#the dragon has the wrong amount of legs but whatever

[francy-sketches]

obsessed with the ugly little sigils at the end of the books they look so silly <3

[crimsontroupe]

Diamont quiets and listens, nodding along to pivotal parts of Daisuke's tale. Through he said he was a man of a few friends, Diamont would point without hesitation how many people Daisuke managed to know - even if it was under the shadow of somebody else.

"To me it sounds like you want to be normal in a world where everybody is normal", he concludes. Before continuing. "But you are not normal. And while you say that everyone fits in how they should, you do not. But is being different so bad?" The dragon tilts his head, the inquiry genuine. "If being different is what makes you yourself, then wouldn't 'being normal' be akin to denying one's self?"

While the question was as sharp as a knife, Diamont lets it out with a tone of genuine curiosity more than any malice. "You do not even trust yourself. How can you be proud of something you do not trust? Think of it like this: I could weave a spell, but if I fear that it might kill me, then the chances of me wavering are bigger than normal. Because I do not trust it. If I did, then I would have been sure that it would do what it is supposed to do." A frown makes itself present, finally.

"I do not waste time with people that cannot do anything." The statement is as cryptic as ever. But Daisuke should be smart enough to understand. "Yet I am still here. Talking to you. And telling you how I see things. Are your victories his, or are they yours, too?"

Diamont stretches his legs, expensive heels clicking against the floor. It gives him time to think. And to continue with his barrage. "Not everyone lives under the law, and if you enjoy stealing... what is wrong with it? Just do not get caught." That seemed simple enough. "It does not mean that you are a bad person. Hm. I do not know how to explain this. But you just are not. It just means that your skills are located somewhere else."

As for his social situation, Dia has absolutely no clue on how to comment on such things. "I have only met a few people through my entire life. If somebody chased me only wanting to put me down, I would push them away. If somebody rejected me, but wanted "me" for what I am not... I would run. I think people should accept you for what you are - wholly.

... Daisuke." The air hangs heavy for a moment. "Why are there so many people in law enforcement in your school? I thought they would be around your age. Is your school a school for prodigies or something? Whatever their parents do should not influence them at all. That is just stupid." He is about to open his mind and suggest to alter their memories, but thinks better about it. "I know there are schools where I am from, and some of them are specialized. In magic, in fighting, in alchemy. In whatever you think you want to be.

I always found out that the easiest way to stop people from berating you or saying stupid things about you is to prove them wrong. If they think you cannot amount to anything, then prove them wrong. They will be forced to swallow their own illogical misconceptions."

' eh ... ? ' was diamont's father some kind of important person , then ? after so much time , the niwa only now realizes that neither himself nor dark seemed to truly know anything about diamont's circumstances . there was the magic , and the hermit-like , self-admittedly unsocialized behavior , but the shocked , oblivious way the boy blinks up at the other could have confessed to the idea that he had always imagined someone , or something like diamont having simply been born , created , crafted and manifested right into adulthood and completeness before being shuttled off to work on whatever it was they were meant , or hoping to do .

with his own father having only recently returned home , and memories of the man himself being far more absent than present in his childhood , it lulls the niwa into a far more pensive silence than he'd like at first . then he nods , further impressed and finally digesting just how fantastically different their lives were --- unfamiliar , questionable concepts such as cranium preservers included .

' well , where i'm from ... everyone is supposed to go . we start with kindergarten , and move up in grades and learn a little about everything while we try to figure out what we really want to do as adults . but that's only half of it ... ' and his face twists a little , puzzling over how to possibly describe it --- the enormity , his own history , the various things that had happened and awoken within him over the span of just a single year or two .

' school ... has its own ecosystem . even if it's supposed to be about learning , it'd be unnatural if people didn't make friends and try to fit in with the people they saw every day , right ? but , i was never really any good at that . it wasn't like i was bullied ... and before i turned fourteen , everything was kind of okay . i mean , i had some friends , and i still couldn't do anything back then , and even though everyone already knew i was a total loser with no luck or even a good head , it wasn't like they ever shoved me into a locker or scrawled onto my desk or anything . it was only after i got rejected by my very first crush too that --- dark actually woke up within me . '

as if in response , the soft obsidian of his wings shifts again ; cloaks him gently , wherein he idly tugs at the feathers , drawing them closer to timidly cover his face without tearing any coarse looking quill out . ' i can't ... control it . and things like transforming , or having wings --- isn't normal where i'm from . everyone is the same , and only human , so the first time that i started to transform , i really thought my life was over . saehara , one of my classmates and my friend , he's a reporter , and the son of an inspector that's trying to catch me --- i mean , dark . the only thing that saehara wants to do is find out dark's true identity , so there have been times where i've been chased around , even at school . and then --- harada-san fell in love with dark even though she was the one who rejected me , and hiwatari-kun , the smartest guy in the class , turned out to be with the police , too . '

what a terrifying place . how had he managed to last this long surrounded by people that should have been his private nemeses on all sides ? when he reflected on it , not even he had any clue . everyone simply didn't believe that the niwa could have ever been anything but his usual : clumsy and always troubled , not particularly noteworthy and likewise not particularly worth any legitimate , extensive interest , or even as much as faithful respect .

' a-anyways , that's not all . there's saga-kun , the son of a famous film-maker , who's always chasing me around and asking me about dark , too . the thing about everything is ... everyone at school , everyone in the province , everyone in the country --- is always looking at me , and it gets scary . ' to be so cursed and hated and worshiped and loved despite the way that nobody , not a single soul truly knew who the great phantom thief was .

' school is supposed to be a place where you transform yourself , right ? err , i mean , that's just what i hear from others , but in the first place , i only go because my parents think it's right for me to have some basic knowledge as --- a thief . ' he winces ; grimaces . ' but i ... i don't know how to say it . i hated it at first , but then i started to like stealing a little , but i don't want it to be my entire life , either . and i definitely can't tell anyone anything , so it's been like this --- for so long . ' wasn't he just rambling by now ? would even half of it make any sense to someone like diamont ?

' um --- ' any flush reddens . ' sorry . what i meant to say was , it's like --- everyone's convinced that dark can do anything , and that i can't do anything . and i ... worry , that everyone might be right . i don't know if i can't change anyone's minds , or convince them --- ' and then there were the artworks themselves too , granted their own souls and feelings and lives , who always seemed to both torment yet ultimately turn out grateful towards him when he tried his hardest for their sakes .

' it would be nice to be proud ... of myself . but even when i can't be , i think what i want most is to be surrounded by people that can still make me happy , and that i'm able to trust . i just don't understand how --- how i'm supposed to get there . ' his glance darts over to the other , the thought fairly clear : understanding beyond being picked up by the ankle and shaken out , quite literally , of all his secrets was not a method he would have preferred for his every encounter .

[highqueenofelfhame]

rowaelin month day ten

rowaelin month day ten -- single parents. masterlist // buy me a ko-fi // redbubble  

The morning truly couldn’t have been going worse. Aelin had woken up to the nanny telling her she’d come down with the stomach flu. Aelin wasn’t cruel enough to tell the poor girl she had to work through it; instead encouraging her to drink as much water as she could and get some much-needed rest. Evangeline had apologized profusely, but Aelin was having none of it. She reassured her that she could figure it out.

It turned out she couldn’t. Her mother and father both worked sixty hours a week. Aelin knew that her mother would take a day if Aelin called, but she couldn’t bring herself to make the call and disrupt her week. Evie’s father had died in a car crash before she was even born. Everyone who was a viable option worked full-time jobs, leaving her three-year-old in her hands. She could call out, but she had a mountain of a workload that she’d left last night, reassuring herself she would get it done today. Everything she needed was at her office, so working from home was out of the question. All signs were pointing to an impromptu “bring your child to work” day. 

The CEO of the company was a good friend of hers, and Aelin knew that Dorian wouldn’t mind seeing his goddaughter toddling around the office. In fact, she knew that he would eventually steal her away for a snack time at some point so Aelin could get some work done. It would likely be a snack that wasn’t mommy approved, but she would give him a free pass today.

It would be okay, she reassured herself as she struggled to get Evie to cooperate with getting her tiny arms through her yellow long-sleeved shirt. She was mumbling in an indecipherable language as Aelin nodded along, chiming in here and there like she understood every word. The reality was that she only understood a handful of words. One of them was juice, so Aelin made a mental note to make her a full cup of juice for the car ride to the office to keep her happy. 

It didn’t take long to brush her hair into the tiniest pigtails to exist, with two little orange bows holding them in place. By the time she was fully dressed in her fall garb, complete with a tiny gray vest so cute that Aelin wanted to cry, she looked like a baby Gap model. Without a doubt, everyone at the office would be cooing over how precious she looked the second they walked through the door. 

“Where going?” Evie inquired, her little head tilting to the side as Aelin packed her go-bag full of snacks and an outfit change just in case. 

“Momma’s gotta go to work today, baby. You get to come, too. Do you want to see Uncle Dorian?” At the mention of Dorian, Evie’s eyes lit up as a broad smile pushed her chubby cheeks up until her eyes squinted closed. Aelin grinned and kissed her cheeks until she giggled wildly. Thank the gods that Evie was in a good mood today. Some mornings she woke up on the wrong side of the bed, fussy as all get out while Aelin tried to push along their morning. Thankfully today, she was full of smiles and giggles. It would make everything much easier if she cooperated.

After grabbing a sippy cup full of apple juice and shoving the bottle in her bag, making yet another note to put it in the fridge in the break room when she arrived at the office, she swooped Evie into her arms, and they were on their way. 

Upon arriving at the office, Aelin was right. The two receptionists immediately fell in love with Evie’s tiny pigtails and her outfit. They cooed over her bright eyes, twins to Aelin’s own. It took longer than usual to make it to the elevator, where even several men commented on how adorable she was. It brought a smile to her face, but it dropped when she thought of her office neighbor. 

Rowan Whitethorn was the hardass of the office. She was pretty positive that he hated her, and there was nothing she could do to change his mind. They spent their days arguing back and forth about anything and everything. Some days she was sure that he only did it to get a rise out of her. 

Aelin had never seen him smile-- he only scowled. His assistant was constantly rushing around, losing his damn mind trying to meet all of Rowan’s demands in a day. More than once, she’d caught tidbits of his conversations with Aelin’s own assistant, the poor boy begging to swap just for a single day. Aelin could only imagine what Rowan would say about Evie being such a workplace distraction. She was positive there would be complaints about her squeals and giggles that he would hear through the wall. 

There was truly nothing she could do, though. Too much needed to be done at work to take a personal day, and Evie was typically well behaved enough to be occupied until her mom got off work and could pick her up. 

As she made her way down the hall, everyone oohed and ahhed over Evie. Aelin thanked everyone for their compliments, her heart spilling over with joy. Until she saw Rowan in the kitchen while she put away the juice. He was making coffee and, upon noticing Evie in her arms, an emotion she couldn’t quite place flickered over his face. 

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” he said, eyes going from her pigtails down to the boots on her tiny feet. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.�� She closed the fridge door and left the kitchen, gone as quickly as she had come. When she arrived in her office, she shut the door and put Evie down, watching as she ran straight for the couch and flopped over the side with a giggle bubbling out of her lips. 

The single mother took a few minutes to take Evie’s toys out of her bag, even laying a few puffy snacks out on the table for her to snack on while she played. She went straight for them as quickly as Aelin sprinkled them out of the container. Aelin chuckled as she watched her for a moment, hands on her hips while she decided she was okay to sit at her desk and begin her work. 

Evie was surprisingly self-sufficient while Aelin started her daily tasks. She played with the toys her mother provided and munched on her treats. Aelin heard a lot of babbling and a slew of giggles, a loud squeal pulling her from her work as her door opened. 

Dorian leaned in the doorway, giving her a running start until he followed, darting across the room to scoop Evie into his arms. He spun her in circles with her legs flying behind her. She was laughing in a way that she only did with Dorian. Aelin seldom got that sound to come out of her daughter, but somehow, she wouldn’t change it for anything.

“I heard tales of a little princess fighting dragons in my office,” he said to no one in particular, but Evie seemed to understand that she was the princess. If there was anything that she liked in this world, it was being called a princess. She understood that word more than anything because Aelin read her fairy tales of princesses every night. Tangled was constantly on their TV, only to be replaced by Beauty and the Beast. They utterly enchanted her, and everyone in her life was constantly calling her a princess. She loved it. 

The giggling continued while he tickled her sides and blew raspberries on her belly until the shrieking got so intense he made a face at Aelin and merely brought her into a tight hug as he said, “Sorry. Nanny out today?”

“She’s got a stomach bug. I had no other options; I’m really sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. You know I love any chance I get to see her. I’m not going to penalize you for being a mother, Aelin.” Evie was chomping her teeth near Dorian’s face, causing her best friend to laugh and hold her at arm’s length. “I’ll even take her across the hall for a bit so you can get more done.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she replied, sighing and leaning back in her seat. Aelin really did have so much to do, to the point that she couldn’t even bring herself to tell him he didn’t have to do that. She would take whatever help she could get.

Her door was left open as he took Evie out into the hall, Aelin noticing that they weren’t going in the direction of his office but rather toward the kitchen. Her eyes rolled as she swiveled in her chair to face her computer and really dive into her work, leaning forward and exhaling a deep breath, willing herself to focus. 

Quite a bit of time passed, and she was able to get a considerable amount of work completed. All of her emails had been caught up when Dorian edged into her office and cleared his throat. Aelin looked up, half expecting Evie’s outfit to be ruined by chocolate, but her little ray of sunshine was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is she?” 

“I… may have taken a phone call and looked away for two minutes, and she vanished.”

“What?” Aelin was on her feet in an instant, rushing across her office and out into the hall. “What the fuck do you mean? How long has it been?” 

“Since I lost her and started looking for her? Half an hour. I was scared to tell you.” 

“My daughter has been missing for half an hour, and you’re only just now telling me? What the fuck, Dorian?” She hit his chest rather abrasively as she shoved past him, eyes scanning every room while she ran down the hall. How she was able to do it without toppling over in her heels, she wasn’t sure. All she could feel was the panic from her heart pounding in her chest to the shaking of her hands. The roaring in her ears made everything else sound muffled and distant, like she was standing at the edge of white water rapids. Even with her hands in fists so tight she could feel them shake, nausea building up in her chest. 

“Evie?” She called out, a tremor rising in her throat that caused her voice to sound shaky and weak. Tears were pricking in her ears as she turned to run back to her office. She would call down to security to see if they could scan the cameras, and call reception to see if anyone had carried her out. From there, she would--

Her heart stopped beating when she glanced into Rowan’s office. It was the office directly next to hers, and behind his desk, Rowan held a snoozing Evie. Her little fist was gripping the lapels of his suit jacket, and he seemed relaxed while he flipped through papers with one hand. 

“What are you doing with my daughter?” Aelin asked, stepping into the door. A few tears of relief slipped down her cheeks, and she was quick to wipe them, lest he make an asshole comment about it.

“I told that little shit to let you know I had her,” he murmured, barely glancing up from his papers. “I think that’s the final straw. He genuinely can’t do the most basic of tasks, I--” 

Rowan paused when he looked up from his work. Something soft flashed in his eyes for a split second before he continued, “She was laying on the couch by the kitchen when I found her. She babbled something about Dorian, I think, and when I looked in his office, he was on the phone arguing with someone. You looked busy, and I know you have a lot to do, and when I picked her up, she let out the biggest yawn I’ve ever seen. By the time I’d walked back to my office, she was asleep. I told my assistant to let you know. I’m sorry that he didn’t, and I’m sorry that I didn’t follow up with an e-mail or a phone call. You just seem like you could use the help so you could get work done. I’m sorry.” 

Not only was it the most that Rowan had ever said to her in a single conversation, but it was the kindest she’d seen him be to anyone. He wasn’t complaining about the little bit of drool coming out of the side of Evie’s mouth and soaking into his jacket. He was just holding her like he was so at ease with the situation and truly didn’t mind. 

“You don’t wear a ring, and I’ve never heard you mention a significant other. Divorced?”

“Widowed,” she replied, sitting in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. Again, his face softened as he looked down at Evie. 

“She looks just like you. She’s beautiful.” Ignoring the implications of that comment, Aelin smiled softly.

“Thank you. She is… everything to me.”

“I… I have a daughter, too. Briar. My wife died two years after we were married. Briar is six now, but Evie is… so much less temperamental than B was.” Aelin tried not to let the shock show on her face. Shock that Rowan Whitethorn was a father and shock that they shared a sad history. The curiosity to ask how she had died was strong, but she wouldn’t ask. Sometimes she hated it when people asked how Sam died. It was like opening a wound all over again. 

“Oh, she has her days. Don’t let this fool you,” she laughed, dragging her fingers through her hair. “I didn’t know you had a daughter, either.”

Rowan flipped his computer screen so she could see it, and she was welcomed by a smiling little girl with stunning green eyes and brown ringlet curls. Her heart squeezed at the image, Rowan holding her in his lap and grinning so wide he had dimples. Rowan Whitethorn had dimples. 

“She’s absolutely adorable.”

“She is.” Aelin smiled again, looking down at her hands and twisting the ring on her left finger that her parents had given her when Evie was born. It was her birthstone. 

“You can keep working if you want to. I’ve got her.”

“She’s not bothering you?” There was hesitation evident in her voice as Rowan looked down at the sleeping girl in his arms. He smiled, brushing a few wild strands of hair back against her head.

“Nope,” he said firmly, looking back at Aelin. “Really. You must have a lot to do if you didn’t just call in a personal day. She’s sleeping. It’s okay. I’ll bring her back when she wakes up.”

“I-- okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m positive.” Aelin chewed on her fingernail for a moment before she nodded and stood, walking across his office and toward her own. Aelin paused in the door, looking over her shoulder at the man with such a harsh reputation around the workplace. This man seemed entirely different, a man that was brushing his thumb against her daughter's side while she slept with his shirt in her tiny fist. He seemed so utterly relaxed while he adjusted their position in his chair to keep working. It was almost out of character, his offer. But she wasn’t going to complain. 

Rowan Whitethorn may have been the hardass of the office, but maybe he had a soft spot after all. @rowaelinscourt​

[yanderenightmare]

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

SLEEPING HABITS

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon, noncon, yandere, abuse, profanity, anxiety, arson, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, manipulation, mind control

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

Bakugo respects sleep to the point of obsession. Always in bed before eight thirty, and though the thought of railing his little darling into the mattress is always a tempting thought, a long day of hero-work almost always calls for cuddles and sleep and nothing more and nothing less. He’s just so tired once he comes home, all sweaty and coated in smog with only one petite little gorgeous thing on his mind. He scarcely takes a shower before heading to bed, coming in through the door, grabbing his little darling wherever she is, whatever she’s doing going to waste or having to wait until the morning again, because there’s no chance in either heaven or hell she’s escaping what lock she’s been secured in under Bakugo’s arms, making quick work of shedding all clothes and brushing his teeth harshly in bare-minimum war-like effort, before scooping her up in his arms and collapsing in the bed with a bounce and a much needed groan.

He’ll have her on her side, spooning her, squeezing the breath from out of her lungs, his heavy heartbeats crashing and wreaking havoc through her ribs, hand harshly gripping onto her hip, pushing her ass firmly against his crotch, hissing each time she makes a move. This is how it always goes, every night, no exceptions. She’ll always be locked and pushed to his chest, guarding her as though he’s a dragon protecting his treasure. His breaths wafting close to her ear, those heavy growling huffs making her heart catch in her throat. He’ll breath in the scent of her hair, loving how flowery and serene her scent is as opposed to the smell of smoke and caramel. Finding it a perfect aroma to fall asleep to, pleasant dreams conjured by the associations it provides.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

Dabi can’t go to sleep without some sugar. But he too can come home tired after having over-exerted himself with the use of his blue flames, therefor sex isn’t always in the deck of cards for his darling once he comes home. Though, if she thinks she’s off the hook, she’s mistaken, there will be no sleep until he’s satisfied. He’s a selfish asshole about it too, pulling her up and his chest, hands cradling her ass, pinching the soft plump flesh as he makes her grind on him, his tongue and teeth coming to mark-up that pretty soft neck of hers, her soft timid whimpers enough to make him groan, wild energy surging through his loins, perhaps enough to persuade him in ripping those little panties off her anyways.

Afterwards he’ll be lying on his back, having her lie halfway on his chest. One hand stroking with slender fingers up and down her sides, loving how her goosebumps never fail in greeting him. On those days he wants more contact, he’ll swing her leg up over his torso, hand holding onto her ass-cheek, pulling her some further onto his chest. His heart fluttering in gratification as her small hands come to trace his itching aching scars, those careful curious blossom-tipped fingertips dancing over his marred skin, goosebumps of his own flushing the surface in reverence. His spine shivering as he falls ever so softly into sweet-dream sleep.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

Tomura’s sleep habit is sporadic, but despite being tired, his boyish horniness always outweighs his need for sleep. Actually, he finds he sleeps even better after having pumped what frustration the day had given him into his poor little darling. Having her jump up and down the length of his cock, or humping her silly into the mattress. However, he always prepares her first, loving to feel her quivering little thighs locked and spread with his face buried in what sweetness found between them, gorging himself in exploring what places has his darling going cross-eyed. His hungry-hearted curiosity making quick work of finding out which way to curl and scissor his fingers when burying his digits knuckle-deep inside her, feeling her spongy walls clench and flutter about him until her juices drip shamefully down his hand, a cocky smile stretched upon his face as he kisses her stomach. Her prepared slicked-up wet and velvety walls so eager to suck in his cock, the fluttering feel of her walls kissing his girth enough to have his toes cramping and eyes going wild.

He’ll be exhausted afterwards, and clingy, cradling her chest like a toddler. His face using her chest like a pillow, hand squeezing and tweaking at her nipple as though it were some plushie for him to drool over. His foot coming to cuddle and snake with hers until he feels perfectly comfortable. Snores quickly following suit as well as a satiated blissful smile stretched upon his face.

SHINSO HITOSHI

Nothing can help Hitoshi’s darling from doing whatever he wants, however he wants it, whenever he wants it. No amount of groveling, begging, pleading, crying, screaming will stop him. And, although he comes home multiple times throughout the day, having subjugated his darling to his will again and again for several hours on end, sex is still mandatory before she’s allowed to sleep. He’ll laugh as he clutches her mind in a choke-hold, having her focus on every single little movement he makes, making her tremble upon every feather-light touch he bestows upon her, watching her eyes wrench shut upon every vein and bump and ridge as he pinches her clit between his callous fingers, watching as she loses count of how many times he’s made her cum in the span of the mere last hour.

He’ll be a real cocky, manipulative, degrading asshole during their entire play-session, but when it comes to cuddles he’ll wipe the shit-eating grin off his face and kiss her temple softly, stroking and petting her hair as he whispers sweet little nothings into her ear. Still a smidge of cockiness evident in his otherwise awe-struck tone. Limbs flung over and under each other, thoroughly entangled in an intricate and comfortable knot, coated with sweat. He’ll release whatever hold he had on her mind once their done, happy to see her comfort herself in his chest, soft sighs sounding from her small frame, in contrast to watching her pathetically try and snake her way from out of his hold.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Poor darling. She’s lucky she can still stand on some days throughout the week. Praying, wishing and screaming at whomever might be listening, whomever might be in charge of her fate other than Keigo has become like ritual before going to bed. Her prayers are never answered though. It’s a cruel joke, a game, a satire, some form of heaven yet some form of hell. How he comes to her in the shape of an angel, similar to the ones she’s been praying to, only he answers her prayers in whichever way he wants. He’ll have her for hours on end in prayer stance, kneeling, clinging to him as though he were a life-line. He’ll have her slipping in and out of consciousness, with his almighty hands guiding her every movement where she’s grown too tired to do as much as lift a finger in protest, where all that leaves her mouth are cute incomprehensible sounds.

But even he gets exhausted after a while, after a long, long while of snapping his hips forward, jutting into his poor little baby-bird. Sometimes, if he still has the energy, he’ll lay them both in the bath, message whatever strain gathered in her shoulders away, have her melt against him, but on most days: he’ll simply wrap both his wings around her sweat-slicked glowing dewy body, inhale the sweet scent of their love and nuzzle into her neck, whisper small cooing praises and adorations, holding onto her as though she’s absolution, drifting off to sleep while feeling the spontaneous remnants of himself spasm and jolt through her.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Izuku uses everything with purpose, as a lesson, as a reminder, as a threat, as a weapon. Sex is no exception. Does his little darling not understand her place, he’ll gladly teach her. Does his little darling forget who she belongs to, he’ll gladly remind her. Does his little darling think she can leave, does she think she can survive on her own, does she really think she’ll breath better without him? She’ll soon be preaching otherwise while clamping down around the girth of his cock, with his swollen cockhead kissing her cervix each time he pushes into her. He’ll have her screaming, crying, begging for forgiveness, and being the forgiving hero that he is, he’ll allow her rest if she tells him one more time what she’s done wrong and make him believe that she’ll never do something like it ever again through promise upon promise upon tearful promise.

He’ll allow her rest when he’s convinced she’s learned her lesson, where after he’ll always draw a bath before sleeping, carrying her to the water and letting her soak while he changes the bedsheets. He’ll be sweet then, still stern and domineering and intimidating, but refraining from being harsh and brute and cruel. He’ll have her lying on his chest every night, legs secured between his, large hands propping her into position if she slides off or tries shifting, having her ask for permission to leave the bed to do simple things such as using the bathroom. His hand running through her hair, large enough to capture her entire skull in his palm, enough to make her fear sleeping yet enough to make her feel lonely when she wakes up without him.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

On days where Kai is content, or at least something akin to the feeling, all he wants is to cherish sweet moments with his darling. Soft-tinted cuddles in bed where silence is a type of peace that makes his soul feel light like dandelion-fluff. But, days where the hours has spared Kai of the worlds ugliness, sickness and depravity are few and far between. Meaning, it’s not often he comes home content. And when he’s aggravated, when everything feels sporadic and irate and static and like pure and utter chaos, there’s only one thing that can make him feel collected again, like he’s in charge, in control, and that’s having his little darling beneath him with his cock tearing through her, it’s seeing those gorgeous watery eyes look up at him through a thick veil of plead, it’s having her innocence wrapped around his fingers.

It’s soothing, though it looks like punishment, though it looks like torture, it’s the only way he can find peace. Afterwards, lying face to face, tangled together, limbs an artwork of intense and passionate knotwork, his shallow breaths turning to long-felt satisfied inhales and exhales. Feeling the cleanliness of her trembling flesh beneath his fingertips, having her small breakable defenseless body tight against his, the drums of her heartbeats dancing against the thunder-claps residing in his own chest, droplets of tears hanging off her eyelashes as her gem-like orbs look up at him, his hand on her waist. It’s reassuring knowing that perfection still exists in a world devoid of order.

TODORKI SHOTO

Shoto would play all day everyday if he could, but he can’t, which makes the pressure on those hours in which he can play that much more crucially vital. Yet, knowing what’s to come doesn’t mean his darling ever knows what to expect when the night conquers the sky. She’ll be counting the seconds until she hears the front-door unlock, the click sending gunshots to ricochet through her ribs. She’ll hear his booted footsteps on the stone-floors, notice her breathing turning grim and shallow, feeling the beating pitter pattering of her heart in her head, and then she’ll feel him outside the conjuring of her own fears, she’ll feel his slender petal-veined finger gliding up her leg or shoulder, tangling in her hair, his firm lips pressing softly against her forehead, her crippling fear and the rushing of blood boiling past her ears rendering all sounds incomprehensible.

Her mind knows what to expect, what to dread, what to prepare for, but her body never seems to learn. He’ll bite, he’ll claw, he’ll strangle, long digits curling and scissoring in places too deep for her to ever even dream of reaching. Cold then hot then cold and hot or hot and cold or frostbitten and boiling. She always falls asleep with a fever. Cradled and comforted in the same arms that caused her unraveling, her eyes opium-blown as she stares blankly up at him, falling deeper and drowning in chromatic galaxies. Her whole body cold and sweat-slicked and breathless and overwhelmed with Shoto’s inescapable embrace, whether she’s lying beneath him or on top of him or curled up against his chest, she’s not allowed to breath her own air when with him.

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

[greenygreenland]

Riptide: Cole x Reader

-HAPPY 10th ANNIVERSARY NINJAGO!! -I write for females (just as a side note) because I’m a girl and it’s easy for me soooo yeah :/ -i know jay and cole are besties, but for this, let’s just say jay still likes to tease cole (friends do that anyway tho??)

Summary: Cole finds you at the beach trying to drown yourself. When he rips you out of the ocean, he realises you look familiar.

WARNINGS: Near-death (drowning)

The waves quietly lapped against the edge of the sand, tickling Cole’s toes as he made his way across the wet grains. The moon stood high in the sky, shining brightly overhead like a lighthouse. Cole promised to catch up with the others, but he couldn’t rip himself away from the calm of the waves. 

His heart stilled with the quiet waves, sinking into the wet sand like his feet. A cool breeze passed over his face and it brushed through his windswept hair. If only Ninjago could stay this calm. If only he could be like the ocean, free, never ending. 

Cole found himself walking deeper into the ocean and away from the banks. The waves slowly met his ankles, then his knees. It soaked into his rolled up trousers, travelling up until he was waist deep. He didn’t worry about being so far out since it was low-tide. And even if he did find himself getting swept out to sea, he still had his powers. 

Something softly splashed over to his left. He whipped around, immediately taking a defensive stance. As ineffective as it was, he’d rather be safe than sorry. 

Cole eyed the smooth waters. He wondered if it was a shark, or worse, a mystical beast he never heard about. For a few moments, it was quiet, save for the waves, the calm breezes, and Cole’s steady breath. “Maybe it was a fish.” he whispered to himself with a chuckle. Something brushed his leg and he reared back with a squeal. 

“Not a fish not a f--First Spinjitzu Master!” 

The first thing Cole saw was a shirt, then a bundle of floating hair and a face hidden among it. He wanted to freak out, but a girl was laying in the sand underwater. Underwater. He plunged under the cool waves, wrapping his arms around the girl’s torso and hauling her up. “First Spinjitzu Master... First Spinjitzu Master...” Cole placed a hand on his earpiece.

“Guys! I found a girl in the ocean. She’s unconscious and...I don’t think she’s breathing. Come quick!” 

“We’re on our way.” said Zane. The nindroid’s voice was a relief to hear. “We will arrive in five minutes, and as an extra precaution, I have phoned nine-one-one.” 

“Okay, great, great.” As Cole laid the limp girl on the grainy sand, he frantically looked her up and down. Even through the curtain of hair plastered over her forehead, he could tell her face was unnaturally pale. So much, that it could have been a mirror of the bright moon.

It suddenly occurred to Cole that he had to do something. The girl wasn’t breathing and she’d die if he didn’t do something. “Gyah! I’m not the smart one!” He ran a hand over his face. There was one thing Zane did bother to teach everyone in the group, whether it be for civilian use or themselves. Cole pictured Zane standing by his side.

Place the heel of your palms on the centre of the chest.

Cole placed his hands on the centre of the girl’s chest. 

Interlock your fingers. Remember to press two inches down.

Cole interlocked his fingers. 

I have read somewhere that pressing down to the beat of Stayin’ Alive is said to ‘do the trick’ and make it easier. 

And so Cole did just that. “Ha... Ha... Ha... Ha... Stayin’ alive... Stayin’ alive...” He wasn’t sure if it was working, or even if he was doing it right to begin with. How would pressing two inches down on someone’s chest do good? How would this save her from being killed?

Suddenly, she jolted upward, coughing and sputtering out a load of water right into Cole’s face. He didn’t care though. That meant the water had come out of her lungs, right? The danger had been avoided, at least for now. 

“COLE!” 

He whipped around, letting out a loud sigh of relief. Zane and Pixal took Cole’s place, reviewing her vitals and diagnosing her with whatever. He wasn’t sure what they were doing, so he stood off to the side as Jay babbled away. “What happened? Are you okay? How did you find the girl? You didn’t have to swim out there did you?” 

Kai looked at Jay weirdly. “Do you think Cole would swim out that far to begin with? He probably found her washed ashore.” Cole wanted to say something, but he was in a daze. The more he thought about the girl, the more he wondered where he saw her from. It was like a smell you know you’ve smelled before but can’t put a name or memory to. 

He ignored the background chatter and zeroed his gaze on her limp body as Zane carried her to the ambulance. When Zane turned around and motioned for him to come over, Cole finally came back to his senses. He could think about the girl later, right now, he had to answer some questions. 

Three weeks later

“Urgh,” said Cole. “Why do I have to go with Jay?” Sensei Wu raised a brow at him as if to say, ‘really?’. “What is wrong with Jay?” he inquired. “He is a brother, and brothers should be respected.” Off to the side, Jay loudly applauded. “Period. Brothers should be respected, Cole.” He rolled his eyes with a sigh. 

“Now,” Wu interjected. “I want you both to visit Jamanakai Village. You will find Mystake’s tea shop. Get these and only these.” He handed Cole an old drawstring bag. It had a label on the string, but the handwriting was so wonky that Cole couldn’t read it. “If she tries to kick you out, tell her I sent you. That is all, I expect you both back by Thursday.”

Jay let out a long groan. “Why can’t Kai do it? Or Zane? Or Lloyd?” He smugly glanced at Cole. “Or even my wonderful girlfriend Nya? I thought they were the responsible ones.” Wu raised a brow and Cole snickered. “You will both go to Jamanakai Village. That is final. While you are out, do not forget to eat and whatever you do, no Elemental Dragons and no vehicles. You will walk the entire way to the village, am I clear?”

“Yes, Sensei.” 

To say the walk was gruelling was a nice way to put it. There were tens of thousands of other words Cole could have said to describe the terrible pain of having Jay around. Of course, he didn’t actually mean that, but hypothetically, the walk was terrible. 

“You know,” said Jay, “these birds are said to have been exported from the Dark Island.” He pointed to a nearby tree, where three or four birds sat. Their oily wings were like liquid obsidian. Funnily enough, the colour matched both Cole’s gi and hair. He watched as one of them flew away, fluttering straight over his head and into the sky above. 

Cole wondered if it would be nice to live life as a bird, but then he realised he wouldn’t have a bed or cake or chocolate and candy. 

“I’m guessing they were exported before the Dark Island became...you know.” added Jay. “I mean, how could these cute little guys be from there?” He reached out to pet one of the birds. It squawked and bit his finger. “OW!” Jay rounded on the tiny bird, who actually appeared to be laughing. “Bad bird! That’s a no-no! You don’t bite people like that.” 

Jay ripped off his glove and sucked on his poor finger. Cole stared at him as he whimpered. “Is it bleeding?” 

“Gwee, I fondt knowh.” 

Cole dug a hand in his pouch. He felt around and pulled out a band-aid along with a small alcohol wipe. “Here.” Jay took the band-aid and wipe, gingerly dabbing it on his wound and wrapping the band-aid around his finger. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah.” 

They continued on in a comfortable silence, caring only to watch the leaves sway in the wind. When they arrived in Jamanakai village, their feet were sore, and they were tired. Jay’s stomach grumbled, and so did Cole’s. 

“I knew we should have eaten before we left.” Cole muttered. Jay let out a long yawn. “Sensei Wu said we were supposed to be back by Thursday. That’s three days away without video games. Do you think I can survive like this? Do you Cole?” 

He wasn’t listening. A heavenly smell reeled him in like a fishing line. It was sweet, yet it smelled like green tea. Maybe it was cake; Cole hoped it was cake. “Do you smell that?” he seriously inquired. Jay knitted his brows together. “The bakery? Oh, it’s right there.” He pointed to a small shop to their left, where a girl stocked freshly baked cakes and buns. 

Cole could already imagine how pillowy and soft the buns would be. They would have sweet fillings that melted in his mouth, and the cake would be the perfect texture with the right amount of cream. He made his way to the bakery, keeping a keen eye on the fresh chocolate cake. 

“Cole, we’re not here to buy cake.” said Jay. “If we’re gonna eat, we might as well eat a real meal.” Cole rolled his eyes and pointed to a slice of chocolate cake. “I’ll take one of that, please.” 

The cashier took out a pair of sparkling tongs. “Will that be all?” she inquired with a smile. “My grandma just finished steaming the buns, they’re fresh.” Cole whipped towards the cashier. For some reason, her voice sounded so familiar. It was again, like a smell that reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place. Sweet, nostalgic, kind.

That’s right, he thought. This was the girl he saved on the beach. But before then, he knew her as the studious (Y/n) (L/n) from the Marty Oppenheimer School of Performing Arts. When Cole had no one to talk to in class, she was there. When he forgot his lunch, she shared it with him. When he decided to run away, she promised not to forget him. 

(Y/n) walked out from behind the counter. She handed Cole a bag of two containers. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Her voice was rather soft, like she were embarrassed anyone else would hear. “You saved me, on the beach.”

“Y-yeah, I did.” Was it just Cole or was it getting hot out here?  He didn’t need anyone to tell him his face had gone beet red. “Thank you Cole. I might have snuck ‘a few’ more cakes in the bag. That guy’s your friend, right? There are some buns in there for him too.” 

Cole met (Y/n)’s bright eyes. They weren’t as lively as he remembered, but they still held that warm glow that always made him feel safe. “I--uh--(Y/n)...” 

“Yeah?”

“Uh...do you still go to the Marty Oppenheimer School?” Do you want to hang out sometime? “I mean...uh...” How have you been? “T-thank you for the food.” He let out a nervous laugh and (Y/n) chuckled a little. “If you’re wondering, I graduated last year.” she said. Cole’s eyes widened. Had that much time already passed? 

“I live in Ninjago City now.” she added. “I didn’t think I would make it this far, but I did. I’m here in Jamanakai for the next three months before I go back to the city. I heard you’ve been up to things too--ninja stuff. Saving lives.” She smiled at Cole, as if the two shared an inside joke. 

“(Y/n)! Help me carry this, it’s too heavy for me!”

(Y/n) glanced over her shoulder. “One second, grandma!” She turned back to Cole and wrapped him in a tight hug. It was brief, it was sweet, and it made Cole remember just how close they used to be. “I have to get back to work. See you soon Cole?”

“Yeah.” he awkwardly replied. “See you soon.” He watched as she disappeared out back. When did he finally become taller than her? When had she actually spoken so nonchalantly? Last time he saw her, they were still kids. They were young, and even with responsibilities, they were still free. 

“Sooooo, you’ve got yourself a girl?” inquired Jay. He took the bag from Cole and made his way over to the fountain. The two sat on the ledge as Jay sifted through the food. There were buns filled with red bean paste, lotus paste, and even barbeque pork. Under that were five different desserts. Two velvety chocolate cakes, one egg tart, and three pieces of perfectly wrapped mochi. 

Jay took one of the meat buns. “Wow, this is really good. Tell your girlfriend to teach you how to cook.” Cole let out a short sigh. “She’s not my girlfriend, Jay. I haven’t even seen her in years.” 

“What? Why?”

Cole closed one of the boxes. He dug around the bag for a fork, but he grasped a small slip of paper instead. Jay peered over Cole’s shoulder with wide eyes. “Ooooo she gave you her phone number? See! Dating. Case closed. I’m gonna tell everyone when we get back.” 

“No you aren’t.” Cole retorted. “Like I said, I haven’t seen her in years. She probably only wanted to get back in touch.” Jay raised his brows and Cole elbowed him in the stomach. “Get your mind out of the gutter.” He pulled out one of the buns and took a big bite out of it. “We went to the same school together as kids. We became friends there, but when I ran away from home, we lost contact.” 

“So go talk to her!” exclaimed Jay. “Before we go, I’m setting you both up on a date, or at least a night out together. We’re not going home on Thursday, got it? We’re staying ‘til Saturday and that’s final.” Cole raised a brow in amusement. “I thought you said you wanted to play video games.”

“If your girlfriend has a phone, then she has video games.” said Jay smartly. Cole let out a bright laugh. All he really knew now was that he’d have to come to Jamanakai Village more often. 

NOTE: I will make a part two soon, so stay tuned! Tip jar

[fyodorsslut]

Wrists- Bakugou Katsuki

Requested by: @toomanyotpslove​

 A/N: both of us can’t remember what the request was sadly, but I still have the story and find it very much worth publishing!! So, here we are! It’s not the type of thing I’d usually write, honestly, but I tried

AU: Fantsy!Au

Pairings: Dragon Lord! Bakugou x shape shifter! fem! reader

Genre: Fluff, some angst (?), comfort

play: Particular Taste by Shawn Mendes

Warnings: Not proof read, mention of physical abuse, child abuse, blood, mention of killing, reader triggered, enslaving, dehumanizing, bruises

He learnt to never touch her wrists.

  So, when he accidentally pulls her back by her still-bruised wrist, her reaction doesn’t surprise him too much.

  When Y/n jumps back, startled, clutching onto her wrist like she’s doing it for dear life, with her mesmerizing y/e/c eyes shot awide, Katsuki isn’t even surprised. A good 12 years of living with her have taught him this much, at least.

  “I-I’m sorry,” he coughs vaguely, gulping and watching out for any sign of an abnormal reaction. Even though it’s been long, Y/n’s mentality isn’t that stable and any small trigger could be like a bomb, and the explosion is her turning into some animal and losing control over herself.    “It’s alright,” Y/n sighs, rubbing  a thumb against her wrist.

  “You sure?” with a little tilt of his head, Katsuki takes a closer step towards scared Y/n. “You good?”   “Yeah,” she smiled, nodding. It took a lot of Katsuki not to push further. Instead, he nods in concern, wary of the apology he now owes her

   A few years back, or so he recalls, was when he met her.

                                              (12 years ago)

  The shore was so thick with humid, too much humid he couldn’t breathe properly. His small, bare arms prickle with the sensation of moisture, minuscule droplets too small to see dancing over his skin. The 6 years old boy stretches a little, moving his fingers in tiny circles, stirring up the cloying warmth hanging over the seashore.

  Sniffing, he grimaces, the light breeze smells of fires doused by the passing rain. His small features scrunch, the kid at the castle, went out fishing or such. Instead, he was here, with his parents and some lieutenants, checking on what’s coming in and out the country.

   Dazing away from his parents, he runs a hand through the flowers blooming from boxes along the pathway. The dirt around them is still wet from the passing rains and a particularly exuberant gardener. Behind him, more flowering veins run  up the brick walls and rocks, these people love there flowers. The explode in various shades, thriving in this climate-

  That’s when he spots it. Her

  A few men bulk up, trying to casually hide it, tensing at the presence of the king and queen, clearly not have been expecting it. But, from the heir’s vantage point, he saw the girl clearly, Bruised, chained up so movement is very uncomfortable. Some leather, cage muzzle sat disturbingly on her mouth and wrapped around her head. With clearly barely any movement, the girl’s body could go through so much harms, aside from the position she’s sat in.

  It’s almost terrifying, goosebumps crawling up the young boy’s body.

  “Katsuki?” A gentle voice calls for the ash blonde. He slightly flinches, ripping his gaze off the girl in chains. He looks at his mother in a frightened manner.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Shakily, he points a weak finger towards the cage.

  Holding a hand out, he manages to pull the abashed girl out. She has an air of misuse and neglect. Skinny and barely able to balance her weak form on her own.

  Katsuki softly takes the muzzle off. He smiles at the face in front of him, only to be met by wide eyes and trembling lips.

  “Are you okay?”

  Flinch.

  A small hand grips into the back of his dress shirt. A certain body’s heat closing up to him.

  “She won’t do anything, not even eat. She spoke no words, and is continuously clenching onto the prince.”

   Young Katsuki didn’t understand what was going on as the nurse spoke to his mom. A clan murdered? People... haunted? He didn’t mind her huddling onto him the way she did. He heard she’s a shape shifter, what is that? 

  “Shipped, enslaved, and sold in the black market. She’s a special, these ones cost a fortune there.”

  He didn’t understand, sure. But he still knew whatever this girl has been through, it’s trauma. He knew that from how the words sounded, and from the look on his mother’s face, he’s never seen her more disgusted his whole life, not even when he eats his mucus.

   He glances at her, bruises clouding her freshly cleaned cheeks, one eye purple. Her arms and hands were the same, too. When her eyes catch his, she looks down immediately, pulling away as an embarrassed red paints her cheeks.

   “Katsuki...” The king slowly kneels before his son. “What do you think?”    “What do you mean?” He raises a light eyebrow, confusion written on his face with wide letters.

   The king glances over to his prideful wife, who only softly shrugs, both unaware of what to do with the girl who could’ve possibly ended up reduced to some lifeless corpse in a few more days of starvation. They don’t get to ask Katsuki more than he’s already done; finding the girl. Yet, it seems as though the almighty king and queen, for the first time, are out of any other options.

  “Would you mind staying with her until we figure out how to help her do things on her own?” His brunette father spoke gently, simplifying the words so that the young, stubborn prince could understand much of it.

   “I’m not a kid,” He huffs, annoyance unjustified. “Of course I’ll help her around. That’s my job.”

  A scream erupts from her lips before she could help it. Her eyes immediately shot shut as she holds out her arms in defense, ready for the punishment for being so loud.

  “Hey, easy there,” The man at the infirmary smiles gently at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “She doesn’t want anyone touching her wrists,” Katsuki confirms, watching over them closely like an examiner over a test. The doctor helping figure out her bruises as y/n flinches like a spooked animal.    “Manacles trauma,” he nods. “These monsters really did their business.”

  “Katsukiiiii,” she whines, helplessly running. “Slow down a little!”   “Not a chance!” Her friend chuckles aloud, tugging at the blindfolded girl’s hand as his legs take off, fleeting against the floor of the castle.

   He comes to a sudden stop, pulling Y/n to stop too. 

  “Why’d you stop?” she questions, tightening her grip over his small fingers.    “Shh, we’re here,” he talks, smiling agape as attempts to control his uncontrollable excitement.

  His hand leaves hers, clutching on to the blindfold at the back of her head. Swiftly, he rids her of the void she was staring into.

  The sight she was outlet into was like an ambush to her feelings. Unable to form any words or create a reaction other than a stuttered “is this for me?”

   “Do you... yes! It’s yours! Do you like it?” The young ash blonde asks excitedly, watching over the girl’s reaction. “It’s even right next to mine!” 

   She turns to him, tears filling her pretty y/e/c eyes. Before he realized it, she’s pulled him into a tight embrace, sobbing for some reason unbeknownst to him.

  “Thank you.”

                                   ( Back to the present )

   “Can we go back inside now?” He felt her breath before he heard her voice, straight up nauseous from the amount of people gathered up in such feast.

  “Yeah, sure, whatever,” he grumbles under his breath. He sounds annoyed, but it’s no sweat for his lover to slip past his well-made façade.

  “Thank you, Katsu,” She presses a soft kiss on his cheek. Even though he knows no one saw, due to their position at the far corner of the room, his cheeks rise a flame. He immediately grimaces, you could practically see steam fuming from his ears as he, without any ado, stomps inside puling  the girl alongside.

  “I sure hope you have a proper explanation for that, princess,” He folds two strong, muscular arms onto his bare chest. The multiple necklaces and animal teeth almost scrambling away from his arms.    “Explanation for what?” Y/n raised a brow, playing dumb. She smiles softly, twirling a lock of y/h/c hair around her index finger, knowing damn well the practiced act does the trick.

  “Tch,”he rolls his eyes. Only throwing himself on the couch. “Sit here, idiot,” he pats the spot beside him in a soft manner, indicating he’s about to start a sensitive conversation.

  Gracefully, Y/n places herself on the couch, placing he r head on Katsuki’s broad shoulder. His arm wraps around her waist like it always does, scooting her closer as it finds rest on her thigh ((stfu-)).

  “This morning you were... crying?” He spoke softly, unable to find the perfect way to speak in this specific situation.

  Y/n takes a deep breath, fingers fidgeting with Katsuki’s fingers. “Nightmares,” she admits.   “The same one?”   “I think,” she shrugs, gulping. “I can only remember the faces of.. you know.”

  By the way her fingers slightly squeezed his, Bakugou knew he should stop the conversation there.

  “Don’t worry,” his voice was so, very low she could barely hear him. He presses a tender kiss on the top of her head, letting his lips take the weight of her whole  head, finding rest at that spot. “No one will harm you as long as I’m here,” his voice sent slight vibrations through her head, as he inhales the familiar scent of her hair. “And you know I’m too stubborn to die, anyway.”

  “Wow, very comforting, Katsuki,” she chuckles, pressing a kiss on his shoulder.   “Shut up,” he blurts, flustered.    “I love you too, Katsu,” She held his hand with both hers, printing continuous pecks on it.

  His hand grips her cheek, the other gripping the opposite.  Fixing his seating, he pulls her face upwards, planting a firm and fiery kiss that’s too short for her liking on her soft lips.

  Unlike the rest of the shapeshifters, and unlike most of the the population she lives amongst in this country,  Y/n’s a soft, curious soul. Not made for a harsh living or to be put against anything. Yet, the fire in her only ever lured people, the difference in her. Of all people, the heir to the dragon throne, Katsuki Bkugou. 

  “Fuck you for being like this,” his ruby eyes bore into hers, unable to find a single flaw.

  Both the kids’ hearts raced in their chests.

   He learnt to never touch her wrists, instead, he touched her soul to anchor her

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Jaskier has started referring to the parts of his life as pre-dragon hunt and post-dragon hunt. He doesn't like to refer to the actual incident because he tries to think about it as little as possible, but even pretending like it didn't happen, his life post-hunt is nothing to brag about.

He's never really felt like he belonged anywhere; he didn't fit with his family, he annoyed most of the other kids his age - Oxenfurt may have been the only place he felt comfortable. But all of that changed when he met Geralt because he was just as fucked up as Jaskier is and no one had wanted him either and with him, Jaskier had elevated them both. And it was good, for a while. Or at least he had thought it was. He doesn't think much about his Witcher anymore. His heart aches to know that even someone who knew and understood the pain of not being wanted could throw him away so easily.

Evidently, Jaskier is entirely unlovable.

Which is fine, he tells himself. He can still charm his way through court and find people to keep him company for a time. And even if they too move on, he'll get by. After all, nothing could be as bad as losing someone you thought was a kindred spirit. Nothing could be as bad as losing your one true friend.

But he doesn't think about that anymore.

Except when he's composing. When he can't find the words because anything uplifting sounds false and falls flat on his tongue. The only words he can get to flow are dark and melancholy and they get him thinking about feelings and people he would rather forget. Only how could he? Whatever possessed Geralt to shun him after twenty-two years, Jaskier doesn't share it.

Maybe it's because witchers don't have emotions. Jaskier had thought that was some sort of line, but maybe Geralt is just good at pretending to feel after all.

The longer he spends alone, the more somber his writing becomes and the less people want to pay to hear it. The only thing they want to hear anymore is Toss a Coin and Jaskier can't bring himself to play that anymore. The only song about Geralt he can stomach playing is one he wrote for himself and he's not ready for anyone else to hear. Not that they would want to anyway, it's not as though it's any happier than the rest of his repertoire.

He travels for a while but eventually, without the coin from performing, he needs to find somewhere to settle for a while. Somewhere he can find some other job. No one wants a bard who makes people miserable, so he makes his way to Oxenfurt because it's the only other place he knows he can find work. And maybe someone there will be happy to see him.

He arrives mid-afternoon on a sunny day and while he receives a warmer welcome than he has in months, it still doesn't feel quite right. He and Geralt had something special and no amount of familiar faces will help him recreate that - especially if it was all in his head to begin with.

It feels good to have his position back as a professor and Jaksier enjoys the constant stream of people in and out of the college, but his happiness is hollow. So many of the people here who he once considered friends seem more like acquaintances in comparison to the closeness he felt with Geralt. Maybe he's being too picky; the people here are kind and accepting and much less often request to hear songs about the Witcher he made famous.

So Jaskier tries. He tries harder than he ever has before to fit in and to be accepted, but even as he tries, even as he considers changing things about himself it doesn't feel right. He doesn't only want to be accepted, but to be accepted for who he is. And he's not perfect, but who is? Certainly not any of the people who have abandoned him in the past.

Over the next few months, he makes a routine for himself. He teaches classes during the days and most nights in the evenings will go to the tavern to drink and talk. Occasionally, he can be convinced to play a song or two if he's had a lot to drink, but mostly he goes to watch and listen.

Then one night he's been having a bad day. He can't quite place what's wrong, but everything just feels off and he feels more alone today than he has in a long time. He makes it through the day and doesn't even return to his room before heading off to the tavern to sit alone in the corner with a mug of ale.

He realizes when one of the regulars casts a suspicious look in his direction, that this must be what Geralt felt like that first day so many years ago. All he had wanted was peace and quiet and a drink and instead, he had gotten Jaskier. No wonder he didn't have to think twice about getting rid of him. At least Jaskier doesn't have to worry about anyone approaching him tonight; the few other patrons seem to realize it's best to keep their distance.

He thinks back to a younger version of himself, fearless and fascinated, approaching Geralt of Rivia and demanding a review of his performance. Three words or less he had said and Geralt had given him three exactly. He frowns thinking about it now and his heart aches as though something is wrapped around it, squeezing the life from it.

A group of other professors comes in a little later and the crowd grows. A few people say hello, but no one stays to sit and no one really wants to talk. A young aspiring bard gets up and sings Toss a Coin and Jaskier decides it's time to leave.

He's not drunk, not really, but it seems to take him ages to get back to his room and when he does, he flops down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Every night he spends here, staring up at these same beams and he feels trapped. He misses lying out under the stars and staring up at trees that swayed in the breeze. Even now in the dead of winter, he would trade his comfort and safety for the freedom of traveling.

But what's the point in traveling alone?

For the first time in a long time, he lets himself think of Geralt. He thinks back on all the good times, on all the nights they spend out in the wilderness either out of desire or necessity and he thinks about playing music around the fire. Occasionally, Geralt would even sing with him if he knew the words and those nights were the best of all.

Jaskier aches to think of them now, to think of all they used to have and everything he wishes he could gain back. But Geralt made it inescapably clear that Jaskier is not what he wants and all he can do now is try to accept that.

When he falls asleep at long last, it's thinking about golden eyes and white hair tinged orange by firelight.

The next afternoon there's a commotion in town and Jaskier, wanting something to take his mind off things, goes to check out what it is. He regrets it the second he walks into the inn.

"Is it true the Witcher is here?" someone asks and Jaskier freezes in place.

"They said a witcher," someone corrects, "not the witcher."

"But it is him, isn't it?"

Jaskier doesn't wait around long enough to hear whether or not the consensus is that yes, it is Geralt, the great White Wolf. Jaskier retreats quickly, heading back to his room because if it is him, he doesn't want to see him. Even if it isn't him - not likely, with his luck - Jaskier's had enough of Witchers to last a lifetime, thank you very much.

He tells the few people he sees that he'll be writing and would prefer not to be disturbed before heading up to lock himself away in his room. They're happy enough that he's writing again that there's no hesitation in their agreement and Jaskier feels confident that he will be left alone. His confidence only lasts as long as the peace outside his bedroom door lasts.

Within the hour, there's some sort of argument taking place downstairs and while he wants to know what's going on, he keeps to himself. He has even started writing a little and he'd like to keep the flow going while he can. He ignores it for as long as he can, but then there's a knock on the door. Dreading who might be outside, Jaskier pretends not to hear.

The first two times, he pretends, but then the knock comes again and he sighs and heaves himself up from his bed. He crosses the room on unsteady legs and pulls the door open. He's expecting someone to be there asking him to come down and talk to the Witcher because it is Geralt. He's probably doing something unpleasant like walking around covered in guts or something. What he's not expecting is to open the door to the man himself.

Immediately, he shuts it again. Geralt pushes it open and steps into the room.

"No, no, no, no, no, I am not getting mixed up in whatever this is.

"There's nothing to get mixed up in," Geralt says and despite his best efforts, something inside Jaskier crumbles. It aches to reach out to him, to stand beside him again. Jaskier holds his ground.

"Good," he says, "then you can go." It takes every ounce of his strength, but he crosses to the door, brushing past Geralt and holding the door open for him.

Something in Geralt's face softens and Jaskier pretends not to notice, doing his very best to remain stoic. Geralt steps toward him and as Jaskier's breath catches in his chest, the door is pulled from his hands and Geralt shuts it behind them.

"I was passing through and I heard you were here," he says. Jaskier wants to ask where he's coming from and to where he's going that Oxenfurt just happened to land neatly between them, but he doesn't trust himself to speak. And while he's not trying to remain civil, calling Geralt out on a lie might not be the best course of action.

Geralt sighs, resigning himself to the lack of reciprocation and his shoulders slump. "I knew you were here," he admits. "I've been looking for you for months until I ran into a bard who recognized me and asked why I wasn't with you."

"Did you tell him it was because you decided you'd had enough of me?" Jaskier asks bitterly and Geralt shuts his eyes, breathing sharply.

"No. And that's not true."

"Right," Jaskier scoffs, "because that's why you tell people to leave. If life could give you one blessing, that's what you said."

"I know and I'm sorry." Jaskier's heart is pounding now, beating so quickly he's afraid it might burst, but he doesn't move, even when Geralt takes a step toward him. "Come back," Geralt says and Jaskier can feel every fibre of his being pulling him toward Geralt, but he won't give in so easily.

"You don't want me," he says, "you just don't want to be alone."

"I do. I was wrong when I said those things. I was angry and I took it out on you." Geralt looks at him, but Jaskier refuses to meet his eyes. They're both silent for a moment before Geralt reaches out, hesitating before pulling his arm back. "I miss you."

"Hm," Jaskier responds, not trusting himself with actual words.

"I think about you every day. When someone sings that god awful song or when it's too quiet in the dark at night. I miss having you around, I miss listening to you sing. I want you to come back."

Jaskier shuts his eyes and listens. Geralt has moved closer and if he was to reach out, even to just move his hand forward, he could touch him. He's been dreaming of this moment for a long time but it doesn't feel like he expected it to. He thought he would feel good, that everything would suddenly be fine, but he almost feels more hurt now than he did before.

"I'm sorry I never told you before. I'm leaving in the morning. If you want to come with me, meet me at the stables. If you're not there, I'll know you've made your choice." He turns and pulls the door, disappearing out into the hall and leaving Jaskier alone in the room.

He's overwhelmed and it takes a few minutes for him to even remember how to breathe. In his time alone, he'd forgotten the effect Geralt has on him, and worse, he seemed genuine about his offer. Geralt never says that much at once unless he's mad and he definitely didn't seem mad. He considers it for a moment because maybe he does want him back.

Alone in his room, he realizes there's only one option and he sighs, letting his arms fall limp at his sides.

"Fuck."

- - - - -

The sun is just rising over the horizon and Jaskier is anxious, wondering if he made the right decision. It's a matter of the rest of his life and finding somewhere he can belong and he doesn't know whether he has. He's quiet as the sun rises and down the road and he hears footsteps approaching and the familiar whinny of a horse. Jaskier sucks in a deep breath and one last time and cements his decision in his mind, just as a familiar figure approaches up the hill.

Geralt smiles at him, and Jaskier's heart melts despite himself. Next to him, Roach leans over the gate of her stall, nibbling at his hair and he thinks maybe he chose right.

"Did you really miss me?" he asks as Geralt comes closer.

"Yes," Geralt says, not slowing his stride as he approaches. He wraps strong arms around Jaskier's shoulders and pulls him close, resting his head against his. Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, returning the embrace and inhaling the Geralt's scent.

As he pulls back, he looks up at him and the faintest sliver of doubt creeps into his mind again. "Prove it," he says, stepping back and without a moment's hesitation, Geralt takes his face in his hands, closing the gap between them again and kissing him more tenderly than Jaskier thinks he's ever been kissed in his life.

His knees are weak and his eyes sting with unshed tears as he lets himself be bundled up into loving arms. When Geralt breaks away again, he presses his face into Jaskier's neck, breathing softly.

"Forgive me," he pleads and Jaskier couldn't deny him if he wanted to.

[sparkkeyper]

Variations on a Theme

I’ve been working on this one for a while and finally managed to finish it up for the Ace Omens discord prompt - Dancing.

The music I had on repeat while writing the second half was “So Close” from Enchanted. I like to imagine the record they end up with is one of those piano-only arrangements of it.

Also, you can’t tell me that Crowley didn’t jam to every Top 40 since music charts were invented.

(Now on AO3!)

---------------------------

"You mean you've only danced the gavotte?"

Crowley's sunglasses were barely hanging on to his nose as it was, what with the both of them being several drinks into their first bottle of the night. It didn't take many to banish the glasses these days, not when the pair of them were nestled comfortably in the back room of the bookshop, the failed Armageddon several weeks behind them. The demon stared incredulously over the tinted lenses as Aziraphale straightened from where he had begun to slouch with his wine.

"And why is that such a surprise? Angels don't usually dance at all."

"Yeah but you're not a 'usually' angel, you're you!" Crowley waved a hand wildly but did his glasses the mercy of setting them on the end table before they could fall. "You like the...the singing and the harmonizing and stuff. Humans have been moving to music since the Beginning and you really never, ever wanted to learn?"

"I did learn," the angel pointed out.

"Never wanted to learn more than the one?" Crowley amended. "Just the one in six thousand years?"

"It just didn't strike me as something I wanted to try," Aziraphale shrugged and refilled his wine glass. "The humans seemed to enjoy it sure enough, but it looked like such a hassle to attempt."

"A hassle!" Crowley threw his head back and grabbed his hair, and goodness did Aziraphale love to watch him wax dramatic when embroiled in a topic he was passionate about. "Dancing a hassle! Dancing a ha- It's not a job, angel, it's for fun!"

"Yes but in order for one to dance well, one must put in a certain amount of work."

"It's not about dancing well, it's about letting loose." Crowley rolled his eyes, stalking over to the angel's record collection next to the gramophone. "Unless you're in a professional stage company, you're not required to dance well."

"Somehow that sentiment isn't the least bit surprising coming from you."

"Oi, I'll have you know I'm an excellent dancer even though I'm not required to be. Come on, there's got to be something in here you can dance to."

"I don't know the proper steps to anything else."

"Bah, steps!" Crowley waved him off. "Don't need steps. Just make it up."

"I most certainly cannot."

"You most certainly can so. Oh for Satan's sake-" Crowley gave up his hunt and snapped, materializing a record in the gramophone and giving the handle a few solid cranks. "There we go!" His shoulders began moving to a heavy clapping beat that had definitely never been released on 78.

He turned back to Aziraphale, a grin on his face as his hips twitched to the music. "No steps, see? Just freestyle it. Come on, off the sofa, let's see it."

"This hit, that ice cold,

Michelle Pfeiffer, that white gold,

This one for them hood girls,

Them good girls, straight masterpieces-"

He made a get-up gesture and Aziraphale rose uncertainly. "I really don't think I know what to do with this-"

"Don't have to, that's the best part. Just move to the beat. "

Aziraphale tried to imitate his friend, he really did, but there was no pattern to follow. One moment the movement was in Crowley's shoulders, the next it was in his hips, and now his feet were acting out a stomp-like rhythm on the carpet. It was a fascinating thing to watch, how dancing seemed to take over his entire corporation. With the gavotte, one's back remained quite straight. There was a level of control and skill to it that Aziraphale had greatly enjoyed: maintaining some parts of yourself in position while moving others. But with Crowley's dancing, the entire line of his body twisted and flowed. A movement that started in his neck might end in an arm, or maybe it would travel up one leg and come back down the other. He made it look effortless, like it took no thought at all.

"I'm too hot! Hot damn!

Call the police and the fireman.

I'm too hot! Hot damn!

Make a dragon wanna retire, man-"

The demon's eyes flicked over his stilted attempts to copy the motions and Aziraphale watched him bite back a smirk. "No, angel?"

"Perhaps it's this century's music - goodness, there's not much melody, is there? - but I really don't understand this sort of dancing."

"Not much to understand, really, but here. We'll step it back a few decades." He snapped again and a new record appeared in his hand, which was quickly swapped out for the one on the gramophone.

Crowley snapped his fingers to the beat, hips moving in time. "Oh, don't give me that look. You can't possibly dislike Bill Haley and His Comets."

"One, two, three o'clock, four o'clock, rock.

Five, six, seven o'clock, eight o'clock, rock.

Nine, ten, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, rock.

We're gonna rock! Around! The clock tonight!

Put your glad rags on and join me, hon',

We'll have some fun when the clock strikes one-"

"It's not that I dislike it..." Aziraphale did his best to imitate the hip thing, and the demon's stifled snort told him exactly how unsuccessful he was at it. "I just don't...connect with this style of dance, I suppose. That's the only way I know how to put it."

"So try your own style. It's not a right and wrong, it's just whatever motion speaks to you." Crowley threw his torso into a shimmy and goodness, what were his knees even doing? Aziraphale gave up trying to copy any of it.

"That's just it! Motions don't 'speak to me'. Dancing isn't...isn't...aimlessly gyrating! It's about form and style - about using form and style to bring the music to life. There's a language to it the same way there's a language to literature. Every kick and dip and bow means something and it's all spoken into being through movement! But there needs to be a form in order for that to happen."

"No no, that's the problem! That's so limiting! So much of the universe is already made up of forms and rules!" Crowley threw his hands up to encompass the heavens. "Laws and etiquette and physics, everywhere! Inescapable! Dancing is freedom! Music is emotion distilled down into pure audio form precisely so you can do what you want with it! How does it make you feel? What does it make you want? You take it and you process it and you feel it and move however it moves you! It's speaking, yes, but in a way no one else has control over! The thing about dancing is you get to be purely you, no matter what anybody else wants."

"I already am me," Aziraphale insisted. "And I like knowing what movement comes next. I like having straightforward expectations to fulfill. That's what's satisfying - completing the steps and knowing you've gotten them right!"

The moment stretched out between them as they both let this soak in. Somewhere along the way, the gramophone had made the executive decision to go silent.

"Certainly can't fault you for that," Crowley said slowly. "Preferring a solid plan. Expectations outlined and all. It's very you."

"Nor, I suppose, could I fault you for preferring more freedom in your movement. You've always had a penchant for finding new ways to express yourself. What with the clothes and the hair and all." Aziraphale fidgeted with the corner of his waistcoat absently. "It suits you, it really does. But not me. If that were my only option, I'd rather not dance at all." He shook himself with a tiny smile and sat back in his armchair. "Ah well. I had a good run with the gavotte, anyway. Got a few good decades out of it."

Crowley pursed his lips for a few moments, then switched the record again to fill the room with a smooth piano. "Can't have that, though, can we? One dance goes out of style and you're done? I don't think so. Come on, angel, get back up." He made a come-here motion until Aziraphale stood again.

"Look, I'm really not-"

"You want defined steps? I'll give you defined steps."

Aziraphale paused, considering. "What sort is it?"

"Easy one. Simple, can use it for a lot of dances. Waltz, foxtrot, all kinds of things."

Aziraphale chewed on his lip. He wasn't anxious to make a fool of himself stumbling over a completely unfamiliar style. But goodness, he missed dancing.

Crowley held out a hand to him. It was a hesitant thing, far enough out to be an offering but close enough in to be passed off as a casual gesture if it went unaccepted.

Aziraphale braced himself and accepted it. "Right. So how does this work?"

"Easy. Here, I'll lead. So you just - hand here... Other hand here..." Crowley positioned Aziraphale's right hand on his shoulder and loosely grasped his left. They stood like that together for a moment, a good distance apart so the angel could look down at his shoes. "And I step like this..." Crowley moved one foot forward. "So you step backwards to match me. Go on, then."

Aziraphale stepped as instructed.

"Right. And then I move here -" His other foot came forward and to the side - "And yours comes back and over along the same route. Yep. Now feet together, like they were at the start. Good?"

Aziraphale made certain he had his balance and nodded.

"Good. Now I step back, like you did, and you come forward this time... No no, leave your other foot there. Right. Now bring your other foot forward as mine comes back and over. Just stepping in a big square, that's all we're doing. And feet back at the start. Make sense?"

Aziraphale pulled in a deep breath. "Simple enough in theory."

"Here, we'll try it again. Back-two. Side-two. Forward-two. Side-two...that's right. Now we just add a bit of a turn to it and that's all it is. Like this... Back-two, side-two-"

Aziraphale clutched at him as they worked their way around the room to the music. (The furniture wisely backed itself up to give them space, twisting physics occasionally to avoid being tripped over.) The problem wasn't the steps, exactly. It was combining the steps with everything else: holding tight to Crowley to keep his balance while still trying to keep enough distance to give his legs room to work, figuring out which foot to have his weight on and when, incorporating the dratted turn into the rest of it, moving precisely in time with Crowley so that they didn't step on each other.

Humans had so many pieces to keep track of. So many parts moving a specific distance at the same time. He'd been in this corporation for thousands of years and usually had an excellent handle on how it operated, but that only made new movement patterns more difficult to master. It took so much work for him to commit such things to muscle memory. Each misstep threw his rhythm off and dammit, there, he was so close to overbalancing them both -

But Crowley kept him in place.

Crowley's palm rested just under his right shoulder blade, guiding the motion of his body through space. Holding him so steady even when he felt himself floundering. Wasn't that always the way? he thought distantly, eyes trained on his feet. Even after stepping repeatedly on the demon's toes (and heels, and instep, and in one spectacular fumble the back of his left knee) Crowley was a solid anchor keeping him upright.

Dancing of any variety did not come naturally to Aziraphale. Angels were built to be sturdy, immovable. It had taken him ages to make any headway at all with the gavotte. But Crowley didn't seem to mind. He chuckled a bit when Aziraphale stepped too early. He murmured advice, a smile on his lips. And his eyes sparkled. Goodness, how they sparkled.

Letting the music wash over him, Aziraphale put his trust in Crowley. Let the demon guide him here in their own little circle. Slowly, slowly, he was getting the hang of the steps - treading on toes less at any rate. It was nice, dancing like this, it really was...

And then Crowley spun him.

He didn't realize what was happening until it was practically over. The motion of Crowley's arm coming up and turning guided his whole body smoothly around and he clicked back into place against the demon like he was never meant to be anywhere else.

Aziraphale's feet faltered to a stop, eyes wide and all steps forgotten.

Crowley froze with him. "Too much?" he asked quietly.

"I - I..." Aziraphale felt like he was still spinning, heart beating entirely too fast. "I don't..."

"Too much," Crowley answered himself, releasing his hold and taking a step back. "Thought I might try mixing it up, but I misjudged. Won't do it again."

"Mixing it...oh. Of course." Aziraphale looked down at the space between them. It was barely two feet but it suddenly seemed so much farther. "This is holding you back, isn't it? This repetitive step. You'd much rather be improvising."

"I...well I didn't say that..."

"Like you said before. You'd prefer to let the music move you rather than be limited to a predetermined pattern. I can understand that even if I can't relate. You shouldn't be beholden to this."

"It's good," Crowley blurted out, making the angel pause. "For music like this. The down-tempo, largo stuff. This is a good way to dance to it. I like it." He swallowed hard and tried for a nonchalant shrug. "I mean, don't ask me to dance like this to Uptown Funk but for this style it's...y'know. It's good."

"Right. Good." Aziraphale fidgeted, hands feeling incredibly empty. "I admit, I'm very much out of my depth here. Angels don't... I don't know what I'm doing.”

"We can stop. No sense pushing it."

"I didn't say... I'll get used to it."

"You don't have to get used to anything you don't want to." Crowley made to step back but Aziraphale, in an instant of panic, stepped forward after him.

"I want to!"

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft piano. Crowley stood frozen, as though his next movement required the most careful consideration of his life.

Aziraphale steeled himself and raised his hands back to their dancing positions. "Please."

The demon looked over the two of them and very hesitantly replaced his hands, as though doing so might scare the angel off.

They stood there for a long time. Not moving, just holding on to each other with the breathless tension of men on the gallows, waiting for the trap door to open beneath them.

Aziraphale pulled in a deep, steadying breath. "I'm afraid it's going to take a long time for me to get this right. All of this. I'm not very good at this sort of thing when I don't know the steps."

"Take all the time you need," Crowley replied softly. "I'm just sort of making it up as I go, honestly."

"It might be very long. I can't improvise as easily as you can."

"I wouldn't expect you to." The demon tightened his grip ever so slightly and Aziraphale suddenly couldn't conceive of pulling away. "No spinning, promise."

"I - I didn't say that." Fingers itched to trace a familiar nervous pattern - straighten bowtie, adjust waistcoat. They tightened in Crowley's hands instead. "Just...warn me before you do. Let me prepare."

"I can do that, yeah." The demon held him so carefully, as though giving him every chance to break away, and started them off into their pattern once more.

The hesitant grip grew more sure with each rotation around the room, and it was impossible to tell if it was one or both of them. Each successful round of the sequence made Aziraphale feel a little bolder. It was the reassurance of a task set and completed: the very ancient satisfaction of expectations met. That desire had been ingrained in his bones since bones were invented and in a way it calmed him. There was so much he suddenly felt unprepared for but at least he could do this. 

He wasn’t successful every time, of course. He still fumbled, still trod on snakeskin shoes. But the guiding hand was back under his shoulder blade and God, did it make a world of difference. It stayed with him through each failed attempt and carried him through to try again. Any wrong positioning of his legs seemed less important when he was sure Crowley would keep him where he needed to be. 

He could see the tension draining from the demon as well. The sense that he was holding something fragile and afraid to break it was melting slowly back into the confident strides Aziraphale had seen from the start. The lines of motion flowed through him the way they had earlier, though more predictably at present. He was still amazing to watch, all moving lines and sharp joints. Aziraphale blamed more than one stagger on it.

"All right if I spin you?"

The angel braced himself. "All right."

"'Kay. Three, two-" Crowley twirled him again and for a single, dazzling moment it felt like flying. It felt free and easy and the most natural thing in the world -

And then he stumbled over his own feet coming back in and nearly collapsed against the demon's chest and drat, now he'd lost all the steps-

"Forward-two, right-two, back-two, you've got it, come on, forward-two -"

Aziraphale clung to the instructions and managed to get back on track within an eight-count, concentrating fiercely on the movements of their feet together.

"That's what I'm talking about. Look at you. Angel dancing something other than the gavotte. Who would have thought, eh?"

"Who indeed." There was a warm fluttering in his chest. So much to keep track of with these human bodies.

He was still going to need a lot of time and a lot of practice. He had a feeling there was a lot of unknown territory ahead regarding the two of them.

But he had Crowley to keep him steady. So they’d be all right.

[west-tokyo-incidents]

Zombie AU - Karakuridouji ULTIMO

Song - Glass Animals / Mama's Gun

CWs// Trauma, death, gore, Bad Endings, corruption, robot virus, illness, zombification, DID with Evil Alter:tm: (but it has a good(?) ending)

Buckle up, bitches.

First up; this is a setting as a game. Protagonist is Paresse. Why? I'm a narcissist, stfu.

Starts out in a fairly futuristic cell in first person, you're given the option of getting up or doing nothing.

Doing nothing just prompts the same option over and over. Hitting nothing a certain amount of times would cause a game over.

If you get up, you stumble and Paresse's right, fucked up leg comes into view and triggers a panic attack, blaring damage warning signals come across his Heads-Up Display, and it glitches out into nothingness.

After a moment it fades back into Paresse being jerked up by someone and a series of tests are done on him that act like a tutorial, BUT ALSO if you don't obey perfectly, the voice doing the tests says "subject displays independent thought, virus must be allowed to progress further" and you have to start from the beginning. Paresse says nothing and is eerily silent through the entire tutorial.

At the end, a chance to break free is presented and if you don't take it, the game ends.

If you take it, there's a whole ass chase sequence and even glimpses of other fucked up douji chasing you. Once free you're basically in an open world in post-apocalyptic Japan. I imagine gameplay being similar in a way to Bloodborne or Elden Ring in the whole "bosses are roaming the open world and if you're underleveled, well, haha, sucks to be you, I guess". Except you have a fatigue meter and at the beginning it's in the shitter because of the chase.

There's no real apparent aim at first except to not get caught again. Paresse doesn't talk much, but may make occasional quips if you get too close to a cliff edge or do something stupid... and it becomes apparent that you're both Paresse and also not at all. You play as whatever virus has infected Paresse, but you're mutated, different. You're the "Masked" version of Paresse. There are wildly different out comes to the game, whether you help the few remaining humans and masters among them and defeat all of the other doji or if you go fucking ballistic and kill everything OR if you find a hole to curl up in and hide/die.

If you help the remaining humans, though, you get more story and more context of what's going on. They WILL shoot at you at first, though, so it's not an obvious option.

With the humans you discover that Dunstan abandoned the timeline after someone from the future came back and sabotaged the experiment with a computer virus (named Dragon's Bane because I'm creative) intended to change the doji and make them strong enough to turn on Dunstan. OBVIOUSLY... this went horribly wrong.

The humans help locate and identify the weakest of the doji who've gone berserk and help you identify weaknesses in the more powerful ones. As you go, Paresse will make comments about how they're beyond help, their spirit spheres are empty, they're basically just walking corpses. And, well, he's right. If you investigate any of the bodies after defeating them and have the humans search it or study it or whatever, all personality, learning, and other higher thought circuitboards have long since been fried. This is explained at the reason they don't use their noh (because fuck if I'm gonna a plan out mechanics for a doji who can control Time and Space in a game, no thank you.)

Without the humans it's pretty much just trial and error figuring out the bosses and over time Paresse gets quieter and less frequent as his personality is slowly repressed in favor of yours and eventually at the end the people who originally created the virus capture you and you're considered their ultimate weapon and it's implied you'll be let loose in other timelines to hunt down Dunstan and end the experiment once and for all. Paresse's personality boards have been determined to be wiped and you're all that remains. A killing machine. Not good, not evil, just. Mindless.

With the humans, though, you're given the option to actually talk to Paresse more often and encourage him to stay active, rather than be repressed by your personality over his. Eventually you can find Hana, which triggers the first true cutscene and shows Paresse taking the front--and therefore taking control away from you, his alternate personality. Hana is someone Paresse remembers and wants to protect, unlike the other masters who're still alive. Half the mask parts away from his face in the cutscene to show the change in front.

From there, every time you fight an evil doji boss, Paresse will openly ask for you to investigate them. He doesn't say it, but it's implied he misses them.

However, if you meet Hana first before facing Rage down, the story changes again.

Because I'm a nasty shipper with an OTP *gay little hand flutter.*

It happens either way that Rage is the only one who can use his Noh, he's been trapped and being used to power the place you were originally imprisoned. If you kill him and investigate, in any way you play, you discover that some of his personality board was still intact. BUT, if you've found Hana, Paresse will make the connection that he can use his Noh, meaning something in him is still intact. You're given the option to call his name.

If you don't, the fight continues as normal.

If you do, however, Rage seems to grind to a halt and starts twitching, as if pulling against something. You're no longer allowed to target him while this happens and your objective on your HUD starts to glitch. After a moment of this, he speaks in a very, very strained and hoarse voice, and begs you to help him. After this the objective glitches out entirely and changed from "Kill Rage" to "Save Rage" and you now target the wires connecting him to the building. Once he's free it sets off another cutscene with Paresse taking control from you to subdue Rage to take him back to the human's stronghold.

With the power gone from the main building, the mindless zombie doji are without orders so they more wander aimlessly rather than have coordinated assaults, so defending the stronghold while Rage is worked on isn't as important. After a certain amount of in-game time, he's mostly repaired, but can't move around very freely. He takes over defending the stronghold, and frees you up from any defense and upkeep missions in the stronghold, leaving you free to explore more and dick around fighting and shit. (And ofc there's a romantic sidequest with him and his own virus alter because I'm Like That(tm).)

There are essentially six endings that I have planned out;

If you do nothing in the beginning enough times, it's the "Lazy" ending.

If you fail to escape after completing the tutorial as robotically as possible, it's the "Obediant Soldier" ending.

If you kill everything and get captured at the end it's the "Mindless Destruction" ending.

If you help humans but fail to find Hana and thus fail to save Rage, it's the "Not Quite Alone." ending.

With Hana and not Rage, it's the "Flowering Trees" ending.

With both Hana and Rage(romantic or not), it's the "Into The Unknown" ending.

[sweetestlamb]

BMTL Chapter 9- Teaser

Author's note: Chapter 9 is coming after a short break! Here's a teaser, this one will be another rollercoaster and the pov I've been dreading the most🙄 plus a special guest based on a suggestion one of you made! All this and more on the next episode of Dragon Ball Z 😂😂😂 errr I mean Bring me to life.

The bus ride is far too quick, he already loathes the moment when his shoulder will no longer be brushing "accidentally" against hers and he has to suppress a groan when someone rings the bell and he realizes this is their stop. She'd been acting uncharacteristically adorable after his honest statement earlier, running away as soon as the bus arrived as if she'd never gazed upon herself in a reflective surface before. She was beautiful, it wasn't something that was subjective it was just a fact. But once they entered the bus she made her way to a single seater by the window, he'd easily tugged her away by her backpack forcing her to a double seater in the back instead.

They were sitting together, there were already straying eyes watching her every move. Some from their schools and others just strangers who didn't bother to hide their interest in her, eying her up and and piquing his desire to throw hands. They were all lucky he had an important date after school.

She'd glared at him and swung her arms latching on to a metal handle trying to stop him but he was stronger than her, with a huff he pulled her with him and made her sit in the inner seat so he could bracket her in and marginally hide her form from the predatory looks.

Her leg brushed against his before moving away, so quickly he almost thought he imagined the whole thing. But then it happened again. He glanced over discretely at the tail of his eye.

He'd never seen Sujin fidget before. Didn't know her bones were capable of such a function but he had felt her jiggling knee knock into his own and learned that even an ice princess like her got embarrassed. He swallowed the immense pride that erupted at the realization that he was the one making her act this way. Completely out of her character.

"It's our stop." She whispers staring at the floor, eyes refusing to look up.

He's tempted to ignore her and see if that will make her look at him, now that he's been the center of her attention- that hug is burned into his mind- he is greedy for more, her resistance makes him even more desperate.

But he wordlessly stands up instead sliding out of the seat and opening the back door for them, she only pauses minutely before skipping down the stairs and exiting the bus. Her short pleated skirt bounces dangerously with every movement and he's temporarily distracted gazing at the smooth expanse of milky skin, why were the school skirts so short anyway? Sujin's barely reached her knee, stopping in the meat of her thigh.

His stomach clenches at the thought of others staring too, maybe he could convince her to tie the sweater around her waist instead of wearing it normally. It was worth a try at least.

"We probably shouldn't walk in together, your fangirls will go cra--"

He interrupts her, not paying at all to what she's suggesting because he has no intentions of separating from her. She's so exhausting with all this push and pull honestly. He already told her that they don't matter.

"Isn't your skirt too short?"

He stops when he realizes that she's no longer beside him, twisting left and right before turning around and seeing her a few paces behind. He almost sighs in relief much more familiar with this particular emotion etched on her face, annoyance and mild rage- the patented princess look™️ and he backs up looking at her with a lifted brow, silently questioning her inactivity.

"What did you say to me Han Seojun?" She admonishes staring at him like he's grown another head, she also steps into his space tilting her angry face to glare directly into his face. She looks prepared to murder him and hide the body.

He's not stupid enough to repeat his gutsy idiotic question, he very much likes his face the way it's currently arranged. He might be stupid but he's not that stupid.

"Me? Nothing. I would never say anything, I don't deserve to speak in your presence." He flutters his eyelashes dramatically, speaking in an exaggerated cute voice and she stares blankly at first. Both of them searching the others face before the tension is snapped like a rubber band and she pushes him in the chest, he almost whines reaching out to grab her wrist before he sees the small smile on her face, its hidden instantly behind the curtain of her hair when she moves away but he sees it and he feels his chest palpitate.

He stands staring in wonder. Lost in her spell.

He's never been a gracious loser but she gives him no chance in the matter.

He stares at her back, cheeks hurting as beams at her bounding off in his sweater. It's hers now he will never be able to wear it again without remembering her in it, it's been ruined.

Chorong struggles to carry all the cards he pushes at him, the female population seems to have decided that he was sick and his return results in high pitched screams of his name and constant food and gifts being shoved in his direction, despite his refusal. He's wandering the halls arm filled with the gifts when he runs into Sujin, her face brightens upon seeing him before she glances down at his arms. The smile is thwrated before it can even come to fruition, her eyes turning cold before she stomped past him.

He smirked at her back, chuckling as Chorong stared in confusion before asking, "What's wrong with her?" He shook his head before handing the bigger boy all the unwanted gifts, her smile was worth more than all of this anyway.

Lunch can't come soon enough and he happily swaggers into the bustling room, oblivious to the amount of hungry eyes that latch onto his form. His own eyes too busy locking on one figure and one figure alone.

The seat across from her is conveniently empty and he laughs into his sleeve when Jukyeong waves him over, smiling conspirationally at him pointing at the empty seat and giving him a thumbs up. He can't control his laughter when Sujin turns to the girl and to hide her damning thumb the clumsy girl pokes herself in the eye. He definitely owed her.

Suho nods at him as he takes his seat, he returns the gesture. Watching at the usually stoic boy reaches across to comfort his girlfriend, stroking her hair and blowing gently into her teary red eye as she whines loudly.

He opens his backpack taking out the food the girl avoiding him like the plague had given him just this morning. The dumplings are perfect this time she's clearly figured out a technique now, and when he bites into them a delicious umami flavor explodes on his tongue. He groans in pleasure before stuffing another dumpling in his mouth eagerly.

"Wow those look amazing! Did your mom make them?" Su-ah calls across the table and he freezes mid-chew instinctively looking at the real culprit and her eyes are already on him, wide and then pleading. He knows what she's begging from him but he really really wants to disobey and tell everyone that she made them for him. That same Kang Sujin, who served men roundhouse kicks and resting bitch faces for lunch had made him food and was sitting there eating a lunch he had prepared for her.

It sounds so domestic and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from doing something she'll regret.

But she's not ready it's too evident and he's not inconsiderate nor selfish. Whatever this is, it's far too new and fragile for him to throw it to the wolves before it's on stable grounding.

"No my mom didn't make it." He answers honestly and he can feel the cold air wafting off Sujin in frigid waves and then he feels a sharp kick to his ankle, he has to grab her feet with his legs to stop her from delivering another blow. He probably shouldn't find her violent tendencies so attractive. He clearly isn't right in the head.

"Someone else made it. Someone special." He continues trying not to wince as she tries to attack him again. Immediately the table erupts into ohs and everyone starts talking at once except her best friends who look on with smirks, Su-ah playfully winking at him.

"Someone special? Who? Who made it? Do you have a girlfriend?"

Sujin spontaneously starts choking on her blueberry milk, the very one he'd packed in her lunch bag this morning the pale blue liquid spilling out the corners of her lips. He passes her a napkin immediately, their fingers brushing as she takes the paper from his grip wiping her face and looking sheepish once she realizes that all eyes are on her now.

"Are you okay?" He asks amused, looking at her with a smile barely hidden. So fucking cute.

"Yeah don't worry about me." She breezily replies struggling to escape from his tight grip under the table, unbeknownst to everyone there. But her cold statement only reminds me of their meeting in the hospital. Her words echoing in his heart, I'm going to worry about you. Who are you to tell me not to? Let me do what I want. Hearing those words made him want to stupidly put himself in more scenarios that would result in her concern, maybe he'd get another hug. Or a even a ki--

"Don't think we forgot! Who made you this food Seojun-ah?" Chorong breaks his concentration and he stares incredulously at the other boy, his words were meant to trick everyone else but his best friend should know who he was referring to; he'd been the one to deliver the food for him after all. Wasn't it clear who he liked? Who might be making him food in return?

He sighs shaking his head, glancing up at Sujin from under his fringe feeling warm all over.

It's hard to tail him without making it too obvious but she tells Jukyeong and Su-ah that she has something to do before running after Seojun at a distance. She misses the knowing look on both of their faces as they watch her conspicuously hide behind a very thin tree. He had offered to wait for her but she didn't need his fanclub seeing them leaving together, they were so possessive of the boy. It didn't matter that he never showed any interest in them they were all still convinced that he belonged to them.

She didn't see him making food for any of them so she didn't know how they reached this asinine conclusion but she'd rather stay off their radar.

"Are you practicing to be a national spy? Why didn't you come when I offered to wait for you?" They are far from the school now, miles but she still looks around nervously before speeding up finally allowing them to walk side by side. He looks over at her fondly, she looks away unable to maintain eye contact when he's acting like this. It doesn't help that she can feel her walls weakening, she was tempted to accept his offer earlier. To walk with him side by side and let everyone see, she was losing her mind.

"I didn't want to be murdered by your girls." She teases, the words fall flat because as soon as she utters them she feels sick to her stomach.

A huge hand suddenly wraps around her wrist halting her, warm even through the stick material of the gifted sweater.

She turns to look at him bewildered, even more so at the hard look on his face. Those exotically sloping eyes even thinner than usual as he pulls her closer. She gulps, hard. Looking at him as his eyes peruse her face slowly, full of dark intention her blood simmers hot under the matching gaze.

"They aren't my girls. You know that." The emphasis and bite on the word makes her uneasy, refusing to think about the implications of his words. A sheen of sweat raises on her back, and she gently tugs her arm away scoffing to tear through the thick cloud of tension that is loitering between them.

"I was just joking. You don't have to be so serious. Let's go." She awkwardly rubs at her wrist before bolting away, scared to continue this line of conversation. Something has changed between them and she has no idea how and if they can go back to the way things were.

A little voice in her head whispers, Is that really what want you?

How is she supposed to know what she wants? Up until this point that has never mattered to anyone, she was just expected to do as she was told. Speak when spoken to. Everything about this is foreign and terrifying. Knowing that he'll be there to catch her if she falls is more nerve wrecking than anything she's faced thus far.

It's better not to think about it especially with where they're going, but thinking about that makes her even more nervous. She fidgets with the sleeve of the huge sweater, tugging at the extra material that folds over her hands. She suddenly realizes that she's completely covered in Seojun, this wasn't her best idea but she can't bring herself to remove the sweater.

She's never felt so warm.

"You can wait inside, I need to get something." He suddenly pats her head ruffling her hair and she reaches up to push his hand away only to be entranced by the grin on his face, has his smile always been that luminant or is this reserved just for her?

[amethystpath-writes]

This might have been done before but could you do a story of a princess in a tower and a dragon. But the princess is the dragon. Maybe she stays at the tower cause she has no where else to go. Knights hurt her trying to get to the supposed princess inside.

It’s been a while, but I finally got to sit down and finish this one after starting it forever ago!

******

It began as a wish- a wish for the patience required to withstand the life of a royal. Witches were just as rotten as genies, and perhaps the princess should have known that, but in several days’ worth of desperateness, she hadn’t thought of it.

See, the princess, Killah, had only wanted a reprieve- a break from all her royal duties. She was tired of lessons, tired of practicing posture, tired of identifying which spoon to put in her tea versus her soup. It was stupid, all of it. More than stupid, it was meaningless. So, Killah sought a solution.

Everyone in her kingdom, and those bordering, knew that the witch lived in the marshlands. It was a disgusting region, and the princess almost regretted going, but then Killah spotted a wooden structure and felt a beam of hope.

Not long after she spotted the structure, the princess was walking into it. The hut was small at first and Killah had to duck in order to avoid hitting her head. As she continued to walk in, though, it opened up- ceiling reaching up as far as the sky, walls further than the ends of any ocean. It was magic.

The ordeal went by quickly. The princess saw found the hunchbacked witch, said hello, and, nearly immediately, the witch asked what Killah wanted.

“I need patience,” the princess said, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit her absence of such a trait. It was a fact that she didn’t have it. Having worked on it before only to make zero progress, this witch was her only option. Would her father be disappointed? Of course. But he’d be even more disappointed if the princess ran away from her duties altogether- something she considered doing many times.

The witch was willing to help under one condition. She didn’t want Killah’s money or her voice. She wanted the girl’s appearance.

“But my kingdom won’t recognize me.”

“You will have the royal seal, my dear. You will have your voice. You will have a personality- even if it’s a bettered one; it is only one small change. You will be recognized,” the witch assured Killah.

It took no more than that for the princess to come to an agreement.

The witch got to work, swirling her hands, casting light here and there, walking around the room in odd shapes. Killah almost wanted to snap, “Can we speed this up any? I’m tired of standing here,” but she stopped herself. Maybe that meant the spell- or whatever witches dealt in- was working. Maybe she was becoming more patient. Or, maybe she was still impatient, but knew not the offend the witch- as if it would have mattered.

So, she waited, watching as the witch took her own appearance. It was like looking into a three-dimensional mirror- if there could ever be such a thing. Killah asked, “What do I look like, then?”

In the next moment, the princess felt her skin being pulled, like someone was pinching and tugging at her- mostly in her arms and legs. They itched, and as Killah went to scratch one of her arms, she squealed, seeing the way her nails were…they were different. They weren’t her own. They were blackened, like she dipped her fingers in tar and it got beneath her nails. But it wasn’t just below the tips; it was the whole of the nails.

“What’s happening!” The tar was spreading beyond Killah’s nails into her actual fingers. The black was fading to a grey as it travelled up her arms. She looked to the witch- or to herself as it seemed. “Stop it! Stop…stop this! Whatever this is. Oh my gods. Oh my gods.” Not only was she itching and scratching an absurd amount, but her nails were sharpening, too. Sharpening and sharpening and they wouldn’t stop, just like she wouldn’t stop itching. “Stop!”

“It’s nothing outside of the deal we made. You wanted patience, and I wanted your looks. We are both getting what we want- and a little extra. I think I hear the prince.”

While she spoke, the black-grey was becoming worse. It was growing, staining every inch of Killah’s skin. Looking at her hands now, it was horrific. They were developing bumps- scales, ones that were almost…glossy.

“The horse is getting closer. I can hear it.”

Killah ran to the nearest window- one she hadn’t even seen before now, and looked outside to see the prince, her brother, was indeed riding on horseback towards the witch hut. The itching was decreasing as the prince neared. She’d look down at herself- to inspect her nails, her hands, her skin, but her focus was on her brother. He was so close, and she could feel herself ready to sprint out of the witch’s hut, but then…

A heavy weight filled Killah’s chest, and she sat. A bit awkwardly, but she sat right on the floor, waiting for her brother to arrive. The urge to run to him disappeared. Patience, she said- or tried to say. What came out instead was far from human.

The princess felt foreign to herself, arms feeling weightier than usual- legs and head the same. She thought to bring a hand to her head, at the split of her lips where strange sounds emerged, but as she lifted her hand, it was wrong. It was so, so wrong, and a whine was released from her throat. With the whine came a spew of…of spit. A long string of saliva was spread across the floor and window.

Panicking, Killah hit one hand- one reptilian hand- against the other, beating it, trying to beat away whatever curse this was the witch gave her.

“I am not sure what you think that is accomplishing, but I can tell you for certain that it is nothing.”

Killah opened her mouth- if she could even call it that now. It was more of a snout than anything, and it was growing, lengthening before her very eyes.

Having sensed the question the princess was going to ask, the witch answered, “A dragon. Well, almost.”

In the next moment, the princess’ back ached and she cried out with yet another unwilling transformation. Wings- she knew. Killah laid down, waiting for the pain to eb down. Her brother would be here any minute and when he arrived, she could show him how her ring was still- she gasped, in whatever way a dragon could do as such. It was a guttural noise, one Killah would have curled a lip at if she could.

There was no ring on her finger. Of course there wouldn’t be. It would have broken with the great stretch of her body as it changed from human to reptile. As she looked for it, though, there was no gold ring to be seen. Killah looked to the witch.

“Now, that’s a shame.” The witch pouted.

Is that what I look like when I do that? Killah thought to herself. She was a prudish thing, wasn’t she? No wonder her mother scorned her features so often. Albeit beautiful, the princess’ human form expressed a constant state of annoyance and want.

“I looked so forward to wearing this. No matter”- a knock sounded at the hut’s door. It seemed so long ago that Killah ventured through it. She wished she could venture out, but it was too narrow now. The princess would never be able to leave this hut being in the wild form she was now.

“Killah!”

The princess roared- on accident- meanwhile the witch screamed for the prince.

In a matter of seconds, Killah’s brother was running into the forever expansive room. He drew his sword with a holler, causing Killah to raise her hands- claws- in defence. Without a word, the prince was swinging, slicing metal into scaled skin.

The witch screamed all the while, pretending she was the one being sliced to bits while the real princess cried in pain, backing further, and further, and further away. Where was the wall? Where was the wall? Killah didn’t think it’d ever end. Still, she tried with every piece of her dragon being to convince the prince it was her. It was his sister he was attempting to kill.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” the witch screamed as she scurried passed the two locked in a match of Hurt & Avoid-Being-Hurt. She grasped the prince by the shoulder and yelled at him as he continued flashing his sword, “It’ll kill you! It’s already killed so many. We have to run!”

Killah looked in horror at the rest of the room as it warped into a stingy cave, one littered with human skeletons and crunched armour. “No! That wasn’t me!” the princess tried to tell, but with no use. She only roared and shot out more disgusting saliva. She tried sitting, tried staying as still as possible to prove she wasn’t a threat, but before her brother would even consider her vulnerable state, he ran away with the witch.

Chasing after them perhaps wasn’t the most brilliant idea, but what else was Killah to do? The witch was the only one who could change her back, but here she was, running away with a false image and taking the princess’ only alternative hope of escape with her. What would the witch do to her kingdom?

***

Years followed and the princess dragon waited, and waited, and waited, surprisingly- though maybe not so surprising at all- without irritation. Someone will come, Killah thought, someone that will see passed this spell. And they’ll reverse it somehow. They’ll take me home. It was these thoughts that kept the unfortunate princess going.

Patience was hope, and hope was patience. They relied on the other in order to co-exist.

[aria-i-adagio]

Fandom: Dragon Age

Ship: Dorian x m!Trevelyan

Rating: T

read on A03 or below

(title from REM, 'Imitation of Life')

Meanwhile, in Haven.

Rhys has a list of sights he does not want to see as he’s dying. At the top (and a recent addition) are hurlocks - those are some ugly motherfuckers, and he suspects that they enjoy making death hurt. Most varieties of demons; although, perhaps a desire demon might not be too bad. Granted, he doesn’t know if the illusions they cast last up to the point of death, or if those are only good while being possessed. That might change the calculus a bit. One of the red lyrium crystal monsters the Templars were turning themselves into. A bear. He definitely does not want to see a bear while he’s dying.

As final sights go, the implosion of the Breach as the thing in his hand stitches the Veil back together isn’t a bad one. The outer edges turn magenta, then blue-violet. The cooler colors rush to the center, swirl together, drawing inward until there’s just a speck of black, more liquid than the darkest night. Then bright, morning sunlight pulses like a heartbeat from that center.

Rhys lets go of the breath he was holding. He thinks it worked, thinks the Breach is closed. It feels powerful enough - a wave of magic like fire and lightning pouring through him, in and out, like breathing in harsh, herbal smoke that messes with his head and makes the world swim, and at least, in his case, despite many promises to the contrary never makes him as sleepy as it just makes him keyed up and in want a good fuck.

The shockwave following the pulse of white light picks him up off his feet and sends him hurtling through the air and slamming him like a ragdoll into rocks and ice around Haven.

Still, the light is damned pretty. Until it fades.

He hears Dorian's voice through the ringing in his ears. “Rhys! Thank the Maker.”

Rhys hopes that he isn’t dead because if he is that implies that Dorian is dead too, and that would rather sad. The world needs Dorian smiling and making catty jokes. There’s been too much melancholy and death over the past few months. Rhys is getting tired of all the omens of doom and gloom.

There’s another little gap in time before his head recovers enough to remember how to open his eyes. When he does, Cassandra’s upside-down face greets him. Dorian's would have been a prettier sight, but there's something comfortingly familiar about seeing Cassie first thing after realizing that - despite there being every reason for him to be - he is not, in fact, dead.

Rhys's vision still spins, and his left arm feels like it’s burning from the inside out. Yes, he’s been here before. Best just to let go, disconnect from it, float a little bit. “Are you going to yell at me again?”

“What?” Cassie’s dark brows pull low over her eyes. “No!”

“Too bad. You’re kinda attractive when you look like you’re about to commit murder.”

“Herald!”

Cassie sounds scandalized. Rhys manages a grin. Not that scandalizing Cassie actually takes that much effort. Makes her easy to tease. Something to distract him from how much he’s hurting at the moment because pretending that the waves of pain radiating from his arm are the ocean doesn’t actually work very well. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been in the ocean since he was a small child. The memory of floating in warm waves until they send you tumbling into rough sand isn’t fresh enough.

“Keep talking like that, Lucky, and you might yet manage to die tonight.”

“Hey, Varric.” Rhys tries to lift his head and the bastard offspring of fire and electricity shoots from his shoulder to neck and then down his spine. The muscles in his back spasm and his head hits the ground beneath him, blacking out his vision for another moment and sending the ringing in his ears a pitch higher. “Did it work?” he asks groggily.

“You did good, kid.”

“So it -”

“The Breach is sealed, Rhys.” Solas’s calm voice is reassuring to hear. “Try not to move, this will hurt more before it hurts less.”

“That story -” He means to say ‘again,’ but Cassandra grabs his shoulders very firmly and maybe he shouldn't waste breath on quips.

“Dorian, be ready.” Solas does something, and that something rips the fire out of his left arm, which is - as promised - worse than just letting it settle in like some magical, fatal addition to the marrow.

“Motherfucking, son of a bitch, what in the name of Andraste's flaming arse -”

“Language.” Cassie lets go of his shoulders and reprimands him with a light cuff on the side of his head. “Oh let the kid blaspheme a bit, Seeker. He's earned it.”

Rhys sits up and rubs his hand. Above him, the sky is still marked by a line of bright green, but it’s a seam in the darkness, not a whirling, pulsating storm. His arm doesn't hurt now, but there's the same fuzzy numb wrongness in his wrist and palm that he's gotten used to over the past few months. That's on a good day.

Solas arches his eyebrows and looks amused. “You know I do very little in the name of Andraste's arse, flaming or not.”

“Whatever your reason -” Rhys experimentally stretches out his left arm and reaches across his chest to rub his shoulder. It’s still aching, but just the banal ache of falling a bit too hard. “Thank you."

Nearby Dorian finishes casting with an elegant - and probably unnecessary - flourish of his elegant hands. One of the trees beside the Chantry behind to glow with the green of a Veil Rift, then warming to a color closer to chartreuse.

“What is that?”

“You absorbed a lot of energy while closing the Breach. I siphoned off what I could at the time. But still, far more than a human body is supposed can contain and remain alive.”

“Right.” Movement of energy had been his theory for some time. Massive amounts of magic were required to open or close a rift in the Veil, and something had to serve as a conduit. Whatever happened at the Conclave had left him as that conduit, but each time he felt the power come closer to burning through the bonds that held him together, made him human. Which was precisely why there was a stack of farewell letters sitting on the desk in Rhys's quarters. He hadn’t expected to live through whatever it took to close the Breach.

“Dorian and I pulled off some of what remained and redirected it. It's a rather beautiful effect, albeit transient.”

The tree turns to a brilliant brilliant gold and then quivers and collapses into a pile of shimmering dust. Rhys swallows hard. Not expecting to live isn’t quite the same as getting a glimpse of how you would have died. Or maybe a human body was messier than a tree. Typically were less graceful than plants. “I see.”

“Right then. Let's get you freshened up and then get some liquor in you.” Dorian grabs his forearms and hauls him to his feet. Face to face with the other mage, Rhys feels transparent. Like a plane of glass that can't hide fears and flaws. It's terrifying. Electrifying. “Everyone else has already started the party.”

Even nearly nose to nose with Dorian, Rhys still can't tame the small voice in the back of his head that says he's reading Dorian all wrong, that the man is just friendly, that there's certainly no way someone so beautiful and refined would be interested in a mudlark.

He hopes that voice is just being stupid.

Dorian slips him a flask of brandy as they walk away. Rhys flips the cap off and sips gratefully from it. His legs feel loose, off-balance, like he’s drunk already, and he suspects he would be staggering but for Dorian’s arm around his waist. The linen undergarments beneath his leather coat and woolen sweater are soaked with sweat and chilly even beneath the layers; he’s content enough to let Dorian drag him to the small cabin he’d been given. Really, actually, it is too much for a single person, much bigger than the room he had at Ostwick. And frankly, far too cold with only a single person’s body heat in the space at night.

He stumbles past the partition to the room in the back, trying to decide if he’d rather fall face-first onto the bed, or dig out a new base layer and go enjoy the party he can hear the rest of the Inquisition beginning outside. Leliana and Josephine will probably show up if he chooses the latter and drag him back out with a lecture on keeping up appearances and rallying the people. They might even be right.

Maker, he hopes his part in all this is over. Let Cassandra and Leliana continue trying to remake all of Thedas. He just wants to go home. If he has a home to go to.

“Oh look at this!” Dorian exclaims from the front. “Antivan red. And a halfway decent vintage. You’ve been holding out on me, Rhys.”

“Talk to Josie.” Rhys undoes the buttons down the front of his coat. Too many buttons, especially with hands that are stiff from the cold and shaking from an overdose of magic. He tosses it over the foot of the bed and takes off his sweater. He’s rather fond of the sweater actually, it’s nice and warm and the good kind of scratchy. The kind that kept you in the present place and time. “She’s not lying about her family connections.”

“Not sure she likes me. Yet. She’ll come around.”

“I’m sure she will.” Rhys smiles a little and cautiously - sometimes he has to recalibrate just how much magic to use after closing a Rift - casts a spell to melt the ice on the pitcher of water. Closing the Breach hadn’t done anything to improve Haven’s climate. Maker, why do people choose to live here? He splashes still chilly water over his face and leans his hands against the table, trying not to yawn so hard that his jaw cracks off.

His linen shirt is soaked to his skin; he has to virtually peel it off. It gets tossed to the floor, something that can be dealt with later and by someone else. He soaks a bit of toweling at rubs it over his chest and shoulders, glancing behind him, at least somewhat hoping that Dorian is surreptitiously peering around the partition.

He isn't. He’s turned away from the opening in the partition - polite, Rhys supposes - holding the stack of letters in his hands and shuffling through them. “Rhys. What are these?”

“Just... I need to burn those. They were just in case, well, you know, this wasn't exactly the guaranteed outcome.” He didn’t even know if half the people he had addressed them to were still alive, much less where to find them, but he assumed that Leliana would be able to figure that out if she needed to.

“How late were you up writing them?”

All night. “A while.”

“You were sitting here last night, by yourself, writing these because you thought you might die - Rhys, why didn't you say anything? You didn't have to sit in here drinking and contemplating death alone.”

“I thought the chance closing the Breach would kill was generally understood.” Just the kind of thing that no one talks about in polite society. Rhys combs his fingers through his hair and tries to put it into something akin to order and not just hanging unattractively lank around his face. Kind. Dorian might have a vicious tongue in his head, but he’s also kind when he wants to be. “Open the bottle if you want. If I was saving it for a special occasion, I think this qualifies.”

Rhys sits on the edge of the bed and undoes the buckles down the sides of his boots, tugging them off and rolling down the first of three pairs of socks. The other two are tucked under his trousers. Clean socks will be nice. He gets his trousers off - tight leather is really annoying. Decent armor. A good look on him too - even he can recognize that. But annoying to get on and off.

He finishes washing up quickly and dresses again, listening as Dorian pops the cork out of the bottle and the sound of wine being poured. Hopefully, it’s a decent vintage. He’d hate to disappoint.

Dorian is sitting in one of the chairs with his feet propped up on the desk. Rhys does it all the time himself; it’s a bizarrely satisfying act of delayed rebellion against the librarians who scolded him for doing the same thing in the Circle. The letters have been set aside in a much tidier stack than the one in which he had left them. He pulls the second chair out from the desk, sits down, and picks up the wine glass that Dorian isn’t twirling in his elegant hands.

Dorian stops him as he raises the glass to his lips. “Don’t drink it yet, silly. A red needs to breathe.”

“Right. Yes. Anyway, thanks. For saving my life back there. What is that, like the fiftieth time.”

Dorian raises his eyebrows, smiling over the cup in his hand. “Bad form to let someone die. Especially someone you rather -”

Bells begin clanging outside, interrupting whatever Dorian was about to say. He swings his feet from the desk to the floor and sets the cup violently down on the table. “Oh, Andraste’s quaking quim, what now?”

Rhys grins. “You’re getting as bad as a Ferelden.” Even if the bells are unlikely to signify anything good, he can enjoy a little humor.

“Worse, I think.” Dorian throws back the cup of wine as he gets up from the table, and Rhys follows suit. Yes. It is a more than decent vintage even without enough time to breathe, and he grabs the bottle as Dorian pushes the door open because whatever is about to happen will probably merit alcohol. Cullen is standing outside, still in full armor and fur and with the grim expression that Haven seems to have frozen on his features.

“We’re under attack. Grab your staves. Meet me at the gate.”

“Void take it.” Dorian takes the bottle from him and drinks. “Come on, Rhys. Looks like fate hasn’t given up fucking with us yet.”

Well, fuck.

[the-clari-net]

Princess in a Castle (Tie Me Down So You Can Wear Your Crown)

Also on AO3

Princess Dorathea doesn’t remember much from her time alive. She knows some things. She knows that she and her brother were inseparable growing up. She knows that she used to spend a lot of time alone reading while alive as the princess. She knows that because she was the youngest her mother favored her less than her brother (no matter how discrete she tried to be).

She knew that no matter what her family thought of her, she was tasked with holding and keeping part of her family’s legacy alive. To protect one half of their family heirloom with her life if necessary.

Dorathea was told that she was not allowed to take off her amulet, not even to bathe. She remembers finding it odd that the chain never rusted, especially since the chain itself was incredibly light and didn’t weigh much, unlike gold.

The memories and knowledge Princess Dorathea kept from her time spent alive were few. Once she became a ghost, she tried to protect her memories and guard them from ever escaping her mind. She has seen the ghosts who have forgotten and sees the hollowness and desperation in their eyes to find a Purpose, a sense of who they were to understand who they are meant to be.

She swore to do whatever it took to protect herself from becoming “single-minded” as she liked to phrase it. The back of her mind countered her phrasing, hissing a single word that was embedded in her core which she knew was the true title of what she feared to have. An Obsession.

Dorathea has seen this phenomenon spread all across Aragon’s Kingdom. Memories fade, and over time the strongest emotions and core parts of a ghost’s essence take center stage. Sometimes, it depicts something harmless, as it has with her ladies in waiting who shower her with care and affection beyond the grave. While sometimes their caring nature could become overbearing, the princess for the most part enjoyed her time spent with the ladies.

Most of the time the shift in demeanor is not as pleasant. Take her brother Aragon for example. She didn’t see much of her brother by the time the kingdom fell to ruin due to him taking over the throne and being too busy to spend time with his sister. They were distant, but even so, Dorathea knew that there was a familial love and bond between them somewhere. In their final moments, as they both burned and died alongside their people, Dorathea reached for her brother’s hand and he squeezed back so hard that she felt her bones creak while the rest of their bodies were engulfed in flames.

There was a sense of common ground when they both first entered the Ghost Zone. The siblings realized that the amulets that they had been wearing during their final moments brought about an incredible ability in their new afterlife. Aragon was ready to work hard, to be stronger, and to be more powerful so as not to disgrace his people again. He began to spend more time training his ghostly abilities, forcing his dragon form to last for longer periods of time.

At first, Dorathea was proud of her brother’s perceived noble actions at the time. However, things changed once the sky darkened, and a new inescapable Dark Age was born.

Dorathea realized too late the shift in her brother, her mother, and the people in the kingdom. The layer of malice that coated their words and actions, the fading of shared memories of their time before this realm, and finally the loss of their identity. There was no recollection of past bonds, no memory of the land they once knew as home. Not even Dorathea, try as she might, could remember the name of her homeland. The only name she knows is one that has been accepted and recognized by the people, as well as their leader. Aragon’s Kingdom.

To see her people fall victim once again, it reminded the princess of painful memories from her last moments alive. Those memories, so close to her demise, drowned her core in grief and sorrow for being unable to protect and prevent her people from being hurt again. She was helpless to change the outcome, yet she wishes she could do more.

Once the Dark Age had settled in the realm, Dorathea understood how rare it was that she hadn’t succumbed to losing as much of her past as the people around her.

Her mother very early on had become more cruel in her time over this realm. What used to be slight disdain had escalated to controlling, bullying, and finally hatred. The words she would spit at her daughter at first would make Dorathea run to her tower and sob for what felt like days. It wasn’t long before her brother joined in on the cruelty. His words hurt her more than anything. She remembered that as a human Aragon had always been stoic, yet his eyes shone with softness when he saw her. Unfortunately, since Aragon had mastered the power of the amulet, his bright red eyes were frigid and hard. There was a coldness that emanated from her brother that she knows (hopes) it cannot be real.

“That’s not how ghosts change, you know that this realm only enhances attributes, it does not have the ability to create a person anew,” her head whispers. Dorathea had pushed that thought from her mind when she first saw her brother after seeing the malicious glint in his gaze.

However, that was long ago at the beginning of Prince Aragon’s rule of the realm. The princess learned how to act and behave to avoid the majority of her brother and mother’s wrath. The words thrown at her ( useless, pathetic, a waste ) no longer felt like a physical stab wound. The effect her family had on her never fully went away, but it was more of a twitch to her core. After spending what felt like centuries in this realm, the princess understood that whatever bond and love was shared in their human lives has long disintegrated along with their corpses.

She is loyal to her brother, but not out of any real love. Not anymore. The bond that chains her to her brother is the connection that the amulets share.

Those damned amulets.

Dorathea treasures her memories and emotions more than the amulet that has followed her into the afterlife. She wears it out of habit, at least that’s what she says.

To be honest, she doesn’t ever recall having tried taking it off. Something about doing so feels as if she is admitting defeat. It feels wrong. As if she would lose more of herself than she already has.

Perhaps it is because it was the most important task given to her while she was human. When Father passed, he had instructed that Aragon and Dorathea be given the amulets to wear until the next generation of the royal line could take them. Neither of the siblings understood why Father urged that the jewelry be protected at all costs. Even now, Dorathea is not quite sure what Father knew. Any possible secret behind the amulets disappeared along with the King’s final breath.

The point is that Dorathea adapted to her new environment. She learned how to act and behave in the realm, and has survived. But she’s tired. Each new day has her feeling as if a chip of her existence evaporates every time she looks outside and sees the infinitely dark and cloudy sky.  

Dorathea wonders if she will ever feel whole again.

***

Recently there have been whispers from the people in the kingdom.

The border between the Ghost Zone and the human world is thinning.

A portal is forming from the humans’ side. It feels unnatural.

There is tittering from the ladies in waiting, there’s unease, yet also a buzz of energy surrounding the kingdom.

Dorathea feels it too.

It has been a long time since a portal has opened in such close proximity to their realm to be able to feel it this strongly. The last time it had happened, Dorathea created an elaborate scheme that allowed her to escape into the human world, if only for a bit.

She knew the dangers of natural portals. The instability, the real risk of being stuck in the human realm and unable to return for an indefinite amount of time. Yet, she had gone.

Dorathea ended up in the kingdom of Mali, and it was a memory that she looks back on quite fondly. However, due to certain social mishaps, Dorathea learned quickly that the human world had changed quite a lot and it would not help to enter the human realm naive. Since her last adventure, the princess has spent much of her time meeting with the Ghost Writer (she’s unsure how he manages to enter their realm given the “safety” protocols the prince has) and absorbing any information that he is able to bring to her. Most of the time, they’re fictional stories that transport her to new worlds and adventures. They’re bittersweet to read, but the envy fades quickly once a new curious piece of technology or slang appears. When the Ghost Writer comes back to pick up her book, a list of questions spew forth and he gladly answers all her questions.

With the appearance of the new portal, Dorathea is determined to leave again. With the way this human-made portal is operating, it feels to be in one location, and constantly open.

Aragon is in the midst of planning a ball. It’s not so much a ball as it is an excuse for the kingdom’s subjects to bask in Aragon’s power and pretend to enjoy the music that to Dorathea’s ears makes her crave a second death.

The princess knows that the human realm would have a better ball (nowadays called dances, according to Ghost Writer) than anything her brother has hosted. Between the preparation and everyone’s wariness about upsetting Prince Aragon, it was painfully easy for Dorathea to escape towards the portal despite her mother’s words against doing so.

Touching the portal felt nothing like the natural one she had passed through before. This one felt as if her body wanted to simultaneously split and compress. The immense pressure hit her immediately from all different directions, pushing and pulling on different parts of her body. She felt parts of her involuntarily distort. Her legs merged into a tail without her control, an undetectable wind was blowing against her face and hair. There was static in the air that felt like tiny needles poking at her body. The space was screaming into her head.

Wrong, unnatural, LEAVE!

Still, Dorathea pushed on and forced herself to keep moving forward despite the strain it was putting on her body. The only part of her that felt steady was the amulet across her chest. She felt it tugging her towards a direction, which she blindly followed hoping that it would lead her to the other end of the portal. This feels nothing like the last portal I had taken, Dorathea thought to herself.

After what felt like eons, she passed through to the other side.

She collapsed onto the ground, slightly dazed at the intense strain that this portal had placed on her body. Just how strong was this portal? Dorathea made herself invisible, worried about what the powerful and terrifying human beings who managed to create this portal would be like.

She was lucky to notice that the space was empty. Things looked odd here, very metallic and cold. It felt almost like a dungeon. There were glass beakers everywhere, an odd box with a shiny black surface on one side of the box was in the corner of the room. When she saw a green residue on one of the far tables of the room, she concluded that her initial impression wasn’t that far off. The princess decided to avoid the strange box as she looked for an escape. Dorathea saw a staircase that looked to lead up towards the upper levels of this... whatever this place was. Whatever she’s read and learned from the Ghost Writer and his books did not prepare her enough for this strange space. Actually, she’s unsure how long it has been since she came into the human realm.

That doesn’t matter. We came here to find a ball, and a ball is what we shall find, Dorathea reminded herself.

Until she could find a ball to attend, she would remain invisible. Her amulet will protect her, (it might be a chain tethering her to her brother, but is still powerful and allows her to present more human traits) but it would be best to err on the side of caution. After all, she does not want any unnecessary trouble from the humans who created this portal.

Princess Dorathea’s core thrums in excitement, and in her high spirits, she begins to quietly hum to an old tune that has been lost to time and memory to the living and undead worlds. A tune Father had taught her and although she had forgotten the lyrics long ago, the melody plays in her head crystal clear.

She hopes that this new experience will bring memories worth keeping.

[faangirl101]

Burning Heart: Pt 3

Burning heart masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x reader, Zuko x y/n

Tags: Enemies to lovers, slow burn

Summary: Raised mostly by yourself, you made a living for your youth years as a maid in one of the richest families in Ba sing se, Beifongs. There Toph, a blind young rich girl, taught you earth bending and also became your new family. Not that you would admit that to her. Together you escape Ba sing se on the back of a flying bison with the Avatar, in a mission to take back the world from the fire nation. But on the journey you didn’t plan to team up with the Fire prince himself, and you definitely did not plan to get butterflies around him. But you couldn’t possibly catch feelings for a fire bender right? They ruined your life and took everything of value from you. But you couldn’t lie to your burning heart.

Warnings: swearing

I thought that since Toph was actually blind now, feet burned beyond recognition, that she would go easy on me today. I was clearly wrong. She was quickly up on her feet again (pun intended). Toph had been teaching me earth bending in secret since i was a maid to her family so her tough teaching techniques were no surprise. She had me and Aang working to the bone before we finally, covered in sweat, got a break. Or more like I got a break while Aang had his next bending lesson. Fire. His first. I couldn't help my curiosity as I stood leaned against the closest wall watching Zuko in his professor role.  The balcony of the upside down pagoda in the temple was hot. Sweat was climbing up my back as I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. Zuko seemed to catch Aang's hyper demaoner “I know you're nervous, but remember, firebending in it of itself is not something to fear.” Aang didn't meet his eyes but sighed deeply instead “Okay. Not something to fear”.Zuko nodded as he closed his fists. “But if you don't respect it”, he raised his voice so it echoed through the temple “it'll chew you up and spit you out like an angry komodo rhino!”. I held back the laugh threatening at the picture of Zuko with tensed eyes and a yelping Aang. Zuko clearly picked the “bad cop” technique when it came to teaching, just like Toph. He crossed his arms over his strong chest and took a step backwards “Now show me what you've got. Any amount of fire you can make”. Aang inhales nervously as he hesitates and moves out his arms. I can see fear in his eyes as they focus on the palm of his hand. A small, almost impossible to catch, cloud of smoke appears. But as fast as it comes it dissipates to nothing. The look on Aang was a blend of disappointment and relief.

Aang looked up hopefully “Maybe i need a little more instruction. Perhaps a demonstration?”. Zuko raised an eyebrow “Good idea, You might wanna take a couple steps back”. Even if he wasn't talking to me I obliged and moved further back. I hadn't seen him in action up close yet. I was unsure what to expect but that was definitely not it.  With a grunt Zuko opens his tightly closed fist to let out…. a flame smaller than the palm of my hand. Aang, supportive as he was, applauded at this disappointing display. Me? i bursted out laughing, finally alerting them of my presence. They both sharply turned to me, who was doubled over in laughter. “You might wanna take a couple steps back?”I wiped away fake tears “What was that? That was the worst firebending I've ever seen!”. Zuko did not take that mockery ease as he pursed his lips hard enough to break his jaw.  Aang interrupted Zuko before he could yell at me “I thought it was...nice”. He smiled slightly and shrugged which made it even harder to hold back my smile.

Zuko, annoyed at my amused face, tried to prove me wrong. He let out a loud grunt, which made a wave of excitement go through my stomach. But I pretended I didn't even notice it. His next three attempts resulted in very very small flames similar to the first. Defeated he glares frustrated down at his palms “what is happening”. Aang rubbed his head, trying to comfort Zuko “maybe it's the altitude”.I left my safe spot to move my way to them “Or maybe you can't firebend anymore, which is like the only reason we took you in”. Zuko’s burning eyes just lit my amusement more “oh oh! i call dibs on Zuko’s room when we throw him out”. Aang stretches his smaller hand out to stop me from upsetting anybody further. Zuko scrowls as he turns his back at me with clearly better self control than I thought he had. Time passes and Zuko keeps pushing himself with no improvement. Aang was sitting beside me on a broken pillar as we watched Zuko deliver a pointless blast after another. “that one kind of felt hot”, Aang bursted out as he got on his feet. I snickered at his comment, as I swung my legs against the pillar. But Zuko got angry, angrier than he had ever become after any of my comments. “Don't patronize me! You know what it’s supposed to look like!”. He was right, I had seen many fire benders but no one was as worthless as Zuko at the moment. “He didn't need to patronize you, you do that very well on your own”. Zuko aimed a flame at me that was even worse than his previous ones “Shut up!”. Aang held up his hands in defense “ Sorry, Sifu Hotman”. I bursted out laughing so hard it hurt the depths of my stomach.  Zuko raises his arms above his head and throws them back with a shout of frustration. Aang gringes at his sudden outburst. “And stop calling me that!”, Zuko yells which makes me laugh possibly even harder.

Night creeps up on us as everyone is getting settled for dinner. Even Appa has a mouthful of hay as he rests next to the fountain. Everyone is busy calming their rouring stomachs, everyone except Zuko. He’s leaning on a column with his arms crossed, looking down the cracked ground under him. He looks deep in thought with his wrinkled forehead, but no one seems to notice. No one except me of course. Suddenly he turns his head to the campfire as he makes his way over to where we’re sitting. “Listen everybody, I've got some pretty bad news. I've lost my stuff”, He looks below dejectedly. Toph, used to being accused of stealing by now, raises her hands above her head. “Don't look at me!”, she folded her arms “i didn't touch your stuff”. I giggle at her outburst and enjoy the view of Zuko’s ashamed face. He looks down again “I'm talking about my firebending. It's gone”. I cross my arms and throw my legs up on a pillar “as if you even had it in the first place”. Everybody around the fireplace sits up, different emotions painted on their faces. Sokka is the only one giving me a reaction as he pretends to fire bends with an annoyed face like Zuko had been doing the entire day. It brought a quiet shaking laugh from me. But my laugh quieted down as a clearer brighter laughter took place. Katara had her head bent backwards as her body shook from the laugh. Was Katara… mocking Zuko. It was the only time Katara had done anything remotely funny, but it still deep down struck a nerve that she was making fun of  him. It was my job. But I couldn't possibly be petty over such a small pointless thing. Everyone had turned their attention towards her, including Zuko, who had an annoyed expression twisting his handsome face. She held her hands up, hiding her face “I'm sorry. I'm just laughing at the irony. You know, how it would've been nice for us if you lost your firebending a long time ago”. Zuko gringed “Well, it's not lost. It's just ... weaker for some reason”. Katara held up her bowl and glared at Zuko over the brim “Maybe you're not as good as you think you are”. Both me and Toph, alike as we are, Made a hissing noise at the same time and met each other's eyes “ouch”.  Zuko ignored Toph's sarcastic smile as he brightened up with an idea “I bet it's because I changed sides”. Katara gave him another glare as she brought the bowl to her lips “That's ridiculous”. It was the first time I had seen Aang disagree with Katara “I don't know. Maybe it isn't. Maybe your firebending comes from rage and you just don't have enough anger to fuel it the way you used to”.

“Zuko has not been angry? then what have i been doing all day”, i smirked over at Sokka who returned the facial expression. He leans towards zuko and points a finger above “Easy enough”. He pokes Zuko with his shining swords hilt in the head and waist several times. Toph and I cling onto each other to not fall over from laughing. Zuko growles behind closed teeth “okay cut it out!”. Sokka's sword slips from his hands and is thrown above before falling on his head. Zuko sighs and rubs his nose “look, even if you're right. I don't want to rely on hate and anger anymore. There has to be another way”.

Sokka rubs his head in pain from the burst with the sword but no one seems to pay him any care. Toph takes a big bite from her food “You're gonna need to learn to draw your firebending from a different source. I recommend the original source”.I furrowed my eyebrows “I thought that fire bending's original source was pain, rage and suffering”. I didn't miss the way Zuko pursed his lips and looked down in something similar to shame. Sokka seemed to forget his head injury as he excitedly looked up “How's he supposed to do that? By jumping into a volcano?”.Toph shook her head and wiggles her feet “No. Zuko needs to go back to whatever the original source of firebending is”. Sokka's dreams of Zuko diving into a volcano is crushed “So, is it jumping into a volcano?”.

“I don't know”,  Toph puts her bowl down beside her “For earthbending, the original benders were badgermoles''. I remembered the many times Toph had brought me to the tunnels and showed me where she met the Badgermoles. That seemed like forever ago.  “Isn't the original fire benders Dragons? Where the fuck are we going to find a dragon just chilling?”, I looked up at Zuko who sighed deeply. “we are not going to, Dragons are extinct”. Aang shook his head “What do you mean‌? Roku had a dragon, and there were plenty of dragons when I was a kid”. Zuko's face twists up, as if he knows something we don't. “Well, they aren't around anymore, okay?”. I feel bad for Aang because he yelps at Zuko's harsh tone. “Okay, okay!”,he moved his arms in an appeasing manner “I'm sorry”. Zuko moves on his long slender legs to the fountain. “But maybe there's another way”, he looks away in deep thought “The first people to learn from the dragon were the ancient Sun warriors”.Aang who always seemed to think he knew the most since he was technically 100 years older than the rest walks towards Zuko. “Sun warriors? Well I know they weren't around when i was a kid”, Aang stood beside Zuko now. “No, they died off thousands of years ago. But their civilization wasn't too far from where we are now”, Zuko  tilts his head toward Aang “Maybe we can learn something by poking around their ruins''. Sokka mirrors my suspicions “So what? Maybe you'll pick up some super old sun warrior energy just by standing where they stood a thousand years ago?”. He backs up his question by flaring his hands around in a weird motion which makes me hit my forehead with my hand. Zuko shifted his weight forward. “More or less. Either I find a new way to firebend '', he turns his head towards Aang ”or the Avatar has to find a new teacher”.

When Zuko left with the Avatar, the temple seemed to become much more quiet. Haru, the Duke and Teo were on yet another exploration mission. Katara was worrying for Aang, while she cooked the same meal we had been eating for days. Toph, Sokka and I laid spread out, floating over the water in the fountain. The heat had been getting worse and it was the only way to cool down. Sokka threw a worried look at her sister.“What do you think Sifu hotman and smaller bald Kyoshi is doing right now?”, I asked as I sat up in the fountain. My soaked hair was dripping down my back. Sokka smiled half way “Zuko is probably pissed because his worthless Sun warrior plan is not working out and Aang is probably playing peacemaker and trying to calm him down”.  Toph smirked and splashed some water with her feet. Katara sneered at us and I wondered if it was because she didn't like that we were talking about Aang or if she was jealous that we were bonding better then she had done with any of us. I was guessing on the latter. “If you could have any original animal from any bend type, which one would you have?”, Sokka asked to change the conversation subject. Toph didn't even need to think  for a second “obviously the badgermoles”. Sokka looked offended “really? You would pick a blind disgusting rat over a flying bison?”. I inhaled dramatically “Blind disgusting rat?! That's my best friend you're talking about!”. Sokka burst out in laughter and Toph rolled her eyes ironically “ha ha ha”.  I looked forward, deep in thought “I hate the fire nation but honestly the dragon is the most badass”. Sokka lifted an eyebrow surprised “they're extinct, remember?”. Katara moved a spoon through the home made meal as she mumbled “i wish that the entire fire nation was extinct”. We all fell silent, like we mostly did everytime Katara opened her mouth. I thought about how different my life would have been if the fire nation didn't exist. I would still have my mom. I would have grown up with a present and loving father. If my mom had gotten good care while giving birth, instead of hiding in a barn from the fire nation, she wouldn't have died in childbirth. And if my mom hadn't died, my dad wouldn't have blamed me for her death. He wouldn't have been slaughtered by the fire nation when they invaded my home years later on the look for something we didn't even have. But I would never have met Toph. I would never have gotten so good at earth bending. I wouldn't have met the avatar gang. But I still closed my eyes and imagined a world without the fire nation for just another second.

by the look of Aangs and Zuos excited faces when they returned, I guessed it was a successful mission. I can't help but feel relieved that they're okay, and to my surprise I'm relieved for both of them. A sense of calm fills me when I see that they're BOTH unharmed, but I would never admit that to anybody. They're quick to get into positions to start demonstrating what the sun warriors taught them. They moved gracefully, every motion mirrored between them as yin and yan. Fire licked the sides of their bodys without hurting them, as if the fire and their bodies were one. I had grown up with the view of fire as a plot of destruction, a tool for suffering and power play. But now, in the upside-down pagodas in the Western Air Temple, the fire looked nothing like that. It wasn't violent. It was beautiful, I could see shades of blue and green. I could see all the colors of the rainbow within the flames, similar to the reflection of water. Or the sharpened glass in the depths of the earth. Or how air bent sunlight on a hot day. I could see all elements moving from the palms of their hands in the shape of combustions of flames. Deep deep down within my bones I could feel a yearn for the fighting of flames. A longing for the feel of the heat against my hands, that I quickly pushed down. Fire was dangerous, it was not beautiful. It was difficult to convince myself when I left the hole of lament in my heart. The rest of the avatar gang interrupted my thoughts with applause as the two got into their final postures. “Yeah, that's a great dance you two learned there”, Sokka bursted out playfully. Normally i would join him with a remark myself but i wasn't in the mood. My feelings were conflicted and I couldn't focus on anything else. Zuko seemed offended. “It's not a dance. It's a firebending form”. Sokka moves his fingers in a dancing manner “We’ll just tap-dance our way to victory over the Fire Lord”.

Zuko makes his way over to Sokka with a threatening glimpse in his eyes “It's a sacred form that happens to be a thousand years old!”. Katara crosses her arms “Oh yeah? What is your little form called?”. Zuko's eyes met the ground embarrassed “The dancing Dragon”. The gang erupted in loud laughter as Zujo gringes in embarrassment. I stand quiet, not paying attention to how Zuko turns to me. “You haven't said any mocking remark about our form”, he bent down to my level to try to catch my attention. “You mean your dance?”I ask and raise an eyebrow. He mimics my expression “Really? is that it?”. I didn't even catch his bait as I waved him away “I'm not in the mood”. As I moved away I felt Zuko's burning eyes on the plate of my back. “Since when is she not in the mood”, Zuko mumbled to himself, confused. I was busy thinking about how I had longed to touch fire. The thing that destroyed my life.

Taglist: @eridanuswave , @Whalerus, @keiko0, @emogril , @theblueslytherin , @bbecc-a 

[too-scared-to-do-this]

Of the Devil’s head

Chapter nine - All the forms that evil takes

Sander’s sides fanfiction

Wordcount: 1833

Ship: prinxiety

TW: ammm... cursing and reference to past trauma? And complaining. Nothing else, I think XD Though, let me know if I’m wrong!

Summary of the whole story:  They say, the one that wears the crown rules all - the living, the dead, the walking, the crawling, the rooted, the sane and the mad. They say, once you own the crown, you become the  most powerful being on Earth and beyond. Roman’s stolen bigger things - a measly little crown won’t present a problem, even if he has to steel it straight off of the devils head!

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Chapter nine - All the forms that evil takes

“…Roman?” Virgil’s nerves twitched. this wasn’t good. This really, really wasn’t good.

The thief sat, terrified on the throne barely breathing. The Devil was a spider! He was a- “You-you’re a spider!!” he blurted out.

Virgil rubbed his neck embarrassed. “Yeah…” He wanted to step closer, but he wasn’t sure whether he’d scare Roman more. He didn’t want to scare them…

So instead, he sat down cross-legged in front of them. Which eerily reminded him of when he was a child. Virgil visibly shuttered at the memory.

Roman watched this, eyes still wide, but much less terrified. He knew the Devil wouldn’t hurt him. It all just… took him by surprise, that’s all.

He looked so demon-like in that form - all menacing and fierce. Devil-like. (Which made a lot of sense considering that’s exactly who he was.)

But now, sitting on the ground, fidgeting with the hem of his thorn shirt, unable to look Roman in the eye… he looked timid and harmless. Like a helpless child…

Even though he was a measly Human being, the thief felt like the king of all, having even the Devil at his feet. He was the powerful one. The fierce one. And it was up to him to decide whether this demon deserved mercy or punishment.

So Roman made that decision.

He climbed of the high throne and sat down on the floor opposite the king.

“You have holes in your shirt.” he pointed out the obvious, because what else was he supposed to say? He couldn’t think of a better way to start the conversation, okay?

Virgil blinked, lifting his eyes of the ground. What? “Thanks, captain obvious, I noticed.”

Ro snickered. Yeah… he deserved that. “So, you’re a spider.”

“Yeah…”

“Well, that’s surprising.”

Virgil razed a skeptical eyebrow. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I sort of thought you’re like…a Human, I don’t know. Since you walk around looking like… well… me. You know?” the thief ranted trying to understand the situation.

Virgil’s head cocked to the side, small smile in place as he watched them stumble over their words. “It’s the most convenient skin. But it’s not Human.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… I’m a shape shifter so I can shift to a few things, but none of them are Human.”

“What? Really?!” Roman gasped, leaning forward unintentionally.

“Yeah. Every demon has their own power. Remington, for example-“

“That annoying one with the coffee and ‘babe’?” Roman mimicked Remi’s voice almost perfectly.

Virgil laughed. “Yes, him. He’s a mind reader.”

“He can read minds and he’s still like that?”

“I know right? And he’s been here for millennia, complaining about that damned coffee of his.” Virgil rolled his eyes.

And then he laughed. Roman’s heart flattered. It was such a beautiful sound to hear. He didn’t want it to stop. “How many things can you turn into? Or is it like, you can turn into anything you want?

“No, no. I have three forms. I was born a spider-demon, but honestly, those legs are really inconvenient. Good for transportation and scaring creatures to do your bidding, yes, but they are always in the way. You literally can’t sit down comfortably, not to mention the amount of thorn shirts I now own!”

Roman snickered at that. “Oh no, you poor Devil.”

“I don’t need your pity, liveling. I’m your captor remember?”

Oh yeah… Roman completely forgot he was a prisoner. “Speaking of, are you ever planning to let me go?”

The demon went quiet… It would be fair… But he couldn’t let him go just yet. The demons were already talking. If he showed that much mercy, he’d for sure be overthrown and end up like his father… “I can’t do that just yet…”

“Thought so…” the thief sighed heavily, but shook it of right after. He missed his momma, but he knew she was in good hands now.  And staying here with the cute Devil guy didn’t sound so bad… “What else can you turn into?”

Virgil felt his lips tug into a crooked smile. This Human - he couldn’t believe them. “I can shift into the simplest concept of a demon - horns, tails and I can grow wings if I want to-“

“Feathery angel wings?”

“No. More like badass dragon wings.”

“Oh my! Now you have to show me!”

“I would, but my shirt-“

“Is already thorn, so. Go on. Show me your wings, Devil!”

Virgil couldn’t believe this. A Human ordering him around like he was just another liveling. And yet he found himself laughing at his stupidity as he straightened his back and let his wings sprout out.

Got how log has it’s been?

He stretched them out, bones cracking from not being used for over two decades.

Flapping them once and twice he then let them hang out for the Human to examine.

“Wouwww…. you weren’t kidding. They are badass dragon wings.” Romans eyes went wide. And then they turned pleading as he looked up at V. “Can I touch them?”

The demon smiled to himself. Roman really was something, wasn’t he?

He reached a wing over to them and the thief carefully lifted a hand to the thin skin. Their eyes kept on switching from V to the wing over and over until they finally decided it was alright and focused on their hand. And then they touched it.

Roman couldn’t believe this. Not only was he hanging out with the king of Hell - who he was apparently bodies with now - but his hand was touching a giant dragon wing.

It was weirdly scaley. There were no visible scales, but you could feel them. Just like you could see every purple blood vessel in the almost see-through wings. It was such a fascinating thing… “My brother used to tell me stories about this dragon witch he befriended in the forest way back. He used to say she had wings like a dragon, claws like it two. Teeth that could bite through wood and iron. And spells that could kill you on impact. But I’m pretty sure he was just making that stuff up. If he’d know where I am now, though!”

“Dragon witch? You mean Matilde? She used to hang around Hell while we were growing up.”

“Wait.” Roman stood shell-shocked, hand in mid-air. “You mean to tell me she’s real?!”

“Yes, why wouldn’t she be?”

“Oh, Zeus! Rem wasn’t lying?!“

Virgil chuckled lowly, pulling back his wings. “Apparently not.”

“Oh my… shit, dude! I need a moment… I can’t believe this! She’s actually a living breathing creature! And my brothers been friends with her since, what, our fifth birthday?”

Why was this so funny to Virgil? The face Roman was making - it was priceless. As if reevaluating every single life-decision he has ever made and rethinking the whole meaning of life. Which he kind of was doing.

“Waw… Aaanyways.” the thief shook his head, focusing back on the Devil. “I’m guessing this is your third form.”

“Yes.”

“But it looks so Human!”

“Well, mostly. The parts that don’t are easily covered though.” V pointed at the hair covering his eye.

Roman cocked his head to the side, a soft but extremely curious look on his face. “Why do you cover it? You’re a demon, it’s not like it’d bother anyone.”

“Hm. Good question. I guess, I don’t really like it.”

“Why? Is it like a deformity or something?”

“You could call it that.”

Romans brows furrowed. He never in his life imagined the Devil to be self-conscious. But then again, he never imagined being held captive by him, anyways. “What would the Devil have to be self-conscious about?”

“Actually, a lot of things.” V snickered. “But that doesn’t really matter. It’s just a thing I’d rather stay hidden.”

Yeah, Virgil would rather not remind himself of that day every time he looked into a reflective surface, thank you. It was enough to live it once.

He shuddered at the memory.

With a deep sigh he forced a pleasant smile at the thief and stood up. “I’m beat. I’m gonna go lay down.”

Roman nodded, chewing on his bottom lip subconsciously. “Yeah, okay…” And then it suddenly hit him. “Wait! What am I supposed to do while you sleep?”

Virgil shrugged. “You can do whatever you want. Hell is yours.”

The human beamed at the demon with big eyes. “Really?”

The devil blew out another nose laugh and turned to where the guard was standing. “Hey, Cidecus! They’re in charge. I’m going to rest.”

The mentioned popped his head in the hall and pointed at Roman. “It?” the guard razed a baffled eyebrow (well, the skin above his eyes) at the same time as Roman’s high-pitched “Me?” rang out.

The mirrored expressions of complete astonishment made Virgil almost burst out. But he had the decency not to. (Though, it was just barely held back, and frankly, very visible.) He instead just snorted, and covered his smirk with a hand. “Yes, them.”

“Him…” Ro peeped up quietly, watching the guard. He wasn’t sure what their next move would be… What if he was against it like that healer demon - what was his name… Parcel? What a stupid name.

The Devil glanced back at Ro and nodded, understanding. “Him. Keep an eye on the-him. I don’t want the other demons tearing him to parts.”

Cidecus just couldn’t believe this. Their king has for sure lost his mind, protecting a Human. Even letting it rule! What was next? Was Virgil going to let him wear the crow?!

Virgil snapped his fingers in front of the unresponsive guard’s face. “Helooouuu, anybody there? Did you hear me?”

Cid shook his head quickly and nodded fast. “Yes, sir. I apologize.”

“No need.” Virgil waved it of and turned to leave. “Just look out for him. Otherwise, he’s free to do whatever he wants.”

He was almost out the hall when he called over his shoulder. “Just not leave.” And he was off.

Roman kind of suspected that. He looked at Cid and gave a small awkward smile. “I’m Ro-“

“Don’t care. Try not to die.”

A metal dagger fell to the ground and the guard turned and left. Roman blinked. “Well, thanks.” he mumbled displeased.

He sat there, cross-legged for another minute, letting the current situation sink in. It didn’t seem like he’s a prisoner anymore, did it?

He sat on a throne, was personally protected by his supposed captor and now apparently in charge of Hell.

This was an interesting day… Or was it night already? This place was confusing…

He started hummed a made-up toon, drumming his fingers against his knees. It was so quiet. Eyes moved all around the place. He huffed. This was boring.

Roman had to come up with something! He couldn’t just sit around and do nothing! There had to be something -

His eyes zeroed in on the shiny metal dagger still laying on the floor.

“Guess I’m going for a walk then.”

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And while this is happening Remi’s out there arguing with a poor medieval waitress to get him his double chocolate, cinnamon caramel frap with two shots of caffeine and extra non-sweetened whipped cream XD

I’m sorry, I don’t know how fraps work XD

I hope you liked the part, though :3

Tag list:

@romano-hottopic

@vpow

@a-formless-entity

 @lovelivingmydreams

@alice-only-me

[awakeneddragon]

List of Kin Experiences

A while back, I decided to compile a list of various experiences that I’ve had that I consider to be at least slightly non-human in nature. I thought I would finally share it here. 

The basic layout/template was made by @a-dragons-journal, but the writing is my own.

Phantom Limbs: This is a common thing to experience in the otherkin community, and describes feeling limbs that are not physically there. Though my own experiences with this are quite tame in comparison to others (as some have reported being able to feel when these “limbs” are touched), this is something that I’ve gone through for many years without thinking too much of it. 

Feeling myself having claws/talons was a regular occurrence for me. Though I couldn’t “see” their specific appearance, I definitely knew they were there and was able to “move” them. This was an involuntary and consistent thing that happened. I remember being pretty insistent on keeping my nails long due to this, and it always felt wrong when they were clipped.

Feeling a tail was somewhat common as well, as were ears that would flatten or raise themselves depending on my emotions/what was happening around me. My teeth also sometimes felt sharper than they actually are. I don’t experience most of these as much as I used to, but not to the point that they’re rare.

Connection To Dragons: I’ve always had a large fascination with dragons. I'd become really attached to dragon characters in media and overall just connected with them more than other types of characters. 

I remember how I would sometimes imagine myself having a dragon form, and one of the imaginary friends I had was also a dragon. When I learned of the existence of roleplaying on the internet, my characters almost always had something to do with them (could transform into one, had a dragon ally, etc.) Whenever a movie, show, game, or whatever else depicted a dragon (no matter their role), my interest was immediately piqued. 

I became really interested in learning more about the different types and the many stories that have been written about them. I remember being upset when learning that a lot of the stories were of dragons being portrayed as cruel, selfish, and violent, as that didn't match my perception of them at all. I always saw them as these incredibly intelligent and gentle creatures that only attacked when threatened, or at least believed them to have more of a variety of personalities than what the media displays them to have. 

I would also cling onto anything that suggested the possibility of them existing elsewhere, either in the past or in the present. Even as a kid I believed in different dimensions and the possibility of "mythological" creatures existing in ones separate from ours or on separate planets. Anything that connected me specifically to dragons was always a delight as well, such as me learning that I was born in the year of the dragon. Though zodiacs to most people are often seen as dismissible nonsense, it truly meant something to me and admittedly still does.

Connection To Nature/Elements: Though it’s a fairly normal occurrence even for those who are non-otherkin, being out in nature is incredibly calming to me. However, what may set other people’s experiences and mine apart is the sense of familiarity I feel or the urges I experience in certain locations. There have been multiple occasions where I’ve told myself, “I swear I’ve been here or somewhere similar before”, despite the fact that I never actually have. 

With weather, nothing calms me more than being outside when it’s cold and windy. It’s a feeling of pure euphoria that I don’t really experience from anything else, and usually succeeds in making me feel like running around on all fours and just generally doing various animalistic things.

In terms of elements, I’ve always felt most connected to ice and wind, though occasionally I’ll feel a connection with water in terms of small bodies of it (rivers, streams, etc.) or storms.

Self-image: Though I often liked to imagine myself as a dragon when I was younger, this habit became much more significant when I acknowledged my draconity and remembered the appearance of my past form. Ever since this discovery, in my day to day life it’s impossible for me to see myself as entirely human. I know that I’m not, and there is no denying that fact for me. Whatever I’m doing; whether that be typing, walking, or eating… It’s become almost instinctual for me to envision my dragon form in the place of my human body. When I look in the mirror, my normal appearance just feels so unnatural in comparison to my kintype. 

Non-human Noises: Making noises that are more similar to the sounds an animal would make is something that I’ve been doing for as long as I can remember. It’s my instinctive reaction to a lot of emotions. Snarling, growling, and hissing are all sounds that I commonly make, though on rare occasions I have made low rumbles that could be considered some sort of purr. Making and listening to these sounds is comforting to me. You can hear an example of some of the noises I make in my blog.

Movement/Expression: I don’t think I could even give an accurate number to the amount of times I’ve wanted to walk on all fours. I haven’t attempted to in a long time since I know it won’t be as satisfying as I’d like it to be, but imagining it feels so much more natural than walking on two legs. 

Another notable thing for me is how unnatural it sometimes feels to use forks and spoons when eating. It doesn’t really matter what it is; I usually prefer to eat things with my hands. As you can imagine, I’ve always been a bit of a messy eater, though I do at least know now to keep my manners in check. 

When experiencing anger, I often feel the urge to bare my teeth and/or dig my nails into whatever they’re in contact with.

In addition to this, I got in the habit of copying the movements of various dragon characters (Toothless, Spyro, Draco, Haku, etc.) They always felt more “right” to me.

Combat Instincts: The few times I’ve had a heated interaction with someone, I often felt the urge to claw them instead of punching them like most other humans would do in a fight. In fact, when I was a very young kid, my first instinct was to scratch people that made me upset/uncomfortable. I’m glad that I've grown out of that habit, but it was another reason that I disliked my nails being short. I saw them as the default/best method to defend myself.

Flight Instincts: Though I’m sure many wish to fly, I’m unsure if it often reaches the intensity of the desires that I often feel. Whether I’m outside or simply seeing an image where the sky is present, my very first instinct is to fly. It’s not simply a want; it’s something that I truly believe I was able to do at some point. I can very vividly imagine and “feel” what it’s like to experience the wind against my “fur” and see the ground far beneath me. This urge usually arrives in my mind before reality sets in and reminds me that flying isn’t possible with this form, and it’s something that gives me a deep level of sadness that is unmatched by almost anything else. 

Prey Drive: This is a very rare thing for me, though I figured it was notable enough to include. On a few occasions when watching documentaries, I have been able to easily envision myself in the predators place. At the sight of the prey that it's chasing, I’ll feel the urge to sink my teeth and “claws” into them. Of course, I would never actually go out and harm an animal.

Shifts: In the otherkin community, the act of going through a shift refers to people who are temporarily feeling especially like their kintype in some way. I don’t personally experience a heightened sense of smell or sight like some others, but it is incredibly easy to see myself as my past form and I'll have an increased urge to do many of the things listed above.

Dreams: It’s become a common occurrence for dragons to in some way be involved with my dreams. Most of the time I’ll just simply come across dragons or humans that can turn into them, though occasionally I’ll have the physical appearance of my past form. I unfortunately don’t remember too much of the latter dreams, but I do know that even in the dream world, this made me incredibly happy. It just felt correct, and I remember feeling a strong sadness when waking up.

Memories: I know that the human mind can make fantasies seem incredibly possible and/or real, so I take all of these memories with a grain of salt. However, I have had several experiences that could be considered memories of some sort. Below I’ll list some notable ones.

The very first memory I had depicted my past form in a "hallway" (I don’t know how else to describe it) that was made entirely out of snow and ice. I remember being able to vaguely see my reflection on the floor, and I looked up to see a blinding white light that I'm assuming was the exit before I started to run towards it.

My second memory was myself being in a forest full of leaves on the ground. I was on top of a slope, which I skidded down. I vaguely recall there being a nearby river.

Another memory depicted me in a snowy landscape. It was in the middle of the night and I was flying high in the sky.

I also had another memory at night/late afternoon, but the sky was just bright enough for me to see dark clouds. I was standing in an open field and looking around. It was pretty windy, as well; like it was about to storm. It's a very peaceful memory for me, despite the bad weather.

The most recent one I had yet again has to do with the night, but relied more on feelings and strong urges than sight. I was running in a forest, potentially chasing after/hunting something. It felt very cool and the overall atmosphere of it was very “wintery”. 

My first memory is what gave me a basic idea of what I looked like, though it wasn���t until in other memories where my appearance was consistent that I was more confident in myself. Funnily enough, before these memories I actually didn’t think that much of eastern dragons. It wasn’t that I disliked them, but they simply didn’t cross my mind that much due to western dragons being a much more common depiction in media.

Hoarding: This is the stereotype for dragons and something I see many dragonkin discussing, but it’s something I actually don’t relate with too much nowadays. However, when I was a kid, I would collect practically anything I could find around the house or outside. Rocks (that I would often insist were rare even though they clearly weren’t), rubber bands, beads, etc. These are all things that most people would consider worthless, but at the time they were special to me and I kept all of these items in a box that I was quite protective of.

Dens/Small Spaces: I remember when I was a kid, my mother and I built a pillow fort. I would hide and curl up inside it at every opportunity, as it made me feel incredibly content and safe. I have a similar urge whenever I see dens in movies and games. If I’m playing something that has caves, dens, or any other kind of small area, it’s very common for me to stop whatever I’m doing to just relax in these locations for a while.

And that concludes the list. I may update this whenever I recall anything else I find worth mentioning. My journey of being dragonkin has definitely been an interesting one, and I’m glad that I decided to become more involved in the community. Aside from some difficult times, being otherkin has had an overall positive impact on my life. It’s resulted in me meeting new people, feeling a sense of closure with myself that I’ve been lacking for as long as I can remember, and learning new things about dragons and the cultures of various places around the world.