universe is until my eyes burn me.

Two things stir my soul: staring at the sun, and at death.. I want to travel in the stars, and this miserable body is holding me back! When will we, the sons of the earth, go, carrying our bloody handkerchiefs, but to where? .. To the dream, of course.

Yesterday I painted flowers the color of clay after I planted myself in the dirt, and the ears were green and yellow growing over my head, and the crows of memory were flying without air. Heads of wheat and crows. Crows and wheat... the crows are pecking at my brain. Cork... Cork... everything is a dream. Dreams are in vain, and the feather of dust deceives us all the time.. Soon I will restore the trust of the dirt, and release the bird from my chest towards the land of the sun.. Oh swallow, I will open the cage for you with this pistol.

Goodbye, Theo, I'm leaving for spring.

- Vincent van Gogh

[worldismyne]

The Longest Sleepover Ch 5 + 6

Summary: The first year of school did not go as planned for Harv and he’s never felt more alone. That is, until a loud kid from the saga studies course decides they’re best friends now.

(Year 1 AU, Harv deals with homophobia, Finn is oblivious.)

Series: Warrior U

Pairing: HarvFinn

Rating: T

Ao3 Link

(Did two back to back conventions, so I forgot to update on Fri, but the chapters are up now!)

Finn rolled over to find Harv's side of the bed empty. He sat up with a start, the boxes and bags from last night had been thrown out. All the things he bought had been carefully arranged against the wall. He ran downstairs and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Harv sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea. He hadn't run off in the middle of the night.

"Good morning, Harvey!" Finn said. He practically ran the rest of the way down the stairs. Harv jumped in his seat at the sudden intrusion. "Did you sleep well?" Harv's expression turned sullen, though he tried to mask it. He opened his mouth, then closed it, rethinking the answer too many times for Finn's comfort.

"Just a little different is all." Harv finally said. He waited until Finn had collected his own breakfast before continuing. "Can we, uh... Can we not go into town today?" Harv asked.

"Sure?" Finn couldn't fathom what else they would do though, considering most people took offense to his mother's magical sources of entertainment. It wasn't like they could just do nothing. Whatever it was had to be fun or interesting, otherwise it would just be them alone, talking. If Harv didn't have any fun doing that... "What did you have in mind?" Harv shrugged as he looked at his cup.

"I don't care, as long as there aren't other people involved."

"I-" Finn wanted to argue. Having nothing to do all day would drive him stir crazy, but he liked the idea that Harv wanted to be alone with him. "I guess we could always have a picnic. It's fairly safe across the lake." He hadn't been to that portion of the woods in years.

"Okay." Harv nodded along as Finn rambled off a list of what they'd need. He'd rather go alone, but it'd seem odd to abandon his host just so he could isolate himself in nature. He just needed a break from prying eyes. Finn polished off his breakfast and caught sight of his mother going toward the front door.

"Mother, where's that quilt the Radnar's gave us?" Finn asked. The witch turned to the two boys with a puzzled look, a large empty basket in her arms.

"What would you want that ugly thing for?"

"I need something that we could sit on outside." Finn said. "A little dirt might improve it now that I think about it."

"In the hall closet." His mother grinned and held out the basket towards him. "Since you already plan on going outside, you wouldn't mind picking up some bat tails while you're out. Sun-kissed, of course."

"But mother, I have a guest-"

"No buts mister, you've slacked off the last two days." Leenan said. Finn reluctantly took the basket. "The world doesn't stop just because you brought home a friend." She kissed his forehead. Harv felt a nostalgic pang in his gut at the sight. Leenan went back to her study, more than happy to kick off her foraging shoes in the process.

"Typical." Finn went to the linen closet in a huff, careful to keep his voice low. "Just because I'm going outside, doesn't mean I should have to do her chores. It's summer vacation."

-

Baby birds chirped their last few notes before leaving the nest. The wild roses, fat from last week's rainfall, signaled which path they needed to take. Something about the greenery and the smell of soil helped Harv clear his mind. It was relaxing, even with Finn determined to fill the silence with the sound of his own voice.

The bard clung to Harv's arm the whole walk. The blond would jump at the slightest sound from the underbrush, even though it was midday. It made walking difficult, but Harv hadn't the heart to shake the other boy off. This was an area of the woods where people had disappeared after all.

"It's just a little further." Finn shivered as the leaves blocked out the sun. As they breached the darkest part of the path, they came to a collection of wild citrus trees. "Keep a lookout." Finn peeled himself off of Harv's arm and ran to the nearest tree.

The branches of the tree had split into perfect ys as it had grown, making it the easiest to climb of the bunch. Finn pulled himself two thirds of the way up as easily as he would a ladder. The upper branches were always the trickiest for him to maneuver.

"I don't see any bats up here." Harv said. Finn almost lost his footing at the sound, Harv's voice much closer than he'd anticipated. Finn wildly flailed his arms and hugged the trunk of the tree. When he looked down over his shoulder, Harv was a few branches behind him.

"I told you to keep a lookout!"

"For what?" Harv said. "No one owns these trees and there are several ways down." Harv kept looking at the branches above them. Small green oranges were swaying in the breeze. Finn shook his head and kept climbing.

"Did you at least bring the basket with you?" Finn asked as he reached the upper branches.

"Yeah." Harv said. Finn's torso disappeared past the leaves. The blond picked stems from the nubile leaves at the top of the tree.

"Catch." Finn did his best to aim for the basket as he let the first fistful of stems fall. "'Tails' are stems." Finn explained. "Bergamont, B-T, Bat. Most potion ingredients are like that. Plants with ridiculous names." Mother hadn't said how much she needed this time, so he did his best to fill the basket halfway. He paused, looking out over the valley, a rich forest the king could only wish he could tax. It had to have changed quite a bit since he last felt safe outside.

"Finn?" Harv risked climbing higher to where Finn was. Though he couldn't find solid footing to get closer than Finn's waist. He was able to see how far the lake stretched, the sun glittering on the surface of the water. "Wow."

Finn looked down at Harv whose expression had softened for the first time in days. The sun was just starting to be warm enough to prickle at the skin and the wind too weak to pull at Harv's dreads. His eyes were the same color as the sky. This kind of mundane beauty never got reflected in any paintings Finn had seen, it was a shame.

Crack.

One of the branches beneath Harv's feet buckled under his weight. He reached out and clung to the nearest thing to catch his balance. Finn yelled as Harv's arms wrapped around his thighs, Harv's face buried in Finn's abdomen. They teetered, but eventually found their balance.

"Alright." Finn said and patted the top of Harv's head. "You have to let go so we can climb down." Harv pulled back a little and looked down, the ground seeming farther away than he remembered. "Just move slowly. Come on, we haven't got all day." Harv hesitated, moving one hand at a time before slowly retracing his steps. Finn swiveled around and scaled down the other side of the tree with ease.

"You make it look so easy." Harv said, still a few feet off the ground while Finn waited in the grass.

"I've had more practice compared to most." Finn shrugged. He had just assumed climbing exercises were part of warrior training, but maybe all they did was play with weapons. "Careful with the basket!" Finn caught it just before the contents dumped on the forest floor and took it from Harv. As soon as Harv got to the ground, he found Finn wrapped around his arm again. "Come on, let's go. We're not far enough yet." Finn eyed the path behind them with caution, now uncertain whether they'd been followed. All the noise they had made might have attracted unwanted attention.

"What about the 'tails'." Harv asked.

"Mother doesn't need them right away, she can wait a few hours." Finn said. He half pulled Harv up the path toward the lake. The sooner they got out of this area of the woods, the better.

-

They reached the spot Finn had picked out with little issue, the sun now burning bright in the sky. The sandwiches and quilt were quite nice, Harv decided, as he lay back to watch the clouds roll by. The heat of the day had soaked into his muscles in a pleasant way. At long last, he felt he didn't have to worry about how best to present himself. He was content to lay there, and maybe catch a quick nap, when something splashed into the water a few feet ahead. Finn's tunic and stockings lay in an indecent heap at the edge of the quilt, the blond nowhere in sight. Harv scrambled to sit up just as Finn's head emerged from the water.

"What are you doing?" Harv said. Save for a bandage around his middle, there was a good chance Finn wasn't wearing anything else. Granted, they were alone, but Harv's sense of shame told him not to be so vulnerable in unfamiliar areas.

"By all means, go back to your nap grandpa." Finn pushed his soaked hair out of his face and let the rest of his body go back underwater. "I can't lie there and do nothing while ants are all over the place looking for crumbs." They were harmless little creatures, but Finn loathed the idea of one of them crawling on his skin. Even though he'd only spotted one of two. "I can entertain myself." Harv thought about lying back down for a few more minutes, but it'd feel wrong to doze off while Finn was in the water.

"What if someone comes by?" Harv asked. His concern battled with envy at the body of cool water. Finn glided through the water closer to shore and leaned on his elbows in the shallows.

"No one comes this far around." Finn said, then smiled. "Why? Thinking of joining me?" Harv picked at the edge of his tunic. He hadn't brought anything to change into. Finn rolled his eyes. "No one will see you. Here, I'll even look away." He pushed himself back into the deep and faced the opposite shore. A small smile crossed his face when he heard the water get breached. "See, was that so hard?" He turned just as the water covered Harv's hips.

"You said you wouldn't look!" Harv said. His face darkened up to his ears as he sent a wave of water Finn's way.

"I thought you were in." Finn shielded himself from the splash with his arms. "I didn't see anything to be ashamed of!" Finn laughed when Harv splashed him again. Harv stopped attacking him once the water was up past his chest. He sulked, not wanting to look at the bard when he could still feel the heat of embarrassment on his face. Finn's laughter died down when he noticed the sapphire pendant still around Harv's neck, his hair was half pulled back and something about it made Finn's thoughts go fuzzy and hard to pin down.

"What?" Harv asked. Finn pulled his head under the water, the cold drink washing whatever bogged down his mind into something more coherent. He emerged again, a foot or two closer to get a better look. "What!?" Harv fidgeted as Finn went from inquisitive to wistful.

"It's a shame, the earrings would have looked nice with your hair like that." Finn said.

"It's just to keep it out of my face." Harv shook his head and swam toward the deeper waters. "You're too hung up on appearances." Finn gasped, the comment hitting a little too close to home.

"Me? What about you mister 'you said you wouldn't look'?" Finn huffed, he preferred to stay where his feet could touch the lakebed.

"That's different." Harv said. He couldn't be bothered to explain the knee jerk feeling of inadequacy that hit when all your classmates were twice your height and build. They were far away from anything resembling basic training, but he still disliked how soft his features were compared to warriors with half his strength.

"I fail to-" Finn realized he was out of earshot as Harv swam to a more secluded area with large rock formations. "Hey!" There was no way he'd be able to catch him up to him in the water, he wasn't that strong of a swimmer. He braved the shore, running to the rocks and a large overhang. As he stood on the edge, he saw Harv's brown hair as he swam toward the alcove. "I wasn't done talking to you." Harv glanced up and immediately averted his gaze.

"When are you done talking?" Harv muttered, but unfortunately the wind and the echoing rocks were not on his side.

"Oh, that's it!" Finn cannonballed into the water and doused Harv in the process. It took a moment to find his bearings, but he was able to locate the warrior. "I am not some insufferable thing for wanting you to have pleasant company." He got Harv's back up against the rock formation. "If you imply so again, so help me..." Finn faltered, the shadow of the rocks highlighted what little light danced along the surface of the water and Harv's sapphire. That same intrusive half-thought threatened to swallow Finn's frustration for a moment. "I-I'll drown you." Harv laughed at him.

"You, with that little splash?" Harv easily swam around Finn.

"Like you could do better." Finn huffed, able to regain his bearings.

"I could." Harv said, he flipped over into a backstroke to watch Finn fume in the shadows with a satisfied grin.

"Prove it." Finn pointed up at the overhang above him. His smile grew when Harv looked up at the ledge and back at Finn. That would mean getting back out of the water.

"...fine." Harv wouldn't let this smug little thing get the better of him. He swam over to the rocks away from Finn's line of sight to the shore. Running as fast as he could, he jumped off the overhang. The force of the wave pushed Finn back a few feet and he screamed with laughter. Harv resurfaced in the shade where Finn was busy finding air again. "See." Finn's smile fell at the sound of hooves on packed dirt and he hurriedly urged Harv to hold his tongue with wild gestures. The two held their breath as a cart passed by overhead. They had gotten too close to the road out of Cailburry. As soon as they knew their voices wouldn't carry, Harv shoved Finn away from him. "You said no one comes out this far!"

"Yeah, over there." Finn pointed in the direction of their picnic site. Harv started swimming in that direction, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

"If we get caught, I swear." He caught sight of Finn struggling to keep up the pace.

"We're not," Finn said, hungry for air in between phrases, "getting caught... They get-" He was finally able to get his toes into the lakebed, and walked until his chin no longer dipped below the water. "They get caught. This is mother's land, they'd be trespassing."

"Oh..." Harv relaxed a little, only to be plagued by even more questions. "How does she have land?" He swam next to Finn as the bard walked through the water back to camp.

"Same way the king does." Finn said with a shrug. "She pointed at the forest, said that's mine, and no one's been able to take it from her."

"I- hunh." Harv could see their blanket coming into view. "The whole forest?"

"Yeah, well most of it." Finn shuddered. "There's no bullying wild animals out of their homes." No one cared about this forest until after he and his mother moved in, or so he was told. It was hard to parse out what was his mother being facetious and what was fact. "I can't believe they came around right after you left the water." Finn started giggling again, and Harv pushed ahead to their blanket faster than Finn could walk. "You have to admit it's a little funny." Finn approached after Harv had his stockings back on. Finn started to pull out of the water when he noticed something was missing. He felt down his torso, unable to find the bandage that covered his scar. He moved his feet around the lakebed hoping to find something in the mud. He cursed himself if it had ended up snagged on the rocks half a mile back.

"What's wrong? Suddenly not so confident, are we?" Harv laughed, only to realize Finn was nowhere in sight. He was about to call out to him when a figure in the distance caught his eye. "Rhodri..." His brother ran up to him, with little time to take in the full situation.

"Harv!" Rhodri shouted. The loud noise caught Finn's attention, he waded closer, but hid behind a short stone just out of sight. "What are you wearing?" Rhodri reached for the pendant around Harv's neck. "Is that real?" Harv stepped out of his brother's reach.

"Go home Rhodri." Harv tried to covertly use the basket to cover Finn's clothes. The last thing he needed was for his younger brother to start throwing around accusations. He pulled his tunic over his head to hide the necklace.

"What's wrong with you?" Rhodri asked, quick to anger. "You up and leave without a word for three days, and the first thing you say to me is 'go home'. I don't know what cure that witch promised you-" He cut himself off when Harv froze, his breath shallow. "That's what dad said."

"That's funny," Harv said tersely, "because I had made it quite clear when I left that I was done looking for cures." He started packing up the rest of the things Finn had brought. He could feel the hurt he'd tried to compartmentalize bubble to the surface. "You know, I don't ask for much. So, it would be nice if the one time I asked for something, I wasn't ignored or had other words put into my mouth. Or at the very least, you could ask. Just ask me what's going on with me instead of asking other people."

"You left." Rhodri said. Harv couldn't ignore the hurt in his brother's voice. "Look, I get that it's hard, but I'm on your side. You don't think I know what they mean when they say I should find 'a nice Christian girl' to settle down with whenever I hang out with Emet? It's just... how they are." He sighed. "I can't help you if you keep hiding what's going on or when you're coming back" He caught sight of a blond watching him from the water with mesmerizing purple eyes.

"I'm not..." Harv couldn't quite put it into words now, not with Finn so close by.

"She's pretty," Rhodri waved at Finn, "mom would like her." Harv followed Rhodri's gaze to blond hiding in the water.

"He." Harv corrected. Rhodri noticed the purple clothes under the basket, how Harv had tried to put himself between the blond and Rhodri. "I don't want them involved, not after last time." His brother sighed dramatically, but otherwise seemed unbothered.

"Can I at least let them know you're okay?"

"You can tell mom." Harv started to urge Rhodri back down the path so Finn could change. "I just don't want you getting in trouble over me."

Finn couldn't pick up the rest of their conversation. Which was a shame, but he was grateful to cover his scar before Harv could make fun of him for it. After he was fully dressed, Harv rejoined him and casually offered his arm. Finn stared at it blankly at first before tentatively taking Harv's hand and pressing the warrior's arm against his chest. It was different, getting permission to touch him rather than instinctually clinging to the warrior like a security blanket. He let his cheek rest against Harv's shoulder as they walked in silence. After hours of being in the water, they might as well have had weights strapped to their legs.

"Are you.." Finn swallowed. "Are you going to be in trouble for hanging out with me?" They kept walking, Harv's silence feeling more and more like a death sentence to their friendship.

"Yeah." He said. "It's not your fault though." Finn squeezed Harv's arm, waiting for a rejection that never came. "Do you want me to wake you up tomorrow?" Finn laced his fingers between Harv's.

"Yeah."

-

In the wee hours of the morning, Finn woke up with a start, the cold nipping at his legs. He rolled away from his corner to burrow in the mass of comforters that Harv pulled to his side of the bed in his sleep. The blankets were half on the floor for some reason. Finn tried to pull them back so there was enough to share, but part of it was pinned under Harv's unconscious weight.

"Harv?" Finn tentatively whispered. No response. He gently shook the other, and again nothing in response. If it wasn't for the heat radiating from his back, Finn would have assumed something was wrong. He grumbled nonsense to himself as he felt around looking for where the blankets were trapped. By the time he found where Harv's shoulder pinned the covers, it was too late. Finn was awake.

He propped himself up, his arm loosely around Harv's chest. How the other could sleep through getting pushed with the morning light in his face was beyond Finn's imagination. Finn carefully moved some of Harv's dreads out of his face. He frowned, not feeling the same flutter in his chest he had the other day. Perhaps it was just a fluke, but if that was the case, what had caused it? He laid back down and pressed his forehead between Harv's shoulder blades.

Harv was risking quite a bit by staying at Finn's house, which was flattering and at the same time concerning. People usually ran at the first sign of trouble, but not Harv, Harv chose to stay. The previous gifts he'd thrown at Harv seemed shallow by comparison. There had to be something else he could do for him. Something big or special, a kind of thing that would make risking his relationship with his family worth it. Like nabbing a fox for him.

"Wake up Harvey!" Finn shot up, now more excited than ever. He flicked on all the lights and dumped the covers on the floor. Harv slept through it, not so much as rolling over. "For the love-" Finn grabbed him by the ankle and tried to pull him onto the floor. He managed to get him half onto the floor, before he hadn't the strength left to pull with. "Seriously?" Sure, mother could get him to wake up with a start, but when Finn wanted him to wake it was a battle of wills. He went downstairs and threw bacon in a pan. Once the strips sizzled, he carried the pan upstairs into the room. Harv immediately stirred. "That's more like it." Harv looked at the covers on the floor and back at Finn with a disoriented scowl.

"What happened?" Harv rubbed the sleep from his eyes, slowly able to focus once more.

"Uhh, sleep... rolling?" Finn fumbled. "What matters is you're awake now." Harv pulled himself out of bed and threw the blankets back where they belonged. He reached for the food in the hot pan, only to get slapped on the wrist. "This is wake-up bacon, not eating bacon."

"Why can't it be both?" He saw the undercooked strips and frowned. "Oh."

"We can put it back on the stove." Finn said as he rolled his eyes. "It's best to eat a hearty breakfast beforehand, the place we'll be going to today has really slow service. I had to wait forty minutes for a drink once, but it's worth it, trust me." Harv followed Finn downstairs, even more confused than before.

"Finn, I know you like outings, but I'd rather not be seen." Harv literally couldn't go a single day without running into someone he didn't want to talk to, it was starting to grate on his nerves. Yesterday had almost been perfect too.

"Oh, trust me, this place is super hush hush." Finn said. He dropped the pan back on the stove with a grin. "Very few people know about it, and even if you do, you'd need to know the password." He could see this perked Harv's curiosity as he gathered some bread. "The atmosphere is divine; we could spend the whole day there and then come straight home for dinner."

"I guess..." Harv gathered a plate of his own.

"Trust me Harv, you'll want to see it."

-

The market that day was as busy as ever, with people leisurely enjoying the afternoon at various pubs and stands. Harv followed close behind Finn, thankful that for once, people seemed too busy to care where he was going. They entered a small teashop, with odd paintings on the wall. Finn strode up to the counter with a mischievous smile.

"Dreadful weather we're having, I'd prefer if it were cloudy." Finn said. The server sighed, not too surprised.

"Indeed, hopefully it passes." The server replied. Finn turned and gave Harv a thumb's up just as the warrior was about to pick a table for them.

"Well don't just sit there, come on." Finn led him through the back hall. Harv wasn't the strongest reader, but even he could tell when a place was meant for employees only.

"Finn, we can't." Harv whispered.

"Oh, it's fine, they said we could." Finn waved off Harv's concern as they approached a dry fountain built into the wall. The bard puzzled a bit before twisting the tail of the stone mermaid two times and moving her hand away from her face. There was a click and Finn was able to push the whole wall open like a door. "Pretty cool, right?" They slipped inside a dimly lit lounge. There were low tables surrounded by plush seats and a bar at the back of the room. In the opposite corner, a pianist lazily played. There were only about five other patrons, all quietly chatting at their own tables. "See? Super lowkey right?" He dragged Harv to a table, though instead of sitting across from him, he chose to stay at Harv's side on the couch against the wall.

Harv marveled at the framed pieces of music and the wall of colorful bottles. The small tealight at their table had been freshly lit, as if someone was expecting him. He could see food getting passed through a hole in the wall next to the bar. Everything about this place seemed isolated from the outside world.

"It's nice." Harv agreed. He picked up a menu. The drinks were made with sweet potatoes and other odd ingredients that didn't sound drinkable, if he could read them at all. What little food there was sounded good, but the minute Harv noticed the price he set down the menu and looked straight ahead. One bowl of humus cost the same as three months worth of provisions. Finn took the menu none the wiser.

"What are you getting? I always have trouble deciding, people will put wine in anything these days and I can't stand the bitterness."

"I'm not getting anything." Harv whispered, not sure if they'd get kicked out should he refuse to buy. "I can't afford it."

"I can." Finn said. Two of the drinks looked like they might be good. "If you don't want to pick something, I can just get both of these and you can take the one I like the least. How about that?" Harv shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"You've already spent too much on me this week." Harv said. The bard looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had a price." He poked Harv's cheek. "And how much, pray tell, would be 'enough' for a week? I'm curious."

"I- I don't know." Harv decided it was better to lock eyes with the candle on the table then Finn right now. "Nothing, I guess."

"Well, if I'm over spending, I might as well throw caution to the wind." Finn shrugged and tried to make eye contact with one of the servers. "You realize how ridiculous you sound. No one's worth 'nothing'." He was passed over for patrons in a larger party that came in after them. "This always happens. Excuse me!" The server looked at him with a start. "When you're done, we're ready to order." Harv was practically hiding his face in his hands.

"Why did you do that?" Harv mumbled between his fingers.

"Because we're ready." Finn said. He rattled off his order to the waiter before relaxing against the couch. "You have to speak up for yourself, or people will think you're content with the way things are. You should be taking notes." Harv scowled a little, sitting up so he could turn to face Finn.

"Why?" Harv asked. He had a feeling Finn was up to something based on how much the bard fidgeted and grinned. Finn grabbed his arm and pulled him close so he could whisper in the warrior's ear.

"Don't stare, but take a look around at the people." He could feel Finn smile against his jaw. Harv looked at the pairs, nothing terribly out of the ordinary. One pair of men sitting at the bar had similar shirts, and one arm around the other's waist. "I said don't stare." Finn snickered as he sat back, looking at Harv expectantly. Harv, in turn, was more confused than ever. "It's a perfect place for a date, don't you think?" Finn said, feeding the words to Harv and laughing when the warrior blushed.

"I- But we-" Harv's brain refused to piece together the rush of emotions that hit him. Never in his life had he been asked on a date. Had Finn honestly liked him that way and he was just too dense to tell? No, it had to be a joke of some kind. He barely knew the bard, besides if the point was to hide, they could have stayed at home. It was a lot to take in at once. "Why would you bring me here?"

"Like you could find this place by yourself." Finn elbowed him with a wry smile. "I'll show you all the ropes, and then you can impress that little 'friend' of yours. It at the very least should help you set the tone without too much talking." Finn leaned forward with his chin on his hands, and waited for some kind of response. Harv blinked and looked back at the couples, the wheels in his head churning once more.

This wasn't a date. Which was a little disappointing, much to Harv's surprise. At least now he didn't have to worry about it being too awkward. Or at least, a more familiar kind of awkwardness as Finn once again tried to stick his nose into Harv's personal life.

"Trevor's not like me." Harv said. Flattered as he was that Finn wanted to help, there were some things that no amount of matchmaking could make up for.

"Did he tell you that himself?" Finn asked.

"Well, no." Harv rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, he didn't have to, you can just tell sometimes."

"Ah, so he had a girlfriend already." Finn sighed.

"Well, no."

"A girl he fancies then."

"...no..." Harv could feel Finn creeping into his personal space with that same mischievous grin. "Finn, I'd rather not get my hopes up over nothing."

"There you go again with this 'nothing' business." Finn had the sense to hold his tongue as the server delivered their drinks. They certainly were fancy little things. "Right now you're acting as if you've already been told 'no' and avoiding him. So nothing will change if you ask and get turned down, but it might not be a no."

"Finn, it's fine. Things are fine the way they are." He hated how obvious it sounded when he lied. Especially with Finn lifting a brow at him as if reading a book. "Can't you just let this go?"

"But I want you to be happy." Finn sipped his drink and cringed, handing it over to Harv. A wine by any other name was still wine after all. "It's not fair that everyone else gets to walk around like nothing's wrong and you're stuck jumping at every set of eyes. Nothing I've tried has seemed to work so far either."

"Finn..." It was more complicated than that, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless. "I'll think about it. Right now I'm worried about other things." Like what he was going to do once their little 'sleepover' was finished. Finn spun his glass around and Harv could see him coming up with other plans in his head. "This place is nice, I appreciate it." The compliment seemed to stop Finn's scheme dead in its tracks. "Where did you hear about it?"

"Oh from Shad and..." Finn paused as he saw someone familiar enter the bard. "Beatus." The red head recognized him right away and sat at one of the chairs across from them. "You weren't invited." He cozied up next to Harv, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible.

"I tried stopping by your house yesterday, you weren't there." Beatus said dryly.

"Or really?" Finn said.

"Shad wants to form a band, but his lyrics are..." Beatus rolled his hand in circles, trying to think of the right word.

"Cringey? An unrealistic gooey slog?" Finn offered.

"Mainstream." Beatus said. "If you promise not to micromanage everything, again, there's a spot for you." Finn was grinning ear to ear. So now they needed him, took them long enough to realize what they were missing out on. It wasn't enough to have Beatus asking for his help though, he wanted both of them to crawl on their bellies for his forgiveness.

"And what does Shad think?"

"Shad's out voted." Beatus said. Oh that was delicious, if he revealed to Shad that his best friend went behind his back, they'd be at each other's throats! It would be hard to demand forgiveness and get poetic revenge at the same time, he'd have to pick one. But then, he wouldn't have time for his other plans.

"I'm actually kind of busy at the moment." Finn said as he squeezed Harv's arm. "I might have more time in a few weeks, I need time to think." Beatus shrugged and got up from the table. He flipped his hair and walked up to the bar.

"I guess he was done talking?" Harv said with a frown. Finn buried his face in Harv's arm, he had to keep his cool with Beatus still in the room. It was just so dang exciting.

-

When they left the speakeasy, Finn was on cloud nine, babbling excitedly to Harv about his new 'options'. Both of which confused Harv, after all, just earlier this week he'd felt so used up he threw their stuff at their feet. Supposedly that was just how show business worked. The longer he went on, the clearer it became that Finn wanted Harv to be there for rehearsals. If nothing else, to hear him play in a 'proper' performance. They were halfway through the market when he saw his parents at the apple stand.

"Finn, we need to go, now." Harv grabbed Finn's hand and tried to run, but Finn was slow on the uptake. He walked a little faster, but not remotely close to the break neck speed needed to escape. The stall owner pointed in their direction. Harv seriously considered picking Finn up and running, but that would create more of a scene.

"Harv?" His mother called.

"Finn, come on." Harv pulled again and Finn started running with him. His father chased after them, almost pushing people out of the way. "This is why I didn't want to go into town!" They made a wrong turn and found themselves in an alleyway, the walls too high to scale. Harv was grabbed by the elbow and pulled out of Finn's grasp.

"Get behind me Harv, that foul creature won't come any closer." Roland said. Finn looked behind him, but no one was there. When he looked back Roland was holding a crucifix in his direction.

"You're joking, right?" Finn leaned to the side to make eye contact with Harv. "Right?"

"Sorry Finn." Harv said and tried to take back his arm. "Dad let go."

"It'll be okay." Roland said. "We'll have your mother mix up some Saint John's Wort tea and then-"

"I'm not under a spell!" Harv wrenched his arm free. "And I'm not going back." He ran back towards the witch's house, hoping Finn would forgive him for leaving him behind.

"Harvey!" Finn was able to get around Roland with ease. It wasn't like a tacky crucifix would do anything to harm him. "You really need to work on your manner sir." Finn said over his shoulder before chasing after Harv.

-

Once they got back to the house, Harv went straight to Finn's room. He paced back and forth anxious, but mostly angry. Sure he had run away, but did his father really have immediately jump to the worst conclusion. It was going to take more than a few days for them to change their minds, that was clear. But how long would it take? If ever. He heard the door open as Finn tentatively poked his head in.

"I told you so many times." Harv fumed. "I know you're trying to help. But now, it's too late, he's seen you! He knows where I am. Things are only going to get worse."

"Harvey..." Finn didn't want to get too close to Harv when he was this angry. There was so much going on he just didn't understand. "Did you run away from home?" Harv stopped pacing, his shoulders tense. He mustered a curt nod, but didn't face the other boy. "Do you have a place to stay after..." It was making more sense now, why Harv asked how long he could stay. The warrior shook his head 'no'. "I'll talk to mother." As he spoke, Harv slowly turned to look at him. "I know she won't mind, but it'll mean finding a more permanent place for your things and maybe chores." He could easily see Harv getting roped into moving furniture around for arbitrary reasons.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. It's my idea, isn't it?" Finn said. He was surprised when Harv hugged him, taking the air out of his lungs in the process. Harv had never voluntarily touched him before. It was different, and way too short for Finn's liking. "Besides, we still have our plans. I'll be damned if you get snatched away from me before we can go to the opera."

[mingoyeob-archive]

1 and 50 with oc😊

under the oak tree drabble game ⚔️🌳 to make up for my delayed release of part 3 of under the oak tree i’ve decided to do a drabble game! send me a number + any of the characters from under the oak tree and i’ll write you a drabble :)

jsfejfkhw these keep ending up longer than intended but I'm doing this for you anon <3 thank you so much for requesting!

I'm still taking requests guys if you want to send some in! check out my tag 'drabble game' to see which ones I've already done :)

1. “I can’t believe I’m doing this” + 50. “You’re lucky I love you” - jjk x reader - word count: 1.6k

Being new to Uwhen meant knowing practically no one. You would think living in a castle full of knights and servants and maids meant you would always have someone to keep you company, but no. Your naturally soft spoken ways and tendency to distance yourself from crowds only pushed you to hole yourself up in your room or hide outside amongst the courtyard and stables. Namjoon must've noticed how lost and lonely you always looked (it was his job to look after the castle and its tenants after all) because after your umpteenth walk around the garden that day, he took it upon himself to assign you a task that would, hopefully, put you in better spirits.

“Here, take this.” A small travel and a pair of petite leather gloves was shoved in your direction, dwarfed by Namjoon's hands as he held them out to you. You reared your head back in surprise, eyes fleeting back and forth between the items and his expectant face, “What are these for?”

“For you!” he exclaimed, eyes brightening and face breaking out into a dimpled smile.

You let out a noise of confusion and quirked an eyebrow, finger pointing to your chest in question, “For...me? What do I need these for?” You had no idea what had got into the man, he barely ever talked to you, always busy dealing with some issue in the kitchen or trying to order supplies. It made you feel kind of guilty, that was all stuff you should’ve been doing as the Lady of the Castle, but your lack of education and inability to manage money correctly made the tasks nearly impossible.

Namjoon just cleared his throat, dropping his outstretched hands when you showed no signs of taking them from him. “Well I figured, since you look so dreadfully bored, perhaps picking up a hobby would make you feel better. I believe gardening is a great way to pass the time.”

So cautiously you had taken them. Not even your father expected you to do manual labor back at home, so this was unheard of, “I can't believe I’m doing this.” you said. Namjoon let out a snort at your words before proceeding to show you the areas around the castle that needed the most help, not that you needed him too as you had already walked them probably a hundred times over.  But still, from that day forward, you woke up early to garden and after three years you had rehabilitated the garden, the areas around the stables, pruned the shrubs and even pulled up a nasty infestation of weeds that surrounded the cobblestone pathways. But with your husband Jungkook finally coming home you had begun to put off your to-do list in a last ditch attempt to try and get to know him better, which was easier said than done.

You often compared Jungkook to the stone wall that surrounded the castle, hard to get through and constantly surrounded in a grey monotonous mood. Your efforts to hold a conversation with him were typically met with one word answers or a measly grunt which you learned, depending on the tone, was either a ‘yes’ or ‘no’.  Sometimes you couldn’t even tell if he was listening, which you could understand was hard since most of the times you caught him he was either in the middle of overseeing training or stuffing food in his mouth. Still, sometimes you wished he would take a second to hear you out; to want to get to know you as much as you wanted to know him.

So today you had decided to put a pause in your plan to discover your husband and instead went back to tackling your goal of finally fixing up the courtyard. There wasn’t really much to do in terms of the small area, the circular shape didn’t allow much except for a few benches and flower patches here and there. The most challenging part was the large oak tree that stood right in the middle surrounded by crinkled leaves and dying twigs. It was almost sad. Yoongi had told you the tree had been here as long as he can remember, probably a few hundred years.

“It didn’t always look like this, ya know. The old maids in the kitchen say it used to be the pride and joy of Uwhen. Hard to believe that now though.” His words had basically been a challenge, even if that hadn’t been his intention. By the end of this year, you were going to revive the tree no matter what it took.

And that was how Jungkook found you, covered in dirt and cutting at thick grass that surrounded the trunk of the tree. He was used to waking up in bed with your side empty, sheets neatly tucked and spot cold. But usually you would find your way to him by the middle of the day, telling him all about what you had spent doing around the castle, and even if he didn’t show it those times were the favorite part of his evening. Listening to your relaxing voice after a hard day of training with pestering young knights and sitting in war meetings was like being soothed by the softest melody. Oftentimes it left him speechless. How was he expected to compare your lovely stories to his boring responsibilities? He preferred listening to you rather than himself. You were probably only doing this out of pity anyway; why would you want to spend time with him when he so obviously made you uncomfortable judging by how tense and shaky you always were when in his presence.

The sound of his heavy boots crunching must’ve alerted you to his presence, your head whipping around and working fingers halting. Jungkook stood there awkwardly, embarrassed to have been caught staring at you so openly, “Sorry. I’ll leave.” he said, turning on his heel.

But the small giggle you let out in response had him stopping in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat, “Why would you leave? This is your castle and you’re free to roam wherever you please. Just pretend I’m not here, I’m just fixing up the tree a bit.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Way to sound like an asshole, Jungkook thought. The wide expression you had at his question had him internally scrambling to correct himself, “I mean...it’s obviously dead. Why waste your time?” You shook your head and pulled the dirty gloves off your fingers to place them on the ground, “Well it's not a waste of time to me. It’s actually pretty fun! Here,” you extended a hand out to him from your spot on the ground, beckoning him forward. “Would you like to try?”

“Me?” he quirked an eyebrow and pointed a finger to his chest. Talk about deja vu you thought amused and let out a giggle,“Yes you! Come on, I'll show you how.”

Jungkook just stared at you with his signature steely gaze and for a second you assumed he was going to walk away, uninterested in having to spend more time with you than necessary. But you watched in surprise when instead he proceeded over to you, taking your hand as he sat cautiously down next to you on the ground. He wondered if you could hear his heart beating hard in his chest at feeling how dainty and perfect your hand fit into his.

For the rest of the day the two of you spent time sitting in the dirt, you showing him the correct way to cut out the invasive roots to prevent them from growing back or how to properly plant the seeds to make sure the rain didn’t wash them away. And for once, Jungkook actually looked like he was listening, taking the time to ask questions when he didn’t completely understand why you had to do something a particular way. One question actually had you throwing your head back in laughter, ugly snorts and squeaky noises escaping your throat at how amused you were.

You always did hate your laugh, but for some reason Jungkook was mesmerized at how beautiful you looked, too caught up in how the sunlight framed your face just perfectly and how the rays hit the expanse of perfect skin down the column of your neck. He must’ve not been paying attention and got distracted while trying to cut something from the ground, because the next thing you know he was letting out a hiss and you heard the thump as he recoiled his hand effectively dropping the small shears. You jumped towards him in concern, reaching out to take his hand in yours to inspect the wound on his finger.

“Oh! Are you alright, Jungkook?!” You say and pull the digit up to your face, turning it to fully grasp how serious the cut was.

Jungkook hadn’t responded at first, heart warmed by how worried you seemed. Your face was so close to his he became distracted again, only realizing you had asked a question when you peeked up at him waiting for a response. He nodded, “Yes. I’m fine. Just a cut.”

You tsked, “I think we might need to wrap it. We can come back later to clean up but right now let's take you to wash this off, hmm?” You gave him a small smile of confirmation.

Jungkook didn’t say much else as you two got up off the ground, following you back towards the castle. When he finally did utter something from behind you, his words made you gasp, “You’re lucky I love you.”

[mysmegrace]

can i pls request the rfa comforting mc bc she is really stressed because of school (they find her crying because something a teacher said to her)

hello anon! of course! we've all been there and i know how overwhelming it is. if this is happening to you and you wanna chat, i'm always open <3 btw i'm gonna write the mc as a college student because of the romantic nature of this fic. if you would like another fic that has all the rfa members together helping you platonically, feel free to ask! stay safe <3

RFA Comforting an MC that is Stressed because of School

---

yoosung kim:

today was a tough one to say the least.

you were up until 2am last night doing an excessive amount of homework only for the professor to put you down for a few questions you got wrong.

as you laid in your bed looking out the window besides you, your mind keep replaying the scene over and over again.

almost like it wanted to torture you.

the professor piercing through your soul with the rage he held in his eyes.

the degrading words he spewed at you, calling you every insult in the book.

and worst of all, he did it in front of everybody.

you have never felt so embarrassed.

these replaying memories made you cuddle up with your bundled blanket and simply start to sob.

you couldn't understand why people were so cruel sometimes.

little to your knowledge, yoosung was planning a date night out to celebrate your 100th day anniversary.

the professor had got you so upset that you forgot about the occasion.

so low and below, 15 minutes into your sob session was when yoosung came in unexpectedly.

the flowers he carried in his hand quickly dropped.

he ran to your sobbing figure and gave you an awkward hug from behind.

that was when you came to your senses and shot right up.

he looked at you like he had just seen a ghost.

his forehead written with concern.

your tired red eyes were a clear giveaway of your upset state.

there was no way you were covering this up.

yet you couldn't continue holding back your tears in front of him.

so he brought you to his chest as you sobbed for the second time tonight.

throughout your cries, you were explaining what the day has done to you.

how the professor belittled you to the point you had been on the verge of crying yourself to sleep.

yoosung listened closely, rubbing your back while you got it all out.

he decided that the date night could wait, and he would dedicate these nightly hours to comforting you.

he give you many reassurances throughout your time together.

he always validated your feelings.

he always looked at you with intense love and care.

he always told you how smart and stunning you are.

his actions made you cheer up a bit.

you were still on edge, but you knew it would get better eventually.

everything would turn out okay with this man by your side.

hyun ryu / zen:

you were only on the bus coming home, but your tears already started to flow.

the professor made a complete mockery out of you.

you felt hurt to your core.

he insulted everything about you, completely going off.

at first, you figured he had a bad day and was just finding someone to let it out on.

but as the insults kept spewing, they became incredibly more personal.

nothing was safe.

the way your nose crunched when you smiled was "ugly".

the sweet tone of your speaking was deemed "annoying".

the way your hair bounced when you walked was seen as "repulsive".

nobody had hurt you so much and your mind couldn't cope with it.

through silent tears on the bus, as you reached your stop you stopped them within an instant.

zen would be waiting for you at home.

the last thing you wanted to do was make him worried about you with the addition of his insanely busy day.

repressing the tears, you eventually made it to the front door of your now shared home.

the door sounded when you arrived, alerting zen as he went to meet you at the doorframe.

you pulled out your most convincing fake smile and greeted him.

but you could tell when the mix of confusion and concern flashed over his face.

apparently your eyes had given you away.

but you didn't remember them being puffy or red.

however, zen knows you like the back of his hand.

like the soulmate he was, he could read your soul through your eyes.

he embraced you and encouraged you to tell him what was wrong.

but you wouldn't budge.

he gently tried again, but to no avail.

lost on what to do, he embraced you again.

but this time, he wasn't letting go.

and that was enough to make the tears start pouring out.

you were both standing in silence.

the only sounds bouncing off the walls were those of your tearing cries.

once you had calmed down a bit, he calmly asked you what happened.

and when you explained, his body filled with rage.

who let the professor be so rude to you??

in true zen fashion, his first instinct was to reprimanded the teacher face to face.

the sound of your next cry made him rethink his protentional course of action.

you were right here in front of him, so broken and hurt.

you were his first priority, not mr. dumbfuck.

and out came the words that always made you feel so loved and protected.

he reminded you of your beauty and his love towards you.

he had seen you as a goddess for the time since he's met you.

your evening was very laidback after the ordeal.

tonight would be focused on you.

jaehee kang:

you had been sitting up at your computer with the event that tore you down so significantly in the back of your head.

you couldn't take it anymore.

how could a person be so rude because of a simple mistake?

however, you couldn't just cry right here right now.

your love was sitting beside you afterall.

so you ever so subtly left the room.

you felt so numb while walking to the only room the insured complete privacy in the apartment.

or so you thought.

closing the door behind you, you were met with the reflection of your face.

the one he had broke apart and shattered.

you started to cry uncontrollably.

you watched as your eyes turned visibly irritated, your mouth turned downwards ever so slightly.

you felt so numb inside, yet the gem-like tear that rolled down your cheek was a reminder of your living form.

the noise leaving your mouth wasn't loud.

but it wasn't quiet.

however, it was enough for jaehee to hear.

confused, she left her chair.

the sharp pain in her shoulder was a reminder for her to get up and stretch a bit.

following the tears, her feet met the bottom of the washroom door.

knocking softly, waiting for an answer.

yet nothing but the crying noises rang out.

so she tried again, calling your name in the softest tone she could produce.

you heard.

and you were now in a state of panic.

how would you explain this to her?

you didn't want to get her involved or worried over you.

but you knew you eventually had to come forward to her face to face.

hesitantly, you opened the door.

just a crack.

not enough to expose the entirety of your broken face, but enough to make subtle eye contact.

your efforts were short lived.

she took the door, moving it open to see you fully a few seconds later.

her first thought was to hug you, hence the tight embrace you quickly found yourself in.

you couldn't hold it back any longer.

so you remained in her arms crying for the next couple of minutes.

not long after, you started spilling out the entire story.

she was enraged alongside you.

but, being more rational, she knew there was nothing much she could do about it.

so she just listened and understood you.

she validated your emotions, making sure you knew you weren't going crazy and that it was okay to feel upset.

eventually, you find yourselves on the washroom floor.

sitting together, basking in each others love.

your worries were washed away by the woman you would continue to love as long as your life allowed you to.

jumin han:

your soon to be husband was waiting for your presence with a bottle of wine to share for the evening.

the only thing he was waiting to be finished was your class.

he felt at peace knowing his private driver would be picking you up safely.

what he hadn't expected however, was the message he was given by the driver.

on the way to jumin's penthouse, the driver had quickly sent jumin a text.

the text read "i'm texting to briefly let you aware of mc's status. mc appears to be healthy but in an emotional state. i suggest you have tissues prepared for her."

you, on the other hand, had been getting ready to hide your upset state.

you knew the man jumin was.

he would have the professor fired as soon as he heard of the disgusting things he had said to you.

you were never one to escalate things to that extent.

you would rather let both parties go on with their lives.

plus jumin's schedule was stressful enough already.

you didn't want to add onto that.

so with your lines to convince jumin that you were alright, you got out of the car, swiftly heading up to the penthouse.

he greeted you with a sad expression.

almost as if he was prepared to be upset with you.

you gave a confused look, trying to convince him that sadness wasn't even on your mind.

his hand reached out to you, containing a tissue.

you, still giving off the vibe of "i'm not upset", pushed his hand back gently.

now it was his turn to be confused.

only his was genuine.

the tears were building up in your eyes.

"fuck, not now" you thought.

his hand reached out again, questioning you.

you couldn't hold up anymore and gave up on hiding it.

taking the tissue, you started balling your eyes out.

rambling words about your feelings towards what the professor said.

how he had brought your very existence down to nothing but dirt.

jumin was listening, but planning what he could do to the professor at the same time.

this behaviour was simply unacceptable.

you couldn't convince him otherwise.

but in the meanwhile, he was determined to comfort the crying beauty in front of him.

much like everyone else, he reassured you of everything.

you would never hear the end of it from him when it came to how talented and gorgeous you were.

and it didn't matter what anyone else said.

as long as he was by your side, you would survive.

it would be okay.

the rest of the night consisted of the constant reminder of your worth.

from sun rise to sun set, he would never look at another woman the way he did you.

saeyoung choi:

in some ways, online classes were harder than in person.

sure, online you could get away with cheating easier (though you were never like that), you could take naps comfortably in between classes, you wouldn’t have to get dressed.

looking at it like that, it doesn’t seem so bad.

unfortunately that was not the case for you.

your professor used this as an opportunity to diminish you to your core.

he would send you private messages talking about how stupid you were, how you failed in every possible way.

even going as far as saying you were a waste of space in the classroom.

that someone much better could’ve taken your place.

and all of that made online learning incredibly hard for you.

you would participate in classes from the side of your bed.

saeyoung laying right besides you, listening in like the goof he is.

even going as far as to help you.

today though, the professor got extremely bold.

he had moved from sending private messages to spewing hatred in front of the entire class.

and saeyoung heard all of it.

he reached over to your laptop and exited out of the classroom.

he didn’t want to listen to you endure that any longer.

at first, it looked like his words didn’t bother you.

perhaps you were used to it at this point.

but once saeyoung asked if you were okay, you couldn’t control the tears starting to run down your face.

you were so tired of being treated like shit, and saeyoung completely understood.

he was baffled that a professor would say something so cruel out in the open.

you two laid there in silence, a peaceful silence.

you explained how this had been happening for a long time. 

however, you just wanted to get over it.

you went on with your day, but saeyoung could tell that it still bothered you.

so he did what he does best.

with a little bit of this and a little bit of that, you meet a new professor the next day.

he announced how he was taking the place of the previous professor after he had lost his job.

you turned behind you with a shocked smile, and saw the man you loved smirking like a child.

god you loved him.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Six

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: nsfw sort of?? barely

***

Cassian is going to kill Nesta.

He’s never met a woman so stubborn that she would rather throw herself under a bus than accept help from others.

“What happened to your rants about universal healthcare and redistributing wealth?” He gestures furiously between the two of them while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. “I’m trying to redistribute the wealth!”

She scoffs from the passenger seat. “Nice try, comrade. I’m not letting you dangle your wallet over me while I live with you for free. It’s disgusting and manipulative.”

Cassian wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “Why do you automatically assume I’m trying to manipulate you?” he says incredulously.

“You don’t get to pay for my things,” she snaps. “They’re mine.”

“I know you’re already broke from that MRI—”

“That’s none of your business.”

They pull up to one of the university buildings. “Oh, great argument.” Cassian brings the truck to a stop. “Are you gonna use that one in court?”

Nesta buttons her blue blazer and furiously grabs her things, not saying a word.

“What are you thinking now?” Cassian pokes, the hardness dissolved from his voice a little.

She shoves the passenger door open. “How much longer it’s going to take to get my car fucking fixed,” she bites, hopping out of the truck and slamming the door shut on Cassian’s face.

Clenching his jaw, he watches her walk sharply for the building, tension ratcheting her figure. Impossible woman.

She does look damn good in a pantsuit, though.

***

Nesta has to take deep breaths before she enters the mock courtroom, refusing to let Cassian get to her head right now.

It's not his offering to pay for her endometriosis treatment that pisses her off, but it's that he won't take no for an answer. She wishes he could just let her dig herself into a hole of debt and despair like millions of Americans already do every day. She wishes he wouldn't demand an explanation from her every time she screams and cries about getting her way.

Later. Her mind clears through an imaginary filter. You’ll deal with him later.

Now, she has a case to win.

Nesta strides into the courtroom with her file of documents and takes the speaker’s bench, her opponent already seated on the other side of the aisle. Emerie Nikolis is five feet nine inches of Mediterranean goddess, and the only student at Prythian Law who’s been able to challenge Nesta for her spot at the top of the class. Not that she’s succeeded.

Nesta’s never been up against another woman for a moot court, though, and it adds a buzz to her nerves. Men always come into the courtroom with too much confidence and not enough research, and from there Nesta can steadily dismantle their arguments until they’re left spluttering. From Emerie’s cutting hawk eyes, Nesta knows she doesn’t function like that.

As student judges file in and head for their seats, Nesta leans over and mutters to Emerie, “Good luck defending the side that represents everything morally corrupt with this country.”

Emerie brushes back her ponytail and smiles mockingly at Nesta. “You mean the side that powerful white men have chosen since the beginning of time? I won’t need luck.”

Nesta scowls at the panel of student judges. They are all white men.

“You’re lucky I enjoy a challenge,” she hisses, and sits back in her seat as they start calling oyez.

***

Cassian doesn’t mean to fall asleep.

He’s cleaning up around the house while Nesta is gone, and ends up finding a worn paperback trapped between the leather cushions of the couch. Pulling it out, he takes one look at the cover and nearly chokes. A half-undressed man graces the cover in regency-era clothes, his flowy shirt unbuttoned to reveal toned abs. A woman with golden curls clutches onto him passionately, only dressed in a corset and underskirt.

A slow smirk spreads over his face and he snickers. He didn't know people read these anymore. A glance at the back of the book proves his point: published in 1999, a true vintage piece.

Plopping onto the couch and laying back, he opens the paperback. If Nesta doesn't want him reading her books, she shouldn't leave them lying around the place.

Flipping to a random page, he frowns when it isn't a smut scene. Boring. He keeps flipping until he finds one, and props his feet onto the armrest to get comfortable. Now what exactly does Nesta Archeron get off to?

Over an hour and a hundred pages of surprisingly tender romance later, his aching eyes finally slip closed. The open book falls onto his face, and the scent of faded ink follows him into sleep.

Cassian is in a dim candle-lit room. Foiled wallpaper and overstuffed furniture decorates the space, and there, by the small window, she waits.

She turns her head to speak over her shoulder, “You came.”

“I did.” The line comes to him naturally.

Without turning around, her hands reach up for her hair. She starts removing pins from her updo, golden curls falling apart one by one. Once the last pin drops, she finally turns around.

Gleaming locks now frame her soft face and shoulders; her pale breasts rise and fall above the low curve of her thin nightgown. Under the candlelight, she looks freshly forged and porcelain-like at the same time.

“Could you help me?” Nesta says.

Cassian is stuck in his spot, unable to move. He's never seen Nesta like this: so heavenly, but so different.

“Cassian?” she asks again.

“Oh,” he stutters, “um— what do you need?”

She steps closer. “You.” His breathing stops. Nesta slips her slender hands up his arms, to his shoulders. She's holding him close. “I need you to tell me something.”

“Anything.”

Her breath fans over his face. “Do you want me?”

Cassian is very still.

“Do you want me like I want you, Cassian?” she repeats, pressing closer to him. He can feel her nipples through the wispy fabric of her gown.

“Yes,” he breathes shakily. He doesn't know which hurts more: wanting Nesta or being wanted by her.

“Have you been very lonely, Cassian?” She drags her hands back down his arms, finding his hands and placing them on her shoulders. “Is that why you like having me around so much, because you’ve been lonely?”

This Nesta knows him… a little too well. His breath hitches as his hands, directed by Nesta’s hands, slowly pushes down the sleeves of her nightgown. In a flash, the fabric has dropped to her waist, baring her unblemished chest and stomach. Before Cassian can even absorb what's happening, her arms are winding around his neck again, and now she's pressing entreating kisses into the crook of his neck.

“Tell me,” she mutters onto his skin. “Do I make you feel heard, or am I just a pretty face to you?”

“Nes—Nesta.” Cassian tries to swallow air.

She smells so good. She feels so good, and she's not even doing anything to him, just holding him.

“Heard,” he gasps when she goes for the buttons of his shirt, her mouth finding his chest. “You make me feel heard. I like it when we talk and you listen to me. Nobody listens to me.”

She pulls away from him, mouth shining. He just now realizes how jarring the gilded ringlets of her hair are.

“That’s so good,” Nesta purrs, reaching up to clasp his face. Her hands feel thin and rough, like paper. “You’re so good.” She reaches in, her lips chasing his, and—

Awareness seeps into the corners of Cassian’s reality, and his eyes peel open. He blinks between two different worlds until he finally realizes— it was a dream.

Of course it was a dream. Nesta doesn't have blonde hair or curls. And her skin isn't porcelain smooth, but dotted with freckles and moles. And yet, the arousal stirred in him is very much real, evident by the ache in his dick. Fuck.

A throat clears softly and Cassian jumps. The romance book is still on his face, he notices, and his world is darkened by the rough pages. Batting it away, confused, he fully awakens when he sees who’s in front of him.

She’s still in her pantsuit from this morning, but her hair is undone and her cheeks carry a rare flush. Her clothes are rumpled.

“Nesta.” He scrambles upright, painfully aware that he was just dreaming about her half-naked. He carefully arranges his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs. “You’re back,” he says casually. Taking notice of the blackness outside the windows, he becomes concerned. “You’ve been out this whole time? Oh God, I was supposed to pick you up—”

“No, no,” she says quickly. “Didn’t you see my texts? I went out with some people from moot court.”

Cassian widens his eyes. He’s never heard her mention any friends from school, much less leave the cabin to hang out with other people.

“I totally kicked this girl’s ass in the Title IX case I was telling you about,” Nesta goes on, “and she wanted to take me out for afternoon drinks, and some other guys ended up tagging along too…” She twists a piece of hair around her finger, the experience sounding as brand new to her as Cassian suspects it is. “And yeah, then she got me a cab.”

He raises a brow and leans back. “You willingly let someone else pay for you? Wow, you really are drunk.”

The smile blossoming on her mouth drops and the cold veneer returns. “So you go through my stuff while I’m gone?” she scolds. “How many times are we going to have the boundaries conversation?”

Cassian picks up the paperback still on the couch. “Oh, this? This was just a little light reading. You know, since I share my Netflix and Prime with you, I figured you could share your period-piece smut with me.” He fans through the pages, trying to find the spot he left off on. “I didn’t even know people read physical romance books anymore. That’s like me keeping VHS tapes of porn instead of using my phone.”

Nesta stomps over and snatches the book out of his hands. “It’s not like I enjoy owning books with ugly covers,” she hisses. “I get headaches reading e-books. And this is a classic.” She carefully wipes at the cover as if Cassian got dirt all over it.

Cassian tries to snatch it back. “I wasn’t done with it,” he grits. “Nesta, give it back.”

“I’m glad we brought up boundaries,” she says instead. “Because we need to talk about this morning.” Shoving the book into her pants waistband, she peels off her blazer and takes a seat on the coffee table in front of Cassian.

Cassian blinks, gripped by the authority in her movements. Nesta pokes a finger at his chest. “What you said bothered me all day. Nearly ruined my night. So I’m telling you now, I’m not taking your money for anything, ever. And if you bring up the topic again, I’m moving out.” She sounds dead serious.

He’s not afraid of her. “I’m bringing up the topic now,” he pushes back, his tone hard. “As someone who considers you a friend, I don’t like to see my friends struggling.”

Nesta blinks, and maybe finally accepts that she can’t fight her way out of this, because she drops her finger. “I can’t be financially dependent on a man, Cassian,” she admits, refusing to look away from him. “I’ve done it before, and it’s no way to live life. I don’t care how nice you are; I’m not taking your money. And you can’t make me.” She doesn’t shout or hiss that last part. It’s said with a quiet strength, and it makes Cassian want to concede everything. If this is about her ex-boyfriend, then he doesn’t want to be anything like him.

But it doesn’t change the fact that her health is still on the line. “What if you don’t take my money?” he says quickly. “What if I make you work for it?”

Law school doesn’t allow for part-time jobs on the side, and Nesta’s been scraping by with scholarships and leftover money from her father’s will. The suffering is worth it now, she told Cassian once, if she’s at a law firm the year after next with a starting salary of 100K.

Nesta purses her lips, skeptical. “What kind of work?”

“You can be a legal consultant for Night Court.”

“Do I look qualified to be a legal consultant?” She’s glaring now.

“Well, it’s either that or you get to be my personal assistant.” Nesta looks even more outraged at that, and Cassian holds up his hands. “I respect your need to stay independent,” he says, “but you can’t convince me that a handout or two is worse than going broke.” Cassian himself would be dead right now without all the handouts he got over the course of his life. “Please, Nesta,” he says quietly. “Think about it for me. And if you still hate it, I’ll never bother you about it again.” Even though it would kill him.

Nesta stares at him, the gears in her brain visibly turning. Finally— “Rhysand’s company does run on handouts anyway,” she mutters, glancing away. “What’s one more?”

Before Cassian can drop to his knees and thank her, she whips her head back to him. “But I want to do real work, Cassian. Not the pretense of work while I get a fat paycheck.”

He bursts into a grin and grabs her arms. “I’m gonna work you so hard.” He kisses her hard on the cheek.

Nesta makes a choking noise and starts coughing, and Cassian realizes how that sounded. “Did I say something wrong?” he plays innocent.

Nesta’s face is red for reasons other than alcohol now, but she covers it up by shoving Cassian hard enough to send him into the couch cushions. “Asshole.” She pulls her book out of her waistband and throws it at Cassian’s chest. “Have your romance back, I’m going to bed.”

“Hey— wait, it's six p.m. What about the puzzle?” he calls after her. She ignores him and keeps walking.

“Fine,” he says to her back, “but don't go to sleep with your contacts in again; you're gonna hurt yourself.”

As she reaches the stairs, he adds, “I’m proud of you for the moot court, by the way. I’m telling everybody you're the smartest person I know.”

Nesta pauses briefly at that, before saying, “Goodnight, Cassian,” and continuing up to her room.

Later that night, Cassian does want to tell everybody that Nesta is the smartest person he knows. She's the smartest, coolest, and wittiest person he knows, full stop, with killer looks and a criminally underrated personality. But something is holding him back from sharing his feelings with the rest of the world.

It's the same feeling that's had him avoiding Feyre these last few weeks. The unspoken knowledge that not everybody sees Nesta the way Cassian does, paired with the fierce desire to protect her from any sort of criticism.

He doesn't have any definitive proof to justify his feelings, but he knows he can't stop thinking about Nesta. He knows his friends will take notice of the change in his behavior eventually, so in a fit of restlessness, he reaches for his phone to test a theory.

Scrolling through his contacts, Cassian eventually settles on Mor. She's close to Feyre and Cassian both, has an inclination to gossip, and she’s never interacted with Nesta. Perfect.

Cassian: what do you think of Nesta?

He's straightforward with her the way he always is, the way she always is with him.

Mor answers quickly without question: didn’t she let feyre work her ass off at age 14 while she sat around and did nothing?

Mor: she sounds like a bitch and i have yet to see anything to the contrary.

Mor: she has very nice eyes though

Mor: if u know what i mean ( . )( . )

Cassian wishes he hadn’t even asked. He doesn’t even know how to reply to that, so he’s about to turn his phone off when another message from Mor comes in.

Mor: why do you ask? how are things going with you two?

Cassian sighs deeply, not in the mood to start a fight with one of his best friends. He never told Feyre about taking Nesta to the doctor, or the following MRI and diagnosis. The last time he had a real conversation with Feyre was the first night of Nesta’s period, when he was worried sick over how to take care of her.

“What should I do, Feyre? She's crying herself sick upstairs and all I have is this stupid hot towel.”

“You don't have to do that,” she sighed tiredly over the phone. “Nesta goes through this every month. She’ll survive. Don’t get yourself worked up over nothing.”

That was when he decided he was calling a doctor no matter what.

And now… He’s confused and upset and he doesn't know why. Instead of arguing with Mor, he texts back, it’s nothing. A second later, he adds, but she's not a bitch.

He wants to say more, but texting Mor an essay on why she’s wrong for judging Nesta without knowing her would make him look crazy, among other things. He doesn’t know why he has to clarify that Nesta isn’t a bitch in the first place.

Either way, Cassian’s theory was proven correct.

He decides not to mention Nesta to his friends anymore.

***

Nesta lays in bed, thinking about the absolute day she’s had.

If getting drunk with Emerie Nikolis and Eris Vanserra at two in the afternoon wasn’t enough, stumbling back home to find Cassian like that finished her off for good. Her cheek has been tingling for hours.

She remembers how this housing agreement between them first started: I need you to know you can enforce whatever rules and boundaries you want while you’re here.

Nesta huffs a laugh. Boundaries are for strangers. Cassian seems content to poke and tug at Nesta’s boundaries whenever he wants, and Nesta… is okay with this. A mere month ago, this would have been her worst nightmare— living with a man who pushes her on every decision, who never does what she wants but somehow always knows what she needs.

But now they're friends, and Nesta is slowly learning that the rules are different with friends. Not everything has to be spelled out, because Cassian will understand what she's trying to say anyway. Not everything that is unknown has to be scary, because Cassian is never scary.

He’s allowed to read her books because he won’t make fun of them. He's allowed to know about her personal health matters because he won’t tell anybody else. And apparently, he’s allowed to give her a job so she doesn’t go broke trying to afford endo treatment.

These are the new rules.

She’s ridiculously glad that she told Lorene she won’t be coming back to the apartment for a few weeks. She doesn't know what she'll do after then, but for now she is okay.

***

a/n: hello i love writing cassian pov and learning more about him so much :) also thinking about having cassian call nesta 'baby' when they get together more often than 'sweetheart' just bc i think it would be a good look on him. pls share ur opinion.

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies

[santigarcia]

fly away with you

an ezra x reader fic~

rating: m for smut; virgin reader; some violence 

word count: 6,780

summary: Waking  up with no memory after a head injury, you find yourself in the presence of your rescuer - a handsome stranger named Ezra. 

a/n: I AM SO SORRY i’ve had this fic like...finished but i just never got around to posting it. i had it broken up in chapters, but i just decided to post them all here w/ breaks to signify where the chapter would have ended. (im also adding the first two parts - so if anything seems familiar this is why!) 

Ringing. There’s a loud ringing in your ears. Your vision is blurry, and that ringing won’t stop. You can’t hear anything else, and you’re not sure what you’re seeing. The color brown and green seem to blur together. What happened? Did you hit your head?

Reaching up to touch your temple, you feel wet. Your hair having been matted down with something sticky. Pulling your hand away, you look at it. Not that it does any good because your vision is still blurred. But there’s enough red on your fingertips to know it is blood.

Suddenly you smell it, your blood. And dirt. And earth.

Something else is mixed in, maybe smoke? Something in the air is foul.

The air.

You panic. Where’s your helmet? How long have you been breathing in this air? It’s the air you smell that’s foul. What if it’s toxic? Frantically you try to get up, but you can barely get your legs under you. You’re still too dizzy.

When your vision finally clears, you see your helmet on the ground next to you. There’s a large crack leading to a hole. Shards are everywhere. Some have blood on them, and you assume this is where your head injury is from. But upon further inspection, you see blood on the rock nearest you.

What happened?

It’s still foggy, but you try and retrace your steps from the day.

You had been with your cousin, whose whereabouts now you have no idea. It wasn’t even your choice to come along. But he claimed that your hands were the steadiest, and you’d be best for the harvesting. You had no idea what he was even talking about. You only agreed because your home world is the last place you want to be right now. And hey, he said he’d pay you so why not?

The ship ride over was a nightmare. It was smooth sailing quite frankly, but you’ve never been a fan of space travel. You like it on the ground. Though at the present moment the ground is covered in your blood, what a day it’s been. And you can barely remember it.

You do remember harvesting a couple of those things, you can’t even think to remember what your cousin called them. It wasn’t easy but it wasn’t hard either. You did just fine.

You also remember some arguing? Something was happening? There were these other people?

It’s starting to come back to you, but this air is getting to you. How long have you been walking? Are you even going in the right direction? You feel dizzy again and things are starting to spiral.

Then everything goes black.

A voice this time brings you out of your stupor. You can’t make out what they’re saying, but you can make out it’s a male voice. It’s not your cousin, this voice has a thick accent.

You blink several times to clear your vision again, and you take in your surroundings and this stranger.

First you notice you’re inside laying on a cot of some sort. Everything in the room is an olive green. An ugly yellow light shines overhead. It’s very dim. The space is small, it seems to be a large tent. There’s medical supplies and strange photographs on the wall. Where is this?

The man is sitting near you in a metal folding chair. He’s got no choice but to sit close to you, there’s not any room in this area.

He’s in a suit not unlike your own. His face is kind. His voice is deep, but nonthreatening. Light scruff dusts his cheeks and jaw, and his eyes are pleasant. There’s a small blond streak in his brown hair. And a haggard scar on his cheek. His kind eyes and kind smile almost seem out of place next to that scar.

He’s still talking, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. He’s gesturing with his hand. Just one. It’s only then you realize he’s missing his right arm. You feel dizzy again. What if this man is dangerous? Or did he just lose that arm in some accident?

You reach up to touch your temple again, and you feel cloth. A bandage has been wrapped around your head. And you notice, other than a slight headache, you’re not in any pain.

“Where am I?” you wonder aloud. Your throat is so dry your voice croaks.

“At last, the lady is with us!” the man speaks and this time you understand him. His voice sounds nice. That accent is so strong. “Alas, I must admit, I myself do not know where this is. But I was out and about on my harvest when I saw you lyin’ unconscious on the ground. You were gaspin’ for air. So, I took it upon myself to bring you to shelter and here we are.” he gestures with his arm while he looks around the room. That ugly yellow light shines on his face, and suddenly the light is not so ugly on his tan skin.

“Thank you,” you tell him sitting up a little. You’re still feeling dizzy, but you feel safe. “What happened?” you think aloud again. And where is your cousin?

“I heard what sounded like gunfire off in the distance,” he explains, “that’s how I came to find you.”

“I was with my cousin; did you see anyone?”

“I am afraid I only saw some bodies, miss. You were the only one I saw alive.”

Your cousin, and whoever attacked you must have been near where you first woke up. But in your daze, you started walking and missed the bodies entirely.

You were warned this was dangerous work. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your hand. Grief and shock are setting in. Your cousin is gone, and your harvest.

“I’m stuck here,” you whisper.

“Nonsense,” the man smiles, it’s a warm smile. He seems so kind. You want to trust him. You may have no other choice. “I could not in good conscience leave you behind. You have suffered a mighty fine wound to your noggin, and your poor lungs have breathed in this nasty shit air we got around here.”

He is talking so fast that you can barely keep up.

“Now, I’m sure you’re a-wonderin’ if you can trust me. And right now, little birdie, I’m all you’ve got.”

In any other situation, if a stranger called you a pet name, you might recoil. But he says things so casually, you don’t feel any malice or perversion behind it.

“You can help me harvest, and I can get you outta here. There is my offer plain and simple. You can surely decline, but if your cousin is gone, my condolences. And you have no way to get home.”

Home. You don’t want to go home. You don’t want to stay here, but you don’t want to go home.

“What’s that?” he leans forward, his eyes squinting. He’s trying to hear; you didn’t realize you’ve just said that out loud. “Where are you from?”

“Zulara,” you mumble.

He winces, clenching his teeth, “I do not blame you one bit for not wantin’ to head on back to that planet. I am currently residin’ on Anvarvis V, and I’d be glad to take you along with me.”

You sit for a moment weighing your options. You’ve heard good things about Anvarvis V. or was it IV?

“We’ll split the harvest 50/50?” you ask.

He nods.

“Ok. It’s a deal,” you nod and stick out your hand.

“Alright,” he grins. “I’m Ezra, what can I call you?”

 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 And that’s how you began a partnership with Ezra. You worked well together. Tuns out you were really good at the harvesting part, and Ezra’s wit and charm made him a good salesman. He brokered deals and sold the product you’d harvested for a lot of money.

You’ve been so busy; you’ve not even gone to his home planet yet. But somehow you liked this life with him. There’s space enough of his ship for you, and you quite enjoy his company.

Truth be told you enjoy his company more and more each passing day. Your cheeks warm now when he calls you “little bird.” Your heart leaps into your throat if he ever touches you.

That first week with him he touched you a lot. Yes, okay he was checking the bandage on your head, but his fingers would graze skin and he was standing so close to you.

That’s when it first started you think. Being so close, seeing his soft lips surrounded by a dark stubble. His gentle brown eyes looking over your wound.

Maybe you were just lonely. Or maybe it was sharing such a small space with your rescuer. But you had a crush that only seemed to grow.

It started to suffocate you being so close to him and not being his.

The two of you fell into a natural routine and you grew accustomed to seeing him shirtless. That first time seeing him without a shirt almost sent you over. You ached to touch his olive skin. He looked so warm. You had to force yourself not to stare.

He thought you were looking at his right shoulder, where his arm used to be. And he began to ramble on about how it happened. You were embarrassed because that’s not what you were looking at, but you listened to his story all the same. He was opening up to you.

Ezra has the gift of gab, and he talks nonstop. But if you ever have anything to say, he listens with a deep interest. You’ve never felt so heard before. He never talks over you. His constant talking if often stories or little tidbits of trivia, but after that night of him opening up about his arm, things changed.

He was almost always in a good mood, but when he couldn’t complete a task due to his arm, he’d be a little grumpy and frustrated. But after telling you what happened, he let you help him without protest.

Maybe he got the feeling he could trust you back.

“Thank you, little bird,” he always said. And the last time he said it, you know he saw your cheeks turn red.

You figure at some point he’ll ask, or you’ll admit your feelings. You’re not sure which, but both options scare you. You’ve never done this before.

Back at home, you spent most of your life in school or working. There was no time for relationships, as much as you wanted one. You read stories of lovers, you kept them hidden under your mattress. The want was there, but no experience to fulfill that big question in your mind of what it’s like.

What it feels like to be loved by someone, to be held. You always were a little shy about the sexual parts of the book, yet those were the parts you couldn’t tear your eyes away from.

“What are you thinking about over there?” Ezra’s voice cuts in. A deep blush stains your cheeks. You’d been remembering of a story you’d read where a man pleasures a woman with his mouth. You look at Ezra’s mouth and feel your stomach drop and pray he can’t read your mind.

“Nothing,” you chirp at being caught.

“From that look on your face, I’m gonna wager a gamble and say it’s definitely something clanking around in that head.”

Scrambling, you try to think of anything to change the subject. He’s watching you squirm, and he’s delighted in it. Maybe it won’t be too hard after all to tell him if he can already see it.

“When’s the next sell?” you ask, nibbling the skin off your bottom lip.

“Pretty soon,” he replies. “I will head out soon. Won’t be gone long. Will you be alright to wait here until I make a triumphant return?” he grins.

You nod, returning his smile. You feel a heat pooling in between your legs. You shift a little in your seat trying to relieve the pressure. As soon as he’s gone, you’ll do something about it.

Two nights ago, you touched yourself thinking of him. That was the first time. You’d seen his bare ass when he was exiting the shower area. He had to have known you might see, and you couldn’t decide which thought thrilled you more. But the image of him naked was seared into your mind. And that night while he slept soundly, you touched yourself - wishing it were him.

You’d come up with a dirty fantasy, one you will play out again as soon as he leaves. And he can’t leave soon enough.

Normally, you’d go with him. But this buyer is a familiar one and can be trusted. You’re not worried about Ezra taking care of himself in a fight. He’s been in plenty of a scrap or two.

But if you’re honest, your brain is so clouded with the thought of getting a release you’re not worried about him in the slightest.

The thought passes in your mind you don’t know how long he’ll be gone, so you elect to leave your pants on. You lay down on your bed in your little corner of the ship.

The main hanger is around room, your beds are on opposite walls but still in the same room. So, you can see his bed from yours, and you consider going over to his bed, but you’ve already got your hand down your pants thinking about him on your bed.

You begin to tease yourself and you’re already wet from your own imagination. You think of him naked. What he looks like from the front. What he must look like when he’s hard for you. You think of his lips, and how his hand feels. What they must feel like on sensitive skin. You think of his stubble scraping your thighs. How good his long thick fingers would feel like inside of you. How he’d be gentle taking you for the first time.

Your thighs shake and you clench around your fingers wishing it were him.

The release hits you hard, and you gasp. It echoes through the ship. Your breathing is heavy but beginning to calm, when suddenly you hear:

“Well hello there little birdie!”

 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 Horror floods through your veins and your heart is pounding in your head. You’re still coming down from your high, while fear spikes within you. Your eyes are wide, and you’re frozen staring at him. Your mouth is hanging open, and his mouth is curved in a playful smirk. 

When tears begin to fall from your eyes, his expression softens completely. 

“Little bird, I-,” he sticks his hand out trying to demonstrate he didn’t mean to embarrass you, but it’s too late. Tears pouring down your cheeks you run into the bathroom chamber and push the button to close the door harshly. It hisses loudly, and the moment it closes you sink to the floor. Cheeks red with embarrassment. 

In those books you’ve read, maybe the character wouldn’t have cared. And would have let the man know what she was doing. But this just isn’t how you wanted this to happen. As much as you do want Ezra to know you want him. The shock of the moment startled you. 

Ezra outside in the main hangar is uncharacteristically quiet. You can hear him rummaging around. From the sound of it, he’s taking off the bulky outer suit. It takes him a moment since he only has the help of one arm. 

He’ll be sitting down on his bunk and unfasten the clips and zippers. He grits his teeth sometimes, other times he bites his lower lip. You tease him about the different faces he makes when he’s concentrating on something. 

Deciding to clear your mind further, you turn on the shower. For a moment you hope he doesn’t need to take one after being outside, but you imagine he’s letting you have your space for a moment. 

While you shower, you try to decide what you’re even going to say. 

“Hi Ezra, I was touching myself thinking about you.” 

Well. That might not be a bad way to start. But that feeling of nerves hits your gut. What if he doesn’t want you back? What if he does want you? 

You mull this over in your mind and wash yourself clean. Normally the thought of being naked in here while he’s out there has sent you a thrill. Now you’re even more aware of him. 

You decide you do want him. But you don’t know where to start. Him seeing you is one way to break the ice. 

Gathering your courage, you wrap a towel around yourself and exit the bathroom into the main hanger. Your eyes fix upon him, and every nerve is on fire. 

As expected, he’d changed out of his suit. He’s sitting on his cot in comfortable pants, a worn black Henley, and some socks. His hair is sweaty, but it’s sticking up in multiple directions from obviously running a hand through it. His right arm sleeve is tied in a knot near his shoulder to stay out of his way. He’s got something propped up on his left knee, and he’s practicing his hand strength with his left hand. He pauses when he sees you, he doesn’t speak. 

He’s waiting for you to say something first. He can read the terror in your eyes as you step closer. Giving you full attention, he frees his hand, and watches you approach him slowly. 

When you’re right in front of his spread legs, he reaches out a hand to grab yours. 

“You doin’ alright there little bird? You are tremblin’ like a leaf on a tree with strong winds blowin’ every which way.” 

You open your mouth trying to think of what to say. You’d forgotten your entire plan you’d cooked up in the shower. Now that you’re here in front of him and he’s looking at you with those soft eyes, your mind is blank. 

You almost wonder if you should just drop the towel and climb on him, but you can’t help but want some romancing. 

“Say what’s on your mind little bird, I see the wheels turning in your head.” 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” is all you can think to say. But are you sorry? You don’t know what’s going on. 

“I’m not,” he grins, but the grin softens, and his eyes are gentle. He stands and presses his palm to your cheek. Shaking a little from the touch, you lean into his hand. “But I am sorry that my presence startled you so, and that I saw such an intimate act without your permission. I admit I was only present for the uh, grand finale as it were, but on my honor, I will not speak of this again if you would prefer it.” 

Your cheeks darkened as he spoke, and you can see the look in his eyes. It’s a gentle attraction. 

“I-” you start but only blush deeper under his gentle gaze. His eyes are big, he’s listening intently. 

“I understand your profound embarrassment, but there is nothing to be ashamed of seeking a fine release such as that. If I may say little bird, I’m only sorry I was not the one to give it to you.” 

Your eyes widen at the last sentence. You swallow hard. 

This is it. 

“You want me?”

“I do little bird. I have for a quite a spell now. You are, simply put, the sweetest thing I have ever had the pleasure to know, and you have brought a light into my dark life I did not know I was needin’.” 

His hand is still on your face, his thumb brushes you bottom lip. 

“I want you too,” you give him a shy smile which he returns, “only I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“You surely seemed to know a few moments ago,” he winks. 

“Ezra,” you groan and bury your face in his shoulder. 

“My sincerest apologies,” he teases, “I already broke my promise.” 

He’s trying to make you laugh, which it does. And the two of you share a moment of laughter before you pull back to look up at him again. 

“I’m serious though, Ezra. I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never-”

“Never what?” he repeats, thumb rubbing your flushed cheeks. 

“I’ve never even been kissed,” you tell him. 

“Well, little bird. It would seem the honor has been bestowed to me to teach you the lovely ways of liplockin’.” 

“What do I do?” you whisper, which he seems to find amusing. 

“You know something, I have never once been in situation quite like this in my lifetime.” 

That coaxes a smile from you, and you’re already feeling relaxed. 

“I can’t say that I have either,” you laugh. 

“First step, is to close those pretty little eyes of yours.” 

You close your eyes, and smile, you trust him. You think back to when you met him all those weeks ago when he saved your life. You certainly didn’t imagine this happening then. 

“Now, tilt your head just a little,” he pushes a little with his hand guiding you. “And open that mouth of yours, just a smidge.” He pushes down your bottom lip with his thumb. 

His voice stops, and you feel his breath on your face. He smells like mint and sweat. You decide it’s a good smell. 

You feel the tip of his nose first press against the top of your cheek. Then his lips gently press against yours. His tongue just barely touches your lips. His stubbly chin and upper lip scrape on your skin in a way you didn’t know you’d love this much. His hand holds your face gently, and what he doesn’t say, or can’t say during this kiss, is he wishes he could wrap his other arm around you. 

Your knees buckle, and you let go of the towel that’d you’d been holding on to so tight and mold your body to his. A strong thigh is in between your legs, your hands cup his face and you pull away gasping. Your heart is fluttering.

He’s slow to open his eyes, the smile splits his face before his eyelids even flutter open. 

“Now that,” he licks his lips, “was simply divine.” He leans in and places a couple quick pecks to your lips getting a laugh from you. 

You take a step back, and the towel is going to fall. And you were going to let it. But much to your surprise, his hand stops it by pressing his hand against your chest, keeping the cloth from exposing you to him. 

“Hold on now,” he breathes. “That little heart that’s fluttering under my hand has surely had enough excitement for one day. And as much as I would love to see that body of yours, I am not wanting to take you to bed in this dirty old ship. I would rather take you home. Since I am unfortunately missing a tool of the trade, I am not experienced in taking lovers into my bed with ol’ lefty here. It’ll be a learning experience for us both little bird. You alright with that?” 

You nod, putting your hand over his on your chest. 

“Then let’s get you home.” 

 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 Your head is pounding, and you can see him. Your cousin. It’s like you’re on the outside looking in. You see the clearing of trees and two men with your cousin. It’s a standoff, everyone is frozen. There you hear a sharp crack somewhere in the woods, causing the men to take fire. One man shoots your cousin, the other steals the harvest from your cousin’s dead hands. Then that man is shot, he killed his own partner and took the harvest from his hands. He turned around to face you, and you saw his face. 

It was Ezra. 

With a sharp gasp, you jolt awake. Sweat is on your brow, your heart is racing, and you feel sick to your stomach. Panic sets in because you can’t remember where you are. 

Looking around you realize that you’re home, with Ezra. 

After your kiss with him, he got the ship ready and punched in the coordinates to head home. His home, but now it would be yours. You expressed to him your apprehension of space travel, and he took down the med pack to give you a medicine to calm your nerves. 

“Fear of flying is not uncommon,” he’d told you warmly with a kiss on your cheek. 

After the flight and landing, he gave you another medicine to help your lungs adjust to the air of this planet. 

You were so nervous, but full of excitement! You have a new home with this wonderful soul. 

The planet is gorgeous. The ship landed out the outskirts of the city. It’s nighttime so you can see it’s all lit up, and it’s blue. Every light is a twinkling blue. 

“It’s beautiful!” you’d gasped. Ezra was proud to show you his home. 

He was not originally from this planet; this is where he lives now when he isn’t prospecting. 

He owns a small house is near the outskirts. He could afford a city apartment if he wanted, but he preferred living out away from the hustle and bustle of city life. He likes his view of the trees from his living room, which are also blue. 

His house is humble. One bedroom, one bathroom, a quaint kitchen, a small table, and a sitting area. The shelves and walls are covered in artifacts and trinkets from other world’s he’s visited. You love it. It feels like a lived-in home. 

“We will have to share this bed unless you want me to take the couch?” Ezra tells you when you collapse onto his bed. It’s been too long a day with all the space travel. 

“I don’t mind,” you tell him, and he grins easily. 

“No gettin’ to business tonight little bird. I gotta rest, you do too.” 

You nod, you’re too tired for that. Though if he wanted to, you wouldn’t have said no. 

You fell asleep that night with his body close to yours. 

He’s still close by when you wake up from your dream. 

“Little bird?” he asks waking up, rubbing his eyes with his hand. “You alright?” 

You scramble out of the bed to get away from him. Your heart is beating so fast. 

“It was YOU,” you gasp, tears are beginning to fall. 

“Me? Birdie, I do not have a damn idea what on this planet you are referring to.” 

“You shot and killed my cousin! I saw it in my dream!!”

He sits up and tries to calm you down. 

“Little birdie-”

“Stop calling me that!” you cry. You hug your arms around your waist. 

“Look at me. Look at my face.” He waits til you look at him, there’s no joke or smile on his face. His eyes are wide, and you can tell he’s upset you’re upset. “I did not kill him. I didn’t even have my gun with me when I found the bodies.” 

You think back to when you first met him, and what you can remember from then, he didn’t have a gun on him. 

“But it looked so real,” you sniffle. 

“I had hoped this would not happen to you, but one of the side effects of the medicine I had given you is nightmares. You’re on a new planet, in a new place. It would not be a surprise to me if you had weird dreams. Now as to your cousin, I do not think you will ever uncover the mystery of his death. I can recall to you what I saw again if it will ease your mind.” 

You sniffle again and nod. 

He tells you what he remembers, and you do trust him. But that dream still felt so real. 

You had been finishing up a harvest when your cousin went to look for another. Your memory is hazy after that. 

Ezra fills in the gaps based on what he saw. He’d seen two bodies; one was your cousin and then another man. Your harvest was gone, and there were footsteps leading in another direction. Ezra, not wanting to get into it with this guy, went the opposite way. Which is when he found your shattered helmet and blood. He followed your footprints which led him to you. 

“So, I killed my cousin,” you bury your face in your hands, sitting down on the bed. 

“You are making less and less sense,” his eyebrows crease. 

“You said there was a large branch and I must have tripped, so me tripping sounded the alarm causing the gunfire to go off,” you being to cry into your hands. 

Ezra scoots closer to you to wrap and arm around you. He holds you close to him and kisses your hair while he shushes you. 

“That was a whole tricky situation and no one’s fault. I have been in a sticky situation like that before and it would seem that people who are trigger happy need no cue to fire away. You are not at fault. Besides, if all this had not occurred, I might not have met the love of my life.” 

You look up from your hands, tears still in your eyes. 

“What?” 

“You heard what I said,” he kisses the shell of your ear. 

Crying now tears of joy, you throw your arms around his neck and kiss all over his face. He topples backwards, laughing the whole way down. 

“I love you too,” you say between kisses. “I’m sorry I accused you of murder,” you laugh. 

He laughs, rolling over so he’s on top of you. He kisses your face and dries your tears. You start to writhe under him when you feel him beginning to harden on your thigh. 

“What do you say to some breakfast and then we come back to this bed huh?” 

Feeling a little bold, you reach down to cup him through his sleep pants. He gasps out in surprise and buries his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Why leave?” you ask, unsure of what to do, but you like touching him. You continue to, until your stomach rumbles loudly. He raises an eyebrow teasing you, even though you still have your hand around his cock. “Fine,” you laugh, “breakfast first.” 

 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 While Ezra makes breakfast, you look around your new home. Since the house is small and his voice carries, you ask him questions about different objects, and he rambles on from the kitchen.

There are photographs of him when he was younger, those are your favorites. You’re looking at one particular photograph, when he had both arms and no blond streak. He looked like a completely different person.

Your thoughts are torn away when you hear him call your name.

“Could you reach that spice for me off the shelf?” His one hand is too busy to stop and reach. “Just set it down on the counter there,” he nods. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you smile and wrap your arms around him from behind. Kissing his cheek, he hums. “I’m sorry I’m acting so strange, I think I’m a little nervous,” you admit kissing his shoulder blade.

“Well birdie, it is no small feat to be joined in a union with another person in such an intimate fashion, especially when one is not experienced. It is a lovely thing but can be an overwhelmin’ experience. I am glad to assist and ease the knot in your belly of nerves.”

“I love the way you talk,” you smile kissing his shoulder again.

“And I quite love the way you are holdin’ me right now.”

“I’m sorry again about this morning. I’m sure that’s not the morning you had in mind.”

“No to worry. Grief and change do a wonder on your mind. I know that from losing my arm.”

“Tell me how you got that blond streak in your hair,” you murmur and lean your cheek against his shoulder.

“Now that is an interesting story!” One of which he tells for the rest of the morning. And when he’s done, you’re still not sure what exactly happened. But you laughed and all but forgot about the nerves in the pit of your stomach.

So much so that when he stands and reaches out his hand for you, you’re not sure what he’s doing.

“You ready?” he asks, motioning his head toward the bedroom. Your heart skips, but you nod, yes.

He leads you back into his room, and has you sit down on the bed. He moves around the room setting the mood. First, he pushes a button on the wall that lowers the curtains, dimming the room. He closes the door behind him and sits next to you on the bed.

“How does this work?” you ask a little timid, but very eager.

“Lay back,” he tells you. He lays down on top of you and begins to kiss your face and your lips. Anywhere his lips can kiss, he kisses. Your cheeks, your ears, your eyelids even. The tip of your nose.

Then he moves to your neck and chin and jaw. He adds some bites to your neck, and sucks on your clavicle.

“Can I?” he asks tugging on the hem of your shirt. You nod, and with his help, you pull it off exposing chest to him now. You swallow, feeling a little shy watching him eye your breasts.

You’ve never seen him so speechless. Instead of talking, he puts his mouth to use and suckles your perked nipple into his mouth. His hand cups your other breast and thumbs over your nipple. When you gasp, he sucks harder and pinches his fingers harder. Your hands fly to his hair and you pull. He growls a little and you feel slick between your legs.

“Ezra?” you whine. Your breast is shiny with his saliva, and there’s a sting left behind from his teeth and grit from his facial hair.

“What do you need birdie?” He murmurs into you flesh. His hand smoothing down your skin and gliding over your tummy and to the waistband of your pants.

“Ezra wait,” you gasp.

“Are my ministrations too fast for your likin’?” he questions, lips dragging along your stomach. He’s trying to make you laugh again, or at least relax you further.

“I-” you pause.

“It’s ok,” he smiles and kisses your tummy. “Help me?” he says tugging on your pants a little. You help him push your pants and underwear down, and you watch in equal parts arousal and embarrassment as he sees you.

He touches a pointer finger to your entrance, touching the slick gathered there. He dips inside and you arch your back feeling the drag of his finger inside. His thumb brushes your clit and you jolt.

“Now remember, I am not as well practiced with my left, so you’ll have to excuse any inexperience on my part, though I do know how to please a lady.”

“Ezra!” is all you can think to say when he slides a second finger in.

“But as it seems, you’re enjoying this regardless. That’s good,” he smiles and presses a loud kiss to your thigh. He doesn’t stop the toying with your clit. Even after you hit that first high and come around his fingers. He keeps going. Teasing you just a little more. “You are doin’ so well my girl,” he purrs.

He looks up at you when he pulls his hand away, his grin is pure lovesick. Your eyes are hazy from the high you’ve just been given, and there’s still more to come.

“I want just one more from you before we get down to it alright?” He tells you. He’s working his way up the bed, and you’re not sure what he’s doing. He pulls the pillows together, and he flops down on his back, his head on the pillows. “Alright little bird, c’mere,” he says and taps his chin.

Taking his meaning with heat covering your body, you climb up and carefully lower yourself onto his face. His tongue and mouth ready to accept your heat. You groan in unison as he makes the first lick. You’re still so sensitive from before, but wow it feels good.

Oh.

This is really good.

His mouth, of course, of course his mouth is as skilled in pleasure as it is in talking. His tongue moves expertly on your flesh as if he’s done this to you a million times. You’re coming on his tongue in mere minutes.

His arm is tight around you, and you buck against him as you come down.

His eyes open, and he looks up at you, he’s quite pleased with himself.

“Now if this isn’t the best view a man could have then I don’t know what is,” he smiles, his eyes lingering on your breasts for a beat, then back up to your face.

Carefully, on wobbly legs, you lay down on the bed, and Ezra works to take off his pants. You lean up to look at him, he’s on his knees now, naked. He’s stroking himself lazily, getting ready for you.

“Can I?” you sit up reaching for him.

“Be my guest,” he reassures, and you wrap your fingers around him. He winces and groans a little. “It has been far too long since I’ve been held but someone other than my own hand.”

He feels nice, and you have the desire to keep moving your hand until he finds his high. But he pushes your hand away.

“I do appreciate the eagerness, but if you keep that up, we won’t get to all the fun. Lay down for me alright?”

You do as he asks, and he pauses for a moment. He’s thinking.

When he gets the idea, you see it come across his face with a little “oh!” and a grin. He lays down on top of you, you’re chest to chest.

“Little birdie, I need you to wrap your legs around me? Got it?” You nod and do as he asks. From this position you can feel the tip of him at your entrance. Putting his weight on you for a moment, he reaches down between your bodies and lines himself up with you. “There might be a little bit of a pinch, but we’ll work ya through it alright?”

You nod again, and he pushes inside. He moves his hand back up to smooth your hair out of your face. He moves slowly, watching your face, kissing you more to get you relaxed. Once he’s fully inside, he waits.

He gives you a moment to breathe, then when you give the ok, he moves. His arm is up by your head now, keeping him from putting his whole weight on you and giving him some leverage. His thrusts are steady, and your body moves with him, gasping each time he hits that spot in you.

“It pains me that I cannot reach down to tease that lovely pussy of yours, but birdie, you gotta touch yourself for me. Can you do that?”

You slip your hand between your bodies and touch yourself in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Good girl,” he coaxes. “Don’t stop,” he tells you nibbling your ear. And you don’t. You keep going until you feel the high approaching. When it hits you, he’s not far behind. His cock twitches and pulses, and he comes deep inside you.

Exhaustion hits him and he puts more of his weight on you. Now with a free hand, he pushes your hand away and touches your clit again just to touch you a little one more time. That touch has you jolt, and he laughs darkly in your neck.

“Ezra?”

“Mmm?” he looks up at you, and you start to smooth his hair back.

“Can we do this again? Tonight?” you bite your lip.

“Hmm,” he pretends to think. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Ezra!” you laugh and playfully hit his chest.

“Okie,” he shrugs and begins to blow raspberries on your chest.

You stay with him then, tangled in the sheets all morning. And all afternoon, and into the evening. You can barely keep your hands off one another. And there’s not much desire to go prospecting any time soon, not when you’ve discovered something much richer in each other.

xx

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[goodlucktai]

Have you done 4, 49, or 52 yet? If you did sorry. Oh... And will you post these on ao3?

PROMPTS LIST

49. “I have a concern.” “Just one?” “No, but I didn’t think you’d let me speak my piece if I told you how many I actually have.”

all of these prompt fills will make their way to my oneshot collection eventually :)

x

Shibata just happens to be there. 

Nishimura wanted snacks, and volunteered Natsume to go to the convenience store with him, and Shibata invited himself along. He’s only here for the weekend, after all, and Nishimura gets to have Natsume’s attention all the rest of the time. 

Natsume sighed, because he knew they’d bicker all the way to the store and back, but he still held the door and waved them through, arguments and all.

Now they’re walking back to Natsume’s house, the plastic bags between them bulging with sandwiches, and pancakes, and rice balls for poor, boring Tanuma. Natsume isn’t carrying a bag because he’s carrying that lazy sensei of his instead. 

Their breaths cloud in the crisp January air. The pink and orange of sunset has faded from the far corner of the sky, leaving it a deep, vivid blue. 

And it’s there, as they step off the sidewalk and head through the grass, cutting a familiar path through a familiar field of weeds and wheat, that Natsume seems to stumble upon courage.

“Hey, Satchan,” he says, “can I tell you something?”

It’s so casual, almost off-handed. Shibata almost misses it entirely. He’s trying to make sure his new shoes don’t get too muddy, distracted and looking at his feet while they trudge along. 

Nyanko-sensei’s eyes are very green in the fading light, glinting with animal brightness. Nishimura tips his head, silly and flighty at all other times, but super attentive when a friend calls his name. Particularly so when it’s Natsume.

Shibata can’t even make fun of the cutesy nickname, because Nishimura is impossible to embarrass. And Shibata has slipped up and used it before, too. 

“You can tell me anything,” Nishimura says plainly. If anything, he’s confused that Natsume thinks he needs to ask. 

And it’s this moment. Here, in the sprawling, rambling countryside. Here, in the blue hour, when the sun has gone down but the sky is still rich with color. Here, where home is just down the road and their friends are waiting.

Natsume says, “I can see spirits. I’ve always been able to see them.”

Shibata nearly trips, and it takes some real expert maneuvering to save his bag of convenience store food from an unfortunate meeting with the dirt. Nishimura stops walking abruptly enough that it’s almost a trip, too. His eyes are round and full. 

“I’ve never told anyone before,” Natsume goes on, sounding amazed by his own daring. “Well-- not really. Not since I was in grade school. No one believed me back then.” 

He’s always so pacific and detached, even when he’s in pain or afraid, that the edge of nervousness creeping into his tone now almost seems out of place.

For his part, Shibata is gaping. He can’t believe this. He wasn’t prepared. His eyes dart from Natsume’s anxious expression to Nishimura’s stunned one, and he starts shoring himself up. If he has to intervene, he will. He’s seen more proof than any reasonable person needs, and he’ll shove Nishimura’s face in it like a disobedient dog if that’s what it takes to make him understand. 

But it’s only a moment-- only seconds really-- before Nishimura’s face clears. He shuffles his bags to his left hand so his right one is free, and he touches Natsume’s arm the way Shibata has seen him do a thousand times. 

“That makes sense,” he says, nonsensically. “More sense than my esper theory, anyway.”

Natsume’s expression would put the sun to absolute shame. His smile is slow at first, but inexorable, like a stream of water picking its way around the bend that meets the river. He must be the brightest thing for miles. 

“You thought I was an esper?” he teases, laughter in his voice. “You watch too much TV.”

Nishimura throws up his hands, the contents of his shopping bag rattling ominously. “I saw you float in homeroom once! Like, a foot off the ground! ESP is way more plausible than you’re making it out to be, thank you very much.”

Shibata stares at them, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for this scene to shift. It can’t be that easy. It can’t be that painless. Nishimura must be lying to save face, or hiding what is most certainly a freak-out of epic proportions, because belief like this is impossible.  

Except now Natsume is introducing Nyanko-sensei properly, and Nishimura is talking to the cat-- surprise and wonder melting into acceptance as easily and naturally as a spring thaw. 

“You knew exactly what you were doing every time you stole my food!” Nishimura complains, tugging on one of Nyanko-sensei’s soft ears. “Natsume, your cat owes me money.”

Natsume laughs. He laughs, head tipping back, healthy color rising in his wind-chapped cheeks. In this moment, he’s so far removed from that tiny, overshadowed boy that Shibata used to bully on the playground that he might as well be another person entirely. 

Could it have been like this back then? Shibata wonders suddenly. The thought is intrusive and unwelcome. 

If he had been a kinder child, if he had suspended his disbelief for long enough to get to know the strange little boy no one wanted to sit next to in class, would Natsume belong to him the way he belongs to Nishimura and Kitamoto, Taki and Tanuma, Shigeru and Touko?

"Shibata,” Natsume says, in the tone of someone who’s said it more than once. “Hey, are you okay?”

Shibata blinks, arresting his attention. Natsume is watching him with a puzzled frown. Nishimura is waving his arms around and inching forward, as if he’s playing a strange, abridged version of Marco-Polo.

“Fine,” he blurts. “What’s your idiot friend doing?”

“He’s yours, too,” Natsume says peacefully. “And he’s looking for Nyanko-sensei.” 

“What, he poofed?” Shibata looks around the empty field, too. “How did I miss that?” 

“Who’s the idiot now, Sumi?” Nishimura calls over his shoulder. 

The annoying nickname slides right off Shibata like water off an oilskin coat this time. He’s still trying to catch up to this conversation. He almost feels winded, like he’s huffing and puffing across the finish line of a marathon that no one had the decency to warn him about. 

“I can’t believe you just blurted it out like that,” he says, barely mustering the strength to talk above a whisper. “You took ten years ojf my life, easy. I was hyping myself up for a big fallout or something.”

"I can’t believe it, either,” Natsume admits, smiling. “But it wasn’t even that scary, really. Definitely not as scary as I always thought it would be. Maybe because you were here.”

Shibata very quickly looks down at his hands to readjust his shopping bags and not because his eyes are stinging in a telling way.

Nishimura gives a sudden squawk of surprise, hands spread out against the empty air, eyes huge and moon-like. Then his face splits in a grin, and laughter comes bubbling out of him as easily as it always has, and he smooths one hand to the side as if he’s petting something. As if he’s petting Natsume’s ugly cat where it’s fallen asleep in his lap.

His trust is a wild, reckless thing. It’s almost infuriating to watch. 

Could it have been like this back then? If I was a better person?

“You said he can fly, right?” Nishimura demands. “I wanna fly! Tell him to take us the rest of the way home! He owes me at least a dozen rides, considering all the food I’ve given him.”

He’s already searching for handholds, trying to find a way up. Natsume stoops to gather the forgotten bags of snacks and loops the handles around his wrist before making his way over. To Shibata’s intense dismay, rather than tell Nishimura that it’s a stupid idea and he’s stupid for thinking of it, Natsume helps him climb up instead. 

“I have a concern,” Shibata says dryly. 

Natsume huffs. It’s not really a laugh, but it’s not not a laugh, either. “Just one?” 

“No, but I didn’t think you’d let me speak my piece if I told you how many I actually have.”

“You can walk if you want to,” Nishimura calls down. “No one’s making you come along.”

It’s very surreal to see him sitting on nothing, well above Shibata’s head. It’s still very annoying to watch him take to this strange new world with enthusiasm and aplomb, as if he was simply born to exist in this moment and be Natsume’s friend. 

Never one to be outdone, Shibata ignores his own uncertainty to drawl, “And miss the chance to watch you make a fool out of yourself in new and unprecedented ways? Never.”

Nishimura crows with laughter, too delighted to take offense. Natsume sighs just like he did before they left, when he resigned himself to their noisy, obtrusive company. He holds out his hand the same way he held open the door. 

He’s always standing on that threshold. He’s always holding out his hand. 

Shibata has already missed so many chances to reach out and take it. He’s not going to miss any more. 

[trojc-rewrite]

The Rise of Jimmy Casket Rewrite, Chapter 6

TW - grotesque imagery, gore

——————————————————————————

The morning had gone pretty smoothly, downing eggs and water early in the morning so Ghost could rent a car and bring Toast to the nearest walk-in clinic, and then brought him to a nearby hospital for stitches. The wound needed at least 4, and Toast was grossed out by how the stitches looked in his skin, the way his wound felt tight whenever he moved his leg. It made his face wrinkle in grimace.

Toast sat in the car on the way back from the hospital, still recovering from the anasthasia, everything felt light and yet so heavy, his eye lids threatened to fall, and he was sure he was making absolutely no sense whatsoever cause Ghost chuckled at everything he said.

Some weird pop song played on the radio, filling a silence that Toast didn’t even register was there. It wasn’t until Ghost started talking that he realized the quiet.

“Hey, Toast.” Toast turned to him, his head felt weird when he moved, like instead of a brain he had a bowl of cold soup in his head. But he forced himself to look serious, he was starting to calm down from the anasthasia anyways, so he could manage something of the nature.

“Yes, sir?” He mumbled out, it took a lot to form an articulated sentence, one that actually made sense.

Ghost parked in the hotel parking lot, sighing a small bit.

“Toast, I just want to apologize again. I am so sorry for leaving you to deal with P.I.E, it was such a shitty move on my part.” Ghost said.

“No, no sir, it's all right.” He managed. Ghost shook his head.

“No, it’s not.” He said, frustrated. He grabbed Toasts hands in his own, sighing. “Look, let me apologize because we both know this never happens. I’m sorry, for being such a shitty friend and boss. You, whether I like or not, are now kinda the leader. And I’ve been feeling like shit for leaving you to deal with it. I’m sorry.”

Toast blinked, kind of shocked. He blinked, not really knowing what to say.

“I accept your apology sir. But now that we’re all together, we need to start working as a team. And, if I may add this in, you might want to apologize to Spooker and especially Colon for leaving sir.” Toast said quietly.

Ghost raised his brow, staring at him with his green eye.

Toast nodded, “They were very hurt when you left. They look up to you. Colon was just telling me about his frustrations with you just the other night. “

Ghost looked lost, “But what would I say?”

Toast smiled at him. “You’ll know when the time comes. It will be genuine.”

Ghost licked his teeth nervously, before nodding. “Okay, lets go get Colon and Spooker. A walk will do us good.”

Ghost helped Toast up to the hotel room, getting ready for the walk. It had been a while where Toast could just relax, and he was hyped for a nice walk.

They walked late into the night, watching the sun go down behind the trees as the sky melted from blue, to purple and gold. The moon hung high over head, so clear and bright. It casted silver shadows across the forest floor, leaves dappling the light.

Toast was walking with Colon, the tall man helping him support himself. He also took a few times to point out an animal or two.

One time, a doe had crossed their path with a fawn in toe and they all had to pretend they weren’t there. Afterwards, Spooker had almost melted into the ground, crying about how cute it was.

The leaves above them ruffled, a cold gasp of air rolling over them. Toast smiled, feeling refreshed.

A small stream trickled near them, a few leaves following the current. Frogs hopped over the rocks, moonlight reflecting off the cloudy water.

Spooker turned to the stream, his eyes round in awe. “Oh my God! Frogs!” He whispered excitedly. He knelt down, his knees squelching in mud. He held out his hand, reaching out for a frog. The frog jumped into the water before he could catch it.

He turned to another, and another, until finally. “Aha! I got one!” He whispered, picking up the frog gently. The green amphibian let out a small ribbit, hopping around in his palms.

“I’m gonna name you, Fredrick.” He cooed, petting the amphibians back. Ghost made a disgusted face.

“Ew- you’re naming it after yourself?” He said, raising a brow. Spooker stuck out his tongue, gently putting the frog back in the grass.

“No. My name is Fred.” He emphasized, “The frog's name is Fredrick.”

Ghost rolled his eye jokingly, a smile cracking onto his face ever so slightly.

“Well I for one, love Fredrick.” Toast said with a smile, watching the frog hop away.

“Thank you T-“

Spooker was cut off by a loud rustling noise, coming from far ahead. Toast snapped his head up, glaring into the dark. His fight of flight senses kicked in, his only instinct to protect his friends.

He limped forwards, being careful not to step on any twigs, or anything else that would cause a loud noise. Moss squished under his feet, splashing quietly.

Ghost hissed from behind him, “No, Toast!” He whispered. Toast ignored him, pulling out his gun from his side holster.

He entered a thicket, wet leaves pointed at him. He felt uneasy, and jumped as a bug flew past his face.

Then, with the speed of a snake, something lunged from the bushes with a wide, yellowed smile.

He was pushed to the ground, his gun knocking out of his hand. He rolled over, pain blasting throughout his body.

He grabbed it, sitting up and fired. The shot rang out, Toast’s ears rang with silence, the world going quiet.

The shadowy figure stood in mist that seemed to come from nowhere, eyes staring at him from the fog.

It loomed over him, walking forward.

“Hey Toaster. It’s been a while!” It whispered excitedly, it’s red eyes wide.

It leaned forward, it’s face close to his. It smelled like rotting flesh; the acrid smell hitting him in the face. Sour and rotten.

It’s skin was pale, cheek bones exposed. It had matted, dark brown hair. Dirt covered it’s cheeks, a thin lipped smile crossed it’s face.

Toast blinked, shuffling away from it.

“Who- what?” He asked. Confusion clouded Toast’s gaze. ‘Who is this?’

The figure frowned. “I can’t believe you don’t remember me! But, it’s been a while since I’ve been in this form. So allow me to introduce myself.”

He stuck out his pale hand, long bloody fingernails pointed at him.

“Jimmy Casket. World renowned murderer.”

Toast let out a long, shuddering breath. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Jimmy’s frame was thin, long arms covered in bandages. He wore an unzipped blue hoodie, tattered at the edges, sleeves rolled up. Under the hoodie was a red shirt. His clothes were all bloodstained and crusty, hardened from dried fluids.

His eyes had yellow and red around the outsides, sunken in with deep eye bags. A long, sickly scar crossed the side of his face. It pulled up his lip, exposing his reddened gums and teeth base. They were blackened at the roots. Stringy saliva webbed between his teeth as he opened his mouth.

He laughed, blood splattering on Toast’s clothes. Toast gagged, fighting off the urge to vomit.

“What do you want from me?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jimmy smiled wider, his sunken eyes growing wide with manic. His breath stank like carrion, blood bubbling from the back of his throat.

“To watch you suffer, until you die!” He cackled.

Suddenly Jimmy’s body jerked to the side, blood splattering on the side of his head. He staggered to the side, trying to catch his balance. His eyes grew empty.

Ghost jumped through the bushes, charging for the spirit. Colon came out with his gun drawn, Spooker rushing to Toast’s side.

“I’m okay!” Toast said urgently. Spooker helped him up as Colon shot at Jimmy, blood splattering on his outfit.

The spirit fell to the ground, his eyes empty. The two investigators breathed heavily, blood on their outfits.

Colon and Ghost turned to Toast, eyes round and horrified. “You dumbass!” Ghost yelled.

Colon rolled his eyes, putting his gun back in his holster.

“I’ll be okay don- COLON LOOK OUT!” Toast screamed.

Jimmy lunged onto Colon, grappling him from the back. His long nails digging into his face. Ghost turned, grabbing Colon's hand and ripping him from the ghost. Toast pulled out his gun again.

“Get away from us you bastard!” Toast cried, aiming the gun at him.

Jimmy laughed, raising his hands. He gave him a sly look.

“Didn’t you guys just ‘kill’ me, do you think a gun is going to do anything to me?” He said slyly.

Ghost bared his teeth. “What do you want you ugly fucker?” He said, pulling out his pocket knife.

Jimmy gave him a semi injured look.

“Look, you guys can’t kill me.” He said, with somewhat of a suave energy.

“You can’t kill a highly leveled ghost with puny human weapons. The only way to kill me is to be a ghost yourselves.” He laughed, his head rearing back in estaticsm.

“The only way to get rid of me is for me to be inside one of your minds again! Or else I’ll be here forever, picking all of you off one by one.” He said with an evil grin.

Ghost faltered, his angry expression twitching to hopelessness.

Jimmy loomed closer to Ghost, his face inches away from his. He looked angry, but betrayal lingered in the ghost’s red eyes.

“Until none of you are left.” He whispered angrily.

Ghost stared at him, cowering under his gaze. His eye was wide, eyebrows furrowed. Jimmy looked angry, yet sly.

Ghost stammered. “I- I-“

Toast took his arm, “Let’s go!” He yelled.

Colon shot at Jimmy again, hitting him with a bullet in the eye. Jimmy staggered backwards, letting out a cry of pain as red hot blood squirted from his face. He grabbed his face, anger filling his face.

Toast grabbed Spooker by the arm and they ran through the forest. Leaves got in his way, he narrowly dodged them.

Jimmy yowled from yards behind them, sprinting after them. Toast's feet barely hit the ground as he ran. Ghost ran beside him, panting wildly.

Colon ran behind them, his gun trained on Jimmy, occasionally shooting. Spooker looked hopeless, wanting to help Colon.

They reached the hotel room, slamming the door behind them. They all waited in tense silence, everyone keeping their eyes on the door.

After about 20 minutes of staring, Toast let out a sigh and fell onto the bed. “I think we’re okay.” He said.

Ghost screwed his eye shut, a sob escaping his throat.

“What are we going to do?!” He yelled, throwing a pillow at the wall.

For once, Toast did not have an answer.

——————————————————————————

FINALLY, we get to see the dude in the NAME OF THE FUCKING STORY!!!

[red-hood-vigilante]

more hbo spn rambles, thoughts, drabbles etc. long long post.

part 1 here

there’s some things i’ve omitted here bc others have already posted about those things, certain headcanons and characterizations and stuff. those posts are in my likes somewhere (and i’ll reblog them someday), and there’s some posts i’ve read but not liked, which i now can only vaguely remember, which is why some ideas/thoughts are similar

ALSO most of these follow the model i talked about in part one: how s1-5 will stay more or less how they are but s6-10 is changed (some things are cut out entirely, some things are tweaked and some characters + arcs are more fleshed out. more focus on sam’s trauma and post-cage adaptation to the real world as well as dean letting his rage and control issues consume him and how he’d recover and redeem himself)

as i typed these paragraphs, i realized i really have 10 seasons mapped out and ready to go. hbo hire me!!

alright go:

sam and dean get wearier as the show progresses (second half), and eventually they stop putting so much care and thought in the people they save. like...hm how do i say this, like as long as a victim/victims are saved, they don’t care about how that happens or how those people suffer potential consequences, like if the victims lose a limb or have their homes burned down because of the monster, then sam and dean don’t really care. they saved your life, now they’ll leave you with your life in potential shambles and not care because all that matters is that they saved your life, not how it is afterwards. they still care about saving that one person, but eventually it pales a little in comparison to a war between heaven and hell, being the vessels etc. ---> saving people becomes less about making sure they’re actually alright and healing from horrific events and more about just making sure they have a pulse before they move on

when angels lose their wings they are either burned off in the actual fall or ripped off of them in their vessels, which leaves pretty nasty scars on the vessel

ed and harry are so young and bright eyed about the whole hunting thing; sam and dean as kids, idolizing it, finding it exciting and intriguing when they shouldn’t. sam and dean try to get them out of the business before they too are too traumatized and desensitized to do anything but hunt. neither sam or dean will say it but they are jealous of ed and harry and their freedom to leave, and hate them for choosing this voluntarily instead of being dragged into it by tragedy

hbo spn is a slow burn. there’s a lot more shots of sam and dean in silence just sitting together after a hunt, exhausted and too tired to move yet. they’re covered in blood and guts on the side of the road after killing or covered with dirt in a graveyard after burning bones, sitting next to the fire, just watching it. the times they park the car and watch the stars? we get to see it. 

dean wears rings and the amulet all the time in the beginning, for the first five seasons. the rings vary; first they’re some of john’s old ones and stuff he finds in thrift stores. then later on he begins wearing rings from people they’ve saved/haven’t saved as a keepsakes etc. when he begins his descent to the holy murderer in s6-10 he wears less and less rings. they don’t matter anymore -> symbolically shedding who he was and what mattered to him

the only accessories sam has is a rosary/cross around his neck. he has jess’ engagement ring in his pocket/wallet. after the cage he vaguely remembers why the ring was there and who jessica was (more on this further down)

the four horsemen are manifestations of different aspects of human nature at its most grotesque and strongest, can’t be killed as long as humans live. war is conflict, famine is desire, pestilence is physical and mental illnesses.

(the seven sins are like the horsemen, tulpas of human nature instead of demons)

death isn’t a concentration of an existing aspect of humans as much as it is the end of life, the antithesis of life. death the oldest of the horsemen and has existed since the beginning of any life, organism, cell and atom. the opposite of life and light, the other half of god (as i’m typing this i’m confused as to why  amara was the opposite of god instead of death). death isn’t evil or good, remains 100% objective. doesn’t care for sam or dean at all, but has a begrudging respect for their stubbornness and entertainment they provide due to their flat out refusal to do as they’re told by celestial bodies when anyone else would crumble

by including death i feel like it very naturally begs questions of who decides when someone dies, when someone lives, why would death follow these guides instead of reaping whomever whenever, what happens if a life isn’t reaped at the right time etc. the reader in me adore the idea of death having a library with books and records of everyone who has ever lived and died and how they died - but then, who writes these books and why? do they decide, and if in that case, how? these questions are above my paygrade but you know what i mean? like there has to be some sort of system right, god created everything, death executes to maintain order, some third party deity writes the laws and the books. the three branches of government. ok but it’s hbo so again, i think we shouldn’t dive this deep into things, like as much as these topics intrigue me i don’t want to stray too much from the dirt road trip aesthetic

shapeshifters are extremely rare because they don’t require any kind of human blood or organs/sacrifice to live

i want more exploration of how magic is like science, like it just needs the right ingredients and right conditions. sam thinks of magic as an obscure branch of science; it just requires research and knowledge and clear intentions because science can be controlled and do a lot of good when used responsibly. dean doesn’t like it. he doesn’t trust the unpredictable elements and he’s seen enough to know it never goes well. magic is a force that can’t be controlled by anyone.

sam and dean have full on fist fights regularly. to practice and keeping each other sharp, but also because they’re siblings. they’re feral, insane and unhinged with each other and they get on each other’s nerves A LOT. it’s petty and childish and sometimes it can get a lil ugly but it becomes their way of family therapy. after a fight the next scene cuts to sam and dean with ruffled clothes, nosebleeds and swollen lips at a diner eating silently after beating each other up. either they sit in silence because they’re tired or both are harping on the other’s openings and weaknesses

sometimes they’ll fight a little dirty but they do so in different ways; dean will pull the old ‘look!’ and point to something and then tackle sam when he turns to look while sam will just cry out in fake pain which makes dean stop dead in his tracks before sam headbutts him or kicks him in the groin

we, the audience get used to these fights, they’re sometimes funny and for comic relief, sometimes for narrative purposes (like tricking a monster they’re fighting each other when they’re really not) BUT. then comes the times when sam and dean are actually fighting without holding back and we see how much they are capable of hurting each other or how heartbreaking and difficult it can be to watch when of them are incapable of fighting back/doesn’t defend himself -> swan song when dean doesn’t fight back against possessed sam, or when dean beats soulless sam unconscious

sam and dean also just verbally bully each other constantly but they do have their odd ways of expressing affection and care. they get the other person their fave snack whenever they go grocery shopping without being asked to and are the only other one they truly trust to have their back in hunts. have a cup of coffee ready before the other asks for one. brothers and each other’s best friend. nightmare duo but in a sweet way. the cooperation of ‘the usual suspects’ when they’re in different interrogation rooms but still has the cover story down to a t. code words and code names and cover stories, they know it all

when sam and dean fight together against a common enemy they’re a damn nightmare - because they know each others weaknesses and habits, they cover each other perfectly and in complete silence. they’ve been at it together since they were kids and read each other’s nonverbal cues like a picture book

to build off of what i said in part 1; the winchesters are pretty hated in the hunter’s community. even the people sam and dean frequently work with (bobby, ellen, jo, ash, rufus, bela, kevin, charlie, castiel etc) roasts them all the time and don’t hesitate with calling them out on their self-pitying crap when it get’s too much (spn was just objectively better when characters weren’t afraid of dragging sam and dean through the mud for being selfish and stupid) and this WILL persist in hbo spn. the only reason people continue working with sam and dean is because they know deep down a lot of the things that happens aren’t sam and dean’s fault - but they still blame them for it. doesn’t make it easier how sam or dean sometimes start crap on purpose to save the other

the winchesters are terrifying and people for sure tell stories about them, but not like ‘they’re heroes’, more like ‘they’re insane and dangerous. stay the fuck away from them’. some stories are true, like how they’ve worked with demons, but some are just game of telephone. (dean has apparently a ghost he is frequently possessed by while sam is actually a mutant vampire). hunters hate and are scared of the winchesters. sam and dean are never invited to hunter stuff (burials, memorials etc) but crash them nonetheless even though the hunters do NOT want them there.

you know what drives me insane when i think about it? how some characters in spn already are their hbo spn counterparts; john. mary. adam. maybe kevin?

other things that already are their hbo spn counterparts: dean throwing away the amulet right in front of sam. eyes burning when angels are seen. how ghosts are just tragedies, stuck in a loop they can’t leave. how a lot of the monsters they meet are just victims or their circumstances or the first victim of a curse. the impala being sam and dean’s home. dean not knowing how to comfort sam when he’s upset other than trying to do things for sam that usually brings dean comfort (driving the impala, listening to rock music etc). the roadhouse. heaven being an eternal version of the memories that made you the happiest even though it’s not real. sam wanting independence and freedom but never fully having it. dean fearing being alone more than anything else and that’s where he always ends up. sam has an eating disorder after the demon blood and dean has an alcohol problem he refuses to see as a problem. dean saying “i’d do it again” without an ounce of regret and pouring himself a drink when sam tells him it was fucked up to lie to him about gadreel

the demon/angel hybrid: THIS could be sooo interesting to explore. an angel and demon hybrid are you kidding me?? not to toot my own horn too much but i’m so clever. i should write this story myself. SO. does this creature have parents who fucked in their vessels or was this an experiment by god (yes i love the ‘mad scientist’ idea, that really should’ve been played up way more) or did a pre-existing creature (human or otherwise) drink demon blood and angel grace at the same time so that it created itself? so much potential for some really intriguing storytelling and character exploration - not only the creature itself and what they would be like, but also for the people around; sam, dean, castiel, jack etc. how would they react to this thing that is the very definition of defying heaven and hell and all the natural laws? does it exist before the show starts or will we see its birth?

the powers of the demon/angel hybrid would be tricky; a mix of holy and defiant, grotesque and beautiful. unconsciously forces people to tell the truth when talking to them. poisons whatever they touch. eyes of a demon, wings of an angel. can smite but skin will burn when touching iron. can do deals but will require a sacrifice in return, not a soul, usually a body part taken then and there (the hybrid eats it. it favours eyeballs and the liver - angels like raw meat). lights always flicker. makes things explode when angry (esp people and cars). can manipulate feelings, thoughts and memories. can travel to both heaven and hell, not welcome in either places. + standard stuff like telekinesis, teleportation, mind reading, super strength etc. 

sam and dean’s wardrobe are pretty much the same; whatever’s cheap and not covered in blood. however, they do have stylistic differences. sam thinks graphic tees are funny, dean uses whatever’s black combined with john’s leather jacket. their wardrobe melds as they stop thinking of themselves as individuals and more of “me and my brother,”. their clothes are tattered and torn to shreds all the time. hand me downs, hand me ups. when they stray off their “path” and do things that are the crux of a storyline/character arc, this would reflect in their clothes. when sam is with ruby and becomes more and more “evil” he wears more and more red, a colour he has stated in the past he doesn’t really like. when dean is dead, sam starts to wear his rings and john’s and dean’s leather jacket. when dean decides he’s going to say yes to michael he dresses in white, when sam is dead dean takes off every piece of jewelry except the amulet. he holds it clenched in his fists when he’s whispering what comes close to a prayer

logically the amulet should have a backstory but you know what? i love that it’s hinted to be just a piece of cheap jewelry sam found in a thrift store he decided to give to dean. but narratively it should be explained so... idk. what could be logical solution as to why it would react to GOD himself? maybe god wore it once cuz he thought it was neat but he sold it for three dollars because he wanted coffee and then sam found it a week later

i would prefer it if god didn’t show up at all (absent father number one) but if he DID he’s not all powerful just a true neutral (like death, 100% objective) who created a thing that just took a life of its own, much like a parent and a child - the parent helps the child but can’t control it. the times he did intervene or tried to do something it didn’t really have any real long lasting effect so he gave up on trying a while ago. 

@spneveryseason talked about this, how the storyline of sam being possessed by gadreel would be horrifying if we saw everything from sam’s perspective instead of dean’s (her fic is wonderful). in the ‘dean slowly descends into a righteous murderer to become holy’ idea i have this tracks so damn well because again, if dean believes something is right, it is right, no questions about it. everyone around him is like “that’s really fucked up and you should make amends” but dean doesn’t see any reasons for why - sam is alive isn’t he? and seeing it from sam’s pov would really underline how horrifying, dehumanizing and belittling that experience was

john and mary are adam and eve. sam and dean are cain and abel are michael and lucifer. time is a flat circle. history never stops repeating itself. 

sam is the villain of s4. he is manipulated and key information is withheld from him but in the end... would it made a difference? it crossed his mind, that he could be tricked because ruby is a demon after all, but maybe he likes the power, the feeling of freedom, that he wasn’t just the baby, the one who always needs permission to do things. if he has to drain possessed people to get that power... so be it. and it’s for a good purpose, until it isn’t. he’s hungry for more, to be feared and respected. he’s enticed by lucifer’s sweet words, the potential of all that power and the idea of ruling two out of three realms. dean manages to pull him back from the brink because sam decides he doesn’t want to be what john thought he was and fail dean and himself like that.

dean is the villain in s9. he is controlling, the mark of cain without the mark. what he says goes - it’s not a democracy, it’s a dictatorship. he doesn’t see how much pain, doubt and fear he causes the people around him. if some victims or civilians die on his watch that doesn’t matter - just some collateral damage. sam can’t make dean listen to him because dean is the older one, the one who’s always called the shots. dean is the angelic one, heaven’s chosen warrior, he is untouchable and unkillable. he’s is an excellent killer, filling the void with blood and rage which is better than the crippling fear of loneliness carved into his bones. 'i butcher for love, to protect,’ he tells himself. ‘why shouldn’t i exterminate, regardless of the cost? i’ve followed the rules, i’ve always sacrificed. now i call the shots. it’s my right.’

sam’s hell trauma is never magically removed. he’s stuck with the memories and the nightmares and the occasional hallucinations. castiel can’t do anything but offers to wipe his memory completely, but sam says no, he is still doing penance. 

after dean comes back from hell he starts calling himself old man and jokes a lot about he’s 40 years older now (after he’s more comfortable about speaking about hell) 

when sam comes back he feels ancient (he’s over 900 years old at least but he lost count), weary, tired and so so so out of place in this world. he’s forgotten how to put gas in a car, how to drive, how to use a credit card, all the song lyrics he and dean used to yell together, the faces of people he knew before he fell, the softness of a bed, the schools he went to, most of the hunts he and dean, how john died, who mary is, the initials carved into the impala, the taste of food that isn’t raw meat. it’s so much he’s forgotten that he has to relearn. he prefers figuring things out with castiel instead of dean because castiel doesn’t silently resent him for everything he’s forgotten

sam doesn’t laugh anymore. despite dean’s many and castiel’s few awkward attempts, it’s more like quick smile and a quiet “hmm”. on some days he recoils when he sees blood and guts, on other days he’s so apathetic it’s unnerving

sam sympathizes with the brought back mary and castiel more than ever. dean tries to get sam to remember things he’s forgotten from his childhood but sam can’t connect with it anymore. he stopped being that sam a long time ago. dean doesn’t know what else to do than try to force this connection to be revitalized and he fails. sam isn’t that person anymore and this wedge in their relationship becomes a central factor in dean’s s6-10 desperation and isolation. sam is here and safe but it’s not really sam, not the sam dean grew up with

while sam has forgotten how to make coffee, he now knows everything about angels, effective torture tricks, a bunch of lore + biblical history, how to navigate hell, the most powerful and influential demons, rare and powerful spells as well as perfect enochian (he will speak enochian without realizing and it feels more natural than english). lucifer and michael were surprisingly talkative (raging about the unfairness) when taking their anger and hatred out on sam and adam and each other. sam had access to all of lucifer’s memories and knowledge for the time he was the one in control. walking library and encyclopedia of biblical lore.

he still has some muscle memory from hunting and sparring, but sam is ghostly thin and very rusty. even though he’s an expert on lore, he’s not fit to go on hunts anymore and he knows it. 

sam remembers adam and swears he’ll try to get him out, but he can’t. just thinking about the cage makes him vomit. he can’t talk about it, much less go near it. after a while sam thinks it might be better to let adam stay down there than let him come back up and feel this crushing emptiness and loss of direction

sam’s trials take place in s9 instead of 8; coinciding with dean’s villain arc. for sam the trials are a chance to redeem himself again, this time for good by closing hellgates forever. they’re scrubbing him clean of the demon blood and his sins and they give him a sense of purpose again now that he can’t join hunts anymore. it doesn’t matter if he dies because of it. it would be nice with a permanent and peaceful death that did something good. dean is taken aback by sam’s devotion to repent for something that happened years ago and for something sam has already paid for a thousand times over. dean realizes how messed up he himself has become and how he’s helped put sam here, on the cusp of self sacrifice again because of sickening guilt and self hatred. dean begs sam to not complete the trials at the cost of his own life and swears he’ll better himself, be a friend and a brother, not a jailer, dictator or a murderer. ‘if you won’t give yourself or life another chance, please give me one.’ ---> s10 pacifist dean learning to let go of the control, the violent tendencies and the rage

oh wait what if gadreel still possessed sam after the trials to heal him but sam is the one who invites the angel in? he’ll keep his promise to dean about staying alive, as well as heal from the inside and have breaks from the world when he doesn’t want to be present, like he and gadreel will alternate being the one in control. he keeps it a secret from dean and helps gadreel imitate him so dean won’t notice. it’s not so bad, being possessed by this angel - sam can say no anytime and gadreel is a nice guy. since they alternate on who’s present they can access each other’s memories, which is terrifying and embarrassing at first, but since gadreel and sam have been tricked and used by lucifer and been punished for it for far too long, they understand each other. now another creature knows their trauma and terrors without the need for verbal explanation. also having an angel residing in his body makes sam feel like he can hunt properly again because gadreel can heal him and take over in situations sam’s overpowered. this could show how messed up sam has come to view himself and his body. 

dean is conflicted when he finds out; sam lied but gadreel does help sam heal, sam’s traumatized and his self-worth is fucked up and dean has contributed to that. dean convinces sam to push gadreel out, that sam is still valuable, loved and a good person who shouldn’t be in a place where he views his body and mind like a property to be occupied. sam’s faith begins to come back bit by bit, not in god, but in himself, his brother, in the good things in life. they build their little family; sam, dean, castiel, the hybrids, whomever of their allies that are alive at this point.

castiel can heal sam and dean’s wounds but they are never completely gone; they leave scars and phantom pains. the brothers have SO many scars over the years. dean flaunts them to impress people because he likes the questions and the fearful admiration, the attention and the nods of approval. sam hides them.

when dean is in a bad mood or needs to get his mind off of things, sam just drops something like ‘i don’t get the deal with led zeppelin. one of the most overrated bands of all time’ and dean will go OFF every single time about the entire led zeppelin history, their discography and how they’ve shaped rock music. this will go on for hours and sam will zone out after 1 minute. but dean rants nonsensically the entire drive and it does get him to think about something else for a little bit. they stop at a motel and dean is STILL ranting while brushing his teeth. stops when going to sleep but without fail picks up where he left off the morning after and is so into it he doesn’t notice sam not paying attention at all. we could see this once in s1 when they’re searching for john, another in s3 when dean is anxious about his deal coming to an end and then again in a later season, when sam doesn’t remember to ask/doesn’t have the patience or mental capability, so they’ll sit there in tense silence, showing how much they’ve changed.

---> i can see this SO clearly in my head, how they’ll get in the car and we, the audience, will recognize the camera angle, the same lines and dean’s grumpy mood, and we’ll anticipate what comes next. but sam isn’t that kid anymore and he’s not peeking at dean to gauge what his mood is and how much of a shit eating grin he should wear when being an annoying little brother to cheer dean up. now he’s looking out the window, leaned back, they’re not looking at each other. this shot is a minute or two long, uninterrupted. dean turns on music but neither are singing along or doing anything to lighten the mood. 

s1-5: sam gets hooked on demon blood, dean has an alcohol problem. when sam goes through withdrawals, dean decides to quit drinking and joins him because he wants to be supportive, and he realizes that when he drinks two beers for breakfast there’s a problem

s6-10: sam takes painkillers, anti depressants and anti psyhosis meds to numb himself from the phantom pains and reduce post-cage effects. dean started drinking again after sam jumped and still does, but started smoking in addition because he still drives a lot and doesn’t want to die in something as pathetic as a car crash. 

there a scene in an episode in the first half of s8, when sam has decided to stay with dean instead of amelia, and dean has rejected benny in favor of sam, and then the brothers sit in a couch watching tv while drinking beer and neither of them look particularly happy about it - that’s how their relationship is a lot of the time. they know they’re fucked up and neither of them will ever be truly happy when the other’s around, but they owe each other so much and they don’t have to explain themselves to each other the way they do to others. they know each other so well, each other’s traumas and the things they’ve done, it feels fake and exhausting to try to be something other than the veteran hunters they are. misery loves company; they are miserable together but would be far more miserable apart and living a normal life. they do love each other, but neither of them are particularly happy as the show progresses. family is hell and so is the lack of it. 

OK OK i mentioned it in part one, how i had my own very specific idea about how jack should come to be and here it is. long winded but (might just write a damn fic): 

after lucifer was cast back into the cage, he is stronger than he has been in a long time (being in his true vessel helped him stretched muscles he forgot he had. and fresh air.) sam is pulled out of the cage and it leaves a rift in the magic and chains - the binding is weaker and lucifer must act fast to get out before it heals. the cage is still strong enough to hold two archangels, so lucifer has to become weaker somehow to slip out through the cracks. he can’t get out of the cage, but souls can come in. demons bring themselves and human souls as tools for lucifer to use. there’s not much he can do here - consuming them, eating them, touching them, dissecting them doesn’t give him what he wants

eventually lucifer realizes he must do like azazel and create something new of two halves, like when he created demons. he begins melding his archangel grace with a human soul. he tries with demons, but his archangel grace automatically purifies them and leaves them too weak. he must try with a human soul who is good. he finds the soul of kelly kline, who sold her soul to save a loved one. with her, the merging, works. 

he has another self, a twin, a son, who’s half human and half archangel. half lucifer. the old lucifer will die but that’s ok, his desires, presence and self will live on in his new creation. the new lucifer barely makes it out of the cage, only able to due to its human side. on earth it creates a body for itself and takes shape, no longer a form of pure power and energy akin to the sun itself but now a person, reminiscent of kelly kline on earth and lucifer in heaven. they name themselves jack. jack searches for familiarity and finds it in sam, their old self’s perfect tool and another hybrid. jack finds a mentor in castiel, a younger brother and fellow angel with human elements. they do not find anything in dean, the key to his former self’s doom.

jack’s powers: their powers are like and unlike the angels because he is half archangel. jack has wings but sometimes they don’t work, or they’ll end up somewhere else entirely. their body is their own, not a vessel, so jack can’t possess people. doesn’t talk but people “know” what they’re saying or want because jack emits their emotions and thoughts to people they’re talking to like a radio tower. jack can also have this empathic connection and communication with animals. his mood affects the weather. immortal. reads minds. can remove a soul from a body and send it to heaven/hell by touching it, with practice they don’t need to touch a body. 

other stuff about jack: the human/archangel nature means jack only need sleep and food once a week or so. eats only nougat and raw meat. because jack is a kid they nap a lot. levitates when sleeping. never blinks, stares intensely at everything. their eye colour changes based on their mood. eyes glow in the dark. normal humans who look at jack for too long experience memory loss, fainting spells or migraines and eye contact for more than 10 seconds give vivid hallucinations of their worst nightmares. always barefoot, often floats like 10 cm off the ground because they find it more enjoyable than walking. wears the wildest clothes they can find, nothing matches and nothing is weather appropriate

i have a very specific image of jack in my mind; they look like delirium from the sandman comics with the hair that looks like it’s underwater and the fishes floating around their head, here and here are examples. in live action this would look not good or maybe even ridiculous for sure but in animation... endless potential for angels and monsters to have super interesting designs sigh

castiel’s arc should end with him going from blind soldier, to the unwilling ruler of heaven, finding a place on earth with sam and dean, becoming closer with humanity and eventually a father of three (the hybrids). 

[erensnubs]

𝑳𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑱𝒐

Hanamaki Takihiro x GN! Reader

Based off of the Laurie and Jo Scene in Little Women

Summary: Sometimes first loves never work out

Content: Angst, pure angst

From pirate ships, to being monarchs and warriors of old, you and Hanamaki Takahiro, were best friends.

He was the little boy who moved in next door, snot running down his nose, hands stained with dirt as he offered you a piece offering of roly polies and leaves.

You were the little kid who rolled around in the mud and terrorized the other kids by throwing sticks at them.

Needless to say you immediately became best friends. And menaces to your parents, the neighborhood kids and society in general.

You were together from the young ages of kindergarten, you were there to witness Hanamaki's awkward stage of puberty. You were there to witness him making other friends than you and lovers.

He was there when he saw you make other friends than him, dating a lot of people. He was there when you were scared of going to middle school, was there when you had anxiety over grades.

You were there for each other all the time, ups and downs, triumphs and trials.

So it was natural, that Hanamaki fell, completely and hopelessly;

In love with you.

You're running in the grass, rolling around with Hanamaki laughing your asses off. You guys have just graduated highschool and the two of you, being the dumb bitches you are decide to skip the family party to celebrate your accomplishments. 

“We’re adults now!” You yell, half skipping down the hill and eventually trip. 

You pick yourself up and start screaming. 

“I’M FREE FROM THIS GOD FORSAKEN TOWN! WE’RE FREE!” 

Hanamaki laughs, “Yeah says the one who barely passed history.” 

He grabs you by the arm and drags you through the flowers of the field and sets you down, all the while you giggle deliriously. 

Usually Hanamaki would be laughing along, making stupid jokes about your laugh. 

But he doesn’t. 

And it scares you. 

Before you even open your mouth to say anything, Hanamaki plops down beside you and thoughtfully asks, 

“What are we going to do, [Name]? After here?” 

The question sounded serious not like those ones where he asked you if he looked sexy for prom or if his crocs match the vibe of the weather that day. 

You paused to take in the question. 

“Well... I can’t really answer that Hiro Out of our whole friend group we’ve always been the floaters. The ones that never really know what we’re doing...” 

Hanamaki turns his head around, baby hairs sticking onto his skin from the sweat of running. His eyes are looking at you, no they’re looking through you. 

He breathes out a yes, like he’s been holding something from you. A secret he didn’t want to tell. 

You turn away abruptly hoping he doesn’t see your slight change of attitude. 

“Iwaizumi’s going to America, Mattsun is getting ready for college, and you know Oikawa is going over to Brazil to pursue volleyball.” 

“I honestly don’t know Hiro. I get that we can’t be kids who run around more and throw dirt at each other,” you say laughing softly. 

Hanamaki scoffs, “But you wish it was like that huh?” 

You sit up and pick the grass from the ground and throw it randomly into the air. 

“Of course! I still want to get a pirate ship and go and travel the world with you.” 

Hanamaki raises his eyebrows, “And steal gold from random people?” 

You smile cheekily, “Of course. Then we’ll build our chocolate empire, something that could rival Willy Wonka’s.” 

Hanamaki stands up and puts his hand out to you. 

You grab it, but why do you feel like the gesture is something much more than a friendly hand? 

The two of you start walking, swinging your arms around as you joke about your chocolate factory, your pirate ships, the adventures you’re going to have. 

The sun was setting, the long, green blades of grass turning yellow as you and Hanamaki run through them, creating scars and bumps on your skin. 

You were going to miss highschool. You were going to miss groaning about exams and certain substitute teachers. Miss skipping classes with Mattsun and Makki to go get wasted with cheap alcohol. 

You were going to miss Oikawa and his stupid smile and Iwaizumi and his stupid nicknames. You were going to miss crying with the 3rd years over lost volleyball games. 

Hell, you were probably going to cry when Oikawa and Iwaizumi left to continue their lives. You might even cry when Mattsun goes to college even if he isn’t going overseas. 

But at least you had Hanamaki. Your dearest friend. Though your relationship has gotten deeper and you were able to confide with each other, you were still the 2 children that fought other kids on the playground. 

You could always, always rely on him. Because you never changed with each other. 

“[Name]?” 

You turn around and see Hanamaki. His eyes glowed with something. 

And it was not of the setting sun. 

“Yes?” You say, the sky turning darker as moments pass. 

“I know we talk about us being adventurous and going with the flow... but I feel like we could do something more, you know?” he says it quietly, his thumb subconsciously rubbing yours. 

You look up at him, “What do you mean? You just want to suddenly work a 9-5 job in a corporate company? We talked about this Hiro...” 

He looks taken aback, “No no, that’s not what I meant [Name].”

Hanamaki gets quieter, “We could always be little kids, playing with swords and sticks. Together.” 

You pause as Hanamaki looks up at your eyes. Together? You’ve always been together? Always. 

Wait. 

He couldn’t possibly mean. 

You pull back from his grasp, 

“No Hiro I can’t do that. Please no.” 

You start walking away from him and he advances as he argues, trying to salvage something. 

“[Name], no I love you and I have always loved you since we were little! I can’t imagine myself being with anyone else besides you!” 

You walk faster and wrap your arms around yourself, “No, no, no. Hiro you’re being ridiculous.” 

“Yes, YES!” 

“No! We can’t!” 

“[NAME]! COME BACK HERE LET ME SEE YOU!” Hanamaki says running towards you. 

You spin around and stare at him, “We can’t work Hiro! I could never love you that way, and I would be lying, God I would be lying if I said that I did. Our whole life together we’re going to be pretending.” 

He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration, “Why?! We were just talking about doing adventures together! Why is that any different than what I proposed!?” 

You stomp your foot onto the ground, “Did you not just listen to me you dipshit? I could never love you romantically! Ever! I care for you, I worry for you but Hanamaki you are my friend. My closest friend. You are the one thing in my life that hasn’t changed so quickly and then you pull this shit?” 

Hanamaki starts yelling now, “BUT I MAKE YOU HAPPY! AND YOU MAKE ME HAPPY! WE HAVE BEEN TOGETHER SIDE BY SIDE, FOR YEARS [NAME]! YEARS! I HAVE DONE EVERYTHING I COULD HAVE TO TELL YOU I LOVE YOU!” 

You start shaking your head, “No, don’t say that.”

Hanamaki starts rambling, “You always tell me that words and actions are your love languages- 

“Stop.” 

“And I’ve been doing it, [Name]. I have. I have been there for you, anywhere and-and-”

“Takihiro stop.” 

“And I can’t feel like this anymore. I can’t let you slip through my fingers and watch you run away from me like everyone else has-”

“TAKIHIRO STOP IT!” 

The only things that you could hear were the sounds of your breathing and the crickets in the grass. 

“Takihiro, you’re being a child. You’re being stupid and ridiculous. Do not let the fantasies of a boy ruin your future,” you say sternly, begging for your tears to not fall onto the ground. 

“You say that, [Name], and then run from everything that requires commitment,” he says sharply. 

“You’re a coward, [Name]. You’re hurting me.” 

Hanamaki is stepped away from you know and he starts walking away. 

“My life has no meaning anymore-”

You scoff, “Takihiro your love for me isn’t worth your life!” 

Hanamaki walks away and his voice is racked with sobs. Oh god he seriously does love you. 

Why? 

“Takihiro come back here!” 

You’re running towards him now, grabbing his arm but he pushes away. 

“Takihiro think with your brain! Just because we can’t be together the way you want doesn’t mean we have to sever all ties!” You say breathlessly. 

“I mean think about it, we could have never worked. You hate the fact I don’t eat your favorite ice cream, you constantly like to go out and I like staying home.” 

“I don’t care-” 

“I hate meeting your other family members because they look down on me, my family members have always been skeptical of you-” 

“I don’t care about that-” 

“And we would be miserable, Takihiro. Absolutely miserable with one another-” 

“No we wouldn’t,” he says stopping and grabbing your arm. Your noses were touching as his thin lips tried to connect with yours.

You pull away. 

“Admit it Makki. We are better off as friends, not lovers,” you say finally. 

“I’m ugly and I don’t care about my appearance like your other lovers do. I’m brutally honest with you and sometimes you cry about my opinion and-” 

“I love you [Name].” 

“I’m lazy and have no real goal in life, I have no foundation no, no rock or something. I don’t have a drive, Hiro! You’re going to be stuck with someone who doesn’t care.” 

“I love you.” 

“And you’re going to find someone else, a nice person, who likes eating your ice cream and dresses up. Who has a clear goal in life and someone your family will love-” 

“No one could ever replace you, [Name]-” 

You throw your hands up in frustration, “You’re mixing platonic and romantic feelings together and turning it into some big thing!” 

“No, I’m not.” 

“Yes you are.” 

Silence surpasses you again and Hanamaki starts walking away. 

You spoke up, “But-” 

He turns around again and looks at you with hope. Hope for something more. 

“That I don’t think I’ll ever be with someone romantically, Makki. I’ve gone years without.” 

Hanamaki scoffs and starts to laugh cruelly, 

“I don’t believe that, [Name]. You’re going to find someone, and you’re going to fall hard.” 

You sneer, “How do you know?” 

“I just do, you’re impossible to not fall in love with. You’re the sunshine in my life.” 

“Takihiro don’t say that, please.” 

He looks back at you, “But you are! You are my world, my-” 

“LEAVE ME! OH MY GOD LEAVE ME!” You yell at him and turn away. 

This was the 1st time Hanamaki hears you with that voice. 

"[Name]-"

"JUST GO PLEASE-"

"YOU WILL FALL IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE [NAME]!” 

You spit out your words, “OH REALLY YOU THINK I WILL? ME? THE PERSON WHO TURNED YOU DOWN?!” 

“YES! YES [NAME],” Hanamaki says. 

“You’re going to fall in love with someone and you’re perfect, care free life will turn upside down and they’re going to love you. And you’re going to be perfect with each other-” 

“HANAMAKI-” 

“And I will watch. I will watch you grow and love this person. I will watch it happen because I still love you and I don’t think I’ll love anyone else.” 

“And I will watch you, I will watch you [Name], and- and,” 

You couldn’t bear to see his tears fall from his eyes, so you turn away. 

“I will imagine that it could have been me and you-”

“Hanamaki please-” 

“I don’t know what to do with myself but I will still take care of you and I truly love you, forever and-” 

“Hanamaki-” 

“I won’t ever stop, [Name]. Ever,” he says softly as he tries to reach out for your hand. 

You pull away, your voice breaking. 

“Hanamaki, go. I don’t want to see you right now,” you say softly. 

You don’t have to turn around to see him crumble. You can feel it. 

Because your heart was crumbling too. 

“I’ll go... get back safe, [Name],” he adds. 

You don’t say anything back, and hear the slow movements in the grass as your best friend walked away from you. 

Forever. 

The sky is dark, the stars seemed ashamed at your argument, and they don’t shine like they used to from years before. 

You stayed in the grass, silent tears on your face as you shielded yourself from the cold with your arms. 

You wanted to go home, but home wasn’t a place

It was a person. And his name was Hanamaki Takihiro. 

But home loved you, and you didn’t love it back the way they wanted. 

More tears flowed from your eyes at the sudden thought emerged from your eyes. 

You had no home anymore. 

AN: Another random little oneshot I did for my boy Hanamaki! Please comment your thoughts or reblog and like! I need constructive critiscm loves so I know what I can write and appeal to! 

Taglist: @saladskittles​

[kirk-spock-in-the-impala]

Wanna write about Geralt thinking he’s ugly like in the books? Everybody else thinks he’s scary ugly but I want him to feel the softness of our love that says he’s a handsome lil baby boy. You don’t have to. I just love the way you write and bet you’d come up with an amazing story with his self deprecation as a theme

OMG YES I DO. the books are awesome, btw.

PROMPT FILL: GILDED LILIES (on AO3 here)

Summary: 

The world tells Geralt he’s a monster. Jaskier shows him he’s not.

CW: Geralt’s headspace; prejudice and xenophobia; deals heavily with finding oneself unattractive, so please read with care if you have issues with that.

Slightly canon divergent.

——————————

It wasn’t that Geralt wanted to be beautiful.  No, he understood that only sorcerers gained beauty along with their inhuman powers, but he wished that he could have remained unremarkable in his looks.  The distant memories of Geralt’s childhood told him he had once been perfectly average looking.  A dark haired, dark eyed boy of middling height and build.  Neither ugly nor handsome, he passed without comment wherever he had gone. 

 Among the boys at Kaer Morhen, looks were irrelevant to the training process, but even there, standing among boys ranging from Lambert’s strong, handsome features to the scarred visages of those struck by the pox in their youth, Geralt had felt neither confident nor insecure about his appearance.  He was so normal, so average, that the thought to consider his looks never cross his mind.

 The mutations changed that. 

 Not only was he one of the few boys to survive the Trial of the Grasses, but he was the only Witcher in history to receive additional mutations.  Because of that, not only did he have a Witcher’s characteristic, unnatural, cat-like eyes, but his hair had been bleached white, his teeth elongated, his features sharpened, his very bones thickened to accommodate the enhanced strength afforded by his mutated muscles.  The other Witchers had unnatural eyes that flashed in the darkness.  He was nearly as much of monster as those they hunted.

 Geralt understood the stark difference, the sheer hideousness of his appearance, the first time he left Kaer Morhen after completing his training.

 Before, where he had passed without notice, now villagers pointed, stared, and spat.  Gasps of shock, expressions of violent disgust, and whispers of “freak”, “mutant”, and “monster” dogged his steps.  On his first day, passing through the village at the base of the mountain below Kaer Morhen, he’d heard an elderly peasant woman whisper to her companion, “they’re making them uglier every year, ain’t they?  Those thrice damned mutant freaks.”

Compared to the havoc the mutations had wreaked on his body, the impact on his looks should have been insignificant.  But it still hurt.  Back then, he was young enough to still be idealistic.  To still dream of being a hero, a knight protecting the weak and vulnerable in the world. 

 But the decades that passed showed him that dreams were not for the likes of him.  The first time he saved a girl from bandits intent on stealing her virtue, he’d imagined she might be grateful.  And she had been.  Until she saw Geralt’s face.  Then, she’d screamed and thrown her shoes, rocks, dirt, whatever she could lay her hands on at him until he’d retreated. 

 Once could have been a fluke.  A terrified girl reacting to protect her life and her virtue from an unknown stranger.  But it happened again, and again, and again.  Travelers he saved on the road would chase him off once they got a look at who – at what – saved them.  Aldermen who contracted him would curl their lips and sneer when he showed up to accept the contract, giving him the barest of details before hurrying him back out of town to complete his task, the only purpose for which his existence was tolerated.  Villagers he’d saved from monsters would throw stones at him, chasing him out of town with vile words if he was lucky, and with pitchforks if he was not.

 Geralt knew from the other Witchers that prejudice was common, as was a certain lack of gratitude from those served, but none experienced the depth of vitriol that Geralt suffered.  Geralt had long since concluded that the difference was due to his appearance, his hideous, monstrous, inhuman appearance. 

 And so, he did his best to avoid human settlements.  He limited his interactions to the bare minimum required to complete his contracts.  He made sure to never raise his voice, to never show his anger.  He was unfailingly polite and soft spoken when he was forced to speak.  He kept his eyes averted and stayed in the shadows and corners of human settlements.  He entered villages only when absolutely required, and spoke to innkeepers and merchants only when his supplies were utterly exhausted.  He made sure to keep a supply of gold and precious gems on hand to compensate a healer in the rare event he couldn’t heal himself, knowing they would charge a premium for interacting with him, and even more of one if they were forced to touch him.

 After nearly a century living in the shadows because of his monstrous nature, Geralt was resigned to his lifestyle.  On occasion, in a quiet village that was more tolerant of him than most, he would take a chance and see if the tavern keeper would be willing to serve him.  Every once in a great while, they were, and he would sit in the farthest, darkest corner of the tavern to nurse his ale in silence, hood up and eyes down, trying his best to blend into the background.

 It worked well for him.  He’d get to enjoy his ale and he’d yet to have a problem with the other patrons, if they noticed him at all.

 But all good things must end.

 In Posada, on a bright, sunny day before heading out to complete a contract for a “devil” (it was not a devil, but Geralt suspected it might be a sylvan), Geralt sat in his usual dark corner, enjoying a surprisingly good ale.  The bard playing for the patrons crowded around the tavern’s large windows was as skilled with his lute playing as he was terrible with his lyrical composition, but Geralt let the words pass through his ears without listening to them, content to enjoy the music alone. 

 He was shocked to his core when the bard, having completed his set to a rain of bread and jeers, not only came up to him, but sat down.  Geralt immediately stood to leave, head down to hide his face in his hood, taking his half-full tankard with him, when the bard stopped him.  “I know who you are.”

 Geralt froze.  The tavern keeper knew, of course, but exposing his identity, his presence, could potentially cause a violent reaction amongst the tavern’s other patrons, who doubtless would want to clear him out of their space as soon as possible.

 “You’re Geralt of Rivia.”  The bard said, clearly pleased with his identification skills, and, fortunately, quietly.

 Geralt leveled a quelling glare at him before he could stop himself.  His face fully lit by the sunlight coming through the windows when he raised his head to do so.  He took a quick glance around the tavern, seeing they’d not been noticed yet, and stalked out the door, leaving his ale behind, his rare moment of peace shattered.  Luckily, he always paid in advance in case he needed to make a quick exit, so the tavern keeper let him go without comment. 

 Walking swiftly to Roach, he checked her tack before unhitching her from the post, leading her out to the road.  As he moved to mount, he heard light, quick steps behind him. 

 “Wait!”  The bard called out, lute banging on his back as he hastily stuffed bread into his shoulder bag, “I’m coming with you!”

 Geralt took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm, to remain soft, inoffensive.  “No, you’re not.”  He said, mounting Roach and turning his head away from the bard.

 “Yeah, no, I totally am.  Meeting you is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me, and I’m not going to let this chance pass by!”  The bard said brightly, moving to stand at Geralt’s left stirrup. 

 Geralt heaved a sigh, looking down at the young man, and he was a young man, unsure whether he should be annoyed or pleased at his persistence in keeping Geralt’s company.

 The bard looked up, meeting his gaze fully for the first time.  “Wow, yeah, you’re gorgeous.” He said, staring up at Geralt with an expression Geralt didn’t recognize.  Gorgeous? Geralt didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. 

 He kicked Roach on, setting her off at a quiet walk toward the village gate.  Wouldn’t do to move any faster, no matter how much he wanted to leave this odd bard behind.  Faster meant more attention.  Faster was dangerous.

 The bard kept up, walking more swiftly in his fancy shoes than he had any right to, chattering away about anything and everything, from his latest doublet, to some character named Valdo Marx, to how pleasing Geralt’s hair was when the sun hit it just so.

 After a long hour of walking, followed closely by the young bard, Geralt arrived at the hill close to the site of the reported “devil”.  He stopped and dismounted Roach, securing her safely to a tree branch with ample room to graze. 

 The bard trotted right up next to him.  “So, where to next?  I’m Jaskier, by the way.”  He said, thrusting out a hand to shake.

 Geralt just looked at it.  No one had ever wanted to shake his hand before, but he wouldn’t play into whatever this bard – Jaskier – had planned by going off script. 

 He just moved on with his hunt, heading out to look for clues on his quarry’s location and identity, tossing a gruff, “stay with the horse” over his shoulder at the bard.  If he couldn’t get the bard to leave him, at least he could try and keep him safe.

 Jaskier didn’t listen.  Not then, not after they eventually escaped from Filavandrel, and not for the next several months he followed Geralt all about the Continent, sharing camp sites, meals, and the occasional room at an inn.  With Jaskier’s presence, one in every dozen innkeepers or so was willing to lend Geralt a room, with the understanding he was under the supervision and control of his human keeper.  When he was alone, asking for a room was a useless exercise.  Geralt wasn’t sure if Jaskier understood that or not, but he wouldn’t risk losing access to more frequent hot baths and comfortable beds by pointing it out. 

 The oddest thing about Jaskier though was not his persistence in following Geralt, but his persistence in complimenting him.  It was always “your hair is so soft” or “gods, your eyes are to die for” or “you’re so attractive, it’s not fair.”  More than that, more than those incomprehensible words, was the fact that Jaskier touched him.  Freely and often.  A pat on the shoulder, gentle hands combing through his hair while he bathed, a warm body leaning against his by the campfire.  People didn’t touch him.  Didn’t like to look at him.  And yet, Jaskier did.  Geralt didn’t understand it. 

 He knew he was monstrous; he knew he wasn’t fit for human companionship, and yet, Jaskier was seemingly unaware of that obvious fact.  At first, Geralt had thought the compliments and the touching were all a great, cruel joke to Jaskier, but months of exposure showed him that Jaskier was as genuine as he was foolhardy, and he held nothing back when he felt Geralt did something that deserve censure.  If Jaskier complimented him or touched him, it was because he wanted to, and that was beyond Geralt’s comprehension.

 Geralt’s confusion, his frustration with Jaskier not following the script, all came to head when they were preparing to attend a fancy banquet, hosted by one of Jaskier’s friends from Oxenfurt, which Jaskier had convinced Geralt to attend as his companion.  “I can’t just show up alone, Geralt!”  Jaskier had said.  “Besides, I can’t resist a chance to show off my lovely muse.”

 As Geralt bathed, scraping drowner blood out of his white hair, Jaskier flitted about the room, laying out finery for Geralt to wear, commenting how nice everything would look on him and how jealous his friends would be when they saw him on the arm of such a gorgeous companion

 Geralt couldn’t take it anymore.  “Stop it!” He growled, turning a frustrated glare on Jaskier.  “Stop saying things like that!”

 Jaskier froze.  He must have seen something in Geralt’s expression, because he immediately dropped the ribbon he was inspecting, one of his many choices to use on Geralt’s hair, and knelt at the side of the tub by Geralt’s left side. 

 He reached for Geralt’s cheek and Geralt flinched away, hiding his face behind a curtain of wet hair.  Tension thrummed through his frame and his posture was abjectly miserable, fists clenched around the edges of the bath, knuckles white.

 Jaskier frowned, uncertain where this upset was coming from, but knowing how reserved Geralt was, he knew the cause was substantial to create this strong a reaction in his normally stoic friend. 

 He reached out again and gently turned Geralt to face him.  Geralt flinched, but didn’t pull away. 

 Geralt’s eyes remained firmly down, brows drawn together, shame flooding him.  He’d shouted at Jaskier, growled at him like an animal, all over the little, innocuous lies Jaskier liked to tell himself about Geralt’s appearance.  If he was lucky, Jaskier would simply leave.  If he was unlucky, he’d be getting a visit from the guards.

 “Geralt?”  Jaskier prompted, concern clear in his voice.  “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

 Geralt’s jaw clenched, daring a glance up at Jaskier before averting his eyes again.  “Forgive me.  I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”  This time he did pull away.

 “No, you shouldn’t have, but I’m more concerned with why.  Have I upset you?  Hurt you?  Please, tell me.”  Jaskier waited, watching as Geralt’s eyes darted about, jaw clenching and unclenching.

 Geralt didn’t know what to say.  This wasn’t how things were supposed to be.  He had a role, a script, and Jaskier just came in and flipped the papers out of his hands, setting his own, improvised pattern instead.  Geralt didn’t know what to do.  What to think.  He just knew it hurt that Jaskier kept giving him glimpses of his childhood dream, a dream he knew was forever out of reach.

 But he had already behaved unforgivably, so he might as well get some information about Jaskier’s incomprehensible actions before he inevitably left.  Could serve him well in the future if he ever met anyone else willing to tolerate him for more than a few moments.

 Geralt drew in a breath and went for it, heart racing in his chest.  “Stop saying things that aren’t true.  I don’t understand why you do that.”  He spoke to the bathwater, unable to look at Jaskier.

 “Whatever do you mean?”  Jaskier asked, anxious to ease the pain he saw on his dear friend’s face.

 “You call me ‘gorgeous’, you compliment my hair, my looks.” Geralt shook his head, bewilderment evident in his tone.  “I know it’s not true, so why do you keep saying it?”  Geralt finally looked up, searching Jaskier’s expression, face lined with pained confusion.

 Jaskier’s heart clenched in his chest, aching for his friend, for the decades of suffering that simple ask revealed.

 He placed a hand gently over Geralt’s where it was clenched around the edge of the wooden tub, meeting Geralt’s eyes calmly.  Geralt’s hand jumped beneath his, but did not pull away.

 “Because it is true.  You’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met.  And one of the most noble, to keep fighting to protect people who will never appreciate all that you do and all that you sacrifice.”  Jaskier said, firmly and kindly.

 Geralt shook his head sharply, looking away.  He knew what he was.

 Jaskier leaned forward to keep Geralt’s face in sight, thumb rubbing gently over Geralt’s clenched fist.  “What do you think you look like?”  He asked.

 Geralt scoffed.  “Like a monster.”  He stated it like the indisputable fact he knew it to be.

 Jaskier closed his eyes briefly, devastated to hear confirmed what he always suspected.  Geralt had no idea of his own worth, his own beauty, having internalized for far too long the fear and hatred dumped on him by villagers unable to accept that something could be different and still be worthy.

 Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s fist, reaching out with his other hand to turn Geralt’s face to his again.  Holding his chin gently so he could not look away, Jaskier said firmly, “there is nothing monstrous about you.”  Geralt huffed in disbelief, trying to avert his eyes, but Jaskier held him in place.  “Your mutations made you unique, gave you the ability to do your job, to protect all of us from the real monsters.  Your hair, your eyes, hell, even your teeth, they show the sacrifices you’ve made to protect our Continent.  From a purely aesthetic perspective, you are stunning.  But as a person, you are beyond compare.”

 Geralt stared, unable to respond, unsure of what to say in the face of Jaskier’s firm belief that he was worthy, that he was not monstrous to behold.  When he was young, he knew he was unremarkable.  After his mutations, he knew he was a monster.  Yet, Jaskier seemed equally sure that Geralt was neither of those things. 

 Jaskier saw the conflict in his friend’s face.  He knew that one conversation would not change a lifetime of conviction.  He gently leaned his forehead against Geralt’s, closing his eyes.  “One day, you’ll believe me, and until then, I’ll remind you every day that you are worthy, that you are gorgeous, and that you mean the world to me.”

 Jaskier pulled back, keeping his eyes locked with Geralt’s.  Geralt saw nothing but calm assurance in Jaskier’s eyes.  No matter how remarkable, how unprecedented his words, Jaskier believed them to his core. 

 Geralt didn’t believe them.  He had nearly a century of evidence to the contrary.  But if this one remarkable man believed him worthy, believed him beautiful, then at least in Jaskier’s world, Geralt didn’t have to be a monster.

[tuttifuckinfruttifriday]

For @randomly-a-fan

You told me I could do what I want, so I tried to do a realistic and darker version of how you met Jason, but with one of my ocs(Eric) 👀

I might show him someday ✨

Part 2

Meeting

Pairings: Jason Voorheese x MJ, side of MJ x Oc

Warnings: gore, violence, some censored curse words, mature themes, characters death(not MJ), hormonal teens-, dark

Hope you don’t mind I put my Oc in it 👉👈 Don’t hesitate to tell me if I did any mistakes!

**=changing POV

—=time skip

-

“C’mon! It’s going to be fun!” Whined MJ’s friend through the phone as the female sighed, a frown upon her face. “I don’t think so.... You know what happened, right? A boy drowned!” “He was fxcked up anyway!-“ “SHUT it-!” Her friend’s end of the line became silent when she raised her voice, after that, there was only silence. MJ’s friend knew her to always keep her cool, never curse or go to parties with them, but that’s why they liked her. She was just so pure... “...We’re here, get outside in five or Imma come in here and you won’t have anything packed—“ She let out an annoyed chuckle when she hears the horn of the van, a small smile on her face. What would she do without her annoying friends, huh?.. She hastily packed some clothes with some snacks and her sketchbook, but jumped as she heard her friend’s high pitched voice behind her. “HOLY-“ she threw her things to the ground as she almost jumped 100 feet in the air.

“You should have seen your face—!!” Her friend laughed so hard that she fell to the ground, her brown hair swaying as MJ tried to regain her breathing, a unamused expression on her face. With a sigh, she only rolled her eyes and walked out the door with her two small bags, not knowing that she would probably need others things than clothes...

The slamming of the door made her jump, her head snapping to the side before the car started moving, everybody talking and drinking, except her, of course. To pass time in the long ride, she looked outside at the beautiful forest and nature and drew in her drawing book, some times answering some questions from her friends or just entering conversations when they asked her. She was all the contrary of them, so why were they her friends? She had no ideas, but she didn’t complain.

“So, do you like, go to parties or just....?” Her eyes fell on one of the boys who she didn’t know, a grin on his face. Seeing that he was talking to her, she responded seriously unsure. “Yeah...?” He only nodded at that, which made her frown, but go back to her drawing. It was almost silence until the guy came to sit beside her and tried to peak a glance at her sheet. “What are you drawing, if I may ask..?” Nobody really asked to see her things, so it made her pale eyes sparkle a little. “Huuh... *clear her throat* Trees.” He nodded again at her small response with curiosity and interest when he saw the drawing in process. Everything was really detailed, the trees monochrome but there was a small rabbit at the bottom of the bigger tree. While the plants and all that were darker, the small animal was like a small light in the middle of the dense leaves, it’s small figure only taking a really small part of the paper. “You’re very talented!” “Thank you.” She replied, still surprised and really happy someone like her things. All the rest of the ride, they talked about their interests and other things, realizing that they had a lot in common.

—-

Her blue eyes glared with disgust at the couple making out, their clothes barely hanging on their back. Right now, they were finally at Crystal Lake, getting their things out of the van. She still didn’t know why she came, but now she couldn’t change anything. So with a sigh and while taking her bags, she walked towards a cabin, completely unaware of the dark eyes that followed her movements. Their owner wasn’t pleased with people coming onto their propriety, especially teenagers.

“Hey! Wait up!-“ Surprised, MJ turned around and saw the same guy that talked to her in the van. Since she was waiting, she could see that he had dark brown curly hair in a cute man bun and freckles all across his rosy cheeks and face. He was wearing a dark shirt and ripped jeans with green shoes, which were stained with dirt. He wasn’t ugly, she would admit that, but she wasn’t searching for somebody at the moment and didn’t even know why her mind got to that-

“Do you mind sharing your cabin with me, well, if there isn’t anybody with you? Please...” Her blue eyes immediately went to the other teens that were there, her brunette friend from earlier waiving. “You sure your girlfriend would like you to be alone with me?” A ‘are you serious’ expression came on his face before he let out two or three small chuckles, a grin on his face. “I don’t have a girlfriend, so she doesn’t care.” MJ let out an awkward chuckle to break the small tension before she nodded, not really feeling good at the idea of spending her time alone in the cabin with a guy she met 3 hours ago. It wasn’t like he gave freak vibes, but she didn’t feel comfortable with people she didn’t know. When they entered, they immediately gagged, almost vomiting on the floor when they smelled the inside.

It smelt like trash’s juice, iron, and a lot of other things MJ didn’t want to think about... eww.

Except that, the cabin looked pretty much abandoned, but the beds would probably hold under their weights. The floor creaked under their feet, almost daring them not to enter the smelly place. It was the dark haired male who broke the silence.“Well, which do you want?” Again, MJ was almost startled when she heard him, but replied anyway. “I don’t know... That one, if you don’t mind..” “Not at all!” He replied cheerfully when she pointed towards the less dirty mattress. They then installed and placed their things while making small talks before walking out, MJ having her sketchbook with her and the unarmed guy having a nice water bottle with a rock band named KISS’s logo on it. “Wait-“ The dark haired male looked at her, his honeyed eyes capturing her blue ones. “I don’t even know your name, and you don’t know mine.” The brunette said with a small laugh, a smile on her face. They were so occupied talking to each other that they didn’t even take the time to properly introduce themselves. With a facepalm, the male stopped and chuckled, a soft but cheery smile on his pale face. “I’m Eric! And your name is... MJ, right?” “How do you know?” “Your friends told me.” He ended the conversation with a wink, making her blink and laugh before they walked towards the campfire, the only light being that and the moon.

—

“So, imma hit the sacks.” At that, almost everybody got up and went to their cabins, the couples having mischievous grins and lustful eyes. The only persons left after that were too drunk to get up(3 of them), Eric and MJ. “You sure you don’t want to sleep?” Said the curly haired man, the light of the fire lightening his orange eyes and making him look older, small wrinkles showing at the side of his eyes. The only response he got from his new friend was a small mumble as she leaned against his shoulder sleepily. The small wrought made him look down at her, a friendly smile on his face. “I’m going to get you to bed, okay?” The female nodded, rubbing her eyes a little as he helped her up, suddenly feeling like someone was watching him, but brushing it off.

They almost tripped as they opened the door, MJ laughing slightly like she was drunk, which she wasn’t. They were the only ones who were sober, Eric having taken only a rum and coke, but he wasn’t a light weight, which made it okay. “Here you go.” With a small grunt, he put MJ in her bed, ticking her in the sleeping bag before he closed the door correctly and did the same, making sure the door was locked before he drifted to sleep.

**

The masked killer was standing at the dirtied window, waiting for the perfect moment to strike the naked couple. He could clearly hear the blonde’s moans from the other cabin, and he didn’t like that. With long strides, he walked silently to the back door without making any noises before opening it carefully and walking inside, making sure the door was closed before he strikes. The moans continued as the fake blonde rode her boyfriend, her breast bouncing obscenely. They were so into it that they were totally unaware of the shadow casting over them, until the killer’s weapon sliced clean through, transpiercing the two hormonal teenagers with a sickening sound. The mattress stained red as the teens took their last breaths, the female’s body falling on top of the male’s one. After making sure that it was as gruesome as possible, he made his way out, stopping when he saw two figures going towards the cabin at the far end of the camp. The moon shone on his bloody hockey mask, doing the same with his precious weapon, his machete.

The killer was Jason Voorheese, Camp Blood’s legend. Only if he knew he had his eyes on something more than a victim....

Part 2 coming soon ;)....

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could request a revali x reader where revali and reader are best friends and are in love with each other but they’re both too oblivious to notice until one day something happens and they find out? i love your writing! thank you so much😊

Hey there! Sorry this took so long, but here it is! This is gonna be a two parter because I got super carried away with all the banter and scenes. Thanks for the request because I had a lot of fun with this! So, here is

Oblivious Actions Part 1 of 2

4015 Words (sorry it’s so long)

Revali x Reader

It was a perfect day to disobey your elders.

The sky was just waking, strokes of rose and honey painted the edges of the horizon. The wind was crisp, and playful, ruffling through his feathers as he flew. Lake Totori glistened below. Sunlight shone across a bright blue expanse, laced with only a few, white clouds. The plateaus surrounding the area were dotted with pine trees, their umber trunks rooted to the ground. The air was open and infinite. Gliding through the sky and observing the tiny specks of nature below filled him with a sense of wonder. Revali flapped his little wings down towards the forest.

HA! See? I’m already an expert flyer! I can explore as much of the world as I want, without any adults. I’m not a kid anymore!

The Rito baby blush marks that painted his cheeks said otherwise.

Even though Rito under 10 years of age were heavily discouraged from venturing beyond the bridges, Revali had decided he was big enough to go where he wanted. Behind him, the towering spire of Rito Village continued to shrink. To his left, the jutting figure of a wooden horse head could be seen. Hylians are so weird, needing other animals in order to move around. The stable in the distance then drowned into an evergreen sea. Gliding closer to the earth, the view of the sky was now covered with dry pine needles and brittle branches. He focused his attention to what was under him, trying to find a safe place to land. The breeze cooled and quickened. Revali angled his wings downward, trying to move his body to land gracefully among the trees.

He would fail.

There was a small clearing in the middle of the grove, a dirt path that travelers would use to hike between Warbler’s Nest and Rito Stable. Supposedly, following the trail even further up would lead to the infamous Hebra Peaks, a mountain range that lay just outside the view from his house, full of secrets and sights that no one has ever explored. Being the child that he was, naivety clouded his judgement, as Revali had ignored the warnings given to him about monsters nestled in the woods. The Rito was desperate to get out of the village in any way he could, even if it meant learning to glide all on his own.

Trying to plan his descent, he positioned himself at an angle, moving his weight backwards, ready to land. His feet shifted forward, ready to grip onto something solid, but the wind suddenly changed. It’s direction altered only slightly, but it was enough to catch him off guard. Flailing his wings, Revali tried to catch the current under his wings again, but it was no use, the current keeping him in the air was gone, and his baby wings weren’t big enough to flap a large gust of his own. A stray branch knocking into his side, the little Rito tumbled into the dirt. 

“Gaah!” he grunted, panic coursing through him.

Revali plunged through the trees, not unlike how a snowball tramples down a mountain slope, picking up debris as it rolls. Falling through the branches, his feathery features caught sticks, leaves, and pinecones, until he connected with the earth with a thud.

“…ow…” 

The impact caused dust to cloud around him. It got in his eyes and settled on the edges of his feathers. The dirt wasn’t the worst place to land, but it still hurt. His crash had broken a few branches, causing a couple of pinecones and leaves to break loose. One stray, falling leaf hovered through the air, delicately. Its flight was much more elegant, dancing in the wind. It landed gracefully on the tip of his beak, its cinnamon hue and crinkly features mocking him. Revali blew it off with a “hmph!”

Sitting in the dirt, Revali brushed off the dust and twigs on his tunic as best he could. It was one thing that he had snuck out of the house, but coming back all dirty wouldn’t do either. Mumbling to himself, he sat there, taking in the sights and sounds of the woods. A much better setting than sitting in the house all day. Then there was an abrupt shuffling in the bushes. 

Looking up, Revali searched for the source of the noise. Getting to his feet, he picked up a twig and held it in front of him like a sword. Was it the monsters everyone had warned him about? His heart quickened, his mind raced. The trees still swayed in the wind, and the birds and bugs chirped, but suddenly everything was looking a lot more ominous. Another rustle. He hastily faced his left side, where a single dark green bush greeted him. Do I move closer? Back away? Revali was frozen in place. Finally, he dared to whisper.

“W-who’s there?” he asked.

Instead of a cliché silence, his question was immediately answered with a loud scream from the bush.

“AHHHHH! IT’S TALKING!” the bush yelled.

Revali followed suit and screamed himself, as it was only natural to be scared of shrieking plants.

“AAHHHHHH!”

“AHHHHHHH?!”

This exchange of confused and fearful yelling went on for a few seconds. A few sparrows took off for the sky, startled by the noise. Then, silence took hold again, with only the wind brushing through the woods. The bush and Revali stared at each other for another eternity. Finally the bush spoke again.

“Why are you pretty?”

“AGH?! What?” the Rito took a step back, bewildered. “W-wha…what’re you talking about??”

Suddenly, a small face peeked out from the bush. Their eyes were wide, and curious, but their expression was still wary. “I said, why are you pretty? Monsters are supposed to be ugly.”

Revali tightened his grip around the twig. “I’m not! You’re the one hiding in a bush, so you’re the monster if anything. I’m a Rito!”

“A Rito?” a small, Hylian child stepped out of the bush. They were wearing a maroon tunic, along with stable gloves and boots. The collar of their shirt was lined with cotton. A loopy scarf, that was far too big for them, was wrapped around their shoulders, etched with the emblem of the Hylian Stable System. Their hair was messy, probably from hiding within the bush. Gripped in their hands was their own makeshift sword, a wooden spoon. They waved it in Revali’s direction. “You’re way too tiny to be a Rito. The ones who visit the stables are always taller than my mom.”

“W-well, then maybe you’re mom’s short!” Revali sputtered out.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Ya-huh!’

He stomped his foot. “Obviously, I’m not a monster. I’m just of a… different height, because kids don’t leave the village without supervision. It’s only the adults you see. So quit being dumb. I mean, I can talk can’t I?”

The Hylian crossed their arms, tapping the spoon against their elbow. They considered his argument… I guess a tiny monster couldn’t eat me in one bite anyhow. “Fine then. If you’re not a monster, then you should have a Rito-sounding name, right? So what is it?”

Revali held his beak in the air and turned his back, crossing his own wings in imitation. “Hmph! Well why should I tell you when you’re a complete stranger! I thought you were a monster too, you know.”

The Hylian squinted their eyes thinking. “Well… fine. Your name probably sucks anyway! Thanks for scaring me half to death, tiny Rito!”

With that, the child turned around and started marching back in the direction of the stables. They made an effort to pound their boots on the ground to make as much sound as possible. Revali was left with his beak hanging open. How dare they! They’re the one with a sucky name, whatever it is.

He ran behind them, trying to catch up. He fluttered his wings to shake off any other dirt and twigs. He matched their pace, and puffed out his feathers. “I’ll have you know that I have a supercool nickname! Nicknames are always cool, therefore my name doesn’t suck. So, Ha!”

The Hylian raised an eyebrow. “Well, what is it then? What’s your fancy name?”

“They call me…” he stopped and posed, both wings outstretched in front of them, “…the Supreme Master of the Sky!”

They Hylian clutched their stomach, laughing hysterically. “HA! There’s no way that’s true. I saw you crash through the trees earlier! Some master you are, that’s probably even dumber than whatever your real name is.”

Revali narrowed his eyes, “Nuh-uh!”

“Ya-huh.”

“Hmph! Well at least I have a cool nickname. I bet you don’t even have one!” 

“Nope. People just call me [Name], because my name is already great and I don’t need dumb nicknames or titles.” They stuck out their tongue at him.

Revali made a dumb face in retaliation, before responding. “Fine, if you won’t call me that, you can just stick with ‘Revali,’ and you better remember it!” 

[Name] shot him a look, then huffed. “Yeah. Sure.”

The two of them continued their walk through the woods. Revali trusted it was the route back to the stable. They talked and jeered, laughed and scowled at each other, their conversations about nothing in particular. At one point, the Rito attempted to show off by gliding through the air. It would end with another crash, and the Hylian child chuckling.

“It’s cause you still have a bunch of stuff tucked in your wings!” [Name] said with a sigh. Removing a pinecone and several bits of dried leaves, they cleaned up the rest of Revali’s wing. When taking out a twig, they accidentally took out a feather.

Revali yelped, “Ow! What was that for?”

“I’m so sorry! I was just trying to get rid of this.” [Name] chucked the twig over their shoulder. The feather they had taken out was mainly white, but faded into a deep, indigo color at the bottom. It was like a star had shot across the sky, and its streak had colored this single, delicate feather. [Name] brushed it against their fingers, and stared at it in awe. It’s so pretty.

“Pfft. I know that. Anything from me is great.” Revali’s feathers puffed up in pride.

Oh no! Did I say that out-loud?? “Uh…yeah.” [Name] mumbled. They suddenly became very interested in the condition of their boots, turning their head to the ground as the two of them walked. 

A silence fell between them. Then, 

“Can…can I keep this?” 

Revali cast them a glance. “Uh…sure, why not. Not like I need it anymore. I’ll have plenty next time I molt.”

[Name] looked up, eyes wide. “Really?! Are you sure? This doesn’t, like, curse me or anything right?”

He scoffed. “No, of course not. It’s just a feather. I’ve seen adults trade them all the time. It’s fine. Whatever…”

The large horse head was now in front of them. The trees were more dispersed, and piles of lumber scattered the ground. The muted colors that decorated the stable billowed in the wind, the breeze blowing loose cloth and banners across the sky. To the left were the wooden bridges. They led up to a towering spire, the familiar shape of Rito Village casting over the two of them. The two of them stopped by the back side of the stable. [Name] forced themself to plaster on a grin.

“Well, guess I’ll see you never!” they jeered.

“Ha! If I’m lucky, I’ll never see you or your wooden spoon again!” Revali stuck his tongue out at them. 

After staring at each other for another eternity, [Name] finally turned around and ran back towards the entrance to the stable. Revali then began his walk back over the wooden bridges.

The next day, Revali would be punished for sneaking out of the village. His grounding would include having to do extra chores, specifically by having to help around Rito Stable for the rest of the month, much to [Name]’s surprise. Neither of them minded.

- - - - - 

Years Later…

- - - - - 

The Champions had arrived. 

The letter had reached the village around a week ago, but they had come a day earlier than scheduled. But, that was to be expected, as the princess was always eager to go out and explore the shrines. The sun was set high in the sky, Rito Village’s shadow cast down on the woods below. The breeze exposed the pine cones nestled in the trees. The birds sang a familiar tune. However, the state of Rito Stable was very much unusual, or at the very least, uncustomary. Hylians and Rito alike were bustling. What was usually a quiet setting was now full of life and movement. People scrambled to set up decorations and supplies, most of which was being transported towards the village. Some were preparing lanterns, others setting up bright blue banners, adorned with the Hyrulean Family’s crest. The colors of the stable were now even brighter than usual, even the Rito flying about added streaks of bright colors in the sky. Children ran through the boxes of cargo, and stable hands moved barrels of goods towards the bridges that led to the towering stone spire. Among the chaos, a few individuals were chatting by the roadside. 

“I’m just saying, I don’t wanna accidentally break the bridge! It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened…” Daruk scratched the back of his head, chuckling. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. The bridges are sturdy enough to handle the strongest of winds, after all.” Mipha gave him a reassuring smile. She glanced at Urbosa for confirmation, “Don’t you agree?”

The Gerudo nodded, “There’s no need to worry about such things. The whole point of throwing a party is to sweep your worries away. Besides,” she cast a glance towards a particular Rito’s direction, “we owe it to everyone who worked hard to organize it to be there. Isn’t that right, Revali?”

The Rito Champion was busy observing… something, but it was clear he wasn’t listening. He kept watching people file in and out of the stable, as if waiting for something. Revali kept fiddling with the edges of his blue scarf, smoothing it out to make himself more presentable. 

“Revaaaaaali?”

“Hmm?” Finally snapping out of it, he turned to face the other Champions. “Ah yes, sorry. Daruk, there’s no need to be concerned, if you break the bridge all the Rito are perfectly capable of flying home, so it won’t matter anyhow. Plus Lake Totori is quite refreshing, so when you fall—”

Urbosa elbowed him on the side, cutting him off. He mumbled something about practicing honesty. She sighed, “Why did I expect you to add something genuine to the conversation…”

Revali scoffed, “Tsk. Your mistake.” Mipha gave a small laugh. The Zora princess tilted her head before chiming in, “Revali, Urbosa does have a point. You’re going to come to the celebration this time, yes?” The Rito Champion had a habit of not attending events that weren’t necessary or mandatory. He had skipped out on nearly every noble party, feast, and nightly social gatherings, on the pretense that “diplomats were boring,” “it’s utterly useless,” “I didn’t come here to socialize,” and “I’m busy doing something that’s actually important.”

However, it would be a bit more difficult to opt out of something that’s held right in your hometown. Revali turned and sighed. “Unfortunately, my schedule is quite clear for tonight. So, unless something more significant comes to my attention, I suppose I’ll attend the damn p—”

“HEY! IS THAT THE SUPREME MASTER OF THE SKY I SEE?”

The Champions turned in the direction of the voice. The feathers on Revali’s neck fluffed up in surprise, or was it embarrassment? Well, some sort of combination of the two. A Hylian stable-hand, carrying an assortment of wildflowers in their arms, made their way towards the group. 

Mipha snickered, “Master of the Sky?” The Rito shot daggers in her direction, before facing back towards the stable-hand. 

“Are you ever going to live that down? I was six. I think I’ve grown out of that.”

A bright grin grew on the Hylian’s face. “Hmm. Not vertically you haven’t!” They stood on their toes and used a hand to pat the feathers on the top of Revali’s head like a puppy. “I mean, you’re taller than me and I can still make fun of you for being a short Rito. That’s an achievement all on its own!” 

Daruk didn’t try to hide his laughter that time. Revali shot more daggers at the Hylian. Although no one could notice it (and he would certainly never admit it), there was the slightest creep of a smile on his face when they patted him. He responded with his own quip. “Funny hearing that from someone who awarded themselves the title of ‘Number One Horse Boss,’ don’t you think?”

Their cheeks flushed, their grin was replaced with an awkward smile. “I was nine…”

“Oh? Does age matter now?”

The two continued to laugh among themselves about things the other Champions couldn’t really understand. Daruk was scratching the back of his head again, clearly it was new seeing the Rito so carefree. Mipha also watched them curiously. Urbosa’s gaze continued to switch between Revali and the Hylian. She then asked, “So Revali, are you going to continue insulting each other, or are you going to introduce us?”

He quickly coughed and straightened himself out. “Right, sorry. Well, esteem fellow Champions, this is [Name], they’ve been working at Rito Stable for as long as I can remember.” He wrapped his wing around their shoulder, pushing them forward. “Say hi, [Name]”

Snapping their attention to them, [Name] turned to greet them with a beaming smile. They excitedly shook everyone’s hand, a bundle of wildflowers still in their other arm. “It’s great to finally meet you all! Revali’s told me so much about you guys.” 

Urbosa raised an eyebrow, looking at Revali. “Oh, what sort of things has he said?”

Before he even had a chance to stop them, [Name] gestured to Daruk. “He said that your optimism and laugh are very contagious,” they turned to Mipha, “And that you’re one of the nicest people he’s ever met.” Mipha blushed, Daruk had a grin plastered on his face. Turning to Urbosa, [Name] added, “And he said that you basically act as everyone’s mom in the group.”

Revali suddenly stepped in front of them, his feathers were puffed up. “AAAAAND NONE OF THAT IS TRUE OF COURSE. THAT WAS ALL A JOKE, A DUMB JOKE I TOLD A LONG TIME AGO. I GUESS THEY DIDN’T PICK UP ON THAT, OBVIOUSLY URBOSA ISN’T ANYONE’S MOM HAHA YEAH GOOD JOKE [NAME].” 

Urbosa put a hand on her chest fake offense. The Rito turned back to [Name]. “So you’ve met everyone now, maybe now’s a good time for you to leave and not say anything else about our old conversations, got it?”

“Oh! Wait before I go,” [Name] took a wreath of yellow wildflowers from their arm, “The, uh…the Rito children were making these flower crowns…I, uh…I thought you all might want some..?”

[Name] draped them over Revali’s head before he could object. The flowers were a bright, bumblebee color, with small blushes of white. It matched well with his indigo and white feathers. “See? Now you look, uh, pretty…” they said. Their cheeks were beginning to rose in color.

Urbosa took three flower crowns from [Name], blue, green, and red in color. She took the red flowers and placed them in her own hair. “Thank you [Name]. I’ll give these other two to Link and Zelda. He’s off somewhere chasing the princess near the shrine at Tabantha. So I’ll just give them these later.” 

[Name] nodded. Daruk took a pink flower crown, the salmon color bright on his white hair. It was more of a bracelet if anything. Mipha draped some on her own head, the pure, pearly white hue seemed to glow along with her other jewelry.   

Revali then took lavender ones. “Don’t forget yourself, don’t think you can escape without also wearing one of these ridiculous crowns…” He gently set them on [Name]. They mumbled a meek “thank you” to Revali.

“Awww” Daruk gushed, “you both look cute together.”

Revali and [Name] stared at him in confusion. 

“Uh, yes. The flowers are pretty…neat.” the Rito mumbled.

“Yeah,” [Name] whispered, “It’s pretty…swell…?”

Another silence fell over the group. Urbosa seemed to be barely holding it together, ready to snicker at any moment. But [Name] didn’t notice, they turned to Revali, slightly flustered. 

“And, uh, Revali?” He glanced at them with a raised eyebrow. “Since you’re back in town, maybe we can hang out later? Or tomorrow? Maybe sometime before your big Champion party, we could hang out at our usual spot? You up for it?” Their ears and cheeks were starting to red, perhaps from the cold…

The Rito smiled, “Yeah, I think I can make room in my schedule for it. I’m very busy, but I’ll make it work.”

The two just stared at each other for a moment, both oblivious to the other Champions staring wide eyed at Revali. Then [Name], broke their gaze, giving a forced cough. “Well, *cough* I think I should get back to work. There’s probably a bunch of guests I need to serve inside.” They turned to the other Champions, “Feel free to stop by and I’ll whip up something for you to eat! On the house!” With that, they cast one last glance at Revali, and then started walking back. The purple petals in their hair rustled in the breeze. 

“Uh, right. I’ll see you later.” Revali mumbled. He watched them walk away. “AND, um, Y-YOU LOOK NICE!” he called. [Name] turned, fumbling, and gave him a thumbs up, before joining the other workers inside the stable. 

Revali turned back to the other Champions. They were all staring at him in silence. 

“Tsk. What are you looking at?” he asked with a grimace. 

Urbosa finally broke the silence, half laughing as she spoke. “What in the hells did I just witness?” 

This cued all sorts of chaos in the group. Mipha started to barrage Revali with questions about his relationship with [Name]. Daruk was gesturing wildly at him, mouth agape, as if to wordlessly ask who are you?? How come you never smile like that when you’re around us? What’s the deal here?!

In the end, it was Urbosa who had to get everyone off Revali’s back. Placing an arm around him, she said, “Ok, now, now. Let’s leave our fellow Champion alone. We’ve been traveling for awhile, so I’m sure he’s eager to get back home without us all pestering him.”

Revali shook his wings and held his head in the air. “Hmph! That’s correct. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Giving a mighty flap, he summoned his gale and took off into the air in one smooth, fluid motion, literally leaving the other Champions in the dust. It seems he couldn’t get out of there quick enough.

Mipha turned to Urbosa with a teasing expression on her face. “Are we really going to pass up the chance to see how Revali’s gonna act around his obvious crush?”

“Oh don’t worry,” a knowing smile spread across the Gerudo’s face, “I’m not gonna let this opportunity go to waste.

- - - - - 

“So is it your title as Champion, or Gerudo Chief that entitles you to lurk on my property?”

Revali gave a condescending glare at Urbosa. While it was one thing that she had the audacity to visit him so early in the morning, he was mainly just embarrassed she had caught him with his hair still messy. She gave a smug smile. “Neither, it’s simply my role as a concerned mom.”

The Rito hopped off his hammock. He fitted messy ribbons into his braids, before wrapping a white scarf around himself. Glaring back at her, he added, “Just to clarify, I don’t need any additional parental figures in my life.”

Urbosa sighed. “Just follow me when you’re ready. I’m gonna take up [Name]’s offer on the free food.”

Revali clicked his tongue. “Tsk. I don’t see why it’s necessary that I tag along.”

“Just for the company, we can chat over a drink.”

“About what?”

“Well, I have a few interesting conversation topics,” she turned back towards the wooden stairs, a grin still shone on her face.

 “It’ll just be you and me, but I find the topic of your love life quite interesting.”

[puttingfingerstokeys]

penultimate

you wanna be a wee bit sad today? GOOD. -nutpunches the testes of your heart- as usual, tumblr fucked my italics and I’m channeling Kung Lao today--gunna nap instead of do shit about it

shaolin rowdy boys pining implied - LiuLao, uh hmm what else? Just Lao in this one. Nothing juicy

Broken Timeline

“Do you know what it is like?” He speaks to no one, his voice barely above a whisper, alone in the Shirai-Ryu’s famous Fire Gardens. There is a koi pond nearby, with a small cascade of water dumping its contents into the clear water from a stream that seems to loop all the way through the picturesque gardens. It is almost unbelievable that one of the two deadliest assassin clans calls this place their dojo and home. His reflection ripples back up at him as he turns to watch the fish and he frowns. “Huh?” He grunts, “DO you?”

Of course not, he thinks bitterly, how could you—how could you know what any of this is like when you are so… so perfect. His frustration mounts and he pulls the wide-brimmed hat off his head and sticks the bladed edge angrily into the dirt next to him. In times of distress, every teacher he has ever had has told Kung Lao that meditation is an acceptable, even laudable solution. He swallows down the thick, ugly lump in his throat and chokes on his resentment, which he knows is foolish, bratty, and misdirected. It is unbecoming of a White Lotus. He knows what Lord Raiden would say.

 “Release your anger, Kung Lao,” Lao rumbles in his best imitation of Raiden’s thundery voice, “it will only consume you.”

 He scoffs, picking up an orange leaf and examining it without really seeing what he is observing. His eyes scan the veins and cracks without absorbing any of it before he tosses it into the pond. It is light and does not go as far as his mind wishes it would. Color settles high on his cheeks as he props his chin on one hand, elbow on his knee. 

 “Tell that to future you, Lord Raiden—frying your favorite student and letting the spare…” He reaches up reflexively to rub his neck where he can almost feel the pressure of hands wrapping around jaw and shoulder, wrenching his spine and ending his life. Well… sort of. He and Liu Kang had recently come face to face with their revenants and, while they, the living Shaolin, had been successful, seeing himself, torn, ashen, cracked like the earth after a volcanic eruption, with such deep hatred in his eyes… it had been, to say the least, jarring. 

 It jars him even now as he observes his own, sharp, dark eyes in the pond once more. A fish surfaces to beg for food, prodding at the leaf. Unsatisfied, it sinks once more, flashing its beautiful orange-and-white body once and disappearing in the depths.

 “How can I release something that is part of me?” He tilts his head back, running his hand over his bare scalp, feeling the growth of a few days, craving a razor. He has become so accustomed to a lack of hair that any little bit makes the leather cap he often wears begin to chafe. Today, it is absent as he and the others have been instructed to rest before the assault on Kronika’s keep—the realm and home of a titan. He does not relish the thought of entering Netherrealm on his own steam, but it is, he thinks, perhaps a bit better than doing it on someone else’s watch. 

 Supposedly they will, if all goes as planned, be utilizing Kharon’s fleet to sail the blood sea. The ferryman of hell can evidently be persuaded to help them right the wrongs Kronika has committed upon the people of this timeline (and evidently many others, though his understanding of such things is beneath what one might call rudimentary). For once, Lao is content with the “it is not for us to know” explanation. Thinking about this, about any of it, makes his head spin. And spinning is usually his specialty. 

 Of himself, he thinks he has done well, has kept his cool as best he can, has done anything and everything Raiden has asked of him, would gladly do it again now that he has seen the god’s power in action properly and has gotten to know Raiden the way Liu Kang always has (or the way his faith has propelled him to believe and thence to know). Lao is, at least for now, somewhat content with the work he has done. He has contributed to a real, tangible cause and that does, indeed, feel good. But it is not good enough. It does not settle entirely upon his restless spirit. He cannot decide if it is his doubting nature, or if it is something else which drives him now to continue this one-sided dialogue.

 “Do you know why my parents named me Lao?” His smile is harsh and bitter, like the rare sunlight over Arctika. In theory, it is the sun, but in practice, it is little more than chilly, diffuse illumination. Lao pauses as if waiting for a reply, but the fish and the breeze offer none, so he continues. “A prophecy.” His shoulders sag and he slumps a little, staring at his hands. They are strong hands, calloused and scarred with many healed cuts—and some not-so-healed. They have served him well, but, like everything else in his life never well enough. “I think they just wanted me to be like my ancestor, you know? The Great Kung Lao—so they call me Lao and hope that I… do not dishonor him.”

 He allows the silence to hang in the air, accompanied only by the burble of the stream and small waterfall that feeds the pond, the whisper of leaves dancing in a light breeze, and whatever sound sunlight makes when it falls gently upon the earth. In the distance, he might, were he to concentrate, hear the voices of his friends, but his attention is only upon the here and now, directed inward. 

 “They are more worried about being dishonored themselves.” Lao scoffs, leaning back and watching the sky overhead. Large, fluffy clouds glide serenely above, unaware of the turmoil in his heart—perhaps uncaring. He wishes he could let it go. He wishes he too could simply cease caring and simply do his duty as the ideal, humble monk. “But I cannot,” he growls, “because I AM not. I… fear and I doubt and I fight harder than anyone else just to be… second best.” If that.

 Orphan or not, Liu Kang should have been named after the Great Kung Lao. It is he who carries the legacy, even if Lao bears the name and the blood. Much rests upon that name in their ancient and venerated clan, so there is much to dishonor. Lao has become skilled at repeatedly doing just that, whether he means to or not. It is difficult to say what, if anything specific, had been the “final straw” which pushed him toward the rank of black sheep, sacred name and all. 

 At least I am not the only disappointment in the family, he thinks bitterly. It is an unkind reflection and, though he has only actually met his nephew a handful of times, briefly, and of course when the boy had been much younger than he likely is now, he does not equate their struggles. All the same, he considers, I would become his friend, I think… if I survive this.

 Plans for return are far from his mind. In fact, Lao has come to grips with the fact that he will not be coming home at all. “That should bring the honor I was missing all these years,” he opines, stretching his legs out to either side of the rocky edge of the pond and bending over them, stretching his limbs and breathing deeply, trying to follow Raiden’s imaginary advice. Even without the thunder god’s pedantic scolding, Lao knows that this, too, is a selfish thought and centers himself to banish it, as well. He finds himself attempting to banish many thoughts these days, and they are only coming on more strongly. 

 Bending first to one side and then the other, Lao stretches, breathes, and then sits back up, straightening and re-folding his legs. The sunlight glints off the edge of his hat, still lodged in the earth nearby as he lays his hands in his lap in the old meditative pose, closing his eyes. His chest expands and contracts with forced slowness, all effort concentrating into wrangling, controlling, and releasing the thoughts which buzz about his mind like bees. Outwardly, he is the picture of serenity, the perfect monk.

 He supposes that this is how it must remain. Until he can prove himself worthy, he will always be the number two Shaolin. That is not what rankles him most, however. It is that Liu Kang is absolutely his biggest fan, his most ardent supporter, and actually listens to him when he does express doubt. How can he harbor any harsh feelings toward or in relation to someone like that? 

 I love him, he thinks, and he’s going to walk right into his death… I will follow him, because that is what I always do. If Liu Kang is the lamb to slaughter, then what does that make him? What abbertoire awaits them in Netherrealm? Is Raiden yet again leading them into a massacre? His hands are balled into fists upon his lap and the meditative serenity is lost. He feels tears sting the corners of his eyes. 

 “I love you, Liu Kang.” And it is too damn late to do anything about it.