#the first book is called the outstretched shadow

[myster-roca]

The Catfish Incident

"Thanks for the energy drink, man," Jake said, cracking open his can of blue energy soda as we ambled down the dimly lit hallway back to our apartments. The gym members' party had left us both hot and sweaty, and I thought a refreshing drink would be the perfect cap to our evening.

"Yeah, no problem, bro. You owe me one next time!" I replied, although I was thinking something else entirely as I watched him guzzle his beverage.

He was tall, about six feet three inches, with a toned physique that would make anyone envious. His hair, the color of wheat, was slicked back with some kind of product, and he wore a tank top that hugged his chest tightly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and thick arms. His shorts were tight enough to show off his wide hips and well-defined ass.

Standing beside him, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of insecurity. While I was reasonably fit and steadily working towards what I hoped would be my ideal body, Jake's presence ignited a deeper yearning within me. It wasn’t just about having muscular broad shoulders and a confident stride—it was about embodying that effortless aura of masculinity, the kind of identity that defines an alpha male.

"Oh yeah, almost forgot—I need to head back to my apartment now," Jake said abruptly. "I have a little rendezvous tonight," he added, flashing a smile.

"Sounds like a plan. What time is your date?" I asked casually, pausing beside him.

“About an hour from now, so I should probably hit the showers first. Gotta freshen up and work out these guns again,” he laughed. Then, without warning, he raised his left arm above his head and flexed his bicep, staring intently into my eyes. “It’s been too long since they’ve seen any action.”

I felt myself blush uncontrollably at his words, but luckily Jake didn't see it, and he continued heading down the hallway.

"See you tomorrow, Dave!" he called out over his shoulder before disappearing through his apartment door.

Little did he know, I was well aware of who he was meeting tonight.

As I stepped into my apartment, the familiar walls and furnishings offered no comfort to the restless longing stirring within me.

Each well-placed book and neatly aligned chair seemed to echo the structured, unyielding life I had sculpted for myself—a life of discipline as a respected professor, always mindful of reputation and societal expectations.

With a sigh, I removed my glasses and set them aside on the table. The lenses caught the fading light of the day, scattering beams that danced across the blandness of my living space, teasing me with glimpses of brightness in my otherwise predictable world.

This simple act felt like peeling away the layers of a persona crafted over years.

It felt symbolic, like I was discarding a part of myself that was too familiar, too constricted by old fears and inhibitions. Tonight was not a night for the timid David hidden behind those lenses; it was a night for someone entirely new.

I pulled off my tank top, feeling the cool air hit my bare skin, followed by the soft cotton of my white gym shorts. Finally, I slid down my underwear and tossed them aside. I felt incredibly vulnerable, standing there nude with no one else around.

Across the room, my gaze then shifted to the bed, where the realistic bodysuit of a Latino model lay outstretched. The room lighting cast a bright hue over its meticulously detailed surface, accentuating each muscular contour and shadow, making it look almost alive. It wasn’t just a garment; it was a gateway to another existence.

As soon as I saw it, I couldn’t resist touching its smooth skin. I ran my fingers over its chest and arms, feeling the softness of its skin. Then I slid my hands down to its waist and squeezed its firm butt cheeks. It even had a built-in penis that was larger than my own, which gave me a sense of excitement.

"Alright," I muttered under my breath, "let’s get started."

I could feel my dick twitch as I reached down and grabbed hold of the slit at the back of the bodysuit. The suit itself was made of a special material that allowed for easy movement and flexibility. Slowly, I began pulling the two sides apart so that there would be enough room for me to get inside.

As I sat down in the chair, I began sliding my right leg into one of the muscular legs. They were tight but not uncomfortable. As I pulled them up over my thigh, I could feel the skin stretching slightly as it moved up my leg. This was going to be so fucking hot!

I continued moving my left leg into the second leg until both feet were on the ground. Next, I positioned my shaft to the built-in dick and slid my arms into the sleeves. My biceps bulged with each movement.

Standing up, I took a few steps forward, feeling the incredible strength of my legs against my skin. I flexed my arm, watching the veins pulsate under the surface. I couldn’t help but smile at my new, sexy body.

Finally, I put on the built-in mask that resembled the handsome face of a Latino model.

As I slid it over my head, I felt the soft material conform to the contours of my face.

Once the mask was fully secured, the ’Heddon’ app on my phone opened up.

In order for the bodysuit to work properly, it needed to be activated. I selected “Start Sealing” and watched as the screen filled with images of the process.

Suddenly, there was a click, and the suit began to seal shut around me. I felt the muscles of my legs begin to tingle as they fused with the suit.

My thighs and calves became more defined as the skin tightened around them. The same sensation spread across my chest and shoulders, making them bulge outward. My arms seemed to grow larger as the suit conformed to my muscles.

Within seconds, the transformation was complete, and the suit fully integrated with my body, leaving no trace of its presence. It was as if I had become one with this sexy, lifelike skin.

With a grin, I stepped towards the mirror, admiring my reflection. The face staring back at me was that of a young, fit Hispanic man with broad shoulders and narrow hips.

“Welcome back,” I whispered to myself as I looked in the mirror at my new reflection. “Diego.”

My jawline was strong and defined, giving me a masculine appearance. I flexed my biceps, showing off the definition in my arms.

I ran my hands over my hard chest, feeling the firmness beneath my fingers. Then, I squeezed my pecs, enjoying the way they rippled beneath my touch.

I let my hands travel down to the bulge between my legs, squeezing it gently. My cock throbbed with excitement as I imagined what it would feel like to fuck someone with this body.

I picked up my phone, opened a dating app and messaged Jake using the Diego profile. We’d chatted a little bit on the app a few weeks earlier, and he seemed really interested in meeting up.

“Hey sexy,” I typed into the chat window. “Want to see some pics?”

“Sure thing, stud,” Jake responded. “Whatcha got?”

I smiled as I sent him a couple of pictures of myself wearing different leather and latex outfits.

“That’s hot,” Jake wrote. “Do you think you can do something even hotter tonight?”

I grinned as I typed back, “Of course, baby. Anything for you.”

****************************************************

A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon a Reddit thread mentioning "Heddon: House of Transformation" — a service offering realistic bodysuits that promised an entirely new level of personal transformation. Intrigued yet skeptical, I clicked through.

The website was adorned with glossy images of transformations and detailed testimonials from users who spoke of life-altering experiences. Video demos showcased the suits’ incredible realism and functionality, portraying seamless transitions from person to suit.

Admittedly, the site and service were new, which did little to alleviate my skepticism. However, a promotional offer for first-time users—a significant discount on their first order—was enough to tip the scales.

Despite my initial doubts and the nagging thought that it could all be an elaborate scam, I decided to take the plunge with some disposable income I’ve set aside.

I ordered a customized bodysuit modeled after a muscular Latino—a physique and persona so starkly different from my own that it felt like it could only exist in fantasies.

When the package arrived, it included not just the bodysuit but also detailed instructions for using the accompanying "Heddon: House of Transformation" app.

The app, once downloaded, allowed me to control the bodysuit’s features, including the crucial sealing process which would integrate the suit seamlessly with my own body.

When I first donned my new Diego bodysuit a few nights ago, I created a fake profile on the dating app and got tons of messages but one message caught my attention— it was my gym buddy Jake.

“Hi there! You’re so hot and cute!” he wrote.

“Thank you! You’re pretty handsome yourself,” I responded.

We chatted for a bit, discussing our hobbies and interests. I told him that I was looking for someone to share my fetishes with, and that I loved wearing latex.

He responded quickly, saying that he was also interested in exploring his kinks and that he loved wearing leather and latex. Before long, we were messaging each other every night, sharing our deepest desires and fantasies.

A few days later, Jake asked me if I would be willing to come over to his apartment and have some fun. I agreed, excited to finally meet him in person.

“I’m so glad you’re coming over,” he wrote back. “I’ve been dying to meet you in person.”

“Me too,” I replied. “I can’t wait to see you.”

****************************************************

Now, here I am, standing outside Jake’s apartment door, feeling nervous and excited all at once. I knocked on Jake's door and soon heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The door swung open, revealing Jake standing there in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

Diego! Come in!” he says, grinning at me. I follow him into the apartment, and he shuts the door behind us.

Jake leans against the door, studying my body. “Wow, you look amazing,” he says. “I never imagined you would actually look like this.”

“Thanks. It feels good to finally be able to meet you in person,” I reply. Jake smiles and directs me toward the living room. I remove my jacket, revealing my tight black muscle shirt and latex pants.

Jake’s eyes widen, and he lets out a low groan. “Damn, you’re fucking hot,” he says, running his hands along my chest. His hand then slides down my chest and over my crotch. “And you’re hard.”

“I am,” I whisper. “You make me feel so horny.”

We sit down on the couch, and Jake pours us some drinks. “So, tell me more about yourself,” he says. “What kind of stuff do you like doing?”

“Well, I love wearing leather and latex,” I say. “And I love playing different characters. Sometimes I dress up as a superhero, sometimes as a villain. It really depends on my mood.”

“That’s cool,” Jake says. “Me too. I love wearing my costumes, especially when I’m out with friends. It helps me let loose and have fun.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I say. “Sometimes it’s hard to be yourself when you’re around other people, but when you’re in your costume, you can let go and be whoever you want to be.”

“Exactly,” Jake says, smiling. “It’s like a whole new world opens up when you put on a costume.”

Jake leans closer, his eyes locked on mine. “And sometimes, they bring us closer to our true selves than we ever thought possible. Maybe because we feel safe behind the mask, we can express our true feelings.”

The air between us charges with an unspoken understanding. I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “Have you ever felt that way? Like you’ve discovered something real about yourself through a character?”

Jake nods slowly, his gaze intensifying. “More often than you might think. Sometimes, it’s only when I'm someone else that I can express what I really feel... what I really want.”

I watch as he removes his towel, revealing his hard cock. I gasp in pleasure as he strokes himself slowly, looking straight into my eyes. The moment hangs heavy between us, laden with unvoiced desires.

Then, impulsively, Jake closes the distance, his lips meeting mine in a passionate kiss that feels like the culmination of our shared revelations. Our tongues dance together, exploring each other's mouths, as I moan softly and my fingers thread through Jake's soft hair.

Jake breaks away from our fervent kiss, leaving me breathless and longing for more. With a sultry grin, he stands up and begins to undress me, one piece at a time.

My excitement grows as he pulls my tight latex shirt over my head, exposing my toned chest and chiseled abs. He trails his fingers down my torso, sending delicious tingles through my entire body.

As Jake continues to undress me, his touch becomes increasingly intimate and sensual. He caresses my skin, grazing his fingertips along my shoulders, arms, and sides. I lean into his touch, letting the warmth of his hands linger on my skin.

Finally, Jake reaches my pants and skillfully slips them down my legs, revealing my matching black briefs. He pauses for a moment, admiring the sight of me in my underwear, before slowly removing them as well. Standing before him completely naked, I feel exposed yet empowered by his admiration.

Jake's eyes sparkle with lust as he looks me up and down. "You're beautiful," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.

My heart races as he bends down to press his lips against my chest, trailing kisses down to my abdomen. His hands explore my body, massaging my muscles and stroking my skin. I close my eyes, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that wash over me.

Just as I start to drift into blissful oblivion, Jake abruptly stops. I open my eyes to find him looking intently into my eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

"What's wrong?" I ask, confused by the sudden pause.

"Come with me," he murmurs. "I have something I want to show you. It’s my private collection."

He then gestured to a door at the end of the hall. My heart pounded in my chest as I followed him into the room.

Entering, I gasped in surprise at the sight. Scattered all over the room were several realistic bodysuits, each one more impressive than the last.

While pretending to be amazed, I wondered if Jake realized I was wearing a fake body.

Jake grinned. "My job has its perks," he explained. "I'm a beta tester for 'Heddon', so I get access to their entire collection."

"This is amazing," I remarked, feigning ignorance. My hands ran over one of the suits. "What are these things and how do they work?"

"Don't pretend you don't know," Jake chuckled. "You may think you're fooling me, but you aren't."

He was right. Staring at him in disbelief, I asked, "What?... what do you mean?"

"It's not a secret," Jake replied. "These suits have a distinct smell, and I've gotten used to it. I know when someone is wearing one."

I sighed, knowing I couldn't deny it any longer. "Okay, fine," I admitted. "You caught me. But please, don't tell anyone else. This is just between us."

"Of course," Jake nodded. "I understand."

He reached out and touched the side of my fake face. "I don't care who you are or what you're doing. I like the idea of someone else being able to take on a new identity for a while."

"Thank you," I said, smiling. "But seriously, why are you showing me all of these suits?"

Jake shrugged. "Since you're wearing one, I thought of wearing one as well," he suggested. "Maybe we can have a little role-play fun."

He then picked up a bodysuit that resembled a tanned male model with long hair. "Do you think this fits the bill?" he asked, holding it up.

I smirked and touched the bodysuit Jake had chosen. "Let's find out, shall we?"

[shibaraki]

THE VANISHING MOON ┊ TSUKISHIMA KEI

tags: GN reader, post timeskip, exes to lovers, fluff, emotional hurt + comfort, reader is a writer, alcohol consumption, mutual pining, getting back together, kisses, weddings, previous ‘mutual’ breakup, happy ending

wc: 4.2K

For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.

The first time you picked up a pen with the intention to write you’d been looking for a specific someone. To pour love into and be loved by. Conjured from the recesses of your mind, a soft smile from the boy you liked, one prepared to whisk you away from the converging angst that came with your adolescence.

In later years you looked inward, searching for yourself. To satiate your loneliness through self introspection. Ink blotted fingers working arduously at the knots that make up the soul. Knots that were once straight rope, simple and without weak points. And when you failed to love yourself you turned outward, exploring the web that made up the world.

You saw that other people loved stories, too. That there would always be at least one which speaks to them in some way and stays with them. You coveted that reality; to be something another person could love, and look back on with fondness. For your words to strike such a chord that they’d become part of another’s tapestry. To live on. Never again be forgotten, even if it means being an echo of something.

That yearning accompanies you up the cobbled footpath. The crisp air pinching the tips of your ears. Soft, muted chirps rippled throughout the treeline. “Wow,” you murmur, breathless. Arms sticky with perspiration, leg muscles tingling in exertion after walking the steep hill.

The reception venue sits on the end of a private road, concealed by threadbare canopy. Under an open sky there lay every shade and stroke of colour. Dappled sunlight casts shadows across the grass and your eyes are drawn to them.

“Wow is right. They’ve done an incredible job,” Sugawara airs his appreciation as he walks at your side. His voice is awed, and his cheeks are red. “I can’t believe they managed it. Karumai Gardens are notoriously stingy for booking events”.

The wedding invitation shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Remaining some of your closest friends, Kiyoko and Tanaka had already confirmed your attendance long before the formal invites were sent out. You even found yourself on the end of multiple phone calls over the months assisting a panicked Tanaka with writing and rewriting his vows.

Despite that, your stomach roiled at the invitation on your kitchen counter, and your heart crawled up into your throat. Because suddenly it was too real.

Everybody would be there.

Tsukishima would be there.

You’ve been a high strung for most of the day, hyper vigilant to the point of fraying. The ceremony was beautiful. Kiyoko looked ethereal draped in her white lace gown, a delicate veil cascading down her back and rippling down the aisle as she walked. Tanaka was striking in his dark blue suit and embroidered waistcoat. Sitting at the forefront, you remained steadfast in your ignorance of Tsukishima’s scrunity and dabbed at your face as you cried.

You missed having his attention. Missed the subtle stroke of his sharp gold eyes across every part of you as though it were Tsukishima’s hands themselves. A scant, cowardly part of you considered not attending the reception, grateful that he hadn’t approached you yet. If he would at all. Kei could be unbearably prideful about these things. But what do you know?

Nothing. After all this time you probably know nothing at all.

“I think he wants to talk to you,” Sugawara says, drawing your focus to the present. “It’s obvious he’s missed you”.

You edge past the increasingly dense foliage with intent, your fingertips outstretched to brush the near-blooming plants. “Who?” you ask. Sugawara’s grin turns wry and he threads his arm through yours.

“So petty,” he murmurs, patting your bicep. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But he’s single, and has been staring at you all day. I thought I should mention it”.

“Well you’ve mentioned it,” you return without true malice, squeezing him back. Sugawara’s lips parted in a sigh, and for a brief second, you saw a wistful expression beneath the lighthearted veneer. It stirs unease in your chest and you add, “I just don’t want to make a scene”.

“You really think that’s what it’ll come to?”

Memories unearthed from the deep recesses of your mind. Packed away into tight spaces and left to collect dust where they can’t hurt you. They awaken easily, triggered by a simple question, and with such clarity that you wonder if you ever forgot them at all.

Soft, deliberate touches. Long, warm embraces, swallowed up by his large frame. Graceless laughter—the ugly kind that makes your stomach hurt. Languorous kisses, biting kisses, chaste kisses, clumsy kisses. Good morning and good night kisses. Bickering over breakfast. Bickering over dinner. Wandering, calloused hands. Pressure behind two fingers, splitting you like soft fruit. A sharp tongue and sharper words. Holding hands in bed, anchoring yourself to him like you were afraid he might float away in the night.

Life became busier than either of you expected. Kei landed an opportunity to play for a division two team in the V league alongside his work at the Sendai city museum. Your publisher's demands increased. Kei’s priorities shifted. Resentment crept in. He started to forget things. Small promises and favours, like getting the grocery’s or making it home for date night. They felt so significant at the time—things you deemed indicative of his commitment to you, without communicating as such.

Fractures formed in your relationship. You ignored them in favour of keeping the peace, hoping to address them when the timing was better. Only with hindsight can you say that was the wrong choice. The fractures contracted, expanded until it grew into a yawning cavity with one of you standing either side of it. A slow decay.

“No. No, it wouldn’t,” you tell Sugawara. Tsukishima has never been a shining paragon of virtue but he wouldn't do anything to disrupt Tanaka’s wedding. “I’m just nervous. I haven’t seen him since…”

Sugawara hums his acknowledgment. You’re adrift as he guides you into the venue holding the wedding reception, welcomed into a kaleidoscope of colour. Carefully crafted floral arrangements line the hall. Half of the building is a greenhouse conversion, and natural light filters in through the high, arching ceilings, illuminating the dance floor. You take in the surroundings as your senses are enveloped by the pleasant din.

“Look, there’s Yachi and Nishinoya,” Sugawara tugs on your arm and calls out, “Yachi! Noya!”

Nishinoya crowed, leaping forward to gather you and Sugawara into a blistering hug. Barely two extra inches on him yet larger than you remember, skin kissed by the sun and his hair handsomely coiffed. His waistcoat creases awkwardly with the stretch of his body while you sink into his warmth and feel your cheeks ache.

“Man, I feel like I could scale a mountain! It’s so good to see you guys again,” Nishinoya reclines to get a look at you both and firmly takes you by the shoulders. “You have a lot to answer for,” he says with mock seriousness.

“I do?” you laugh, skull knocking side to side as he shakes you.

“I read your book on the plane”.

Your laughter putters out. You grimace and clear your throat, “Oh—really?”

“Most of us have. We wanted to support you properly,” Yachi admits as she steps forward to hug you. She’s smiling when she pulls away, faint laughter lines deepening.

Sugawara nods and pokes at your waist, “Don’t look so embarrassed. It was amazing”.

“It made me cry!” Nishinoya effuses. He sniffs, and to your mortification he looks like he might burst into tears again. “There was this one line—gah, no! I can’t talk about it. Get over here, I need to hug you again”.

“Thank you, Noya-san,” you wheeze at the arms constricting around your midsection, eyes clenched shut to repress the impending sting. You turn your head, nose knocking against his temple as you peer at the others. “Thank you all. I mean it”.

Yachi squirms, her smile quivering. “I’m really happy you made it today,” she says once you’ve been released. The unyielding pressure of Nishinoya’s embrace lingers like two phantom limbs. “You too, Nishinoya-san”.

“It’s amazing you’re upright. I thought for sure the jet lag would get to you,” Sugawara laughs. He utters a quick apology to the server passing with a tray of drinks. “Didn’t you fly in from Barcelona?”

“Yeah. Should’a been heading to Andorra but I wouldn’t miss my bro’s wedding for the world,” Nishinoya’s voice drifts as his eyes follow the alcohol. He plucks a glass in one swift motion and holds it high, “Salut I força al canut!”

Yachi watches him throw back the drink with poorly veiled anxiety. “Ah, speaking of, we should find our seats. It looks like the cake cutting is starting soon”.

“Good call. We’re getting in the way of the preparations. And I think you’ve left Asahi alone for too long,” Sugawara claps Nishinoya on the shoulder. “Looks like he’s been accosted by Saeko-san”.

Nishinoya pivots on his heel, whip-like and buzzing. You’re not sure which name he reacted to more. Asahi or Saeko. “Where?” his gaze locks in on the pair across the room. “I’ll talk to you guys in a bit!”

Gone in a blink. “He never slows down,” Sugawara sighs, shaking his head fondly. “Guess that’s my cue,” he says before parting ways. Yachi waves after them.

An idea strikes you then. “Say, Yacchan. You’re next to me, right?” you glance toward the long tables set up around the dance floor and meet her gaze with a suggestive smile. “Would you want to sit next to Yamaguchi instead? I don’t mind swapping”.

Their relationship had blossomed over the past few months. A long, slow burn finally come to fruition, new enough that mention of it usually makes her turn pink. But the light in her eyes dims at your suggestion, and rather than flustered, Yachi looks uncertain.

Her fingers form a loose clasp around your forearm. “Tadashi is seated next to Tsukishima,” she explains gingerly. You feel yourself freeze and the kind motion of her thumb strokes circles along the inside of your wrist.

You let out a shaky exhale. “That’s okay. I don’t mind,” you tell her before the consequences of what you’re offering can really be cemented. Yachi’s eyes widen, her grip tighter on your hand as you squeeze back in an attempt at reassurance, knowing your smile looks brittle. “It’s probably for the best. We haven’t… talked yet”.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure”.

“Are you sure you’re sure?”

“Hitoka,” you laugh, bumping your shoulders together. “I promise I’ll survive”.

You regret it not two minutes later.

Anticipation fizzes under your skin as you spot him. On approach you give him a cursory look over, the harsh beat of your heart ricocheting in your chest. Tsukishima looks good—he always does, but today, dressed in his dark, double breasted suit, with the golden hour light carding fingers through his neatly styled hair, you think he’s never looked better.

It is disconcerting to see him again and realise that your feelings haven’t changed much in the slightest.

You sit in the chair beside him. You see his spine draw taut in the corner of your eye and feel an oscillating loneliness; so alike those final few weeks together that cold dread seeps between the spaces in your ribs and steals your breath.

“Tsukishima,” you incline your head, impersonal and cautious, hating how foreign his surname is on your tongue.

A beat passes before he repeats your name in greeting, soft as a psalm despite the dour expression on his face. You’re overcome with the urge to poke the uncomfortable crease in his brow. To smooth it out and kiss the skin there, the way you used to do.

You shift in your seat. The arms curve around your midsection and knock against your elbows as you fiddle with the table cloth, “I told Yacchan that Yamaguchi could have my seat so they can sit together. I hope that’s alright”.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” and you know the clipped answer is reflexive by the way his jaw locks in frustration at himself. Bracing for what you’ll say next.

Only, your mouth curls up a little, and you exhale a short laugh through your nose. You haven’t seen him this skittish since your first year of highschool. You consider that maybe you aren’t the only one who’s scared. That things are the same and they are not the same. The thought is bittersweet, but it’s nice, the way his trepidation gives way to muted awe, how he sends you sidelong glances when he thinks you’re not looking.

The music picks up in a grand crescendo as the newlyweds enter the hall and the reception begins with a raucous applause. A rich aroma unfurls as the food is served, the depth of the flavour layering over the already present notes of wildflower and honey. Drinks are handed to the guests. Generously. You swirl the liquid gold around the rim of your glass, luxuriating in the syrupy inebriation of a gently oaked chardonnay.

“So, uh. How’ve you been?”

Tsukishima, to his credit, does not startle at the question. “Fine,” he says, and you think he might leave it at that when he adds, “The museum received another new Crinoid collection last month, so I’ve been preoccupied”.

You grasp at the conversational thread, not wanting him to stop, “Crinoids?”

“Marine animals. They still exist today, though not as common. You might’ve heard of sea lilies and feather stars,” he shrugs halfheartedly, not daring to look away from his deep fried tofu, though it’s clear he can’t help talking about his work with pride. “Ours are from the Triassic period”.

“Just like the, uh—” you click your fingers to conjure the name from thin air “—Gojirasaurus! Your favourite, right?”

Tsukishima pauses. It’s a fleeting thing, but you notice. The corner of his lips curves into a barely-there smile. He seems pleased that you remembered. You busy your hands with repositioning the cutlery a fourth time so maybe, hopefully, you can distract yourself enough not to say something stupid like: “If I visit, will you show it to me?” or “Do you miss me, like I miss you?”

You clear your throat. “I hear the Sendai Frogs have been doing well, too. Congratulations on moving up to division one”.

Those aureate eyes are sliding to you again, bright and searching. Tsukishima arches his brow in a delicate mocking gesture that was unbearable when he was sixteen and even more so now. “Keeping tabs on me, are you?”

There’s mirth trickling into his voice, giving it a familiar smarmy lilt. A wave of emotion washes over you. Embarrassment and heart-twisting-happiness. You shove some rice into your mouth and chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “No. I read about it in the latest Volleyworld issue,” you reply unconvincingly.

“You don’t read Volleyworld”.

“How would you know that?”

Tsukishima takes a shallow breath and nods. The warm gloam of late afternoon mellows his taut features. “I’ve been reading too,” he says after another sip of wine. “I saw you finally published your book”.

Dread seized the inner workings of your mind and the apology on the tip of your tongue curdles. Time ticks by, one sickening second after another. Your eyes dip low to avoid his gaze—which for some reason, he refused to direct anywhere else.

Your recollection of the break up itself was hazy at best. There had been no raised voices, no desperate movie-esque kiss, no slammed doors. Only grief filling your body like lead, and jumbled, half-hysterical thoughts of ‘Is this it? Are we giving everything up, just like that?’

You remember everything that followed, though. The inability to accept reality. It is said if a writer falls in love, that love can never die. And so you kept writing, and writing, and writing; perceiving love through different lenses, creating different endings; relying on metaphors of natural forces and disasters, of cannibalism and gluttony, of journeys and patience to make sense of it all. Six months after everything fell apart you completed the final draft of ‘The Vanishing Moon’, dedicating a final testimony to him in small print on the first page.

Given the choice, I would’ve rather had you at my side than any one of these words.

Has he seen it? Is that what he’s getting at? Did he read through all eighteen chapters and meticulously pick out the remnants of him you pressed between the pages?

“Noya said it made him cry,” you eventually reply.

Tsukishima signals for another drink. He takes two flutes from the server, handing one to you. You accept it with a soft ‘thanks’, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in your fingers. “Nishinoya-san cried when he found out swans can be gay,” he points out.

“You cried at The Land Before Time”.

“What kind of cold hearted bastard doesn’t cry at The Land Before Time?”

Laughter bubbles up in your chest as the initial dread ebbs away and the tension seeps from your shoulders. Tsukishima dips his chin, a small smile as he mutters, “That’s better”.

In the centre of the hall Tanaka cradles Kiyoko in his arms, now surrounded by clusters of their loved ones whirling with their own partners, a hurricane of colour and laughter and love. Tsukishima observes them with a solemn gleam in his eye. That could’ve been us, his heart says in chorus with your own.

“Do you remember that time we danced together in third year, at the summer festival? I tried to kiss you and gave you a nosebleed”.

“I remember”.

Your gaze drops to the bottom of your glass. At the time you had been mortified. Now it’s a story you would share at your own wedding table. The thought cleaves your heart in half.

“Do you remember the song that was playing?”

“Why are you bringing this up?” Tsukishima snaps. “Yes, I remember everything. I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to. Happy?”

There’s a surge of something devastating in your chest, like love and heartbreak all at once, strong enough that you feel as if your ribs might splinter just to make room for it. But they don’t—and you don’t, because you’ve felt this before, and your body remembers.

You remember.

Suddenly the room is too hot, and the music is too loud. “Sorry. I’ll be back in a minute,” you murmur, pushing your chair back and getting to your feet.

“Wait,” in one short breath there are long, calloused fingers circling your wrist. You do wait. Tsukishima hesitates, the pressure elevates, and as you lean away your palm slips into his, skin kissing skin. Then he’s standing, towering over you. “I’ll come with you. I know a place that’s quiet”.

Tsukishima does not let go of your hand, and you don’t let go of his. He walks a few steps ahead guiding you through the throngs of people. Some familiar heads turn, their attention drawn immediately to the place where your bodies meet, and shooting you various looks of encouragement or confusion. Yamaguchi sees you pass and his mouth splits into a grin so wide that his eyes crinkle.

You’re not sure where it is he’s taking you, only that his promise of finding quiet is true. The cacophony simmers and soon enough the festivities are muffled entirely. Just when you think you’ve wound up at the end of a corridor it curves, leading to a pair of french doors. “Come on,” Tsukishima ushers you out onto a balcony.

What you’re greeted by makes your breath catch. The world as it is around you comes to a standstill, the fabric of reality peeling away. An orange yolk dips below the horizon and the sunset hour drapes across the ostensibly endless meadow hidden behind the Karumai Gardens. Rolls of grass sway in the wind, peppered with wildflowers of every shade.

You move to stand at the balcony’s edge. Tsukishima drops his hand, and your fingers curl into your palm. The shadows grow longer, the air cooler. The evening insects begin to sing. You’re warmed still by the wine thrumming in your bloodstream.

“Hey, Tsukki?”

He comes to stand beside you, folding his arms atop the wall. “Don’t call me that”.

“Oh,” you swallow against the swell in your throat. “Sorry, Tsukishima”.

Tsukishima’s expression twists into a scowl. There’s a blush creeping toward his ears. “I didn’t mean that,” he says. You blink and wait for him to elaborate, which only flusters him further. He stares stubbornly at the border. “Just—call me as you normally would. Anything else sounds wrong in your mouth”.

The name leaves you in an instant. Hushed—not whispered, “…Kei”.

He makes an inquisitive noise, strangled as it is.

“You didn’t say what you thought of it,” you continued. “My book”.

You feel a rush of adrenaline when Kei doesn't answer immediately, unable to read his expression. “Good,” he says, veiled indifference belied by the restless twisting of a cufflink between his forefinger and thumb. “It was good”.

“Well, that’s practically a Pulitzer recommendation coming from you”.

“Shut up,” he huffed, gaze flitting across your face and dropping to your tentative, uncertain beginning of a smile. He wets his lips and glances away. Heartened, both by the alcohol and his reciprocation, you press closer in small increments, and Kei flowers under your gentle persuasion, like he always used to.

“This okay?”

In lieu of a reply you are ensconced by a warm, firm chest and two strong arms around your back that show no sign of withdrawing. The low timbre of his voice vibrates under your cheek, “Who was it for?”

“Hm?”

“The book. You dedicated it to someone”.

You exhale, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re glad, in part, that he can’t see the emotion written plainly on your face. “Nobody,” you answer lightly, angling to position your ear right over his beating heart. “Just an ex. You don’t know him”.

“Right,” Kei says, drawing out the ‘l’ the way he does when conceding a point he knows he’s correct about. It sounds so fond that you want to curl up where you’re resting, like some benevolent cat. “Guy must’ve been a dick”.

“I was too. We made a lot of mistakes, I think,” you say. If nothing came of this you would at least be able to revisit it; to pick at the scab and stop the wound from closing over too soon. There’s comfort in that. You crane your head and meet his gaze, nervous but unwavering. “But even if he was kind of a dick, I miss him a lot”.

“Yeah?” his eyes soften, half lidded and dark. “He misses you too”.

“He told you that, did he?” your mouth trembles. Kei dips to bring your foreheads together, and the hard frame of his glasses bumps your eyebrow. You share a shaky exhale of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, brow pinched with regret. Again, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up”.

You feel your jaw quiver. The familiar burn behind your eyes. Tears so close you can taste them. “We both did. Don’t shoulder the blame on your own”.

“But I made you feel lonely,” he says.

You tuck your chin and whisper, “Yes”.

His fingers splayed across your cheek, pinky tucked beneath your jaw as he cradled your face in his hand, tilting until you’re staring back at the reflection in his pupils. Puffy and damp, eyelashes clumped with tears. What a sight.

Kei strokes his thumb in an arc beneath your eye. A tear beads on his nail, slipping into the crook of his hand. The inexpressible tenderness is overwhelming yet you are underwhelmed by the inaction. You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed by the whine in your voice as you ask, “Are you going to kiss me?”

“Demanding as ever. What happened to ‘please’?” he murmurs. And then he kisses you.

It is slow at first, hesitant, leaving room for you to pull away. But with every languid movement of Kei’s lips came a sweet affirmation, that which you took and took until you no longer felt unworthy of receiving it. His hand flutters at your waist. You take a shuddered breath, pressing closer into his embrace and deepening the kiss. In his distraction you take him by the wrist, encouraging him to touch. There’s an immediate, reverent grip at your hip, kneading over your clothes.

This is what you’d been longing for. The feeling you couldn’t transpose; that which people have long tried to capture. The esoteric, giddy anticipation and joy that bubbled between two people on the precipice of something bigger than themselves. Even with an affinity for stringing words together you are scarcely able to describe it. Immense and overwhelming, light and dark, tender and everything in between.

Kei pulls away for breath with a low, vibrating hum, wearing a smile that you thought you’d never see outside of your memories. Almost boyish when he looks at you. The distance is an inch too many but it is just that—an inch. “Eager,” he teases, only to kiss you again, twice as eager.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.

But love doesn’t only exist in stories.

You remember that, now.

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟏𝟏   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   MAYPOP RESORT, INTIZARA, OCTOBER 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

It surprised Leonor how little she thought of the trip until she was in the middle of it. The prospect of going where her mother last lived should have inspired despair, rage, at least whimpering fear. There should have been nightmares. Instead, she had simply acknowledged it. She was going. So it went. The trepidation that rose up in her en route was about seeing her living family—her brothers, Mateo especially. After all, more recent events loomed. It was never hard to imagine Mateo’s disapproval, but she would see concern this time, too, etched into his features alongside the scowling, eye-rolling, lip-pursing disappointment. He was a snotty child, and adolescence hadn’t done much to dim it. But, then again, Leonor herself had been the same. There was always something underneath the superiority with him, though—something that made him better, something that had made him her favorite. Unfortunately, his concern would be genuine. 

❧ i hadn't quite planned for the tonal contrast between the conversation itself and the surrounding context, but i think it works !!! people do indeed get through hard stuff by being silly together :^) anyway, i thought a bit of sibling fun would be nice to include

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

It surprised Leonor how little she thought of the trip until she was in the middle of it. The prospect of going where her mother last lived should have inspired despair, rage, at least whimpering fear. There should have been nightmares. Instead, she had simply acknowledged it. She was going. So it went. The trepidation that rose up in her en route was about seeing her living family—her brothers, Mateo especially. After all, more recent events loomed. It was never hard to imagine Mateo’s disapproval, but she would see concern this time, too, etched into his features alongside the scowling, eye-rolling, lip-pursing disappointment. He was a snotty child, and adolescence hadn’t done much to dim it. But, then again, Leonor herself had been the same. There was always something underneath the superiority with him, though—something that made him better, something that had made him her favorite. Unfortunately, his concern would be genuine. 

The invitation to spend time in Intizara with her father and brothers came without precipitation or any hint of warning. She hadn’t known they were together; she hadn’t known they would want to reunite with her anytime soon, not with the anniversary looming as it did. That would snatch them from their new lives and force them, together, back into the one that had passed. It didn’t occur to her that they ought to do that to themselves.

Rodrigo’s initial calls had gone unanswered, but the silence wasn’t just for him. Kore dumped Leonor into her bed after the costume party and stuck around long enough to make sure she woke up the next morning. After that, her house became a tomb again. It was quiet while reporters clamored outside. The curtains remained drawn, and little daylight seeped in from the dramatic, floor-to-ceiling windows Leonor once loved so much. Even the lights remained off throughout the day and into the evening. Shadowed daytime gave way to black night as it crept along the walls and descended from the ceiling. Leonor, growing sore from stillness, would press her face further into her pillow and hope to fall asleep. When she didn’t, she outstretched a hand to grasp around the cluttered bedside table—for something to take, for water to slosh, for a book on whose words she wouldn’t focus. 

That was how four days and nights proceeded, blending together into an indistinguishable flow of time. It moved slow and heavy, not swift or certain like a flood. Leonor sunk further into the downy coffin of her bed and waited to be suffocated or crushed, whichever came first. However, the fifth day interrupted that wait. Her aide—patient and willing to obey even the cruel order that she be left alone, “to sleep, or to die, I don’t care”—entered the room after a forceful knock went ignored. Leonor didn’t bother sitting up as she strode over and stepped onto the dais where the bed stood. She waited, perhaps knowing the colorful bundle in her hands might rouse her princess from this state that had befallen her. Like burdened wood, Leonor groaned as she sat up. Her eyes hurt. Her cheek bore the light pattern of wrinkled fabric. Without uttering a word, she took the wrapped gift and ripped it open with clumsy hands. 

It was poorly wrapped but bundled tight with layers of paper—first, bright colored tissue, seemingly every shade except blue, then old newspapers. Leonor’s momentary burst of anxiety at the sight of them collapsed quickly into confused relief. Once she had yanked away those layers, a VHS case stared up at her. She smiled despite herself. Inside the case, a scrap of ripped paper folded twice bore a note in familiar scrawl: ‘Take care of yourself, baby.’ She might have flung it all across the room, striking the tape into a mirror with hopes of shattering both, but instead she smiled more.

Once she looked up, the aide passed her another sheet of paper. This was firm and lovely stationary, not a receipt sliver with ragged edges. It had her own signature stamped in the letterhead. This note was in pen, not pencil. The aide explained her father had called once, twice, three times in the last day. He needed his messaged passed onto Leonor. Upon realizing his daughter was not in bed due to any physical illness, he became loud and insistent. Leonor could hear the tone in her head and felt a twinge of pity.

Having read his message, she threw the note aside. She leaned against the headboard and allowed the fatigue in her body to anchor her there. In a bitter exhale, she had scoffed, ‘He thinks this will make me feel better? As if.’

Leonor would never admit that her father was right, but the weight of her emptiness—and it was weight, a feeling so ponderous as to be unignorable—lessened as she departed. By the time Intizara’s coastline became visible through the plane window, her days spent sinking in a morass of anguish were distant. Apprehension danced on her nerves but wasn’t bottomless. It wasn’t intangible, nameless, so unfathomable as to only grow more intense when she tried to grasp it. This was anxiety she could wrap her arms around. 

Intizara boasted excellent weather, and she let herself indulge in pleasant memories of holidays past as her car sped from the airport to Maypop Resort. There, her family waited. She didn’t know what to expect. How would they would perceive her, knowing what a mess she had left behind in Nakawe? Yet, her genuine longing for them tempered the uncertainty. She rejected it time and time again, but being together was medicine. Mateo would look at her like she was a child in need of scolding, but he wouldn’t scold her. When they beheld each other for the first time in weeks, relief would overtake everything else.

After all, she knew their emotions ran parallel. It was easier to pretend otherwise, but that was just a convenient lie. The consequences of coming here and looking out at the water where their mother struggled for her last breaths would descend slowly on them all. The feeling would, like the snow out west, drift down and melt away until, all it once, everything was blanketed. When that happened, the only solace would be each other. What better way to face grief yet again than together, on a picturesque resort beach, bathed in sunshine while seagulls squawked and waves crashed and other families filled the air with sounds of life carrying on? 

Leonor too often imagined her father to be careless and insensitive. She wanted him to be her protector, but she needed him to be a vessel for all that remained unforgivable. Yet, at the beach, setting her eyes upon Mateo’s figure in the distance, inhaling the scent of saltwater, feeling the sun on her bare skin, that characterization faltered. His note echoed in her mind. He gathered them here with intention and compassion, it appeared. Leonor had experienced innumerable solitary firsts in the aftermath of their shared loss, wandering alone through much of the grief-tinted world into which they had been plunged. She could never predict how hard any given first would hit. Some shocked her. Some she anticipated better than others. Visiting this place that every Reyes had hitherto avoided would, mercifully, not be among those she endured alone.

TRANSCRIPT:

[Waves crashing, indistinct conversation and laughter]

LEONOR | You were here with him? MATEO | For a few days, yeah. LEONOR | Mother Beatriz allowed that?

MATEO | “Mother Beatriz allowed that?” [scoffs] No one asked about it, and she didn’t stop us. Why are you so surprised? LEONOR | It’s—Whatever, no, I’m not.

MATEO | You look good, you know. Skinnier. LEONOR | Thanks.

LEONOR | What about last week? I didn’t see you at all. MATEO | [laughs] Oh, gasp, how unusual—! I was with Aunt Prissy in Canarís. Her friend has a new installation at the—

LEONOR | You can’t spend all of your time with a bunch of fifty year old women, Teo. Please tell me you still have other friends who do more than play cards and go shopping.

MATEO | You’re so judgmental. What’s wrong with that? Not everyone wants to spend their free time getting drunk and doing drugs. LEONOR | Well, there’s an unfair accusation. MATEO | But it’s not untrue. [Leonor huffs]

MATEO | Besides, I have do other friends, but … I don’t know what to say to them anymore, I guess.

LEONOR | You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, Teo. But, you never know who might end up understanding, if you do.

LEONOR | Look, I know plenty of fun, classy clubs in Nakawe—or Canarís, if you plan to continue hanging out with auntie down here. You should go dancing, at least. That’s what I did, when I could.

LEONOR | Look, I know plenty of fun, classy clubs in Nakawe—or Canarís, if you plan to continue hanging out with auntie down here. You should go dancing, at least. That’s what I did, when I could.

MATEO | You don’t do that anymore. You should. Maybe you could— LEONOR | [chuckles] I’m not going clubbing with you. That would be so embarrassing.

MATEO | [gasps] Come on! That’s mean. LEONOR | You’re a baby, Teo. MATEO | I’m seventeen. I’m an adult! LEONOR | [sniffs] You smell like womb water.

LEONOR | I’m going to make a call, okay, and arrange a section. There’s a retro night this weekend at a place Kore goes sometimes. You can invite whoever you want, but they definitely have to be under fifty. MATEO | Or what?

LEONOR | I’ll come down there and pull your ears off. MATEO | [laughing] Okay, anything to get you to join us!

MATEO | … What are you doing that night? Do you have plans? LEONOR | Don’t tell anyone, but I joined a showcase at The Den that night. We rehearsed a lot. Can’t miss it.

LEONOR | Well, the after-party is another story, and— MATEO | No, no, no! Cheesy dance recital! Let me have this! LEONOR | [chuckles] You’ll loosen up someday, and then maybe I’ll be seen after dark with you.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Neighbours｡⋆.

Daryl Dixon x plus size reader

You have a little crush on your handsome next door neighbour

Warnings: modern!au, mutual pining, Negan, fluff

WC: 1.1k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

4k Follower Celebration

King’s County was a very cute town. Barely an hour outside of Atlanta but not so far in the sticks that you were completely isolated, it was the perfect place to set up roots. You got a house at the edge of town for practically nothing and immediately a job landed in your lap.

Of course, it was a difficult adjustment having moved from New York where you worked at a cafe to being in Georgia and getting the teaching job of your dreams but what really helped was your next door neighbour- Daryl Dixon.

You first met him the day you moved in. 

Alone with a singular U-Haul truck that had your entire life in the back of it and the mid-July sun on your back, you could think of no worse torture than this as you slowly but steadily moved box after box into your new home. You felt like you were drowning in sweat and your arms were about to fall off when you heard a deep raspy voice from just outside the truck.

“Can I help?” His accent was so thick, it took you a minute to actually understand what he said. 

The sun was at his back, covering his face in shadow but from what you could tell, he was just under 6 feet with hugely broad shoulders and slightly bowed legs. “Um yeah! That would be so great, thank you!” He nodded and grabbed the two boxes in front of him. 

You were in awe as he lugged the boxes of books up your front steps without even a grunt of exertion. You followed behind with the last of your stuff, desperately trying not to look at his ass in those dark jeans he was wearing. “You can just put that by the stairs.”

He hummed and dropped them gently right where you told him to put it. “Thank you again, could I get you some water or lemonade, I’m sorry I don’t have anything else to repay you with”

He shook his head, causing his long dark hair to cover most of his face. “Naw, jus saw ya needed help. It’s what neighbours do ain’t it.” You smiled at his bashfulness.

“Well it was still a nice thing for you to do.” You reached out your hand and gave him your name. His eyes (you could now see that they were blue) flicked to your outstretched hand and then back down to your hardwood floor but he gave you a firm shake anyway.

“Daryl.” As he pulled back, he left a smear of what you thought was motor oil on the back of your hand. His face went beat red and he opened his mouth to apologise but you spoke again before he could.

“Let me get you dinner then, I was planning on ordering a pizza and I doubt I could eat a whole pie by myself.” That got a smile out of him, a small one but it was genuine and it made your heart skip a beat.

“Alright.”

Finally, it was the winter break, after four months of trying to wrangle multiple grades (it was a small school and you were the only history teacher), you could relax. You could feel the tension melting off your body as you drove up to your house.

You pulled your car into the driveway and immediately spotted Daryl. He was perched outside his garage, once again tinkering with his motorbike, a cigarette hanging from his chapped lips. He was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t notice how you just sat in your car and stared at him longingly.

Daryl was a drop dead gorgeous man and apparently he didn’t even know it. He was incredibly strong with biceps almost the size of your head and a general bad boy biker appearance but with a heart of absolute gold. You sighed and grabbed your school bag that unfortunately had paper you still needed to grade.

“Hey Daryl!” You called out. His head shot up so quickly, his cigarette fell to the ground between his booted feet. He cursed under his breath and picked it up again. “Some teachers are coming over to my place for some drinks if you want to join, no pressure though!”

“Sure.” He dismissed but you smiled brightly.

“See you there!”

Rock music crooned from the speakers, just barely audible over the chatter of your coworkers and neighbours as they mingled. You were in the kitchen, making margaritas at the behest of the school’s gym teacher. He hovered over you as you made the drinks, he was either telling you some story about his ‘glory days’ or insulting you, you couldn’t quite tell.

“Negan, it doesn’t need that much tequila!” You snatched the nearly empty bottle from his hand which he had been pouring into the blender when your back was turned.

“Of course it does!” He tried to wrestle the bottle back from you but you stubbornly held on. It quickly became a childish game of tug-of-war that neither of you were really taking seriously, just happy to let loose after dealing with idiotic students for 4 months.

Just as you were getting the upper hand, a voice caught your attention. “Hey.” Hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped forward with a small blush dusting the apple of his cheeks. 

“Hi.” You immediately greeted, unbothered that Negan had stolen back the bottle of alcohol and had subsequently dumped the rest of its contents into the half-made cocktail mixture. “There’s pizzas in the living room and some beers chilling on the deck if you want.” You offered and the shy mechanic just nodded, wandering off into the small crowd.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes dip down to his ass, watching it as he disappeared into the hall. “Seriously? Him?" Negan’s voice startled you from the hypnotising sight, your head snapping back to face him. He was smirking at you with a mixture of disgust and a strange proudness.

“Shut up.” You grumbled and grabbed some extra ice from your freezer to throw into the blender.

“I thought I was more your type but I see it now, a redneck shotgun wedding! Maybe you’ll have roadkill hors d’oeuvres with moonshine- ow! The fuck was that for?” He rubbed at his hurt shoulder which you just punched.

“At least my wedding won’t be fucking baseball themed, you has been.” And as you bickered back and forth, neither of you noticed the figure standing in the doorway, face beat red and blue eyes practically sparkling. If it were up to him, your wedding would be the most lavish event the world had ever seen and by god, he hoped that he would be the one standing at the end of that aisle for you.

Request: Can I please get "neighbors" and "Seriously?Him?" for Daryl for your celebration?

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[loudlittleecho]

DC Batman Prompt: Please (Dis)Incorporate

Bruce was prepping for a gala later in the evening. Tim and Stephanie would be on patrol tonight, while Dick, Duke, and Damian had to make appearances along with Bruce. 

The day had felt off. Bruce didn’t like it. He had gone over all of his procedures. Nothing about this day stood out special. 

He was walking downstairs when he froze. He noticed a man standing at the end of the staircase, looking up at him expectantly. 

The man looked completely unfamiliar, and yet deeply familiar at the same time. 

The man smirked up to him, in an expression almost reminiscent of Jason.

“Hello Bruce.”

The voice, also; unfamiliar and yet one Bruce recognized.

“Hello, I apologize, I didn’t realize I had a guest.” Bruce replied pleasantly, wondering how the man had gotten in. 

The man’s eyes crinkled; it reminded him of Dick’s when he knew something Bruce didn’t. 

“I let myself in; don’t worry, it’s just us- for now. Alfred has been called out.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

“No, no,” the man continued gesturing for Bruce to continue down the stairs. “I wouldn’t hurt Alfred. Caring-” The man’s body -glitched- “permissive” -glitch- “militaristic” -glitch- “butler of Bruce Wayne, Batman.”

The man was either a time traveler, a multiverse traveler, or a mixture of the two based on his stuttered body trying to find the correct adjective to identify Alfred. 

“What do you want, then.” Bruce had reached the man. The man was both taller… shorter… the same height as him. 

The man sighed, his right hand gesturing vagueling, similar to one of Stephanie’s.

“Come with me.”

He turned from Bruce, walking toward the living room often used for family night. 

Bruce tried to place his posture; he seemed to share Damian’s purposeful gate. 

Luckily Damian wasn’t at the mansion; he had requested getting ready with Dick, to be sure “Grayson arrived on time for this one.”

When Bruce reached the doorway he noticed the room had been rearranged. A swivel chair in the center of the room; the television, couches, carpet, bookcase, everything, all removed. Except for the chair. 

The man glanced at the chair. Bruce recognized the man wanted him to sit. When Bruce didn’t, the man sighed, quickly moved the fingers of his right hand, and snapped. 

Bruce found himself sitting in the chair. 

“Who are you.”

The man laughed sharp and quick. This one Bruce couldn’t place. 

“You don’t recognize me? You should.” His voice clipped with a bit of static- similar to how Barbaras did sometimes when on the comms as Oracle. 

The man glanced around the room, and looked back at him, expression calculating. Like Tim’s when he had pieced together a case.

“Family second, work first. Tonight, that is going to change.”

With that, he snapped again. Bruce tried to rush up, but found he was stuck to the chair. 

On silver disks around the room his children appeared.

Dick, with a suit jacket half on. Jason, in mid stretch. Tim, holding an energy drink. Damian holding his sketch pad. Cass, pajamas. Duke, still in uniform, hands partially outstretched, as though in a conversation. 

Instantly were on high alert. Attempting to move- 

“Not yet.”

Their bodies froze, though their facial expressions were unaffected.

“And no powers for you.” 

Bruce glanced as the shadowed corners lightened. 

The man glanced at them, then back to Bruce. Bruce noticed the mans appearance had shifted-The man stretched, and as he did he became a woman with black/red/blond/brown hair. Constantly blending under the light as the different shades. 

“We’re missing some. . .”

Bruce noticed the spacing in which his children were placed. To the right, Cass, Damian, and Duke stood a couple feet apart from one another, while to the left to near center Dick, Jason, and Tim had spaces between themselves. Between Tim and Cass a large space was apparent.

The woman snapped again.

To Jason’s left, Barbara appeared, outreaching with a book in one hand, and a small stack in her lap. To Cass’ left Steph appeared, paused in brushing her teeth. With a wave of the woman's hand, the books and toothbrush disappeared.

Instantly the spaces between his family were filled with seven others he didn't recognize.

Between Dick and Babs was a young woman around their age, with black hair and hazel eyes. Between Jason and Tim was a young woman with short reddish blonde hair and green eyes wearing glasses. Between Tim and Stephanie were two people. Two almost adult teens, a girl with half her dark hair shaved, and a boy with black hair, blue eyes. Between Damian and Duke floated a. . . Starro. And after Duke stood two people. A teen girl around Dukes age, blonde and blue eyed, and a girl around Damian’s age with brown hair and eyes. 

The woman laughed mirthlessly as the new ones also attempted to get out, and their subsequent frozen natures.

“No spores for you little Jarro.”

Bruce again attempted to leave the chair; he was unable. 

“Let’s name and label them, shall we?”

The woman pointed down the line.

"Richard “Dick” Grayson, the first Robin. Helena Wayne, daughter of Bruce Wayne. Barbara “Babs” Gordon, the best Batgirl, the Oracle. Jason Peter Todd, the dead Robin. Carrie Kellie, the forgotten Robin. Timothy “Tim” Drake Wayne, the detective Robin. Harper Row, the badass. Terry McGinnis, the future Bats, manufactured son of Batman. Stephanie Brown, the fired Robin, the purple one. Cassandra “Cass” Cain Wayne, the weapon. Damian Al Ghul Wayne, Stabby Robin, son of Batman. Jarro the Starro, the weird Robin. Duke Thomas, the daytime Vigilante. Claire Clover, the traumatized girl. Mia “Maps” Mizoguchi, the supernatural Robin, the time traveler."

She bounced on her feet.

The chair Bruce was in turned slightly to face each person that was named. 

Bruce tried to memorize the faces of the ones he didn’t recognize. Helena. Carrie. Harper. Terry. Jarro? Claire. Mia. 

“Look at them. Every child you have helped hone into a vigilante. Almost all of them would have donned a mask without you guiding them.” The disk under Jason’s and Jarro's dimmed. 

“Many of them have also died working under you.” The disks under Dick, Barbara, Tim, Terry, Stephanie, and Damian's dimmed. Jason’s and Jarro's dimmed further. 

"We all wind up as this." She motioned to herself. Her form shifted again as shadows under her grew.

“But the mission comes first.” The voice held a bitter edge. “Family comes second. Even if I am your child” -glitch- “partner” -glitch- “mentee” -glitch- “responsibility” -glitch- “sorrow.” 

She turned toward Bruce. Now her face held a green and brown eye, mismatched eyebrows. A scar of a J on her cheek. Her form shifted again, no longer specifically masculine or feminine.

"It's already started you know. The incorporating. The ones you don't recognize? They've been dropped into this universe at least for the last week. Some have done better than others.

I came here to bring the rest of us into the same universe.” Their voice cold and dispirited. “Less pain.” 

Suddenly their body spasmed. Their features painfully shifting from Helena-to Damien-to Terry.

“Time for me to go.” Their face shifted into a blend of Dick and Tim. The blue eyes pierced into Bruce’s own. The anger, the condescension had gone for just a moment. The voice whispered as a small childs. Hopeful. In pain.  “Fix this. Please.”

Their body spasmed again and they took something out of their pocket- Bruce couldn’t get a good look at it- and their body seemed to fade into dust.

Instantly the force holding Bruce was gone. The disks vanished, and the others could move again as well.

Dick was the first to say anything. 

“I’ll let them know that the Waynes will be absent at the gala tonight.”

[merlincmgirl]

Just A Bit Of Contraband

Word Count: 1651

Reader: Gender Neutral

Summary: You really did just want to help Fox and his brothers, but maybe there's a better way than sneaking around the Senate building at night.

Author's Note: This is the first time I've written for Fox, so I hope it's okay. And mention of annoying little shit of a brother Thorn!

Cyare - beloved, love

Osik'la - messed up, screwed up, horrible

Sneaking into the Senate building was no small feat and you were beyond lucky that most, if not all the Senators and staff had gone home for the night. You were on a mission. A very important mission to help the Coruscant Guards do their jobs during this terrible war. Up ahead of you was the room that you had arranged to meet your contact in. It had been in a room you had been in only once or twice, only for a few minutes and never on your own. You just hoped that it would be empty now. Tapping open the button to let you in, you were glad to see that your contact was already there, pressed to the back of the room and hiding in the shadows himself.

“I’ve got the stuff” you whispered, sneaking towards the figure in the break room. Commander Thorn only sighed in relief, stepping forward into the light that filtered through the small window that let it in from the corridor outside. Carefully, he quickly examined the small packages that you handed to him.

“These are perfect. You don’t realise how much we’ll need this. Senate’s holding a fundraiser, security is going to be a nightmare. You know Fox is going to have a field day” Thorn complained, slipping the packs into his belt as much as he could.

“Anything I can do to support the war effort, Commander” you replied cheekily, pulling more packages out of your bag.

The light flickered on overhead as the door slid open, revealing none other but Marshall Commander Fox himself.

“Cyare? What are you doing here?” Fox’s modulated voice came through his helmet’s speakers. You squeaked, unable to do anything but hide the packages behind your back. It wasn’t the smartest of moves, not in the least because it made you look more guilty than you were. Even through his helmet you could still feel Thorn’s side eye but you ignored him.

“Nothing! I was just waiting for you!” you excused, a shaky smile spread over your face. Maker! You could lie as well as the clones it would seem.

“Thorn? What’s going on?” Fox demanded, turning to his vod who was shuffling the packages onto the clip of his belt behind him. There was less patience in his voice now for his fellow commander, and Thorn seemed to sense that like all little brothers could.

“Fox! I was just telling your cyare that you’re probably going to be working late because of the security detail” Thorn stated, and if you hadn’t had known any better, you would have believed him. Well, perhaps you were a worse liar than a clone.

Fox hummed, coming up closer to you and standing in front of you, arms crossed across his chest and helmet tilted down to give you an analysing look. “Hand it over” he instructed, hand outstretched and expecting.

“What?” you cried, floundering for a second at how quick he was to figure you out. You should have known really, Fox could read you like an open book any day of the week.

Fox didn’t even need to look over to Thorn to know that he was trying to slide away from the pair of lovers and closer to the exit. Almost like if he tried to stay out of Fox’s line of sight then he’d be free to escape. “Stay!” he growled head not even turning in his direction, and you couldn’t help but gape at Thorn’s retreating form.

“Thorn! What about we’re in this together?” you gasped, annoyed at the Commander who was so ready to high-tail it out of this situation.

“Sorry vod’ika, but you’re more likely to get out of this than me! I’m not going to be stuck on patrol in the lowest levels again for a week!” Thorn protested, holding up his hands in surrender.

Fox let out a warning call of your name and you winced, before slumping against the counter that was digging into your back. “Alright, alright, but please don’t be mad. We were only trying to help” you sighed, handing over the packet that you had been hiding in your bag. It crinkled in Fox’s grip as you shuffled around nervously on your feet in front of him. You were unsure how he would react.

“Alderaanian caf beans?” Fox frowned, unable to believe that this was what you were sneaking into the Coruscant Guard Headquarters. He had wondered what you and his idiotic brother could be up to, but he didn’t think you would be sneaking in contraband caf beans. What the hell were you two up to?

“Please don’t be mad. I know you’re always telling me that I shouldn’t be wasting my credits on you and that it’s not my responsibility to keep you sane and awake at 4am. But I wanted to do something to help. You haven’t slept for the past 3 days, and I haven’t seen you in nearly as long. And I’m not complaining but I want to make sure you’re okay. And Thorn was telling me that you hadn’t been taking any breaks and Palpatine was being a kriffing shithead and I was worried” you hurried to explain, chest tightening as you worried that Fox would hate you for interfering with his job as the Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guards.

Thorn winced at that, ignoring the glare that his older brother shot his way. He knew he would be getting into shit for telling you exactly what Fox was getting up to when you weren’t there. Especially not looking after himself. You were always telling Fox he needed to look after himself more. Take more rest, eat food that wasn’t rations and drink something that wasn’t caf every now and again.

“So I thought maybe making sure that you had some decent caf would help, you know, keep you awake for all the awful shit Palpatine is no doubt going to put you through because he’s the worst, and really he should be shot. And if you need volunteers, then I’ll be the first in line to shoot that motherf-” you rambled on, before Fox slid a hand over your mouth; before he or someone else heard any more and would have to arrest you for some ridiculous shit like treason.

Seeming to take a breath and stop rambling, you looked up at Fox, waiting for his reaction.

“You, get out of here. I’ll deal with you later” Fox ordered his brother, who sent you a quick thumbs up and ran out of the break room. “You… you should be careful what you say cyare. Who knows who’s listening in this building” he sighed, taking off his helmet with his other hand and settling on your waist. “Can I let go now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you. Accepting your rolling eyes and nod of agreement, he let the hand slip down and squeeze your other hip.

“Are you mad?” you whispered, hoping he wouldn’t be too angry with you. It wasn’t like you were sneaking around for your own benefit. You truly did want to help Fox and his brothers out.

“Course I’m not mad, I’m just worried, cyare. Sneaking around the Senate building after dark, breaking at least a dozen security laws and protocols and making me think we had a thief breaking into the barracks was not the best decision you’ve ever made Cyare. I dread to think what you could do if you had more resources. But it can’t happen again, do you understand me?” Fox rebuked, gripping onto your waist and bringing you into him as close as he could get you. It wasn’t like any reprimand he’d ever given to his men, but sneaking around Senate and GAR buildings were a sure way to find trouble. Trouble he may not always be able to get you out of. It worried him too much to think of you hurt.

“I understand, I’m sorry Fox. I just wanted to make things better for you and your brothers. I know you haven’t been sleeping well, I just thought this might be able to help better than the mud water that they serve you” you sighed, biting your lip and resting your hands on the cool plastoid of his armour.

Fox cupped your face, bringing you up to look into his dark, expressive eyes. They held exhaustion, worry and no small amount of love. Being able to see him clearer now without his helmet always took your breath away. His greying hair at the temples fell across his face in soft curls, the scars that ran across his nose was slightly lighter than his usual tan tone. Maker he was beautiful, and you would tell him that every single day until he believed you. Shaking his head at whatever he could see on your face, he let out a small smile, thumb rubbing softly against your cheekbone. “Even if you shouldn’t be wasting your credits on us, and it’s the Republic’s responsibility to fund our caf addictions to keep this osik’la planet safe and running, thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without your big heart, taking care of me and my men” he whispered, leaning down to press his lips to yours to silence any reply.

“Now, how about we go back to yours and I can show you just how thankful I have to have a cyar’ika like you looking after me?” he hummed, resting his forehead against yours.

“That sounds perfect to me, Commander” you smiled, pushing his curls away from his face and leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his own lips. He just grinned, tucking the packet of caf beans into his belt before grabbing his helmet and pulling you out of the break room. After all, he was due a break and Thorn would cover for him.

[wasjustred]

Winter Weather Warning - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: A blizzard comes barreling through the area and you find yourself stranded———in Larissa’s quarters.

Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x femprof!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smut – fingering and cunnilingus (reader receiving); Larissa gets an orgasm

Word Count: ~6.3k (oops)

Author’s Note: Whaaat? A fic? From me? Finally?? I hope this was worth the wait! Thanks to all you lovely folk who’ve been so patient with me; there’s been a lot going on in my life so I’m very appreciative of you all. Feedback, as always, is welcome and encouraged! ♡ ﹠. a special thank you to my beta readers @sapphicsbeloved and @zephyr-is-tired ——— sending you many kisses and finger waggles for your help! 😙🥰 ╱ AO3

You try not to begrudge the snow for falling when and where it will. It’s pretty, you have to admit: soft, and flurried, sweeping over the stone grounds of Nevermore without prejudice. You peer out from your window and watch scattered groups of students chase after each other gleefully, faces turned up toward the sky like small purple sunflowers in their school uniforms, arms outstretched and reaching. The low angle of the sun against the trees suggests dusk will fall soon, just enough light still to cast long, excitable shadows across the ground.

A smile prods at your lips as you turn away from the window and further into your classroom with the intention of setting up for your last class of the day. You’d originally planned to guide them through a review period for an exam next week, but with the state of the sky and the weekend finally here, you decide a film might instead be just what everyone needs; you can afford to push the exam back another day, and really, they’ll be gunning for extra time where they can get it anyway. You know your students well enough.

When the kids begin filing in, you delegate tasks without explanation, the room abuzz as you instruct one student to close the blinds and a few others to adjust the desks just so. You catch a glimpse of the world down below before the windows cover up: Steady flurries still, but nothing that worries you. The kids’ thrill at spending the period in relaxation when you reveal your plan to them is enough to distract from any further thoughts on the weather, anyhow.

The hour passes swiftly as you sit in the back grading papers, every so often glancing up to take stock of the room. Everyone files out just as fast at the sound of the bell and calls out wishes for a good weekend while you’re left to rearrange the room back into its original state. You take care of the desks first, pack your own items up, decide to leave the windows for Monday since it’s dark out by now, no longer any ribbons of light sneaking through the cracks where the blinds don’t quite meet glass. A nice bottle of wine, a fire, maybe a few candles and a good book… the night is promising, and you run through a mental checklist of how many comfort items and practices you can employ as you wander down to the front entrance, bundled up tightly in your coat to brave the cold.

But when you reach the landing of the long staircase, the sight that greets you is not promising in the slightest: the outer floodlights cast a muted glow over what had been a harmless shower of snow, now furious gusts of heavy flakes collecting faster than your brain can entertain. There has to be at least a couple inches out there already, and the realization that you’ll have to navigate through the winding, hilly roads of Vermont in the middle of this elicits a groan. The treeline is hardly visible amidst the dark and the snow, and the roads are likely no better off: the town tends to skirt right around Nevermore when salting the streets. This drive’ll be a perilous one at best.

“Absolutely not.” The sound of Larissa’s disapproval startles you into a sharp and over-dramatic gasp, every muscle of yours tensing at once when her voice comes from just behind you. 

“Jesus, you scared me! ‘Absolutely not’ what?” You turn to her with features marred by confusion - once the surprise has melted away - and tilt your head up, taking a small step back to balance yourself when you realize how close she is. She looms over you in a way only she can: regal and overwhelming–––yet cordial all the same, offset by the soft floralness of her perfume. The fact that she’d reached you there without a sound would likely be unsettling if it were anyone else. With her it’s just… attractive, the slyness of it all. The mischievous grin she bares in response to how you jump doesn’t help.

“There is absolutely no chance I’m letting you drive in that.” This elicits an incredulous scoff as you peer up at her, arms lifting at your sides like a pair of very exasperated, very amused wings.

“Letting me? What am I supposed to do? Break my back sleeping on the floor of the library? No thanks.”

“Don’t be silly,” Larissa tsks, pressing her lips together in an all too familiar demonstration of thought. She’s quick with her next words, though, and something tells you there wasn’t much thought to be given at all. “You’ll stay with me.”

The firmness with which she says this, the matter-of-fact tone that has always so easily slid off her tongue, leaves no room for discussion. You gape at her but Larissa’s already swiveling on her heel and walking in the direction of her office as though it’s been decided once and for all, no questions asked. She throws a crooked finger over her shoulder and gestures for you to follow, the sound of her heels now echoing through the mostly-empty halls.

You wonder, frivolously, how in the hell you didn’t hear her the first time around.

You rush after her with quick steps in an effort to keep up; Larissa’s long, unhesitating strides carry her farther and faster than you can move without some effort. The view of her backside, however, is not one that merits complaint. You follow the curve of it up until you come upon a landing you’re not familiar with, nearly knocking into Larissa when she halts abruptly and turns towards you for the first time since this little journey began. She looks almost unsure of herself now, eyes flitting about rather than meeting yours. It’s one thing, you know, to flirt in passing; to brush arms when you’re both chaperoning students in Jericho; to trade amused, knowing glances across faculty meetings. But it’s another to invite you into her sanctuary, a decisive and loaded crossing of one of the last lines between the two of you.

“If you’d prefer, I believe there’s an empty dorm room I can have made up for you. It’d be no problem.” She finally looks down at you long enough for you to read what’s going on behind that mask of hers, typically pristine and perhaps a touch righteous: she’s trying to give you an out, trying to relinquish control for a second before she commandeers your night, and she’s worried she’s already gone too far by bringing you up here in the first place.

But you’re not going to say no to a night at Larissa’s side, especially when the potential for a warm fire and a glass of wine or two is so high.

Especially when it’s her asking.

“No, it’s alright. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“Not at all,” she’s quick to blurt out, shaking her head. “I simply wanted to make sure you knew you had the option, that’s all.”

With that, Larissa turns again and begins the ascent to what you assume is her hall–––until you’ve reached another landing with only one door, and she pushes it open to reveal an entire apartment all her own. It’s very her, this place: Warm, shining, elegant. The living room is awash with low, simmering lights, furnished with a mix of dark leather and velour, a towering bookcase taking up the whole of one of the far walls with an accompanying reading nook. She walks you further into the threshold and eases the door closed behind you, hovering silently as you take the space in. There are a few framed art pieces that you promise yourself you’ll review more thoroughly later on, scattered vases of flowers and various, high-hanging mirrors.

What truly draws your attention, however, are the photos strategically lining the walls, clearly taken at various points in Larissa’s life: A small platinum-blonde girl carefully posed before a Christmas tree with two very proper looking hounds on either side of her, all very regal and staged except for the wide, nose-crinkling grin on the girl’s face; a beach trip with the same girl, slightly older now, arm thrown over her face as she squints against the sun and into the camera - and a pair of kids that look to be around her age chase each other in the background; teenage Larissa suited up and on horseback, smiling proudly as a judge strings a blue ribbon around the horse’s halter; graduation photos from Nevermore; a trip to the Scottish Highlands, it looks like, a twenty-something Larissa soaked to the bone but grinning out at the miles and miles of luscious greens like she couldn’t be bothered less by the weather. It’s the most you’ve ever seen of her.

Eventually Larissa brushes behind you, laying a hand at your waist in passing as she toes off her heels and begins the process of lighting the fireplace.

Her touch leaves an emphatic tingle in its wake.

“I didn’t think my wall was that particularly exciting,” she muses, glancing over her shoulder at you. You duck your head and turn from the wall, following her lead as you slip out of your shoes and place them next to her own.

“I always like to see what people were like before I knew them. It’s intimate.” Larissa’s gaze softens almost imperceptibly before she returns her attention to the fire, adjusting the logs one last time and replacing the latch on the brass screen.

“What do they tell you, those pictures?” She wipes her hands and comes to rest against the edge of a couch, gazing at you as you shift on your feet and consider her question. Her eyes remain soft, but there’s something else lurking there behind the blue now: Curiosity? Interest? Desire, even? You can’t read it for sure, so you clear your throat and move back to the photographs on her wall, crossing your arms over yourself.

“Well, .. this one,” you start, gesturing towards the Christmas tree, “screams rich.” Larissa snorts loudly and tilts her head in a way that says you’re not wrong. “Probably an only child - at least at the time, otherwise there’d be other kids with you.” Her smile gives nothing away this time, but you charge ahead, brushing your fingers against the frame that holds the beach between its borders.

“This isn’t an American beach, that much I know.” You choose not to elaborate, allowing your ‘Americanness’ to speak for itself. “But I can’t tell if you grew up going there or if it was a special vacation, maybe visiting family… ?” you trail off as your gaze drifts over to her questioningly. She just shrugs, and you click your teeth in mock disapproval before moving on.

“You look happy here,” you observe, allowing your hand to drift over the photo of Larissa in her English riding gear. “Unforced. You enjoyed competing, maybe preferred your horse to people.” This one might be an unfair deduction, supplemented by your understanding of how cruel kids can be–––especially to an outcast, especially to a 6’3” girl.

“The Duke,” Larissa pitches in, pushing up off the couch’s back to join just behind your shoulder, gazing over at the photo in question. “My mother hated the name, but I insisted. He was a gift for my fifteenth birthday,” she reminisces, breath coursing over the tip of your ear. You peer up at her as she smiles, something sad and regretful there before she sucks in a deep breath and points out a new photo to you, more recent by the looks of it: Larissa stands with a large group of students in their Nevermore uniforms, mid-laugh as one of the kids waves his hands wildly and another has their mouth agape in what looks to be protest. Her eyes are crinkled - genuine - and one of her hands seems to be in the process of making its way up to cover her mouth, the other mindlessly resting at her midsection. You know that laugh. It’s her most uninhibited, her most authentic, which only comes out when she’s caught completely off-guard. Your favorite, if you’re honest.

“My first class of students as principal of Nevermore,” Larissa offers, scrunching her nose happily at the memory.

“What’d he say? That student?” You’re part genuine curiosity and part selfishness: eager to know what made her laugh like that, and how you can take hold of that kid’s humor and use it for yourself, elicit a look like that, a laugh like that, which so rarely comes about during school hours.

“I wish I could remember,” she murmurs, taking one last look before clasping her hands together and shocking you out of the reverie. “But nevermind all that. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

You nod sheepishly, nearly apologetic knowing she likely hasn’t and is looking to be a good hostess. But she merely nods, looking relieved: “Oh good, I can’t be bothered to cook tonight,” Larissa admits, a teasing grin stretching from ear to ear. 

“Let me show you where everything is, then.” She guides you down the hall and nudges one of the doors open, gesturing with an open palm. “Here’s the bathroom. Extra amenities are in the second drawer there, towels in the closet.” The suite is nicer than any bathroom you’ve ever had, really the stuff of luxury hotels: white marble floors, a deep soaking tub, gold knobs and handles on almost every appliance. You’ve no choice but to forcefully shoo away the startling, indecent imaginings that break through your reserves of Larissa sinking deep into the lush bubbles of the tub, skin glistening, chest bare––––

“Heated floors, too. I never go cold in the winters.” Ever humble, Larissa pulls at your shoulder gently and switches the light off, directing you to another door just diagonal of the bathroom. When she swings the door open, you’re embarrassingly aware of the way your jaw drops.

“Bedroom’s this way,” she says, stepping into the space. It’s gorgeous, swooping drapes of dark ruby and gold, satin bedding that pools over the mattress and onto the floor, puddles of fabric against a thick persian rug. There’s another fireplace opposite the bed, an area farther off with another scaling bookcase and two large, well-worn armchairs, a small number of intricately designed table and floor lamps, a matching vanity and armoire, the former of which is careful, lived-in chaos with its scattered tubes of lipstick and skin care tinctures.

It’s Larissa.

“Wow,” you breathe, meeting her amused gaze. “You never mentioned you live like this. I would’ve taken you up on a sleepover much sooner if I’d known.” Larissa flushes and coughs out a coy laugh, smoothing a hand over her hair as she looks out across the room.

“Yes, well. You’re here now.” She reaches out and lifts your handbag from you, pulling at your coat lapel next to signal you should take it off. Once you do, Larissa hangs it along one of the walls and places your bag on her vanity. Busy work. “I have clothes you can borrow of course, though they may be a bit big. I’ll set them out, although,” she pauses, glancing at her bedside clock, “it’s early still… Up for a movie? Glass of wine?”

You’re almost - almost - embarrassed by the unrestrained nodding of your head, but hell, it’s been a long week, and relaxing with a bottle of wine sounds like the perfect reward for making it through without breaking down [in front of your students]. The fact that it’s Larissa’s personal wine, in her personal quarters, in her personal hands does nothing to lessen the appeal.

The question of where Larissa will sleep, if showing you the bedroom was her way of offering it to you, hangs in your head, but you decide the answer can wait until the time for sleep comes around. By no means are you going to allow Larissa to banish herself to the couch in her own home. You’d sooner take the floor–––even if you’d jokingly complained about that very same concept earlier in the hour.

“Do you have a preferred genre?” She asks as you both return to the living room, you perching on the sofa as she disappears into what you assume is the kitchen to fetch the wine. It’s not normally a loaded question, nor one worth considering too deeply, but you realize you have an opportunity here… and if Larissa’s occasional blushes, her soft gaze, mean what you hope they do, perhaps there’s a strategy to be employed. You shift further into the cushions, absentmindedly running a hand over your clavicle in thought.

“Don’t laugh… but I’m a sucker for romance when the weather’s like this,” you call out. Larissa peeks her head out from around the corner, brows furrowed in funny disbelief.

“Really?”

“Wha–– why is that so hard to believe?!”

“It’s not, I just.. wasn’t expecting it, I suppose. You seem more of the action or thriller type.” She shrugs and disappears again without further explanation, leaving you to half-pout half-ponder at her words. Before you can make an argument in your defense, however, she’s returning with two full glasses, bottle tucked under her arm, and dimming the lights, a practiced look of concentration slanted across her features as she makes her way over to the couch and lowers one of the glasses into your waiting hand. The red sloshes up just near the edge when Larissa hands it off, and you half-jokingly prod at her as your brows shoot up in amusement.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Principal Weems?” She tuts with faux indignation, but the growing flush of her cheeks betrays her.

“I wouldn’t dare.” She settles next to you - still a respectable distance for colleagues, but closer than mere acquaintances - and places the uncorked bottle on the table ahead of you, grinning.

“Romance it is, but I pick.” You ‘d be surprised by her demand if you didn’t know Larissa’s need to be in control at all times. In fact, if anything surprises you, it’s her calmness in the face of this turbulent weather–––perhaps the most uncontrollable variable there is. Even the most headstrong people can be manipulated, but not the sky.

The film she chooses isn’t one you’ve seen before, which excites you, and you both sink into the couch with a comfortable silence. You share little notes back and forth on the revolving plots and chuckle at the occasional joke, however cliché, as the movie rolls, finding an easy rhythm you’ve never before been able to appreciate amidst the chaos of classes and faculty meetings. 

It’s about an hour in, having finished your first glass and poured another for yourself and Larissa, that you make the mistake of peering over at her from the corner of your eye. A particularly sappy scene is playing out before you. The TV’s light flickers softly against her face, which is content and dare you say tender as the two protagonists share a moment together. The stumble before the fall. Her forehead creases and you have the sudden urge to kiss the lines away, warmed by the wine and her beauty.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers hoarsely, though her eyes never leave the screen. 

Your heart jolts when she catches you out, running hot with guilt. Your legs shift beneath you as you move to scoot a few inches away - to give her space from your leering gaze - but you freeze when you feel her hand on your knee, holding you in place. You watch her for any sign that’ll tell you what’s going through her head but she doesn’t budge further, only loosening her hold on you a fraction when you relax against the cushions again. Your heart is beating hard at the door of your ribs as you tilt your head back towards the movie, far too distracted to actually process anything that’s happening. The air is so thick now your lungs can hardly keep up; it’s a dizzying thing, electric, and your thoughts jumble haphazardly as you wonder whether or not Larissa’s feeling it, too.

You risk a peek at her again–––but Larissa is already looking at you. 

Her chest is heaving, albeit subtly, and her eyes are dark. A steep wave of arousal pulses through you when her tongue slips out along her upper lip, her gaze flicking down to your mouth and back up again: a question. The second you nod her mouth is on yours, both of you sighing into the touch. You cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer still as your other hand fists around the fabric of her dress. An insistent tug at your waist brings one of your legs between her own, hips rolling against each other as she gropes at you mindlessly, squeezing the thigh slotted over her heat.

“Is this okay?” she asks breathlessly, dragging your bottom lip between her teeth before she pulls away to look at you. Her cheeks are flushed a heavy pink and her lipstick is smudged. You giggle at the realization that there must be bright crimson streaks along your chin and lips.

“Yes,” you assure her between steadying pants, stroking a hand from her shoulder to her wrist and entwining your fingers, giving them a gentle pinch. “You alright?”

A smile briefly turns her lips, soft and loose. “Very much so.”

The next few moments are sweeter, slower as you take your time savoring her taste, tracing the swell of her lips, the delicate scar at the top there, following the line of her jaw up into her hair with your fingertips. She presses into you as gentle as ever, drawing shivers up to the surface of your skin as her hand snakes up the length of your spine. Barely there still is the sound of the fire lingering in its box and the distinct roar of wintry gusts at the window, mere suggestions at the back of your brain. The wine’s been long forgotten on the table.

You shudder when Larissa’s fingers tease at the lower hem of your blouse and brush against a bare sliver of skin, resting there before you arch into her and take hold of her wrist, guiding her hand higher. Her lips quirk to one side at your earnestness, especially as she reaches the clasp of your bra. She hesitates again, more teasing than searching, and slides her tongue into your willing mouth, exhaling sharply when you meet her move for move. Nimble fingers unclasp the bra without issue before they drift around to your front, putting distance between your bodies as Larissa palms your breasts, takes a nipple between her fingertips and pulls and twists with wicked dexterity.

A whimper escapes you when she sinks her teeth into your lip for a second time, much harsher this go around before she suddenly parts from you and begins pressing open-mouth kisses along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and soothing in time with the hapless rocking of your hips. She adjusts to unbutton your top, never once pausing in her assault on your neck as she does so.

“Wait,” you pant out suddenly, and all at once her body leaves you, drawing back to give you space. The look on Larissa’s face is a concerned one, but gentle still, and you know she’ll follow where you need. It’s everything you can do not to keep her waiting in exchange for the chance to look at her, swollen lips and mussed hair, dress askew. 

She’s never been more beautiful to you. 

“Take me to bed.”

Her concern is washed away and replaced with relief - and then more prominent, want.

Larissa rises up from the couch and reaches a hand out to you, catching you off-guard when instead of walking you to the bedroom once you stand, she bends at the knee and scoops you up, your legs coming to wrap around her waist as you laugh in surprise.

“Who am I to say no,” she teases, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before making the careful trek over to the bedroom.

The question of where she’ll sleep is hardly that anymore. 

You’re both already naked and rocking against each other beneath her blankets when the power goes out. Neither of you truly take notice until the temperature in the room’s significantly plummeted.

“Oh–––one moment, darling.” You push yourself up on your elbows and whine as Larissa slips out of bed, hissing against the cold. Goosebumps raise along her skin, the peaks of her nipples hardening further as she rushes to kneel before the fireplace, sparking a flame in record time. Her skin nearly glows in the moonlight that trickles in from the windows, reflective amidst the snow. She looks like a ghost before you - ethereal, hauntingly so - and you tilt your head, gaze tracking from the deep slope of her calves to the fine curve of her ass, the faint divots of her spine, the wisps of hair that have come loose from their hold and fallen to her shoulders.

“You’re staring,” Larissa chides as she slides back under the covers, shivering.

“I’m admiring,” you correct lamely, a pitiful pout coming to rest upon your lips as you open your arms and draw her closer to warm her now-frigid skin. She hums as if to say ‘yeah, okay,’ burrows into you and drapes an arm across your middle as she pushes her leg between yours. Your hips instinctively buck when her thigh slides against the wetness of your cunt, and you’re both abruptly reminded of what had you so distracted in the first place.

Larissa tentatively nods towards you again and runs the tip of her tongue along your pulse point, your hips beginning to rock together once more, panting heavily and in unison while the storm surges on outside, unabated. The heat pooling in your stomach is in stark contrast to the drifting chill in the room, rearing a confused, overwhelming sensation of hot-cold along your skin. Larissa’s breath, warm on your neck, only further urges the feeling along until you feel as though you might snap if she doesn’t take you fully.

“Please,” you whimper, dragging your nails up over her back with little reserve. Larissa nips at your chin and yanks your leg further across her, taut against your clit.

“Please what?” Her voice is raked over with a carnal desire the likes of which you’ve never seen on her before, deep and airy. It only serves to pull the coil tighter. Your breath hitches as she pushes herself up on her hands and knees, hovering over you now, and she leans down, down until her face is level with yours, an intense wave of adoration flooding through you as she caresses one of your cheeks. She whispers, “I want you to beg, sweetheart,” and it’s all over, never a chance, the air all but torn from you, slick heat gone straight to your cunt.

Beg for her. Beg for Her. No matter how many times the thought bounces around within that empty little head of yours, you’re frozen in place both by lust and surprise. You’ve had your share of fun, of course, but the type that usually involves you calling the shots, taking charge. You thought you liked it that way.

You might’ve been wrong.

You’re only finally jostled from your thoughts when Larissa pulls back and draws a brow up at your silence. A shadow of concern passes over her face but you’re quick to pull her back in, nodding.

“Please fuck me,” you all but whisper, desperate to be filled, to be warmed, to be taken care of while the elements ravage the earth beyond these four walls. Larissa grins smugly at your feebleness, pressing her full weight upon you before she winds a hand down between your bodies, cupping your slickness in her palm. You’re dripping all over yourself, you know: a cool, nearly chafing wetness coating the inside of your thighs, so easily spread when Larissa dips her fingers in between your folds. She sinks a single digit into you just halfway, draws it out, sinks in again and curls it against that soft spot, yes, right there––

She easily adds another and hums at the way your body translates its own neediness, busying her mouth with the soft line of your jaw.

“You feel so good..” she murmurs as her fingers bury themselves into you knuckle-deep, so long and soft and better than you’d ever imagined (and you’d certainly spent time imagining it). Her hips press into yours from above, throwing weight behind her hand as she rolls against you, a slow and steady fucking that excites the fire already roaring within you. You gaze up at her in awe as her eyelids flutter in time with the movement of her hips, realizing she’s found just the right friction against the back of her own hand that each time she thrusts into you, a firm, rippling pressure rubs up against her own clit.

Your hands search frantically now until they’re planted at the slope of Larissa’s waist and you watch, carefully, as you pull her harder into each drive of her hips, rejoicing when she gasps and shudders into the pattern, breaking it for a fraction of a second before driving into you with a far greater desperation.

“Oohf, yes, th-that’s it, darling,” she pants out before capturing your lips in a sloppy, bruising kiss. Suddenly your own orgasm is incidental as you revel in the picture of her coming undone above you, chest flushed, cheeks pink, her hair falling further from its updo as she works her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Look at me, I want to see you,” you clamor with a novel burst of confidence, hands drifting up from her waist to cup her face in your palms. You want to look her in the eye when she cums. You want the memory of her sounds, her face, so deeply imbedded in your mind that it’ll keep you warm when you’ve returned to your own quarters. You want, you want, you want, and she whimpers - a heavenly sound - and obliges, gaze unfocused for a moment before she looks down at you, tongue darting out as she attempts to maintain some degree of focus.

“Right there, right there.. I can feel how close you are,” you huffily encourage, shifting so that both of your legs wrap tight around her and wrench her deeper, harder into you, smiling when her breath hitches at the change of pace and pressure against her sex. You watch her closely, in awe: Larissa’s brows are furrowed, her mouth fallen open and the pink of her tongue closely matched to that of her cheeks, the slight swell of her tits lurching which each thrust. The knowledge that each plunge into your cunt brings her closer is surreal––that she’s so obviously getting off on fucking you, that the frantic snap of her hips is building both of you up, simultaneously.

Her hips begin to stutter into you, airy whimpers falling from her as she teeters on the edge, fingers curling haphazardly in an attempt to continue fucking you through the oncoming rush of her orgasm. The mattress rocks and dips momentarily as Larissa gasps, sharp, and suddenly bows over you with the force of her climax, breath hot on your neck, forehead pressed into your temple, chest heaving against yours as she mindlessly ruts. Her fingers remain buried in your heat, pulsing slowly in time with her come-down. 

Larissa’s body shudders as you run your palm over her in light, gentle sweeps, one hand carefully traveling to cup the back of her neck.

“You’re alright.. I know.. ‘s good, hm?” You feel a weak nod at your side, Larissa eventually stilling atop you. The pad of her thumb draws slow, lazy circles around your clit as her breathing slows, nosing the crook between your shoulder and neck. 

“Christ,” she mumbles against your skin, and you chuckle as her lips draw a line from your ear to your chin.

“Yeah?” She hums and - slowly, determined - begins to wriggle down your body until her face is level with your cunt, glancing up at you with a blissed-out smirk before she presses an open-mouthed kiss to your slickness. The wet warmth of her tongue slides easily against you, dipping between your folds, lapping up the puddle that’s collected at your center, working in tandem with the pressure of her thumb at your clit, a feeling dumbly akin to religious devotion: a reverent prayer at your sex, holy flames licking up the walls of her bedroom, the weighted creases of her sheets stretched where she kneels before you.

A strong gust of wind wracks the shutters of her windows. They bang haphazardly against the glass, knocking in time with the surges of the storm.

Your fingers clench around the bed covers as Larissa rolls over your entrance once more, teasing, then pushing into your dripping hole with an embarrassing ease. She fucks you slow and as deep as she’s able, fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips. Not even the devil themself could stop you from rolling your pussy against her face in search of some greater friction, whining as the sounds of her tongue wading through your arousal mixes with the crackling of the fireplace, the moan of the storm outside.

“Ohfuckyes,” you pant as your legs spread further on their own accord, knees drawing up to alter the angle at which your pleasure floods through you. She moves with delicious ability, and you watch the stark blondeness of her hair bob with every fervent lap of her tongue, overwhelmed with the sudden realness of the moment: Larissa’s scent on the pillows, her lipstick smudged across your lips, her sweat on your skin. Her thumb abandons your clit, and a desperate cry waits at the threshold of your mouth until her finger is replaced with the pointed flicking of her tongue, quick and full and firm against you. The coil pulls tight within your core.

She murmurs something brusque but you’re too consumed with the sensation of her fingertips at your inner thigh to process, but she repeats herself as you release a heavy sigh, her fingers sinking deep into your cunt.

“That’s a good girl..." Your back arches at the same time Larissa takes your clit into her mouth, sucking and slurping as if to drink from that little bundle of nerves drawn straight to your core, as if to quench an otherworldly thirst. She pulls your orgasm from you quick and unforgivingly, never stumbling in her ministrations when your thighs begin to close in around her, or when your hands wind into her hair and pull, hard. She continues to devour you as if she doesn’t notice the snapping of that coil, the sounds that melt into the satiny sheets of her bed as you cry out for her–––the curling into yourself as your clit throbs towards unbearable tenderness.

“Fff––please, please, I’m––” Sapphire eyes bore into yours as her lips stretch into a devious smile, slowly but surely unlatching. A mercy, if you’ve ever seen one. You tremble in relief.

“You can’t take it?” she coos, superficial concern floating by your quivering sex. You don’t know whether to pull her closer or push her away when Larissa glances down towards your soaking cunt again––––

but the choice is made for you when she draws herself up and grabs hold of your chin, pushing her tongue into the waiting cavern of your mouth. The sure expanse of her thigh slides between your legs as she does so, eliciting a startled twitch as she brushes against your clit. She swallows your gasp.

“So sweet.” Larissa nips at your chin, presses her thigh against you more firmly and rubs her thumb back and forth along your cheek. Your hips buck of their own volition, acting solely on the most primal of instincts despite the sensitive twinge between your legs. There’s only Larissa’s softness, her warmth, her gentle affection circling your head, coloring the air around you. The world’s ending outside and it’s just her.

“Please kiss me,” you whisper, suddenly overcome with the need to absorb her, to touch her anywhere and everywhere all at once as if you could meld together somehow amidst the tousled satin.

She stills, hovering over you with a smile so soft you’re almost certain this has all been a very long, very desperate webbing of dreams until she obliges, brushing her lips against yours with the utmost of care.

“Are you alright?” Her voice is hushed, eyes searching.

“Better than alright,” you assure her, brushing a stray hair from in front of her face. “Kind of just wanted to be close to you…” You shrug sheepishly and turn your attention to the far wall, suddenly very interested in the twisting shadows of trees cast against the space there. The abrupt rush of vulnerability reddens your cheeks, lips pursing as the regret at such an intimate admission prickles up with equal swiftness. It’s quickly brushed away, however, when Larissa clicks her tongue and tilts your face towards her with a palm against your cheek, brow arched amusedly.

“Then be close,” she says, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose before she pulls you flush against her and buries her face into your neck. The fire’s dwindling, informed by the dying light of the room, the falling temperature beyond the bed, but neither of you notice as you wrap yourselves up in the arms of the other, tending to a warmth all your own.

[dawneternal]

Just a Favor

✦ A Gwynriel first kiss one-shot (turned into multiple parts after requests for more)

✦ Inspired by a true story 🫣 when I started dating my wife in high school I had never been kissed before and she kept very politely asking if she could kiss me and I kept getting too nervous and saying no. That went on for like two months and then I finally told her to kiss me without asking or I'd keep saying no lol and she did. The end

✦ Word Count: 1.7k

✦ AO3 Link / Masterlist

"I have a favor to ask you," Gwyn's voice pulled Azriel from his thoughts.

She sat across from him at the kitchen table, half-eaten plates of lunch in front of them. The Valkyries had stayed for lunch after training, Gwyn lingering after Cassian had left to fly Emerie home. Nesta had excused herself to find a book for Gwyn, leaving the pair alone.

Azriel had not thought anything of this sequence of events, but now that he was looking at the Gwyn, head tilted to the side with an inquisitive gleam in her eye, he was finding it all suspicious.

"It's kind of an unconventional thing, so prepare yourself." Gwyn continued. He took note of her fingers fiddling with a buckle on her leathers.

"Okay," Azriel said slowly, resisting the urge to furrow his brows. Or maybe run away.

"Are you prepared?"

"Yes, I won't react."

"I want to be kissed."

True to his word, Azriel's face remained unchanged. Though his stomach had done a flip and his heartbeat thundered.

"Okay, you can react a little," Gwyn cried, indignant and incredulous.

"Are you asking me to kiss you?" Azriel surprised himself with his own calm tone.

"Either that, or help me find someone. Because I trust you to help me find someone who isn't an asshole." She had shrunk into herself a little, like her confidence had waned. Her gaze drifted down to her plate.

"Why me, though?" The corners of his mouth quirked up just a touch.

"Nesta hates everyone, Emerie only knows Illyrians and they hate Valkyries, Cassian is Cassian, and I'm not asking my High Lord or Lady to find someone to kiss me."

They were all fair arguments. He didn't bother asking why she wanted to be kissed so desperately. All of her actions pointed toward wanting to move on. He'd overheard the Valkyries several times encouraging Gwyn toward what they called 'the last step' - moving out of the library.

"I'll do it," Az said, cursing his voice for cracking. How could she unnerve him so?

She was just a woman. Except that a singular word could not fully capture what Gwyn was. Priestess, Valkyrie, Carynthian, she was something incredible. The most brightly colored thing in his life. Copper hair, turquoise eyes, white ribbons, auburn freckles.

Gwyn cheered and gave him a triumphant, toothy grin. He could not help smiling in return.

"What do you want me to do?" He asked, unsure how to proceed.

"I just want you to kiss me like you would anyone you really liked," Gwyn was blushing, now. Eyes a little wild, like she hadn't expected to get this far.

"That doesn't really tell me what you want," Azriel protested.

He picked at a leftover sliver of sandwich to give his hands something to do. His shadows buzzed with energy, darting to far corners of the room and reporting back about the dust that lived there.

"Well...what was your first kiss like?" Gwyn asked. She smiled at one shadow that approached her outstretched hand like a shy kitten.

"Probably not what you'd want," Azriel flashed a sheepish grin, still embarrassed by the centuries-old memory, "It was pretty bad. This will be your first kiss?"

"Yes," Gwyn kept her gaze on the tendril of shadow weaving through her fingers. "I think maybe I don't want you to ask me first,"

"I always ask before I kiss someone, no matter how I feel about them."

"Well, the problem is that if you ask, I might chicken out and say no," She sighed, "So I may need you to just do it."

"Ah," Azriel grinned, "I see. You want me to make it a moment."

Before she could answer, he stood and crossed to her in a few strides, turning her chair to face him and bracing one hand on the back of it. Gwyn looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted. He leaned in close, nose a few inches from hers. Somehow, her nervousness had cancelled his out and returned his confidence. At the very least, he knew he was capable of making her first kiss better than his had been.

"I have no qualms with a surprise, if that's what you want." He said, deep voice rumbling in his chest.

"Yes," Gwyn whispered, heart hammering in anticipation.

This close, she could count every freckle scattered over his bronze skin. There was a beauty mark she had never seen before right on the edge of his full bottom lip, and glimmers of gold in his amber eyes. She hoped desperately that he could not hear the catch of her breath.

Azriel stayed still for a moment, gaze fixed on hers, letting her wonder if this was the moment. A part of her hoped that it wasn't, just so she could feel this again, have another chance to memorize his features. To breathe his piney scent, feel his shadows caress her skin.

Perhaps she should have just asked him to help her find a stranger.

Azriel straightened, flashed an insufferable smirk, and walked out of the room. Gwyn heard his footsteps echo down the hall, leaving her alone in the silent kitchen. She felt as though a summer storm had just rolled through her world, dark and alluring and thrilling all at once.

Nesta, with her brilliant intuition, returned a moment later, squealing when she took in Gwyn's red cheeks.

A few nights later, after a family dinner at the River House, a little group set out to the far corner of the estate. There, a little branch of the Sidra curved through the meadow before pouring back into the sea. A small stone bridge crossed over it, leading to an ivy covered gazebo. Azriel, Cassian, Nesta, and Mor all set out to get a moment of fresh air and a glimpse of the moonlight dancing on the water.

Gwyn followed, giggling with the group at Mor's tipsy stumbling and Cassian's booming voice declaring that he could definitely skip a rock father than the rest of them. This, of course, illicited a challenge and they all began a search for perfect rocks. Gwyn was particularly skilled at skipping stones and giddy at the idea of surprising the group with her talent and wiping the smirk from Cassian's face.

But just as she stepped over the little stone bridge, a hand grasped her arm and whirled her around. She found herself in Azriel's arms, among the swaying grass and delicate flowers. They stood halfway down the bank of the stream, Azriel's boots braced against the slope, holding them upright. The mossy stone bridge hid them from sight, only the tops of their heads visible if the rest of the group bothered to look.

It took Gwyn a moment to register what had happened, to calm her heart and adjust to the feeling of the shadowsinger's arms wrapped around her waist. He smiled down at her, moonlight gleaming in his hazel eyes. This was the moment.

Azriel softly placed his hands on her face and pulled her in a little closer. He was silent, giving her long moments to stop him if she wished. But she tucked herself into him, hands resting on his chest, fingertips just brushing the skin above his collar. She blushed deep red, looking up at him through lowered lashes, though the glimmer in her eye was eager.

Azriel could not help but notice how perfectly she fit in his hold, like her face and his hands had once been a single block of marble, the curve between them cut with a single motion. Something about it so familiar, so deeply rooted it felt almost ancient. Sacred.

And Gwyn could not help the feeling that bloomed in her chest when he brought his lips to hers. Soft, sweet, reverant. His touch was warm, every place where they connected sent sparks through her body.

She knew, deep down, was no fleeting feeling. This was the feeling of something beginning. Perhaps this was a spectacularly stupid idea, after all, as she was certain that no other kiss would ever feel this way.

Azriel pulled away, thumb brushing over her cheek. The moment he met her eyes, he felt it. It was nothing like he thought it would be. Neither pain nor pleasure, something so unique there was only one thing that it could be. Gwyn glowed before him, her aura golden. So bright, the star his whole being now orbited.

He knew he looked like a fool. Gasping, chest heaving like her kiss had hurt him. And the concern on her face stung, because it meant she had not felt it, too.

"Azriel?" She whispered, her rose-tinted stupor fading. Azriel let go of her, hands dropping stiffly to his sides. His skin burned, already craving more of her touch.

"How do you feel?" He croaked, though he knew the answer. She did not feel as he did, no matter how much she had liked it.

"Are you okay?" She asked, instead of answering. Her hands still rested against his chest, and now her fingers curled around his shirt collar, holding tight. He looked like he was beginning to panic.

Azriel shook his head, wings spreading out with a snap. It was too much. The sorrow, the longing, the roaring joy. Subtle hints of her own emotions drifting down the newly forged bond.

Mind swirling, he placed a hand on his chest and stepped back. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Just staring at the dazzling girl before him, who had been so shy about being kissed. Surely she would not be happy about such an intense bond, not be ready. And she had asked him for a kiss because she cared so little for him. She had hoped for a kiss that would not matter. No, she would not want this.

He could only think of one word and it was likely the only thing he should not say. Instead of saying anything, he shot upwards into the sky, disappearing as a dark smudge in the night. A single streak of blue in the darkness.

Gwyn was left alone, hands hovering where he had been. Confused, concerned, and entirely unaware of the bond singing in Azriel's chest.

[hotteoki]

pirate king (j.y.h)

pairing: pirate jeong yunho x fem reader

genre: strangers to lovers, alternate dimension, pirate au

wc: 4k

cw: mild language, weaponry

notes: i wrote this with the layout of the ateez ship in mind (the one in the 'illusion' mv but with blond yunho cause he 4+4 the halloween ver of deja vu

xtra - tysm @woosluv & @ssaboala for beta reading for me! <33

"all eyes on me now! if you still doubt mine, it's too pointless. we're still young and wild, we gonna find new world to be mine!" yunho's fingers moved along the quote carved into the compass he's had since who knows how long.

yunho's head was lifted up forcefully by hongjoong's pointing stick poking his forehead. "you're going to get lost later on the island if you don't listen to me right now," hongjoong tilted his head, stepping back to the blackboard. "captain, i mean this in the nicest way possible, we've been over this, like, six times in the span of a week. we'll be fine," yeosang called from across the room as he tapped his telescope against his other palm, still dodging wooyoung's outstretched arms every now and then.

"you all say this but i know one of you is going to get into some shit and i'm going to have to be the one to clean it up," hongjoong sighed, dropping his pointer onto the ground lazily, "okay, come on, let's get off the ship. remember the plan, and wooyoung, stop trying to kiss yeosang's face. you can do that when we come back."

yunho kicked the ladder down onto the dock, stepping off the ship first. the crew split up, him going into the left path trailing into the cave. they all knew exactly what they were looking for, and the lengths each and every one of them were willing to take to get it.

it was peaceful until a rustle attracted his attention. yunho paused, pretending to re-lace his shoes, his eyes darting to his left, the direction where the sound had come from. when it was calm for the following minute, yunho slowly stood to continue his journey, putting on an oblivious façade, his hand subtly inching for his sheathed cutlass with every step.

yunho wasn't stupid. he's had enough experience to know not to doubt his senses at any cost. true to him, the snapping of a branch immediately heightened his senses. he swiftly cut through the thick, tall grass, eyes meeting with ones belonging to an innocent doe.

as the doe ran off, yunho only noted then how it was running along the path he was on. the cogs in his head whirred in confusion as he wondered why a deer wouldn't run away from a potential predator, rather in the same direction as him. that thought never escaped as he trudged on, praying the cave he was walking towards would appear before him faster.

and lo and behold, there it was.

if yunho hadn't been looking for it specifically he would've missed it entirely. it blended in perfectly with the shadows of the swaying trees, outgrown weeds guarding the entrance, vines crawling around, all leading straight into the depths of the cave.

peeking into the darkness, he checked every corner, sharp eyes darting here and there. finally, they landed on an unusual glimmering spot. yunho stepped closer, cautious of the fact he was now exposed to any potential predators hiding deep in the cave.

he was about a meter away from the shining rock when he realised it wasn’t a rock at all. it was an hourglass etched into the cave walls, almost like the cave was built around it over the years. he breathed out a light sigh of relief upon feeling the grooves of the rock nearby. it wasn’t etched in that deep. he could easily pull it out with a bit of help.

he allowed himself a few more minutes of admiring the hourglass. the cromer, its name was. an hourglass with the ability to lead them to an alternate dimension, where they could escape this timeline that caused each and every one of them so much pain and loss.

after stealing books from other pirates, following leads from old legends, tracking down their ancestors' footsteps, seonghwa had finally found a map hidden deep in the journals of an unknown pirate, their initials and writings long faded within the centuries. the joy the crew had felt when they located the hourglass after years was a night yunho could not forget.

just as he was about to turn back and find his crewmates, yunho was greeted with the sight of the very doe blocking his exit. when it was made clear that the doe had no intentions of moving at all, yunho unsheathed his cutlass. this was no ordinary animal.

his theory was proved right when a gust of wind blew against his face. removing his hand from his face and opening his eyes, he tried to conceal his shock. where the doe had stood before was a girl about his age.

“you’re a shapeshifter.” you raised your eyebrows at his statement, “obviously.” “i thought they didn’t exist anymore after hunters hunted them down ages ago,” yunho still had his cutlass held in front of him, wary of this new stranger. “yeah, i know. that was centuries ago. there’re still a few of us left, but most of us don’t want to be found.” “you’re not one of them, though,” yunho pointed out.

“and with good reason,” you stepped closer as yunho stepped back. sighing, you held up your hands in surrender, “do i look like i’m going to attack you or something?” “you can never be too careful,” he shrugged.

“i’ll tell you an easier way of getting that hourglass without taking this cave down.” yunho’s arm faltered, “what do you mean?” “this entire island relies on the life within the roots, the air, the animals, you know, all that shit. you break this cave the entire island goes down with it. you and your crew would never make it out alive.”

he swallowed. he wasn’t sure if you could be trusted. shapeshifters were known to be tricksters, always up to no good. what if you were playing with him and he could’ve saved precious time taking the hourglass instead of talking to you? after meeting your impatient eyes, he finally decided to play it safe.

“what do you want in return?” “get me off this island,” you replied instantly. the lack of hesitation in your voice made yunho believe you’ve had thought about this for a long, long time. he sucked in a breath through his gritted teeth. the crew couldn’t just find an extra person for charity. they were already rationing their supplies amongst themselves, adding another person might as well be a goodbye to their albeit uncomfortable but familiar living.

“take me with you or no hourglass. your choice,” you crossed your arms, tone firm. yunho swallowed again, putting his cutlass away and rubbing a hand on his face, “you’ll have to talk to the captain.” “fine, then take me to him.” “you can’t just-” yunho wanted to scream. despite being a pirate since birth, he’d never experienced a situation like this, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

“you know what? fine, let’s go find him,” yunho pursed his lips. he knew for a fact hongjoong would never agree, but how else were they supposed to get the hourglass? it wasn’t like they could just bow their heads and march back onto the ship and off.

reminding himself of the crudely drawn map in their meeting room, yunho walked for what felt like hours with the intensity of your glare burning the back of his head. he thought he could drop onto his knees and thank the heavens the second he saw the familiar back of hongjoong.

hongjoong darted up at the sound of foreign footsteps, swinging his pistol at your face out of instinct. “she wants to speak to you,” yunho deadpanned, annoyed at the situation he was currently in. hongjoong lowered his pistol slightly, aiming at your chest now, “what do you want?” “i’ll talk when you get this pistol out of my face,” you frowned.

“i’m the one with the upper hand here, you really shouldn’t be making demands.” “considering i’m one of the remaining residents of this island who knows what you’re looking for and how to get it without dying, i don’t think you are.” hongjoong made a face, “and how do i know you’re telling the truth?” “you pirates. always so nervous about everything you see,” you paused, “i want to get off this island, you can help with that, and in return i’ll give you the hourglass.”

yunho looked for a reaction from hongjoong. when he was met with none, yunho was almost disappointed over the fact that his captain was considering his answer. “okay then,” hongjoong put his pistol away, “lead the way.” yunho felt his cheeks flushing at your cheeky smile. sure, he disliked you and your cocky attitude, but he wasn’t blind. anyone could tell you were gorgeous.

“i told you guys one of you was going to get into some shit. now look who’s cleaning it up?”

≡☆

it took a while for the entire crew to be gathered in the tiny cave the cromer rested in, all squished together to get a look at the hourglass while poor mingi stood on his tiptoes at the mouth of the cave. yunho watched in awe as you lifted your hands up, determined to keep his eyes open, only to be slapped with another aggressive gust of wind blowing in his face again.

he blinked cautiously, not realising his eyes had shut involuntarily. yunho vaguely felt his breath hitching at the infamous hourglass held in your hands. the gentle glow of each individual grain amongst the heaps of sand shimmered, tugging on his attention, while contrasting with the simple and plain metal supporting the phials.

“so?�� you shifted your weight, waiting for something to happen.

and something happened indeed.

one look from hongjoong was all the crew needed as san shoved you to the ground, with seonghwa snatching the cromer from your grip and tossing it to jongho, the rest sprinting back to their ship. yunho followed his crewmates swiftly, but not before throwing his head back and yelling a quick “sorry!”

in his defense, he was sorry. just not sorry enough to feel guilty about it.

he nearly crashed straight into wooyoung’s back as he skidded to a sudden halt, confused as to why they stopped. sitting on the edge of the ship, legs swinging with an unamused expression, was you. but how…

“you really think you can outrun a doe? how self-centered.” hongjoong stared right back at you, irritated, “you can’t come with us.” “then i’ll take that back.” “i’d like to see you try,” he retorted, pistol now in hand again, “you can outrun me but can you outrun a bullet aiming straight for your head?” you huffed, “i’m not asking you to adopt me or anything, i just need you to drop me off at the nearest island.”

“bullshit. you’re saying you want to go from one island to another?” jongho scoffed from beside wooyoung. “i can’t leave this place without company. please just-” you sighed, and yunho could tell you felt defeated, “please just take me with you.” if he didn’t feel guilty enough, he definitely felt bad now. “cap, maybe we should take her.”

hongjoong gave him an odd look, clearly bewildered, “you were the one who insisted on leaving her.” “yeah well, i kinda feel bad for her now. she’ll stay with us for a few days maximum then we’ll just drop her off somewhere,” yunho briefly glanced at you, lowering his voice now, “i mean, maybe she really can’t leave. what, are we just going to dump her here?”

“i say we make her a deal,” yeosang chimed in, “she can live with us until we locate a nearby island, but if we arrive and it ends up being a bad one, she can’t argue and climb back aboard.” hongjoong nodded approvingly, “yeah, that sounds good.”

yunho watched as your face lit up when he repeated their deal to you. he silently swore to himself to always bring happiness to you during your stay if it meant he could catch a glimpse of your endearing smile again.

≡☆

yunho had volunteered to wrap up the cut on your arm you earned from san’s shove, despite seonghwa usually being the one to tend to the crew’s injuries. he led you down the stairs and to the medical room (which, really, was just their meeting room with a medical kit placed on the table), kicking away scraps of used bandages to the corner, praying you didn’t see them.

as he sat you down opposite him and began prepping the bandages, he began to wonder about you. where were your parents? how did you manage to come onto the island? why did you not have friends? what-

“you look like you have questions.” his gaze snapped up from your arm to your eyes, “no i- well, yeah, kind of.” you laughed lightly, “it’s okay, i get it. i’d be confused too.” yunho hoped you took the redness tainting his cheeks as embarrassment from being caught rather than his giddiness from your laugh. he motioned for you as he got started on wrapping your arm.

“i used to live on a different island, where my parents were. i met this guy, chan, and after being friends with him for a year or so, he offered to take me on a trip with his seven friends. i agreed. i honestly don’t know why i did. it was a spur of the moment thing. i followed him to the docks, where his ship was. turns out he’s a pirate and he’s the captain, much like your crew, actually.

“they said they wanted to go find some ‘treasures’, i just assumed they were joking around. they said they wanted to find an hourglass, i think one of the crew, hyunbin or whatever, said it belonged to his father. i remembered having heard some legends about it, and offered to lead the way. we searched for months, and finally found it on this island.

“when we arrived, they began arguing over who got to have it; they all had a different timeline in mind. someone wanted to go find their dead parents, someone wanted to rescue their girlfriend, it was- it was a lot,” you closed your eyes, throwing your head back, “we weren’t even from this timeline, for fuck’s sake! they fucked with the cromer as soon as they got their grubby hands on it, knowing damn well it was a full moon! i don’t even know what happened, to be honest, either that, or i can’t remember. it doesn’t matter. i don’t want to anyway.

“i think it’s something to do with the stupid hourglass. my theory is it passes down ownership to whomever it deems worthy to hold it, eliminating the past owners. that’s how i ended up alone. i tell myself they each left one by one, but it still bothers me how cursed magic like that exists. i don’t know, the whole thing’s really messed up. i guess being the holder gives you power to hide or expose it to others, because, well, as you saw, i could play around with its surroundings.” yunho hummed, taking in all the information.

he tightened the knot on your bandage, breathing out through his nose and rocking on his chair, “well, now that i know a lot about you, ask me anything you want.” “anything?” you lifted your head up again, eyes wide. yunho smiled, “yeah.” you leaned forward, head resting against your palms, “how are you so cute?”

yunho began spluttering, rocking a bit too far back on his chair, nearly falling over until you grabbed his hand, laughing at his reaction. as soon as he steadied himself, he yanked his hand away, feeling like his entire skin was on fire. you had a proud grin on your face, “i’m playing with you. though, really, you are cute.” he was genuinely convinced right then and there that you were the human form of heaven itself with the way his heart was palpitating.

the only dilemma yunho was having with himself was the fact that you couldn’t stay with them.

he liked to think that you shared the same thought as him.

≡☆

somehow, hours later, yunho found himself next to you on the beach, admiring the sunset from afar. “i haven’t had company in ages,” you commented, “it’s nice. especially since it’s you.” yunho had really wanted to kick his feet and giggle over your bold words, but he opted for a light chuckle.

“do you ever miss your old timeline? or dimension, or however you say it,” he regretted his words instantly at the sad look on your face. “all the time. i had a boyfriend, you know? he tried to stop me from going. i ignored him out of spite because of the amount of arguments we got into before i left. they were mostly to do with chan, he never trusted him, and neither should i have.”

yunho ignored the new, strange sense of jealousy he was feeling, and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, “you wouldn’t have known.” you only gave a weak smile in response. “so tell me about your boyfriend.” you stiffened up slightly before relaxing again. if yunho wasn’t staring at you, he would’ve missed it entirely.

“well, he was the sweetest guy i’ve ever met. people compared him to a puppy all the time because of his energy,” you hesitated, “he had dyed blond-ish hair, a cute smile, a great sense of humour. he was tall, and was really popular. he always knew just how to cheer me up when i was down. he was considerate, caring, kind, he was everything.” yunho felt himself slowly getting upset. how could he ever compare to him? he sounded perfect.

“jealous?” you teased, nudging him. “not at all,” yunho rolled his eyes, playing with his compass again. he watched your eyes lower onto the very object, a soft look in them. “of course you still have it,” you murmured. “what?” yunho furrowed his brows. had he heard correctly? “it’s nothing.”

≡☆

nighttime rolled around and eventually all of them gathered around; yunho had found himself subconsciously scooting closer to you, landing himself a knowing look from mingi.

while your eyes connected with the flames yeosang started minutes ago, yunho couldn’t help but admire every inch of your carefully sculpted face. it was funny, wasn’t it? how he, at first, hated your overconfident demeanour, your demanding character, your addictive voice, your adorable laugh… huh. maybe he’d never hated you.

“so are you guys going to hide it now that you have to wait to use it?” you tilted your head curiously, and yunho wanted to choke a fistful of sand down his throat to contain the squeals that were threatening to bubble up with how absolutely beautiful you were. he shrugged, “most likely.” “the full moon’s in three days. where would you hiding it for three days?” “up san’s ass,” wooyoung laughed, before getting smacked by san.

yunho couldn’t bring himself to laugh at wooyoung’s immature joke. not when he now knew that he never had a chance with you to begin with.

but hearing your contagious laughter made him think of how lucky he was to have met you at all.

≡☆

“i know you, yunho, and i know you like her-” “like is an exaggeration.” seonghwa rolled his eyes, “just listen to me. she’s not going to be staying with us for long, and if you keep giving yourself a chance to get to know her, you’ll end up getting heartbroken.” “but isn’t that the point? maybe, when we use the cromer and get to a different dimension, maybe we can be together there…” he trailed off at how ridiculous he sounded. “that’s not how it works, and you know it,” seonghwa’s tone was now stern, almost to the point of telling yunho off.

“she clearly likes me too, can’t we at least enjoy the little amount of time we have together?” mingi tossed an arm around yunho from behind, “i say go for it.” “of course you’d say that,” seonghwa tsked, before continuing, “i’m asking you, as part of your crew, and your friend, to think this through.” “i am thinking this through!” yunho insisted, “i’d rather go through a heavy heartbreak than leave her with a bunch of ‘what if’s. i really do like her, seong-”

“no, you’re thinking this with your plan of finding her in a different timeline. yunho, you can’t do that. do you know how risky that is? ignoring the fact how we’ve only known her for a day too!” “of course i know,” he hissed, “but i don’t care how risky it is. i’m doing it.” “love at first sight, some might say,” mingi patted yunho’s shoulder. “oh, don’t get him started on love now,” seonghwa groaned. “love is a stretch, but i definitely find her interesting enough to want to be with her.” “just say you like her, yunho. everyone and their mothers can hear your giggles at night in your room,” hongjoong teased.

yunho’s face flushed, “i don’t giggle!” with that, he left the tiny crowd and stormed off to the meeting room. to his surprise, you were sitting at his regular seat, examining his compass. he left it there?

“so you want to be with me?” you raised an eyebrow, running a thumb over the quote the same way yunho does. “what- no?” yunho scoffed, taking a seat beside you. “i heard you guys. you get loud when you’re defensive. it’s okay, it’s cute.” yunho was at a loss for words. grasping for straws to change the topic, he gestured to the compass, “why did you say something like ‘i still have it’?”

you grew silent, and yunho thought you hadn’t heard him. he was about to repeat his question when you opened your mouth to answer, “i knew you, jeong yunho.” he flinched at the full name coming out of your mouth, “how…” “in my timeline. i knew you.”

you had the same stiff posture as you did on the beach, and yunho recalled what you were talking about during that time, “your boyfriend…” “yeah.” suddenly it all made sense. the dyed blond hair, the puppy personality, tall… yunho had heard every single one of them.

“we were together?” his voice was barely above a whisper. you nodded sadly, a bittersweet smile plastered, “i never got to say sorry for not believing you.” “well, at least i got an apology now,” he wrapped his hand around yours, the compass in between your interlocked fingers, and the cromer, your chance of a new happily ever after, placed on the table just centimetres away.

networks - @kflixnet k-labels kbookshelf neverendingdreams-net straykidsland @k-films

[life-at-hogwarts]

In the Shadow of Love (Ominis x GN!reader)

Pairing: Ominis x GN!reader

Warning: pure fluff

Wordcount: 1.7k

Summary: You decide to finally take the next step and ask Ominis for a date.

A/n: This once I'll let them be happy. No trauma. Just fluff.

Had this chapter lying around finished for a couple of months and for some reason never thought it was ready to be published. Now I thought I'll just put it out anyway.

(This is part four of Dark Legacy - House of Gaunt but can be read as a oneshot)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

The library was filled with the sounds of quills scratching on parchment and rustling pages. It was late afternoon and soft golden light trickled through the tall windows when you made your way to one of the desks in the corner, where Ominis was fast asleep. His face rested on the book he had been reading, with one arm covering his eyes, while the other one was outstretched, still holding on to his wand. You dropped your books on the table with a loud bang, causing him to shoot up from his book. “Studying hard, eh?” you teased and sat down opposite him. Ominis yawned and rubbed his eyes. “I was taking a break. My eyes get tired when I have to concentrate for an extended period of time.” There was an awkward pause and you quickly opened one of your books to diffuse the tension. This was the first time the two of you were alone since you had returned from the Gaunt estate late last night. Sebastian had come back from Feldcroft in the morning, just in time for breakfast. The three of you had had a busy day, and now it was time to catch up with the classwork you had missed while you were gone.

“Where’s Sebastian?” you asked, searching the room for the freckled brunette.

“He’s not coming. I think he’s in the Undercroft researching Slytherin’s spell book,” Ominis murmured, unable to hide the concern in his voice. You knew how he felt about Sebastian’s research and thought about Anne’s warning. Still, you felt torn, not wanting to take away his hope. If anyone could find a cure for Anne, it would be Sebastian. You had seen how much it pained him to see his twin suffer – he needed her. Instead of answering you got out your quill and quietly started working.

 You had been working in silence for about half an hour when Ominis sighed deeply and put away his spelled quill. “How could we have missed this much in just one day? I swear Sharp is doing this to punish us because he couldn’t the other day when he caught us in the common room.”

You closed your book too, deciding to finish the rest some other time and asked, “Have you ever been to the Underground Harbor?”

“Hmm I think so? I guess in my first year they took us somewhere by boat, but I can’t quite remember.”

“It’s by the Viaduct courtyard. I’ve discovered it on one of my nightly prowls around the castle. I don’t think people really go there, but it’s beautiful, really.” You took a deep breath. “Do you want to join me tonight?”

A cheeky smile spread across Ominis’ face. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Well, I suppose you could call it that. It’s time we had a proper date don’t you think? Don’t get me wrong I didn’t mind our night in the common room and back at your house, but it does not really qualify as courting, does it?” No one was more surprised by the sudden burst of confidence and cockiness than you were. Immediately after the words had left your mouth you started blushing, but Ominis’ smile only widened. “In that case, I would love to go on a date with you.”

-----------

Your heart was pounding when you snuck out of your common room and made your way to the dungeons to pick up Ominis. Usually, he had no problem navigating around the castle, but he wasn’t exactly stealthy, and you didn’t want him to get caught on the way to your first date. The tall blonde was already waiting in front of the Slytherin common room. “No need to be nervous, darling. I could hear your heart beating from the other corridor,” he chuckled and brushed a lose strand of hair from your face. The sound of his voice calmed you and made your stomach flutter at the same time.

The Viaduct courtyard was on the other end of the castle, but to your luck you reached it without running into anyone, thanks to your excellent knowledge of the castle’s secret passages and corridors. Even though these nightly excursions were almost part of your daily routine by now, you still felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins when the doors of the ornate elevator closed behind the two of you. “Now I know why Sebastian is so fond of you. Based on the ease you navigate around with without getting caught I reckon you do this quite a lot. You must break even more school rules than he does.” The elevator rumbled and you moved closer to Ominis. “This is worth breaking a few rules for.”

You followed Ominis into the dimly lit room giving him a moment to take it all in, before you headed towards the docks. The blind boy walked behind you, carefully putting one foot in front of the other.

“Why did you pick this location?” he asked when you climbed into one of the rowboats and offered him your hand.

“It’s my favorite place here in Hogwarts. Whenever I need a minute of peace and quiet, I come here and sit on the docks. I thought you might like it too,” you answered while you waited for him to sit down. He seemed a bit uncomfortable, and you wondered if this had been a bad idea.

“I find the sound of the water quite calming, and I like the fresh smell of the lake,” he assured you and you could feel him slowly starting to relax next to you. Moonlight fell through the vines of the lake entrance and made Ominis’ eyes glow like pure silver. You swallowed loudly, your mouth feeling dry all of a sudden. Merlin, how you longed to finally feel his lips on yours again. He lifted his long slender fingers to your face, and you shuddered under his touch, raising your head in anticipation but the kiss didn’t come. “Tell me something about you no one knows,” Ominis demanded instead. “You’ve seen so much of my life, yet I barely know anything about yours.”

“It’s not that interesting, really,” you breathed, his sweet scent driving you insane. The blonde pulled his hand away and left you starving for his touch. You hated the effect he had on you. You weren’t usually this needy. All of a sudden, he cupped your face in his hands roughly and pressed his lips onto yours. “Believe me I want nothing more than do this all night. But I also want to show you that my attraction to you is more than merely physical. Even a blind man can tell you’re beautiful. I want to see the parts of you you don’t show anyone else.”

Hours passed in effortless conversation, and you only realized how long you had been talking when the moonlight, that had been seeping through the vines of the overgrown entrance, slowly faded. Ominis too noticed the subtle change of lighting. “Let’s watch the sunrise,” he murmured sleepily and reached for his wand. He navigated the boat safely out of the cave, stopped in the middle of the lake and raised his head to the sky which had started to change from a blueish grey into a soft orange as the sun was slowly creeping up behind the mountaintops.

An idea started to form in your head, and you gave Ominis a mischievous smile. “Do you trust me?” Before he could answer you had already summoned your broom which quickly made its way into your outstretched hand.  Ignoring Ominis’ confused expression, you mounted your broom and waited for him to climb up behind you. Knowing full well how much Ominis disliked flying you took off very gently, enjoying the warmth of his body pressed against yours, his hands resting on your waist. You flew a few slow circles around the lake to make sure he was comfortable before speeding up and flying close to the water that was glowing with the light of the sunrise.

Ominis let out a surprised laugh and you turned around to see his flushed face smiling back at you. This only fueled you on more, making you push your broom to its limits, shooting up into the sky and circling the towers of Hogwarts with delicate maneuvers until you felt Ominis anxiously digging his fingers into your hips. The sun had fully risen when you headed back to the lake and manage to land in the boat. Even though you tried your best to make the landing as gentle as possible the small rowboat shook violently, causing you to topple over taking Ominis with you. You gasped when his weight forced the air out of your lungs for a moment. The next thing you knew his lips were pressed firmly onto yours, once again taking your breath away. He stopped for a moment to let you catch your breath, but you quickly pulled him back down again. He took his time, planting gentle kisses all over your face and neck, driving you wild before giving you another taste.

“Well, that was quite the date. I am going to have to try hard to give you an even better one,” Ominis mumbled breathlessly as he untangled himself from you.

“I’d like to see you try,” you grinned, feeling quite pleased with yourself.

“I take that as a challenge. I for one would love to finally have a date during the day. As much as I love spending every night with you it’s quite exhausting and I already have a tendency to fall asleep during class, so this is not going to bode well for me.”

“You’d love to spend every night with me? Is that a promise?” you asked jokingly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Ominis grinned and placed another quick kiss on your lips.

[istherewifiinhell]

okay. heres what were all here for. tell me why the fuck im supposed to suck the dick of these uk comics

[ID: A man holding up an aged looking paper, with a medieval style drawing of a giant metal fire breathing man. He leans forward serious asking his son "... Did it look like this?" END]

marveltf story line, MAN OF IRON, 9-12 in the UK, or.... 33-34 in the us. alright lol do whatever i guess. first published in 1985

new vibe same procedure: Script: Steve Parkouse art: John Ridgeway (9-10) Mike Collins (11-12) Colours: Joise Fermin (9-10) Gina Hart (11-12) Nel Yomtov (US)* Letters: Richard Starkings Editor: Sheila Cranna and these caps are from the UK classics idw book so: Original Series Edits by Shelia Cranna and Ian Rimmer, editorial notes and assistance by James Roberts, Collection Edits by Justin Eisinger and Alonzo Simon, Collection Design by Shawn Lee (<- hey i know his work from turtles!)

*so the uk comics were part in colour and part B&W, to save costs... including the american reissues? printing costs i guess. but when reprinted in collected books, they would get the full colour treatment. whats not clear to me is WHO did those colours, its not listed anywhere i can find. ill simply have to assume its the same artists... and hope im not discrediting anyone....

AND ALSO the last page in this reprint apparently uses the US comic page, and i have a cap of that last page, so. Yomtov's in here too..... tf franchise the way u treat ur sacred texts breaks my turtles fan heart.

and lastly! the keen eyed may notice, we are back to toy accurate art, the character model designs haven't and wont make their way over until much later, I'm told.

well with all that perfectly convoluted business out of the way, lets explore what tfs is like across the pond.

[ID: The same man, Roy, driving as he thinks to himself "What kind of bozo would want to bomb the castle? The Saxon Liberation Front? The mind boggles…" END]

[spluttering laugh] so the humours a little different!

[ID: The boy, Sammy, climbing a tree, hand outstretched reaching for the arrow he lost. Standing, with his in the canopy is Jazz. Sammy yells in fear. END]

OKAY. so the vibes are little different

[ID: Caption Box: And the apparition was fearful, being a Man of Iron of great height and girth, seeming unheedful of quarrel, spear or sword…" The robot from the illustration, clearly transformer, but blockier, more retro scifi, standing in the middle of a medieval battle, men with chain-mail and swords looking at him with trepidation. Caption Box: The Man of Iron forded the stream at Eldric's Cross, making great strides for the abbey… and some brave souls followed, though none dared come too close…" Two of the fighters shown following him, a body shot with an arrow lays at the other side of the river. END]

damn okay. so the vibes are ALOT DIFFERENT

(no 10) sammy dreams

[ID: Sammy stands on a house rooftop, in his PJ's, looking down at the cobble street, where a seeker in alt mode rests. END]

[ID: Dark and moody art, a barely seen figure towers in the shadows over the residential houses. From a higher angle, its shown to be Mirage, he stands taking up the entire street, backlit and casting shadows. END]

WHAT THE FUCK. that is terrifying

(something about beautiful black inked art + toy model makes them so CREATURE)

[ID: Roy speaks to a man in army uniform. Roy: How large? Soldier: Well… ahh…at a rough estimate? About the size of an ocean-going liner. Roy: Whaat? Roy with a hand to his head in dismay: Well, for god's sake what is it? Solider: We don't know. I've called in extra men and we're going to excavate… END]

somethings! buried under the castle... gee well one wonders what it might be

[ID: Close on Jazz's alt mode dashboard, its filled with lights and screen of alien language. Hes saying: But I'm not a stranger, Sammy. Deep down, you know… don't you? You've been wanting an adventure all your life… Besides. I have something to tell you. Sammy looking doubtful. Jazz continues: Something really important. Sammy has a hand on Jazz's open door: Why not just sit for a while in the front seat? Just pretend you're driving… END]

JAZZ THATS KIDNAPPING BUD....

really get a kick outta this note in the printed version

[ID: REMEMBER: NEVER ACCEPT LIFTS FROM STRANGERS! TO BE CONTINUED! END]

(no 11)

[ID: Jazz speaks to Sammy on the road, a blue and white F1 car pulling up. "My name is unpronounceable in your language… so just call me Jazz! And that's Mirage right behind us!" Jazz takes a exit to a low road, a black camper truck driving alongside. "This is where we rendezvous with Trailbreaker. All set Sammy?" All three driving along, Sammy responds "Sure thing Jazz!" END]

[guitar riff] THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN. im so glad all my good friends are here.

[ID: An fiery explosion engulfing Trailbreaker with a "Whaamf!". Wheels coming off, glass shattering, the truck top blowing to bits. Trailbreaker veering off road, a trail of fire and parts behind him calls out "Jazz! I'm hit... I'm hit BAD! END]

TRAILBREAKER NOOOO. who could have seen this coming...

[ID: Jazz narrowing swerving a missile. Exploding behind him, and speedlines trail him, and a wreath in flame around him. The colours are almost delicate, and a reflective glow in his paint. END]

wha. this just looks so cool.... what the hell....

[ID: Bluesteak, smiling speaking to comms "Autobot Bluestreak to patrol leader +++ Just brushed something off your tail, Jazz+++ try to be more careful in future, hmmm? Bluestreak out+" END]

being a cunt in the work slack. king

[ID: Jazz in profile, lit under the starry night sky, soft line-less colours defining the planes of his head in blue greys, and pitch black. To Sammy he says "Not really. It's a shuttlecraft… now stand back…" To comms "Autobot Jazz To Autobot leader+++ Approaching shuttle with Surveillance Subject+++ Request permission to board+++" END]

Wuh. Huh. Jazz u look so fucking cool right now?? And handsome.....

okay whats going on back at the castle (no 12)

[ID: The army soldier half sitting on a desk, holding a phone to his ear, the rotary cradle held resting on his leg. He's saying "IT's not just a question of scale, sir. We simply cannot identify it. END]

whys he kinda... apparently this style of uniform is called temperate barrack dress?? that answers none of my questions im just kinda... whyd u draw him like that tho...

[ID: A seeker, drawn in blues, walking between the ruins of the castle. Off panel someone says "It just seemed to appear from nowhere!" END]

bigfooting it up... AT A CASTLE. oh lads. im done for [blah blah he telePORTS and thats skywarps power but hes blue so WHO is it. dont worry abt it man. dont matter. they apparently change in the various times its been coloured, which is objectively funny imho. keep em guessing]

[ID: Moody and still illustrations of a robot identical to the Man of Iron in stasis, plugged into a bed of sorts. The ship around him is dark but for strips of coloured computer like lights in the walls and floor. Caption boxes narrate: Deep beneath the Autobots feet, in a sealed chamber, a special Autobot lay waiting… He was navigator, warrior and guardian of Autobot destiny… In his long, slow, machine world, a million years were as fleeting seconds. Human history had passed over him. Small inter panels. Mid on the Guardian: Locked in his dormant brain was the location of the planet Cybertron. He waited only to be re-activated, re-integrated with his mission… Restored to life. Close on the Guardian: His attendant was no more, the link between them severed. Laying in profile, just barely defined in the pitch black: Alone in the darkness he patiently beamed his signal. The same pattern of impulses… Waiting. END]

What the actual fuck (its even more somberly dramatic than just that)

[ID: Sammy, from a distance, staring at the castle. Caption Box: Autumn came, leaves fell. Sammy was a year older and a year wiser. He never saw Jazz again… Sammy asleep in bed, moonlight pouring through his paneled window. "But on clear, sharp nights, when stars glittered like needles and the night winds rattled his window… Then he slept a fitful, fearful sleep…" Sammy sleeping, with his dreams projected above him. "And the Man of Iron walked once more through his dreams." The End]

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

um well. okay! thats. fucking crazy. and this is the only tf comic this dude ever did. okay... can u tell he was from the dr who comics...... it ALSO means this doesnt actually speak at all for what the rest of tfuk will be like. which is damn funny. LIKE WOW! THAT WAS CRAZY. anyways.

[bloodycotton]

Day eleven, does anyone know that Alfred's GIF where we look at the camera and smiles? Because i cannot for the sake of myself find it anywhereeeee. (Fuck, i swear i was about to upload at a good time, but you know, shit happens)

Prompts by: @raven-cincaide-words

(English is NOT my first language)

Day 11.- Graveyard Dare (I forgot to add the "dare" part)

Jim Bussey (The waterman, 2020) x Gn!reader

Once, when he was younger, Jim remembered that he used to work in a cemetery as a night guard.

It was just one more story he had accumulated while working during his active years. 

His heavy body plopped down in the comfortable armchair, with a batch of biscuits in the oven, and now his only job was to wait, while he looked through his books and put on a vinyl with some classic song he didn't really know by heart, which sent him on a trip down memory lane. 

It was about three and maybe a quarter decades ago, when he still had no grey in his hair and no beard, just a neatly trimmed moustache. 

He had a belt on which hung an expensive torch, which he had already been warned that if he broke it, the replacement would have to come out of his own pay. It was night, three or four in the morning, only a couple of hours more to hand over the keys to his replacement and punch his exit card, when the heat of the night made him leave his post to take a breath of the warm air of the cemetery, he wasn't afraid of them, but of course he believed in spirits and creatures. 

Jim sat on the cold cemetery bench, the night enveloped him, but it was not completely dark, the moon was in the waning quarter phase, illuminating the gravestones, statues and flowers of the cemetery. 

He looked up at the statue of an angel, its face serene in the hard stone, but he could swear that its skin would be so soft to his touch, the angel that always accompanied him when being locked in the small cabin became unbearable. 

That angel, with its outstretched wings and compassionate gaze, seemed to be the only being who truly understood him. Jim felt drawn to it, as if in the solitude of the night it could share his burden.

"You know," Jim murmured, feeling vulnerable talking to the statue. "Sometimes I think you're the only one who really listens to me. In the dark, where everyone else is absent, you're here, always present, always listening to me."

He looked down, his hands trembling slightly. "It's easier to talk to you. You don't judge me. You always listen to me, no matter what."

He chuckled, remembering the taunts of his peers. "Sometimes, they call me crazy. They say I should stop wasting my time with fairy tales and spectres. But I know there is something beyond what we see. This place, with its history and its secrets, is full of life... even if it's a life that not everyone can see."

He moved a little closer, his eyes full of longing. "If only you could open those stone eyes and look at me. I tell you my secrets, my beliefs, and yet here you stand, unmoving."

His voice trembled as he spoke, as if each word carried a special weight. "Imagine if you could walk beside me, listen to my stories and share my fears. I promise I would never make you feel alone."

Jim leaned into the statue, feeling the cool night breeze caress his face. The moon, in its waning quarter phase, illuminated the cemetery with a soft, silvery light, creating dancing shadows among the gravestones and wilting flowers. Trees rustled in the distance, and the distant hoot of an owl broke the silence, reminding him that he was not entirely alone in the darkness.

Jim moved closer to the statue, his heart pounding in his chest. The moon illuminated his face, revealing the mixture of longing and sadness in his eyes. With each step, the world around her seemed to fade away, leaving only the silence of the cemetery and the presence of the angel.

His lips barely touched the surface of the stone, and in that instant, a flood of emotions swept over him. "I promise you, angel, that if you could come back to life, I would give you my soul. I don't need riches or fame, only your company."

The sound of the oven brought him out of his memories, the biscuits were ready.

[ungarmax]

This is what Taako remembers, later:

He remembers the attic, small, dusty, claustrophobic. Things stacked up in corners, becoming looming shadows in the low light of the candles. Dust that kicked up from every surface, over books and papers and wood.

He remembers the circle, lines of white chalk that curve around in delicate strokes erased and redrawn many times by hesitant hands. Symbols along the edges; the dragons entwined, male and female, symbolizing the perfect human, drawn upside down to depict God being summoned to earth; the lion with its jaw wide open as if to swallow the sun, the souls returning to the world from where they reside.

He remembers fear and excitement and anticipation, all rolled up into one feeling exploding out of his heart, a feeling too big for his body. It's a feeling of satisfaction; he's brilliant and he knows it, they're brilliant, and anyone who says otherwise is selling something.

He remembers light, white at first, blinding as it rises up from the edges of the circle where his hands rest, around the materials they had gathered for the transmutation, and he remembers knowing they've cracked the code. He remembers light, the way it had suddenly dimmed into a deep purple, casting dark shadows over his face and hers, and that had been his first indication that something had gone wrong.

He remembers the way his body is unmade, he remembers standing and then falling as his left leg unwraps like a ribbon falling away from him, all the way up past his knee. Then there is blood and blood and blood, and he remembers crying out as the pain hits him like a freight train. He sees the truth and he won't remember it right away later, but it has his leg now.

He remembers Lup, hand outstretched and screaming as she too falls away, spiraling, unmade, into nothing, nothing, nothing.

He remembers being alone.

He remembers knowing the answer now of how to get her back, of the old set of armor under the deep red cloak. He draws the circle in his own blood, still pooling underneath his untidily wrapped stump of a leg, and there is no hesitation in his hands this time. There is no tremor in his finger as he traces the circle on the cloak, almost invisible in color; no fear as he faces the truth a second time. It takes his hand that time, his arm, up to his shoulder (right hand, no more drawing circles for him, he thinks, but he doesn't mind as long as he has his sister back).

He remembers the cloak lifting off the suit of armor like a specter, a single pinpoint of glowing white light where the face would be. He remembers his sister's voice calling his name as he bleeds out on the floor.

He doesn't remember much after that.

[kitsuga]

To: the Sun; love, Icarus. {Luke Pearce x Reader/MC}

Description: 

A fic in which Luke looks in the mirror only to find Icarus; his sun always just out of reach. 

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Tags: fluff, time skips, scene shifts, mc/reader is NOT rosa!, gender neutral reader, not beta'd, not edited, tears of themis, luke pearce, luke x reader/mc

Word Count: 1,297

A/N: Written on: August 12, 2021 

Wrote this because one of my sisters was terrified of the new school year and I wanted to write something pretty after an unfortunate (few months...years....) of writer's block!  

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

5 words.  

It took five simple words to fill the room with soft sunlight, dust dancing among the rays. The room looked large, the ceiling far out of reach even on his tiptoes; the room smelled of old books and memories—a youth long gone but hardly forgotten. 

Memories were gold like the patterns of the sun’s rays, scattered by the glass, and their voice was just as smooth. Their giggle was a melody, starting off muffled in the back of his head until it slowly started to ring clearly in his ears. 

They stood in front of him, just out of arms reach. A grin graced their face, a few gaps between their teeth; the sun illuminated their rosy cheeks and helped the stars shine in their eyes once they opened them. He felt almost weightless under the gaze of those constellations though mischief floated among those irises as well. Their mouth moved, but he heard no sound; the world grew hazy, the edges of his vision turned dark while static noise replaced the beating of his heart in his ears; they reached out for him, their hand small and seemingly fragile-- their mouth moved again with their words falling on deaf ears though they didn’t seem to notice. The world spun and he closed his eyes before he could witness himself falling. 

Coral eyes opened to find the sun again, this time gracing his presence through small slivers of space between the leaves above him. The world seemed quiet again, noises mostly muffled by the gentle sound of the wind; the very same breeze brought about a scent of light mist—morning dew—and a faint hint of the flowers a ways away from him. He looked around, lost, something deep within his chest longing for his eyes to fall upon the one thing that made his heart race. 

There was a small hill, the tree he sat beneath planted itself at the bottom of it; a voice that held no real word pronunciation caught his attention as he looked up to find a deity themselves calling down to him, waving excitedly though their person was simply a silhouette that overshadowed the sun behind them. He looked down at his knees—scuffed up and dirty—his palms looked the same; their wave was of concern more than excitement, he realized, and pushed himself up to his feet to ease their worries. He pushed himself, forced himself, to take just one step. One step, then another. One step so that he could make his way back up to the heavens where his most precious deity lived; just before the top, their hand became prominent, the sun illuminating it as though it were the holiest of grails as they held it out to him. Their fingers outstretched and playful, the coloured band-aids around their fingers made the world shake and drums bang to a beat in his ears; quickly, he reached for it, hoping to have a chance to just touch the deity in front of him—his pupils dilated in an attempt to see past the shadows on their face as their mouth moved once more, silent among the thunder in his head. His reach never met the sun as he fell face first into the darkness. 

Before he could realize he was in the dark, coral eyes opened once again to see others passing him by—his age, their age, the age of a better time. Straps of backpacks rubbed on stiff shoulders; tired feet found it hard to move forward. Seas of students surrounded him, people weaving in and out like fish riding along the ocean’s waves, hiding deep beneath the water to keep themselves safe from the sun; but he liked the sun—the rays were warm, bright, and beautiful—as was the smile that parted the sea in front of him. They waved, calling out to him though he could not clearly hear it among the hustle and bustle that clouded his ears. The smile that rivaled the sun warmed not only the sea around him, but the heart that decided to beat heavily in his chest; he’d be swimming in different waters soon—further waters—where the sun could not reach. His heart beat--beat so hard that it ached-- as he put on a smile to mirror that sun to convince himself he could live in the dark.  

With a simple outstretched hand, the sun had parted the waters, reminding him that the time for doubts had passed. He was simply a fish, swimming, jumping, bounding the large and heavy waves just to feel the cozy, dry warmth the sun would provide each time he found himself drowning in tears. He pushed past students who would walk in his way, hopping and side-stepping his way to touch the sun with his very own skin before his wings had melted. His heartbeat had dulled the words that had left their mouth; as he stepped down just before them, he started to fall from the sky. 

Like Icarus, he had flown far too close to the sun for far too long. His eyes squinted as he looked up to its beauty, one of his hands stretched as far as it could in an attempt to hold the sun in it. He could feel himself falling further and further, the darkness creeping in from the sides of his vision as the wind rushing past him was yelling, screaming, hurting his ears; it was almost pitch black, the sun nothing but a pinpoint in the far distance now—he closed his eyes to hide the pain it caused in his heart, but a bright light burned his eyelids. 

Coral eyes met the stars once again, their voice ringing out clearly now. The sun’s warm hand cupped his face carefully, gently, as concern riddled their features. The room around him felt familiar—recent though it had the scent of golden memories—and the sun before him had been the same as ever. He leaned into their hand, a loving smile on his lips and a caring look in his lidded eyes; he heard the deity speak and sighed once the melodic sound returned to his ears. 

“Luke, are you alright? You were daydreaming, but...” their voice was laced with concern, “you seemed troubled.” 

He nodded, words of reassurance and comfort passing his lips subconsciously to the point he hadn’t even recognized what he had said. It seemed to please them as a large, ear-to-ear grin replaced their worries. Much to his dismay—and now cold cheek—they removed their hand and playfully leaned across his desk a bit, poking the tip of his nose playfully. 

“If you’re still not feeling better, why don’t we play a game we loved as kids? You’re a lot taller now, so you’ll have to give me a head start!”  

They dashed to the door, careful of the treasures in their path. With one look, one beaming smile, over their shoulder back at him, their words rang out like the bell above the door—sweet, inviting, playful-- 

“Catch me if you can!” 

And unlike Icarus, Luke was blessed with the most careful of sun’s, one who time and time again would help him remold his wings with a smile, no matter how close he continued to fly.  

He pushed himself from his chair to his feet--his heartbeat playing to the rhythm of their voice, his chest as warm as the rays of sun that passed through the windowpane, his smile as loving as the stars that MC had placed specially in his eyes. 

Luke had taken off, golden memories long gone but most certainly not forgotten, as Icarus had once again opened his wings, and flew towards his sun. 

[static-electric-dreams]

The elders say it appeared on our land on the seventh sun of the Coldest Time.  We were a prosperous people, living peacefully of the land, taking only enough to feed ourselves.  We scavenged foods from the lands, from the plants and the castoffs from the Old Ones, too large and ancient to notice.  Some of us worshipped the Old Ones for their benevolence and mercy in providing us with food and shelter through the works of Their Hands.  The Old Ones rarely paid attention to our prayers.  Or, maybe they did, and we just didn’t like their answers.

Back to the Thing.  It didn’t look like anything anyone had ever seen; it did not resemble the structures we built for ourselves, or the ones we had seen in old books, in tales of the Old Ones and our own ancestors.  It looked impossible, and smelled rancorously sweet, like pure honey.  Its walls extended up, up, up into the sky, smooth and white as riverstone, and broke into large doorways on each side.  No one knew what to make of it at first; an emergency meeting was called to discuss the Thing.

“Something must be done!” the people clamored.  “Is it safe?  What of the children?”

Big Tall, right hand to the Queen, approached with arms outstretched, eyes slowly traveling over the crowd.  Everyone hushed under the gaze of his dark eyes, his stern face.  He waited for total silence before speaking, his voice loud enough to ring through the chamber, loud enough to reach the Queen in her quarters nearby.  “We understand your concern,” he said, speaking, as always, for himself and for Her Majesty.  “We know that you are frightened.”

“What is it?” cried a voice.  It was Nimble Legs, daughter of Many Mother.  She stood tall, cupping hands around her mouth so her voice could reach Big Tall on his platform.

“We do not know,” Big Tall hummed.  “But we must find out.  We will send our finest soldiers to investigate it, and they will report what it is and if it is safe.”

So it was done.  Big Tall sent out his soldiers: Sharp Teeth, Strong Grip, and Keen Eye.  They gathered themselves, spoke gravely to their families, and left the city, off to investigate the Thing to see what it was and what It wanted.  Sharp Teeth took the lead, fiercely protecting his comrades; Strong Grip traveled in the middle, placing a hand on his comrades here and there to assure them that they were safe; Keen Eye walked behind, looking out to be sure that no one would attack her and her comrades from behind.  

It was the beginning of the Coldest Time; the three soldiers protected each other not just from predators, from the creatures of the night, from the perils of travel, but from the chill itself.  Their line grew longer and shorter as they nestled together for warmth and safety, whispering reassurances and questions into each other’s ears.

“What do you think the Thing is?” asked Keen Eyes.

“I think it’s a hoax,” Strong Grip said haughtily.  “I think it never existed in the first place, and those who saw it, perhaps were confused and truly saw a large stone or an early snow.”

“I trust Big Tall,” Sharp Teeth said.  “He has never steered us wrong before, and so I don’t intend to steer him wrong.  We must find the Thing, approach It, and find out what It wants.”

The others could not argue with this; the trio continued in relative silence, protecting each other against the cold.

They arrived at The Thing before sundown.  It was so imposing, even in the waning light; it cast a shadow upon the Three Brave Soldiers, and, brave as they may be, they were afraid.  After a short silence, Sharp Teeth spoke up.  “Come on, soldiers.  We have a mission.”  With that, he stepped up to the Thing and moved toward one of the doorways.

Keen Eye looked behind her, and all around her, before urging Strong Grip inside after Sharp Teeth, and then following herself.  The interior was dark.  But they could all smell the sweet scent, like honey in a flower, like milk and sugar.  What had before registered as overwhelming now seemed enticing and beautiful.

Strong Grip spoke first. “Is it food?”

“It smells like food,” Sharp Teeth agreed.

“Is it safe?” Keen Eye asked.

“Someone should taste it,” Sharp Teeth said.

The three looked between each other in the dim light.  In the end, it was Sharp Teeth who agreed, arguing that he was the strongest--even stronger than the mighty Strong Grip--and would be most likely to survive if poisoned.  He scooped up some of the sweet goop in a hand and touched it to his lips.  The others watched as he slowly took some into his mouth, holding their breaths as he tasted it.  No one spoke for several minutes.  Finally, Sharp Teeth spoke.

“It is delicious,” he said.  “And I feel fantastic.  We should bring this back to the city, to share with everyone.  This year, no one will want for food.”

The other two shouted with joy; they gathered up as much of the Stuff as they could and marched in their line back to the city.  Big Tall was waiting for them on their return.  “Well?” he demanded.  “What have you learned?”

“The Thing is full of delicious Stuff,” Sharp Teeth cried.  “We brought it back for everyone to try.  But even our strong and many arms could not carry it all; we need help transferring the Stuff from the the Thing back to our city.”

Big Tall smiled and nodded with joy and satisfaction.  “You have done well,” he praised them.  “Place the Stuff in the main chambers for everyone to eat, and I will send more with you to harvest it.”

So it was done.  The three soldiers soon became many, traveling back and forth from the Thing to bring its bounty to the city, where Big Tall encouraged its citizens to eat, drink and be merry.  Everyone gathered for a feast, eating the delicious, sweet Stuff until their bellies were full.  Big Tall had a generous portion brought to the Queen, but She refused.

“I do not eat anything I have not seen before,” She droned.  “You may consume this Stuff, but I will stick to what I know.”  Big Tall gave Her his respects and his apologies, quietly eating Her portion instead.

Everyone had a wonderful and prosperous evening, full of laughter and merriment.  They soon retired to their beds, heavy with sleep and laughter.

Many did not awake.  Those who did felt sick and disoriented; Big Tall, sweating and staggering, went to find the soldiers who had brought the Stuff.  “We are betrayed!” he cried to them.  “You have killed us!”

Keen Eyes knelt by the bodies of her fallen comrades, weak and sick herself.  “I am sorry,” she rasped.  “We took and ate from the Thing and we felt no ill effects!  We wanted only to share with everyone!”  But as soon as she said it, Keen Eyes too fell to the ground.

Big Tall was distraught.  He moved from home to home, checking on his subjects.  Many Mother had fallen ill; Nimble Legs had died.  All those who Big Tall had known and cherished eventually fell until he, too, succumbed to the poison.  He expired on the steps to the Queen’s chambers.

It was a massacre.  Anyone who had eaten the delicious, sweet Stuff perished within the next sun.  The Queen mourned quietly, but knew She would have new subjects before long; She always did, and She had outlived many others before, relying on Her noble, queenly wisdom and Her unique position of safety.  

Now, seasons later, as we hear the story of the fallen city and the Thing that destroyed it, we remember never to eat from the foreign, from the gifts of the Old Ones.  We sometimes see Things ourselves, or perhaps The Thing, monolithic, uncaring, and terrible.  We remember our fallen ancestors; we remember our Queen and Her Infinite Wisdom.  Yet we all await the day that the Old Ones leave us a gift we are too foolish, too curious to resist.  This, warns the Queen, will be our downfall.

We await it.

[mika-processing]

Book Recommendation Tag Game!

rules: recommend as many books as you like. please include genre and some basic information on it (either your words or a copy+paste synopsis). feel free to include cover art, a personal review, trigger warnings, and anything else! just don’t spoil the book!

i was tagged by @eloquentspeeches! thanks for the tag! i've never done one of these before so uh bare with me. All the recommendations will be below the read more. Enjoy!

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Pride and Prejudice, romantic novel by Jane Austen, published anonymously in three volumes in 1813. A classic of English literature, written with incisive wit and superb character delineation, it centers on the burgeoning relationship between Elizabeth Bennet, the daughter of a country gentleman, and Fitzwilliam Darcy, a rich aristocratic landowner. Upon publication, Pride and Prejudice was well received by critics and readers. The first edition sold out within the first year, and it never went out of print.

as written on britannica.org.

listen. ok. i know it's probably the most well known of jane austen's novels but it's well known for a reason dammit. i LOVE a good enemies to lovers and i've yet to find that trope as well written as Austen has. yes yes yes i love a shit ton of enemies to lovers ships but this one is just. SO GOOD. it's believable. the main character Elizabeth is imperfect and thinks she's so smart and i adore her. i love her sisters. i love how the parents relationship with each other has influenced why the daughters are the way they are. i love the growth. i love the fact it takes place over YEARS. i could go on and on about this book i swear to god.

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

Achilles, "the best of all the Greeks," son of the cruel sea goddess Thetis and the legendary king Peleus, is strong, swift, and beautiful - irresistible to all who meet him. Patroclus is an awkward young prince, exiled from his homeland after an act of shocking violence. Brought together by chance, they forge an inseparable bond, despite risking the gods' wrath. They are trained by the centaur Chiron in the arts of war and medicine, but when word comes that Helen of Sparta has been kidnapped, all the heroes of Greece are called upon to lay siege to Troy in her name. Seduced by the promise of a glorious destiny, Achilles joins their cause, and torn between love and fear for his friend, Patroclus follows. Little do they know that the cruel Fates will test them both as never before and demand a terrible sacrifice.

as seen on the back of the book.

i adore this book. i haven't fully finished it yet - i know i know why am i recommending it if i haven't finished it? simple really. it's fucking good. IT'S GOOD! it's all in patroclus's perspective which is so fun to read. i enjoy it.

The Outstretched Shadow by Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory

Kellen Tavadon, son of the Arch-Mage Lycaelon, thought he knew the way the world worked. His father, leading the wise and benevolent Council of Mages, protected and guided the citizens of the Golden City of the Bells. Young Mages in training - all men, for women were unfit to practice magic - memorized the intricate details of High Magick and aspired to seats on the council. Then he found the forbidden Books of Wild Magic - or did they find him? The three slim volumes woke Kellen to the wide world outside the City's isolating walls. This Magic was not dead, strangled by rules and regulations. It felt like a living thing, guided by the hearts and minds of those who practiced it and benefited from it. Questioning everything he has known, Kellen discovers too many of the City's dark secrets. Banished, with the Outlaw Hunt on his heels, Kellen invokes wild magic - and finds himself running for his life with a unicorn at his side. Kellen's life changes almost faster than he can understand or accept. Rescued by a unicorn, healed by a female Wild Mage who knows more about Kellen than anyone outside the City should, meeting Elven royalty and Elven warriors, and plunged into a world where the magical beings he has learned about as abstract concepts are flesh-and-blood creatures...Kellen both revels in and fears his new freedom. Especially once he learns about Demons. He'd always thought they were another abstract concept - a stand-in for ultimate evil. But if centaurs and dryads are real, then Demons surely are as well. And the one thing all the Mages of the City agreed on was that practicing Wild Magic corrupted a Mage. Turned him into a Demon. Would that be Kellen's fate? Deep in Obsidian Mountain, the Demons are waiting. Since their defeat in the last great war, they've been biding their time, sowing the seeds of distrust and discontent between their human and Elven enemies. Very soon now, when the Demons rise to make war, there will be no alliance between High and Wild Magic to stand against them. And all the world will belong to the Endarkened.

as seen on the dust cover of the book.

okay. i love this series. it will always have a place in my heart. however, it's fucked. it's so fucked up. sexism? rampant in the city of the bells. demons eat others and each other and fuck each other. i wouldn't normally recommend this but it's one of my favorites because like. ok. i'm a sucker for a good story where good triumphs over evil. yes it's a conventional. yes it's like holy shit hello. but there's a unicorn named shalkan who doesn't take any shit and i adore him.

Nimona by ND Stevenson

Nimona is an Impulsive young shapeshifter with a knack for villany. Lord Ballister Blackheart is a villain with a vendetta. As sidekick and supervillain, Nimona and Lord Blackheart are about to wreak some serious havoc. Their mission: prove to the kingdom that Sir Ambrosius Goldenloin and his buddies at the Institution of Law Enforcement and Heroics aren't the heroes everyone thinks they are.

as seen on the back of the book.

it's got ex friends-lovers?-enemies-friends-lovers. it's got mad science. it's got a chaos gremlin. it's got political intrigue. it's got found family. i love this graphic novel so much. please read it even if you've seen the movie (which is FANTASTIC by the way) it's so different and such a great and fun read.

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

The Emperor needs Necromancers. The Ninth Necromancer needs a Swordswoman. Gideon has a sword, some dirty magazines, and no more time for undead nonsense. Brought up by unfriendly, ossifying nuns, ancient retainers, and countless skeletons, Gideon is ready to abandon a life of servitude and an afterlife as a reanimated corpse. She packs her sword, her shoes, and her dirty magazines, and prepares to launch her daring escape. But her childhood nemesis won't set her free without a service. Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House and bone witch extraordinaire, has been summoned into action. The Emperor has invited the heirs to each of his loyal Houses to a deadly trial of wits and skill. If Harrowhark succeeds she will be become an immortal, all powerful servant of the Resurrection, but no necromancer can ascend without their cavalier. Without Gideon's sword, Harrow will fail, and the Ninth House will die. Of course, some things are better left dead.

as seen on the back of the book.

OH MY GOD. ok look i know it was recommended already by @eloquentspeeches but goddammit this series is too good not to mention. it's actively rewiring my brain chemistry. i sleep and i see red string where i'm trying to figure out what's going to happen before the book tells me. the characters are so well written. they leap off the pages and Muir is so good at getting you to learn about the world through the eyes of the pov character. i'm going insane. please read the locked tomb series. please please please it's got gay necromancers and mystery and it definitely will not make you close the book to lie down on the ground for a few minutes i promise-

this is no particular order because frankly i can't really. be assed to put it in one. now. who to tag. I CALL UPON YOU: @boilingheart, @wickedbrony, @zanderthebookworm, @thunderstar-supernova