#the way she turns into a monument with flowers...

[i-like-media]

The TARDIS missing Susan at the old scrapyard they used to live in...

[nereidprinc3ss]

trolley problem

in which fem!reader has been gambling with her life and spencer reid is more than a little concerned

flangst, hurt/comfort warnings/tags: passive suicidal ideation from reader, she keeps risking her life, that really grinds Spencer’s gears, established relationship, existential dread, existential euphoria, lots of stuff about grief and death and self worth, not advocating for this, pretension from the author, blasphemy probably?, reader gets fuzzy from prescribed painkillers, arguing, hospital stuff, mention of sleep paralysis involving spiders, reader gets shot but she’s fineee, I pander to intro to philosophy takers, bau!reader, neurodivergent coded reader, if she’s not exactly like you I’m sorry, bean soup a/n: one day you’re in a writing slump literally the next you are in your notes app for six hours writing whatever the fuck this is but I think I love it even tho it’s weird and I hope u like it too!! btw this was gonna be called cotard's syndrome but then I never once talk abt cotard's but if u care that might be interesting context for the motif of not feeling human/alive, WC 3K

Spencer hasn’t spoken to you since the doctor left the room five minutes ago. 

The air is antiseptic as you take it deep into the hollows of your lungs and trap it there for a moment, trying to optimize oxygen intake without actually having to breathe very often. Hospital smell is as universal as it is suffocating. It reeks of everything but death—flowers, blood, bleach, vomit. A humiliating, desperate scramble to defy the very thing that defines mortality. It’s pathetic. It reminds you of the worst instances of failure and loss and denial in your life. It curdles your blood. Literally rots you from the inside out. 

You’ve had ample time to ponder that smell over the last few months because you keep ending up here, and some time ago you decided the institution of the hospital is inherently absurd. It’s stupid to think you could avoid the one absolute condition on your corporeal form: impermanence. It is the only thing that is promised, and people still waste their lives away running from it. It is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. 

So around the time you acknowledged that hospitals are simply monuments to the self-importance of man, you gave up on trying too hard to preserve yourself. You’ve seen death too much and too often. You’ve tried staving it off with prayer and the miracles of modern medicine, and it never matters in the end because it’s all magical thinking anyway. All the wallowing and the bargaining and pleading never got you anywhere. 

You’ve accepted that from the moment you were born, you were marked for death. 

But you’re not a complete nihilist. You’re not even totally resigned to the abject certainty of death—because you’ve found a loophole.

Everyone has as many chances at escaping death as other people are willing to offer them at the cost of their own lives. Not many people are willing to make that trade—someone else’s life for their own—but you’ve decided you are. Because if not you, then who?

It’s not that you don’t see the value in your own life, as Spencer keeps making it sound. It’s just the opposite. You understand that you’ve got an extremely valuable resource, and you don’t just have to sit on it. There are things you can do. Choices you can make. Ways to defy death. 

Just… not yours. 

Or maybe you’re just in deep denial. 

Either way—this is a philosophy your boyfriend intentionally refuses to understand. He gets mad, or some kind of upset, every time you try to explain it. Usually he ends up leaving the room close to tears. You never feel good about it.

Right now he’s presumably trying to give you the silent treatment and not doing a very good job. 

“Stop holding your breath. Why are you—stop that.”

Spencer’s frowning, skin sallow and milk-blue under fluorescent lighting. Purple seeps from around his eyes like spilled wine on a white table cloth. Your stomach turns. 

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t tell you not to apologize. You don’t expect him to. 

“Why are you doing that? Does something hurt?”

Other than your entire bicep being on fire due to the 9 millimeter Luger it recently came into contact with?

“Not really. I just don’t like the smell of hospitals.”

At that, he gets stony again. Like, Medusa stony. You feel a tightening in your chest that has nothing to do with a lack of air. His arms are crossed. A silk lined blazer drapes over your lap, and you wonder if he’s cold in just that white button up. It’s translucent in this light, like onion skin, or maybe something less organic—the folds and wrinkles look like fabric, but lots of things look like something they aren’t. In the Pietá, Jesus lounges dead on his mother’s lap, his cheek pressed to her arm like either of them have warm flesh, and her skirts drape from her knees and fall to the ground in delicate folds just like Spencer’s jacket and looking at pictures of it you swear you could find comfort there too—but if you wanted to make space for yourself next to Jesus you’d have to do it with a chisel and mallet. You’re starting to think that’s what it’s going to take with Spencer, as well. 

“So stop walking into active gunfire. You’ll spend a lot less time here.”

Every deep sigh (of which there have been several) calcifies you further. Ironically, you never feel less alive than you do in a hospital. 

“I didn’t walk into active g—”

“I’m not debating it with you. It’s not a discussion.”

“So you’re just going to be pissed at me for the rest of forever? I mean, if it’s not a discussion—what are you gonna do? Break up with me?”

You feel yourself dripping poison in the well. Even as you say it. As his head tilts toward you slowly and intently from his spot against the wall, and his warning gaze is cold and unforgiving and weighs 3.35 tons.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Talk?”

“Don’t try and manipulate me by implying that there are no options between permissiveness and dumping you!”

“I’m not manipulating you. And I don’t need your permission to do anything.” 

The first part is an incredulous scoff as well as a blatant lie. You are manipulating him. Chisel and all. At least, you were trying to. It clearly doesn’t work very well. His jaw clenches.  

“Is this worth it to you? Fighting with me like we’re children solely so you don’t have to take accountability?”

“Accountability for what? I made a choice. I don’t regret it. You’re upset because I did my job.”

A beat. 

Silence always makes you feel the gravity of your words. 

“Do you believe that?”

His voice softens so much, so quickly, it splinters down the middle. 

You’ve never been known for your light touch. For someone who sees eviscerated bodies nearly every day, and prides herself on her evolved understanding of mortality, you often forget other people are not, in fact, impenetrable marble—they are flesh and blood and bone, and you’ve splattered yourself in the evidence of that. 

“What?” You murmur. You easily turn timid, when you’re afraid you’ve been too heavy-handed. Spencer’s seen you sob over the birds who hit the windowpane and never reappeared from the shrubbery—their delicate wings, their little beaks—he didn’t mean to, Spencer, and now he’s dead! He’s seen you spend forty minutes catching a spider with a cup and an envelope rather than smush it, even though you have reoccurring episodes of sleep paralysis wherein a giant arachnid is sitting on your chest, hissing and clacking its pincers. He knows you are, at your core, kind and good. 

It’s a little scary for someone to know that about you. It’s a little scary when you see your own vulnerability reflected in their eyes and the way they speak to you, the way you see it in him now. 

“Do you believe that the choices you make regarding your safety don’t concern me at all?”

“They’re… my choices to make,” you whisper, but you’re less sure than you were a minute ago. 

“I’m not talking about that—I’m talking about how it feels like you are trying to kill yourself every time we’re in the field.” His voice shakes. You swallow. “You have been hospitalized for four serious injuries sustained on the job in the past five months. Every time I bring it up, you—you talk about life like it’s optional for you. Like you’re not only willing to give it up but are actively looking to throw yourself in harm’s way every chance you get. You think that doesn’t terrify me?”

There’s a small chip in the paint on the wall next to him roughly the shape of Africa. 

“It’s not like that. I’m… I’m just having an unlucky streak.”

He snaps. 

“Luck isn’t going to get between you and a bullet. Ever.”

“It’s my job, Spencer.”

“No. It is a risk of the job. Not a defining feature or requirement. But you keep running toward gunfire like you have a quota to meet.”

“Spencer, I’m not doing it at you. I’m not trying to get myself hurt.”

“Well it doesn’t really feel like you’re trying to avoid it, either,” he shoots back immediately, and you feel the anguish radiating from him until it lodges in your own chest, like it was always yours. Maybe it was. 

You want to make it better, but you don’t know how, and even if you did, he’s pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward the door. 

“Where are you going?” You call, a little too desperately for your liking. 

“You need to eat something.”

Which translates roughly to he’s pissed and upset and he needs to leave the room. You’ve done this song and dance before. 

However, food and an absence of him are contenders for the absolute last two things you want right now. 

“Spencer, please don’t—”

But the door is already whooshing closed. 

You stare at the grey and white checkered floor. Light bounces off the waxen reflection—some sort of parallel universe you can’t reach, perhaps. The whole room is desaturated. A mechanical humming threatens to drive you insane. It doesn’t feel like a place for living humans. You’re not convinced you are one. 

When he comes back, maybe ten minutes later, nothing’s moved at all. In fact you’re not even sure you’ve been breathing. 

The door closes as quietly as it opens. 

This time, wordlessly, Spencer comes to you. You see his shoes first—his serious adult shoes. You wish he was wearing his Converse. 

Then you see the bottle of apple juice he’s cracking open for you. Blue lid. Same kind you always get. 

“You didn’t bring food.”

“You wouldn’t have eaten it.”

Fair enough. 

You take the bottle with your good arm and sip shallowly—all that adrenaline and the subsequent interpersonal strife has left you nauseous. The drink is too sweet. It clashes with the tang of metal in your mouth. 

Still, you drink enough to satisfy him, and then you’re tossing his jacket aside before balancing the bottle between your thighs so you can screw the lid back on. He doesn’t go back to the couch or his spot on the wall. 

Spencer doesn’t pull away when you lean into him, but it does take him a moment to reciprocate. You’re still grateful all the same when he cradles the back of your head to his stomach like you’re made of porcelain. 

“I don’t think you understand how upset I am,” he says quietly. 

Only Spencer Reid could be furious with you and still hold you like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“That’s not good enough. You need to stop risking your life like that.”

He doesn’t get it. Your brows flutter as they try to furrow but even holding that expression saps you. Maybe the pain meds are finally kicking in. 

“I just wanna help people.”

“That doesn’t explain to me or justify your urge to do it at the cost of your own life. We all want to help people, angel. The whole team. That’s why we do what we do. But we don’t run into shootouts. We don’t split off and provoke people with guns when we’re unarmed and unprepared.”

“But it worked. She got away.” You feel a spark of fulfillment at the memory of Gloria Sanchez in JJ’s arms just before the ambulance doors had slammed you into your first cage of the night. 

“We don’t know if he was going to kill her. He might not’ve fired at all if you didn’t go running toward him. That wasn’t strategic, it was reckless and irresponsible and you know that. I know you do. So something else is going on.”

The pressure in your nose that usually precipitates tears comes as a surprise. 

“I just—if that’s how I can save someone, why shouldn’t I, you know? Why do they have less of a right to live than I do just because they’ve been deprived of the choice? If I have a choice, and they don’t, I should choose to… to help them. That’s my job.”

For a long moment, you listen to your own breath, muffled by Spencer’s shirt, and the mechanical humming, and something dripping, and the low, buzzy chatter of nurses far down the hallway.

When Spencer next speaks you get the sense he’s holding a lot back. His voice is taut enough it wavers slightly. Taut enough that if he weren’t speaking so quietly he might be yelling. It’s like pinpricks all over your body—not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure you’re paying attention. 

“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. Do you understand me?”

And yes, in theory, you do. But that doesn’t negate your original point. It only takes one life or death moment for you to utilize the most valuable resource you have. What happens after is no longer your concern. 

“On the psych evals you helped develop it asks if you think it’s appropriate to sacrifice the one to save the many. The answer is supposed to be no. If you say yes you get flagged. The FBI frowns upon… lever-pullers. And that’s exactly what I’m doing if I let one person die when I could’ve potentially saved them.”

“Protecting your own life is not pulling the lever. What you’re doing isn’t smart or morally righteous. You’re just throwing yourself across the tracks, too. If you were to fail a psych eval right now it would be because you’re passively suicidal. And you know what? The FBI also tends to frown upon self-immolative delusions of grandeur and girls who like to play sacrificial lamb.”

“’M not a… sacrificial lamb…”

“No,” Spencer agrees quietly, stroking your hair. “You’re not.”

And you can’t react to the fragility in his voice, or the content of his words, and the fact that when he says it he means something different—you can’t do anything about it. You can only catalogue it. You can only know that he loves you, and feel a little guilty about it.

Some time passes. You don’t know how long he remains standing so you can doze against him. He does not smell like the hospital. He’s the antidote for whatever grief they distill from widows and orphans before aerosolizing it through the whole place. 

“Baby?” He asks eventually. You know the lilt of it. He’s been thinking. 

“Hm?”

He hesitates. 

“Can we talk about you maybe taking some time off of work?”

“You heard the boss,” you mumble. “I can’t come in for at least a week.”

“I mean beyond that.”

You intend to respond, but by the time you open your mouth you’ve lost the prompt in all the brain fog. 

“You’re so comfy,” you murmur dreamily. “Thank you for being mad at me.”

If he responds, you miss it. 

You’re imagining the bed waiting for you at home, once the doctor is done observing you—warm, neatly made. Blankets woven with soft fibers. A mattress that will sink under your weight. You think of Spencer, who’s shaping himself to you, Spencer, who intentionally inhales when you exhale at night to make room for the rise and fall of your chest against his. You think of the imprint of his buttons on your cheek. You are both flesh and blood and bone. 

Strange, pill-induced half dreams and visions and memories take over. You’re in that alleyway again. That man fires. You don’t blink or scream or feel. 

Just before the bullet makes contact you’re standing in front of the Pietá. It’s massive. Spencer is there, too, holding your hand. 

You can’t actually see him, only, you know he’s there. You feel his warmth, his presence, when he leans over to whisper in your ear. The way you know him goes beyond sight. 

The Pietá—meaning the pity, in English—is 6’7” and six feet wide. It weighs 6,700 pounds. Michelangelo had to quarry the block of marble himself. He was only 25 when he finished. The Basilica keeps it behind bulletproof glass. 

Jesus and Mary behind bullet proof glass. 

God. Who’d try to kill Jesus a third time? He’s already dead. 

Besides—they’re both made of stone. Bullets would probably just ping right off of them. Or maybe they’d shatter just like you did. 

Probably not though. You’re not actually made of marble. You’ve no idea what it feels like to be a statue and get shot at. You sure know how it feels as a human, though—and it feels like shit. You don’t really know why you keep doing it. None of your reasons are good enough for Spencer, and he’s, generally speaking, pretty smart about some things. 

Maybe you’re tired of being human.

Maybe you’re tired of sleeping on your arm funny and waking up to a hand in your bed that doesn’t feel like yours and remembering all the hands you’ve held moments before they couldn’t hold yours back. Or tired of those moments where you are being held and it’s so unbelievably perfect and then someone has to let go, or when someone you love hugs you goodbye and you realize that there will always be a final I love you, or simply getting older and watching potential life paths fall away like rotten fruit to the ground. Maybe life is sometimes so good it hurts and you can’t bear it. So you tempt fate. You walk a tightrope because even if you fall and it can’t ever feel good again—at least it can’t hurt either. At least you won’t lose anymore. 

And yet. 

It does feel good, sometimes. Sort of often, actually. Even when it’s awful. 

Dead Jesus and Mary, with their marble skin and their bulletproof glass and their holiness and their virginity and all the other things they have that you don’t. Nobody can hurt them anymore. Not ever. 

Maybe that’s something you envy.

But you doubt they’ve ever been so terribly, wonderfully alive as you’ve been, or as comfortable as you are like this, leaning into Spencer’s warmth and his softness, in the hospital, or the Vatican, or your dreams. Your bicep was ruined but it’s healing. You are capable of ruin and rebirth in the same lifetime. In the same day, in the same hour. 

You doubt that in 520 years, behind bulletproof glass and unyielding, eternally flawless skin, they’ve ever felt as invincible as you do now. 

You doubt they ever could. 

[higher-noon]

Thinking about post-canon with the king being frozen in the House of Change and what happens to him.

Like, he's frozen there. They can't move him without unfreezing him. He's just there presumably forever. In a House. Forever.

Vanguardians seem... a bit too nice, to turn his name into a curse and his image into an omen, so I doubt he will become the next crab, but either way his existence is a monument to the shortcomings of their beliefs and the impossibility of eternal entropy.

Do they just lock the room and keep him hidden away? With kids and travelers being dared to venture inside and touch and/or vandalize the pseudo-corpse of the man who tried to embalm their country? Knick knacks and dust building up around him until someone decides on some spring cleaning and almost reverent wiped the dust from his shoulders?

Does his emporium become another lecture hall for the philosophy students to argue in? Does his form become a good luck charm for housemaidens to pet before their pilgrimage until eventually the tips of his armor are rubbed dull and it is recognized that he too can change and time is only one factor in the process that enough effort and persistence can eventually wear down?

Do refugees who eventually come to recognize their heritage find themselves drawn to the house, looking for whatever hints of home might remain? Do they look into the king's joyous eyes and beg and wish for a glimpse of what he sees? Does his sanctuary become a mass grave for a culture that has no other chance to mourn? Is he all but swallowed by flowers because even in his violence and his fear and his greed, the king was important, too?

And years down the line, when the country has healed and it's citizens at peace, when the saviors are hardly more than a folktale or a history lesson, when Mirabelle is old and tired and she forgets herself one last time, passing as she falls asleep, does the king wake up?

[unholybacon355]

Kinktober Day 19 - Im Nana x M! Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

You can't remember who recommended this massage parlor to you, but certainly you have to thank them. This was by far the best massage of your life. Now your muscles are free of any stress and so relaxed that you feel like you could fall asleep at any moment,that is of course if it weren't for the fact that there is a naked woman on top of you.

The massage had been excellent, no one can deny that, but what came next was even better. You had paid for the full service, and boy did it live up to its promise. It was everything you had been told and more.

Things had started off easy. With the masseuse, Nana was her name as she said earlier, kneading your entire body slowly and delicately. After turning you around a couple of times and checking that she had massaged your entire body, she had dangerously brought her hands close to the waist of your boxers and had waited for your confirmation. By that time you were already on cloud nine and you immediately told her she could continue. Just seconds later she had already taken off your boxers, leaving you completely naked. That was where the extra service began.

Nana had jerked you off slowly and delicately, almost as if she were still giving you a massage. She moved her hand delicately along your shaft, going from the base to the tip and then back again and again. Up and down, down and up, back and forth without end. You were already so relaxed and willing that it didn't take long for her to make you reach your first orgasm.

When Nana knew you were about to cum, she engulfed the tip of your cock, still jerking you off, and took all of your cum in her mouth. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking every last drop while she didn't stop moving her hand. This had been the best orgasm you had had in a long time, and your masseuse still had a couple of surprises in store for the end.

Nana pulled a condom out from her clothes and put it on you with expert movements, a skill acquired thanks to doing this daily. But that wasn't all, because after that she also stripped, folding her work uniform and leaving it in a perfect pile next to the stretcher where you were lying.

Her body alone was quite a sight. Not only was her face beautiful to the point of rivaling that of well-known models, but her curves were also dangerous. Her tits were perky and firm, crowned by light brown nipples. Her belly was flat and without a gram of fat, and the flower between her legs was completely shaved. When she turned around you could see that her ass was as round and big as you had imagined, a perfect work of art.

Before you could begin to drool over her, Nana climbed onto the table and without giving you time to react, she impaled herself on your erect cock. The sensation surrounding your hard member was simply fantastic, as her walls squeezed your flesh in a delicious way. Nana was not only an expert in the art of giving massages or giving handjobs, her skills went far beyond that, and you were experiencing it firsthand.

Yes, the handjob she had given you earlier was monumental, then you needed to come up with a new word to describe what she was doing now. She was riding you, it was true, and you could see your cock was inside her vagina, but still for some reason it felt more like a blowjob. Nana was moving the muscles in her belly and vagina precisely and expertly, almost with inhuman skill, to maximize the sensations she was giving you. You for your part felt as if your cock was being sucked into her body.

But it wasn't just you who benefited from this, as you were able to hear her moans of pleasure. Despite the condom, you could feel how wet her vagina was, and you could see the pleasure on her face. Nana also enjoyed this, she loved seeing the result of her work on the faces of the countless men and women she had served. She loved seeing how they fell at her feet and how for the rest of their lives they could only dream of having sex again with someone even remotely as good as her.

You yourself could witness her talent, one that already had you on the verge of madness. It had probably not even been five minutes since Nana started riding you and she already had you on the verge of climax again. The pressure and the way she practically sucked your cock with her pussy were making you ascend to the sky, so without any fear you came inside the condom. Even though you had just cum moments ago, this load was huge, proof of the unparalleled pleasure you had been made to feel. It was endless seconds of your cock shooting thick, hot semen inside Nana, who used her expert vagina to milk every last drop of your cum. Her skill really was incredible, she was without a doubt the best at this.

When your orgasm was finally over, Nana got off of you and removed the condom, to throw it away in a nearby trashcan. Your cock couldn't miss the hermetic seal that had been her vagina, as Nana put your cock back in her mouth. This time more to clean any traces of semen from it than to get you to have another orgasm, but she practically has you in her hands so you can't help but cum again in her mouth. She doesn't protest or make any gesture of protest, she simply swallows your whole new load because Nana is used to the sensation she causes between people. Here she is like a goddess who asks for tributes in the form of pleasure and semen.

When you calm down from your third orgasm in a row and your cock is completely clean, Nana uses a towel to gently dry you off. Now you are once again clean and dry, and there are no traces of your semen anywhere.

“Thank you for choosing my services. I hope to see you again soon.” Nana says on a gentle tone and with a helpful smile on her face as she bows. “When you are ready you can go to the next room to get dressed.” she adds, pointing to the door through which you entered the room. “I hope you have a good day.” And with that, Nana leaves the room without even bothering to take her clothes. Cleaning and tidying is not her job, the only cleaning task she performs is cleaning the semen from the clients’ bodies. Nothing more.

[water-to-drink]

Be a Gladiolus in a Field of Belladonnas pt14

Cloak and Dagger of the Archons

(Summary): Finally getting tired of their helpless position the archons decide to take action into their own hands

Part 1 Last Part Next Part

✧ Masterlist ✧

(Characters): Yae Miko, Ei, Nahida, Zhongli, Venti, Furina, Mavuika,

(Tags/Warnings): Mavuika archon name might be wrong (will change it if is), Mavuika might be ooc, not proof read

(Word Count): 1.4k

A soft hum reverberates throughout the halls. The humming comes from a sly fox familiar, finally making her way to a room she slides open the shoji to reveal an empty room

“Okay Ei, it’s time to come out.” Yae announces. “Ei? You know I’m impatient, It’s been so boring without you lately.” The Miko whined

Met with silence the pink haired woman focused on sensing the familiar consciousness of her master, only to find nothing

Confused she didn’t notice a soldier walking past only to stop once he spotted her. “Ohh, Lady Yae. If you’re looking for the Shogun, she’s not here.”

“What do you mean ‘she’s not here?’ Where else would she be?”

“I don’t know, but a man from Liyue came and she left with him.” The soldier explained

“Hmm, where could she have gone?”

“Achooo!” Sneezed the purple haired archon

“Bless you.” The littlest archon said

“Thank you, Buer.”

“Hehe, the almighty Shogun sneezing, I thought I never see the day.” Venti giggled

“I don’t see it to be a laughing matter, it could be due to someone talking about me, I just wonder who.” Ei pondered

“What is the deal with this domain, Morax?” Mavuika asked the taller gentleman

“This domain is what I assume to have belonged to their Grace when they still were with us.”

“How can you be so sure of that?” Ei asked

“And why weren’t we made aware of its existence?!” Furina asked

“I apologize but I didn’t want the existence of this domain be known by that imposter.”

The archons all looked at each other with concern expressions at the mention of your doppelganger, Nahida turns to look at Zhongli

“How did you come across this domain, Morax?”

“It was right after their Grace’s death.” Zhongli began

He remembers that day as if it had happened yesterday. The skies pouring rain down onto the geo archon, as if Teyvat was itself is mourning the loss of its creator

As he kept on walking through the field, the clouds part to reveal the field has sprouted many flowers. Flowers that glitter in the sun in the same manner your blood did when spilled

The flowers tell a story of a battle that fought here, a battle that you had to fight on your own. Rage and sorrow fills the god, he falls to his knees and frantically began to rip the flowers out of the ground as tears ran down his face. He could have been there to help you, to at least protect you, but you felt like you needed to fight this battle alone

why?

Why?

WHY?!

WHY WHY WHY?!?!

Why did things have to end like this? Why wasn’t he there to stop this from happening?!

Morax wailed and wailed until his throat started hurting. When he stopped he saw a petal with a light blue aura floating above the ground

Reaching out towards the petal he was instantly transported somewhere

A domain of sorts, its walls were lined with gold and lapis lazuli embedded into them. It was massive and empty, like it had been subject to neglect, it was luxurious none the less.

A place that reminded the dragon of you and it dawned on him that this domain belonged to you, whatever the reason you abandoned it, it will be a monument to you and your greatness

Zhongli finished telling the other archons and they all had mournful looks on their faces

“I’m so sorry you had to experience that, Morax.” Mavuika consoled

“It was a very difficult time, but I rather have this domain be in my hands than anyone else’s, Aym.”

“You should be proud of the work you amassed theoughout the centuries.” Ei said as she looked at the bookshelves that reach the ceiling

“Only the best for their Grace, and might I ask do you know what’s behind that door?” Furina asked gesturing towards the door

“Unfortunately I do not. I was hoping for their Grace to know when they descended.” Zhongli explained

Venti leans in towards the door to examine the keyhole, instead of it being the standard keyhole it was circular with 4 other smaller circles extended from the larger one

“It’s a pretty odd keyhole. I’m surprised you didn’t try to bust it down through brute force.” Venti giggled. The archons looked at the elder archon who is looking down a bit shamefully. “Well I wonder what’s behind this door.”

“It might be due to them wanting to hide something.” All the archons whipped their heads towards Ei. “I remember one time when their Grace visited Inazuma they called themselves a ‘monster’ especially after ‘what they done.’ When I tried to press further they refused to elaborate.” Ei explained

“It didn’t help that their Grace was very secretive about their past. I’m pretty sure that the knowledge we have on them is already common.”

As the gods talked amongst themselves the littlest of them pondered and pondered until it dawned on her

“Maybe there’s something in the Akademiya’s secret archives.” Nahida spoke out

“Why do you did there’s something useful to us is in some place so dusty.” Venti asked as he continued on with the other archons

The gods followed as the littlest one lead them through the secret basement

“This is where the supposed belongings of their Grace.” Nahida explained as she kept walking until she stopped in front of a large door

Nahida placed her hand on the door and it lit up with a green aura before the doors open. “It should be in here.” She continued to walk

“Why do you seem uncertain about the ‘key’ being here?” Furina asked

“Oh well, I didn’t know of this place when I was imprisoned.”

“What?!” Ei, Furina, and Mavuika said in unison

After several minutes of explaining Nahida’s imprisonment by her people

“How awful, I will teach you how to use a sword to strike down those traitors!” Ei said as Mavuika nodded her head in agreement

“N-no thank you!” Nahida shot the offer down

“How about taking those snakes to trial! If they think they can imprison a god then they should have the courage to face one in court!” Furina exclaimed

“They were already taken care of.” Nahida said trying to calm the three archons down. “With the help of the traveler and their Grace they freed me from my prison. Though, I don’t have any memories of their Grace when they walked Teyvat, they try to make it up to me.”

“You’re my daughter now, I don’t care what anyone says.” Your voice rings throughout her ears causing her heart to fill with joy, visiting various places across Teyvat was already enough for her. “I want you to see the world as it is, so let’s go exploring, Nahida!” You encouraged making Nahida smile

Bringing herself back, Nahida looks up at the archons who are smiling at her

“Did that imposter know of your imprisonment?” Venti asked

The bright smile quickly fell off of Nahida’s face and the other archons already knew the answer

“How vile! Them standing by while an archon was imprisoned by her own people!” Ei clenched her fists

“We should stop stalling before we get even more sidetracked.” Zhongli said seeming stoic as ever but the others could tell his anger was steeping through by the slight tremor that could be felt on the ground

The archons decided it was best to continue and began looking through the artifacts. Many of which were obviously fake and thus toss to the side, this continued for a good few hours until one of them felt a faint presence

Ei holds up what looks to be a brooch up for the archons to get a proper look. Upon closer examination they all could see that the brooch had 4 empty slots for something circular to be slotted into them

“Is that what I think it is?” Venti asked amazed

“That is no doubt that the brooch belonged to their Grace by the faint aura it is emitting.” Zhongli confirmed

Quickly taking the petal out of his breast pocket and transporting him and the others to the domain. Ei hands the brooch to Zhongli and walks towards the door to bring it to the keyhole

It fits perfectly

Taglist:

@chuuya-brainrot @creation-magician @tartarsaucechi1de @vvyeislazzy @aludicpoet @undecidingfate @annoying-mary @randomnatics @bore2808 @esthelily @yurivision @angelamelamela @chocolatekuns @ghost-mint @mmmhyperfixation @legendaryexperthideout @lapinaenmicoche @sinsdumbdrabble @rebeccawinters @imyme20 @nymphsdomain @sun7lowxr @blackcoffex @itz-luna @flowerpesky @land-of-eternity @deathcvltcivilofficial @d4y-dr3am3r @yuriclouds @artwitch @mercy-not-merci @xyaxyn @starxvs @dreamoffireflies06 @desirabletravel

[flem17ng]

YOU'VE GOT REQUESTS OPEN???

can you do like an agathario library date??? precanon?

IF NOT JUST ANYTHING AGATHARIO PLS PLS PLS PLS

THANK YOUUUUU

I could be a good mother (And I want to be your wife)

A.N: Thank you for this prompt! I wrote this instead of studying. Let me know if you have more requests! (I'm probably going to put this onto AO3 as well)

Word count: 2.7k Tags: Fluff (because that's what they deserve), Pre-canon, Pre-Nicholas, Library date, they are so cute Warnings: None Summary: Pretty much what the prompt is, plus an important surprise from Agatha.

✰ ✰ ✰

Oxford, England, sometime in the 1700s

Rio has always loved the chaos of brittian. For such a small island, it was strangely violent. It seemed that there was not one portion of its history that wasn’t soaked in blood and betrayal. There was always some sort of horror: the fire of london, the black death, the reformation, not to mention the islands unruly habit of invading and “colonizing” every piece of land it could get its chubby fingers on.

Oh, how Rio loved it. The chaos. The betrayal and the small villages in the middle of nowhere that begged to be wandered and explored. Maybe Death was not as villainous as she is thought to be because by god did she love the things mortals could make when they weren’t busy dying and killing.

Maybe that was a side effect of her green witch abilities. She was connected to the earth through roots and mud and rot of graves, but more and more she was finding that she was connected through the flowers, the streams, the laughter, and the souls. Maybe that is why she found herself in Oxford, a center for education, advancement, and good pubs, gazing up at the sandstone buildings in wonder instead of reaping the souls of the innocent.

No. There was another reason she was here on this day. Perhaps a more romantic reason if one could think of Death as a romantic. She could sense her. She could feel the tingle of her magic before she had even stepped onto the main street. Rio was old, older perhaps than the earth itself, and yet no magic she had encountered felt quite the same as Agatha Harkness’. It was a cold sensation, like saline injected under the skin, it rushed and eddied and pooled at her fingers before surging to her chest and encircling her black heart. Perhaps it was Agatha’s magic itself that had alerted Rio to the presence of her heart; the lump that sat stagnant in her chest seemed alert, almost beating as Agatha’s magic charged the air of the quaint university town.

The high street broke off into cramped alleyways decorated with gas lamps and cobbled walkways. Rio's many skirts, petticoats, and frills (an unfortunate aspect of this era's fashion) swirled around her feet as she strode forward, scraping the cobbles with the whispering sound of fabrics.

It was inevitable to find Agatha in a library, hunched over a book or setting up some elaborate spell to turn that library into a death trap. Either way, Agatha had always longed for knowledge, she longed to be stronger, more powerful, better guarded against the wrath of her kin, and better prepared for killing. Oh, it was enough to make Rio swoon.

Agatha’s library of choice today was a large domed building, a few stories high and completely sandstone. A monument to education, placed in the middle of a lovely green park. A monolith to mankind.

Agatha's magic pooled around the building, oozing out the cracks in the window in purple puddles of smoke that only Death could see. Rio smiled at the sight, at the power of her lover.

Lover? Rio caught herself as the thought crossed her mind. She supposed that must be what they were, what they had been for a while now, though who knew that Death could have such a thing. A heart and now a lover... Well, she wasn't exactly complaining. There are far more horrible ways to spend eternity than to spend it in love. Agatha was ever present, all-consuming, a mortal witch who just refused to die after centuries of amassing power, fear, and reputation. And there was Rio, Death personified, walking terror, Breathing inevitability. When an immovable object meets an unstoppable force, Rio supposes it is only fate that they fall in love.

Rio's smile grew as she entered the building, the magic almost suffocating with its intensity, its richness. Whether by coincidence or design, the library was empty at this hour. The students, perhaps dissuaded from studying by the rich presence of power, had long left their posts at the sturdy high-backed chairs that decorated the interior leaving books and quills strewn on every surface. Even the librarians who usually patrolled the isles, ever keen to protect the leather-bound treasures that lined the shelves had mysteriously disappeared. Absently, Rio wondered if Agatha would be giving her a gift tonight, perhaps a body or two to mark the occasion.

It was then that Rio spotted her, tucked away at a desk, face partially illuminated by a dripping candle whose flame was sinking lower and lower towards the wooden desk. Her thick dark hair, streaked with a few stray grey hairs, was piled in an unruly bun atop her head, and her hands, scratching away at a piece of parchment, were black from the ink of her quill.

"I knew I would find you here, Amor." Rio purred, her trademark smirk flickering across her face as she watched Agatha's shoulders tense and relax at the sound of her voice.

"Rio." Agatha sighed, dropping her quill and facing Death who was now leaning against a nearby bookcase; "You came"

"You're hard to ignore, sweetheart," Rio smiled, holding out a hand to Agatha. They both watched as a small carnation bloomed in her palm, its petals fully opening before Rio leaned forward, carefully tucking it behind Agatha's ear. Her lover smiled softly.

"I don't remember killing anyone... recently" She responded cheekily, the candlelight doing nothing to hide the warmth of her cheeks. Rio shrugged, pulling out her dagger which had been hidden under her layers of skirts.

"You didn't have to. Sometimes, I just know these things." She carelessly twirled the knife between her fingers, her eyes never leaving Agathas. It had been so long since they had last seen each other though probably not as long as it felt. But hell, was it a crime for a woman to miss her wife?

Agatha feigned annoyance, hanging her head with a roll of her keen eyes. "I'm busy, you know? I don't need any distractions right now," she motioned to the pile of papers before her, covered in runes, symbols, and snippets of spells Rio could only just make out.

"Oh, I can see. What are we planning today My lady? Manipulation of world leaders? Another gunpowder plot perhaps? Oh! Please tell me it's another plague, you know how I love a good plague." She leaned over Agatha's desk, getting closer to the other woman with a keen expression. "I love it when they go all green and spotty"

Agatha smiled fighting the urge to tuck Rio's hair behind her ear as she leaned forward.

"No dear I'm sorry. But I think you might like this surprise much better than a plague"

Rio snorted and shook her head, "Oh well it must be good then. You haven't gotten me a gift in so long sweetheart"

This was true. Agatha seemed to have begun leaning away from her usual hobbies of murder and destruction, at least to some degree, instead preferring to learn, to watch covens rise and fall. This didn't affect Rio much however as they still saw each other more than enough. Over the past decade or so it seems as though they saw each other at least a few times a week, if not more. Often their meetings went for hours, sometimes days if Rio could spare the time. They walked, they talked, they hiked across ley lines, and spent nights sleeping in castle ruins or huts (they spent nights doing much more than just sleeping).

Agatha didn't fight it this time, pulling her ink-stained hands away from the desk and placing them gently on Rio's cheeks, using her thumb to stroke the side of her lover's face and her long fingers to tuck her hair gently back into place.

"You'll love this gift" She sighed, heart racing so loudly she feared Rio might feel it through her hands. "It's... Well, It's not ready yet but..." She bit her lip, eyes flickering between Rios before sighing and pulling away. She stood from her chair, rounding the desk to where Death still stood, watching her with a small smile.

"you know I don't like surprises" Rio teased, placing a hand firmly on Agatha's waist, once again damning the many layers of skirts they both had to wear, which separated her from her lover's skin.

"Well, that bullshit and you know it" Agatha laughed, leaning into Rio's touch. "I can think of a few instances where you have rather enjoyed surprises"

Rio smirked, catching Agatha's cheeky innuendos with a deep blush. "well you always seem to have the best surprises for me" She jabbed back with the same smirk, tongue pressed into her cheek and eyebrows raised.

"If only they knew huh?" The soul witch laughed, glancing briefly out the small window that oversaw the bright twinkling lights of the pubs and shops down the road. "We'd be burned at the stake at once. Again"

"Oh, Amor you always looked so ravishing when getting burned by an angry mob" Rio quipped, remembering fondly to their days in Salem, after the death of Agatha's coven, after they first met. They had both been younger then, violent in their passions, and just as in love as they were today.

"And you've never looked as good as you do when you clean up my mess once I've finished with them" Agatha laughed, returning a hand to Rio's face. "Blood is one of my favorite looks on you." she winked.

"One of? tell me, Amor, what if my best look?"

Agatha smirked, Lowering her hand slightly so it cupped Rio's neck, her black nails scratching softly at the baby hairs on her neck eliciting a small hum of contentment from her lover. "I could think of a few" She smiled suggestively, eyes never leaving Rios as she leaned forward slowly Her other hand snaking behind Rio's back, holding her closer.

Their lips met for the first time that night, locking together in a well-practiced rhythm that comes only from a century of tender kisses. Rio couldn't help but smile into Agatha's lips, feeling their magic melt together in a strange hypnotic dance. For the second time that night, Rio felt Agatha's magic pool in her chest, licking her insides with pure energy. This must be what mortals call butterflies, Rio mused.

The kiss lasted a long time, They were in no rush after all. By the time they pulled away, as breathless as an immortal and a witch can be, the candle had almost completely melted, its wax pooling at the base of its holder threatening to spill onto Agatha's neat parchment.

They both fell silent, gazes dancing over each other's features quietly. Where once their relationship had been patchy, on and off, both victims of each other's passions and pains, it was now steady, solidified by years of companionship and alliance. Rages and arguments had been replaced by easy silences, domestic moments in stolen cottages and tender embraces. Rio often wondered how many creatures spent their entire immortal lives without finding a love like the one she had found in Agatha. Sure they fought still, and sure, sometimes they drew blood but come on! Everyone has their kinks.

Agatha broke the silence with a soft sigh, moving to hold Rio's hand in hers. They both watched as she intertwined their fingers, pads ghosting over Rio's knuckles like a worshipper with a rosary. Neither of them had been much good at religion, but Rio understood devotion. God, did she feel devotion.

"Aggie?" rio called softly, holding Agatha's hands steady. Her eyes were full of a strange emotion Rio had never seen in her before: Determination, desire, and passion, mixed with warmth, pride, and something else.

"We're married right," Agatha says. More of a statement than a question. Rio raised her eyebrow with a smirk.

"Well I hope so" She laughs, "otherwise we've been going steady for over 100 years". They weren't legally married, not documented by any government at least. But they knew. They had talked about it. They had stood and said vows, and each wore a simple ring to commemorate the union.

Agatha rolled her eyes despite herself. "I know that! I mean I've just been thinking..." She stopped herself again and Rio couldn't help but butt in.

"Please tell me you aren't going to ask for a divorce. I mean I know I can rub you the wrong way sometimes but-" Agatha stopped her with a finger to her lips and a harsh expression.

"Would you shut up for one second and let me finish you freak!" Rio smirked despite the hand over her mouth, moving her eyebrows as if to say well go on then.

Agatha pulled away for a moment, turning back to the desk which was strewn with paper, books, and broken quills. She riffled through a few pages, humming to herself as she organized what she needed before swinging back around with alarming enthusiasm.

"I know I'm crazy." She started, her hair even more of a mess than it was before. Rio couldn't help but laugh but remained silent and let the other witch talk. "Rio..." She paused and glanced down at the papers again, eyes so determined that Rio couldn't help but find it a bit sexy.

"I want to have a baby with you," She said finally, in one breath. The words fell out of her mouth and jumbled into the air between them, waiting for a response. Rio's eyes shot wide open, eyebrows almost lost behind her hair. Before she could respond, Agatha continued, voice low and fast as if scared she was going to be cut off.

"I know it's crazy ok! But I've been thinking about it for a while now and I can't stop thinking about it. I want a baby, and more than that, I want one with you. I love you, Rio, I don't care what you are or who I am ok? I just need-" Perhaps she would have kept going if Rio hadn't chosen that exact moment to lean forward and stop her with an urgent kiss which shocked them both.

Rio pulled back with a grin, gently prying the papers from Agatha's hands and scanning them. Pages and pages of incantations, recipes for potions, guides for ceremonies, safety runes and protection spells all of which worked towards one goal: A child. Death felt a swell of love for the witch before her who, despite her questionable hobbies, had dedicated such passion and time into the creation of their child. She felt her eyes prickle with soft tears. God did she love this woman.

"It is crazy" Rio admitted slowly, cheeks aching from her smile, "but... We've definitely done worse" She shrugged, placing the papers back on the desk with one hand, cupping agathas cheek with the other. Agatha sighed, relieved, allowing her eyes to fall shut as she leaned against Rio's warm palm.

"Is that a-"

"Yes. Let's have a baby, Amor"

Agatha grinned, Opening her eyes once more. "I was hoping you'd say that"

"You'll be an amazing mother" Rio whispered, gently stroking the lines of Agatha's face which had formed over the years they had known each other.

"So will you."

She said it so surely, without question or hesitation, that Rio forgot for a moment who she was. In that moment, she was not Lady Death, nor was she The Green Witch. She was simply Rio. A wife. A soon-to-be mother. A woman in love.

They weren't quite sure who leaned in for the kiss first, but they seemed to meet all at once. Both soft and firm, entangled in each other in the silent library. They made quite the team, A serial Killer and Lady Death. They made a team as partners, they made a team as villains, and now, soon, they would make a perfect team as parents.

"Have you thought of a name?" Rio mumbled against Agatha's lips after a moment. She hummed in response, moving her hands into Rio's hair again, toying softly at the roots.

"I was thinking... Nicholas."

[little-mouse-gardens]

Random idea that came my mind awhile back, rambled about this on discord but-*plops this here* I am rattling this around in my brain

Tw : mentions of violence, yandere behaviors, blood

I was Thinking about elderitch forest god Donnie basically making this cottagecore dreamscape for researcher reader so he can keep them by his side.

For reader, a researcher and selected member of a team that would be sent to go out and find some ancient ruins and study the wildlife in an unexplored forest, It was just supposed to be a simple trip to study the wildlife and old ruins in an unexplored part of the forest. Nothing more.

However, readers team didn’t seem to read the signs near the entrance……nor did they feel the same set of eyes burning into their backs like reader began to feel the second they stepped foot over the old stone gates that led into the forest.

The silence in the forest is almost deafening…everything in the forest-hell the forest itself seems to have all eyes on them. Watching their every move or trying to train themselves on every word they whispered to eachother.

Reader even seems to pick up how, for lack of a better term, kind the forest is towards them compared to their friends.

A lot more rare wildlife seems to suddenly approach them out of nowhere. They stand in one spot for a few minutes and when they start to walk they notice how a trail of flowers seems to follow right behind them with every step. Their favorite flowers too.

Maybe, every so often, they may catch a glimpse of Donnie’s smiling face every so often. His smile is seemingly so soft for that brief moment. So soft. Warm. Welcoming, and almost loving if reader manages to get a better look before they blink and He’s gone again.

He’s been lonely for a long time, and the moment he set eyes on reader while they were carefully saving some wild ducklings stuck in the middle of a river or scolding their team for breaking some rare plants, he’s head over heels in love.

Their smile…their laugh, the way they care about his forest and the creatures within it. How respectful they are to his old monuments and they ignored their teams complaints about stopping so they could fix one of his statues they’d bumped into.

In his mind he finally found the one. He wouldn’t be lonely anymore. He’d have someone to share all the love he could give with. He would give reader so much love and attention, he’d do everything he could to make them happy.

…which reminded him that he needed to take care of their little…friends first after he spotted them walking off to find some place to camp.

When nightfall comes…..everything goes down hill so fast. A storm hits. During the panic of being chased by wild animals and avoiding falling trees, reader whips their head around to look for their missing friend and ends up getting knocked out by a tree branch.

Everything is a blur from there. Screams, roaring and snarling of animals, soft whispers against their temple as their ears rang. The feeling of being scooped and cradled to someone’s chest. The scent of blood in the air.

By the time readers up they are in a completely different space. The sound of soft music is playing when their eyes flutter open and the feeling of warm fluffy blankets surround them.

They don’t even remember exactly what happened-all reader knows is that when they woke up they found themselves bundled up in the comfiest cottage they’ve ever seen and to the soft sound of his voice. They turn and spot a particularly peculiar sight. A mutant softs-hell turtle wearing nicely embroidered sweater, shorts and an apron that read ‘genius chef’ on the front on lavender stitching.

Before they can even say a word he’s already glancing over his shoulder at them with a warm smile and nice tray of their favorite comfort foods in hand. This loving look on his face as she sets the tray down on their lap and helps reader sit up, “well, good morning start light. I was worried you’d got caught up in the rain again” he says, nothing but warmth and tenderness in his tone as he fluffs their pillows and lifts the lid off of the delicious smelling soup, “here, my darling, I made you some nice warm vegetable soup to help chase that nasty cold away”

readers mind is so fuzzy…that they don’t even register him calling them darling until they’re halfway through eating the meal he made or the ring that’s been slipped onto their finger.

However everything about him feels so…familiar. Very brief memory’s of them and Donnie going out on picnic dates and working on the garden out in the backyard.

This wave of familiarity seems to wash over them as they relax into the pillows and they give him a shy, “oh….sorry about that, you know how I get when I get focused with gardening”

Donnie just chuckles and sits himself on the edge of the bed next to reader to make sure they like the food he made them. His heart practically jumping for joy as he looks at that sweet smile on their face.

Sure he may have….replaced a few memories of theirs with a few that would keep them with him

But hey….in his mind, what they don’t know won’t hurt them right?

After all, their friends can’t wander his forest forever in search of place they will never be able find.

[stardustand-pearls]

Stay?

Peter Pevensie x reader

Masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I sat in the garden, picking at my nails, a habit my mother despised. I had just found out that I was betrothed to High King Peter, something that I had suspected for a while now. My siblings had all wed, leaving me as the only unmarried member of my family. The kingdom, once under my father's domain, now thrived under my eldest brother's rule, granted to him upon his marriage with Lady Eleanor of Galma.

I was brought back to reality by my mother's voice. "Y/N!" My mother called out. Startled, I quickly rose and gathered my skirts, going to meet my mother. "What is it, Mother?" I ask, slightly breathless. "Are you prepared?" She asks me, standing with her hands firmly planted on her hips. I meet her eyes, my brows furrowed. "Prepared for what?" I questioned, fidgeting with my dress. With a scoff, my mother acted as though the answer was obvious. "For our trip to Narnia, of course. What else?"

I sat in my carriage, once again picking at my nails whilst idly looking out the window. I passed beautiful scenery, something I couldn't fully appreciate at the moment. "Stop that!" My mother scolded, a deep frown etching her face. "Stop what?" I responded, my face mirroring her expression. "Stop picking at your nails! I lothe that filthy habit. A proper bride would not do such a thing." She sneered.

I firmly place my hands in my lap, biting my lip as an attempt to settle my nerves. The rising anxiety was undeniable. What if King Peter did not care for me? What if he takes one look at me and decided to call off the wedding? With a sigh, I push all those feelings away for now, deciding that dwelling will only make things worse.

After many hours, we finally arrive at Cair Paravel. Peering out the window, my eyes widen in surprise. While I'd heard of this castles breathtaking reputation, I didn't expect this. It wasn't overly decorated with gold, and huge monuments, it was beautiful in it's simplicity.

I open the carriage door, gathering my skirts and jump out. I grab my bags, whilst my mother chooses a different approach, allowing the servants to manage her belongings. While I could have done the same, it wouldn't have felt right, not when I can carry them myself.

When I've placed my bags in my chambers, I look around. It was quite different from my chambers at home, but not necessarily in a bad way. A little while later, I decided that some fresh air would do me good. I look around for my mother, but she is nowhere to be found. Slowly, I make my way to the garden, looking at all the different flowers.

At the sound of a twig snap, I quickly spun around. I saw a tall man, with messy hair that fell into his blue eyes, he wore simple clothing. I recognised him from somewhere, but I couldn't put my finger on where I'd seen him before. "I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, milady." He said, bowing slightly. I offered a slight curtesy back, not knowing whether he was royal or just a stable boy. "Oh, it's alright, I am just exploring the garden. If you don't mind me asking, what is your name?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. A hint of mischief flashes in his eyes. "I'm no one whose name concerns you, miss." I give him a slight smile, but my mind couldn't help but wonder, who is this mysterious man? He grins at me before offering me a goodbye. He took my hand in his and pressed his lips against it. "Untill we see again, milady." I have no time to respond, for he is gone within seconds.

When I get back to my chambers, I decide on taking a bath. I let Clara, my maid, know. I sit down on my bed, I slowly unravel my braid, thoughts of the man in the gardens lingering. But, alas, there is no rime to dwell. Clara enters the room with some hot water, and fills up my bath. I smile and give a silent thanks before climbing into the water. Clara leaves the room, and I'm left alone with my thoughts until the water turns cold, prompting me to get up and wrap myself in a towel.

As I'm drying off, Clara re-enters the room. "Which dress today, miss?" Clara asks, opening my chest. "The blue one, please. And Clara, I've told you countless of times, call me Y/N." I say, feeling a smile tug at my mouth. "And I've told you countless of times: no." Clara responds, holding up my blue dress, smiling at me. I laugh slightly and nod in acknowledgement. I put on my chemise and Clara assits me with my corset. I must have put a corset on hundreds of times, but I'd never get used to it. Suddenly, my mother enters. "Ah, there you are, my dear. You're scheduled to meet High King Peter in... oh, just fifteen minutes," she informs me, a gleeful smile on her face. "Clara, please tighten her corset." I shoot a disapproving look at my mother, but before I can protest, Clara tightens my corset, apologizing, "Sorry, miss," with a sympathetic smile. I pull my blue dress over my head and leave with my mother.

As we make our way to King Peters study, I wipe my hands om my dress. The nerves that I had repressed sudden made themselves known. My mother and I make our way to his study before Peter, and we wait. "Stand straight, dear." My mother comments, frowning slightly. I sigh but comply. Just as I turn, a familiar face catches my eye—the man from the garden! My initial smile fades into confusion as I notice his regal attire. I blush, realizing my embarrassing mistake in addressing High King Peter as a commoner before. As he approaches, I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the encounter.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

A/N:

Thank you for reading! English is not my first language, so I hope that this is alright! This is the first part of a series I plan on doing. If you liked it, please leave a like. :))

[suddencosmology]

A lorepost constructed while fighting Shadow of the Erdtree's Final Boss

I have thoughts. This started when I was born, but these particular thoughts began during my first playthrough of Elden Ring as a set of notes to keep track of events. With Shadow of the Erdtree (and me smashing my head against a brick wall), this section on the Shattering War expanded.

Repeatedly dying to the wrath of heaven gives you time to think, and now that I own the gate of calcified bodies, I must share them.

Fact

Quote

Conjecture

(Sword Monument, Altus)

The First Defense of Leyndell

A sovereign alliance rots from within

Traces yet remain of bloody conspiracy

(Direct translation) The battle of the First Defense of Leyndell

A sovereign alliance, from within collapses,

becoming a defeated army

A blood plot, these are the traces

Sword Monument refers to both Blood and Rot, suggesting involvement of Malenia and Mogh.  Who is in the alliance?  Translation suggests the attackers.

There's nothing I've found to shed more light on this idea, and so I have no extrapolation.

(Sword Monument, Altus)

The Second Defense of Leyndell

The Fell Omen stacks high the corpses of heroes

Yet the Erdtree remains unshaken

(Direct translation) The battle of Leyndell's Second Defense

The shunned ogre,

piles the champions' corpses 

The Golden Tree is unshaken

Margit the Fell appears on the battlefield.

Omen can be found in open Altus.  Given the location of the Shunning Grounds, they most likely originated there.  But did they escape, or did they follow Margit?  One group is found at a campsite not far from the Leyndell war camp.  More, alongside Misbegotten, are found at the Minor Erdtree within the outer wall, engaged in prayer.  A third group wanders the hill of abandoned treasure carriages, but near that is the Perfumer's Ruins, where lives an Omenkiller.  One must be present due to the other, but who?

Promotional art shows Radahn attacked by the Fell Omen.  Opening cutscene shows army w/ Trolls attacking Leyndell.  Beyond pulling carts,Trolls are found primarily in Limgrave, but one guards the gate of Redmane Castle, and another overlooks Sellia's gate, both in Caelid.  

Unlikely to be Carian: Carian Trolls wear helmets and tabards.

Alliance between Godrick and Radahn?

(Sword Monument, Liurnia)

This marks Malenia's southward march

The Blade of Miquella and her Cleanrot Knights

Grant her wings never to be clipped

(Direct Translation) Malenia's southward march monument

Miquella's Blade, the Noble Rot knights

The wings that are never hindered

Why did the march start here?  Leyndell and the Haligtree are both north.  Or does it mean that here her march turned south?  Were she chasing Radahn out of Altus, her first stop would've been the land of his birth.  Once certain he had not retreated there and/or recieved no aid, her path would have gone South.

(Sword Monument, Limgrave)

Godrick the Golden, humiliated

Having tasted defeat by the Blade of Miquella

Now on his knees, begging for mercy

(Direct Translation) Golden Godrick, a humiliating battle

To Miquella's Blade, a total defeat

Grovelling, begging for forgiveness

Either Malenia defeated Godrick here, or if he and Radahn sieged Leyndell, then perhaps he groveled rather than face Malenia again.

(Sword Monument, Caelid)

The Battle of Aeonia

Radahn and Malenia locked in stalemate

Then, the scarlet rot blooms

(Direct translation) Aeonia Battle

Radahn, Malenia come to a draw

The Scarlet Rot flower blooms to full glory

Here occurs the fated battle that ended the Shattering.  Malenia blooms in a bid to destroy Radahn, and whispers in his ear the following:

(Young Lion's Helm)

"Miquella awaits thee, O promised consort."

In the aftermath, Miquella heals Redmane Freya of the Scarlet Rot.

(Cleanrot Knight Finlay Spirit Ashes)

Finlay was one of the few survivors of the Battle of Aeonia, who in an unimaginable act of heroism carried the slumbering demigod Malenia all the way back to the Haligtree. She managed the feat alone, fending off all manner of foes along the way.

Malenia is "slumbering" after Aeonia.  With the presence of Miquella in Caelid, it suggests Miquella was responsible for halting the bloom of the Rot Goddess, Saint Trina sending Malenia into a deep, long slumber.  Perhaps an eternal one, until Millicent and her sisters arrive, each carrying a part of Malenia cast aside in Aeonia.  

And as each of them blooms, the Goddess begins to stir, and the Tarnished is but the unlucky fool forced to slay her.

Above is but connecting dots, but there are still questions unanswered.

Morgott calls all the demigods traitors.  Did he know of Ranni's part in the Night of Black Knives?  Or was her and Caria's inaction during the Shattering treachery enough?

If we follow the Radahn-Godrick alliance, those two are on the list for certain.

Rykard's rebellion was open and clear-cut.

Why the twins, though?  Betrayal, or like Ranni, was their disappearance/retreat to the Haligtree after Aeonia the cause?

For Radahn, why did he and Malenia clash? 

His lore paints him as glory-hunter, raised on tales of his father and Lord Godfrey proving their might in the field of battle.  A naive prince born in an era of peace, hungering for a war to prove his mettle.

He clearly sought to be Elden Lord, but perhaps not with Miquella as his God.  Or perhaps the war was a sort of elaborate courting ritual, demanding he face the full strength of Miquella's ideals and followers.  Or crueler, the promise was meant to be an impossible request, one to goad Malenia into combat and prove to all the Red Lion deserved the title of Strongest.

Whatever the case, it seems Malenia warred as a way to force him into compliance, and when he would not yield, she Bloomed.  

This either suggests she knew of the Secret Rite scroll we find in the DLC, and that perhaps the entire war was an extension of Miquella's plan, or perhaps just a final barb, given to a man worthy of no honor or glory.

The Unalloyed's presence in Caelid would be his compassion, or his moral calculus (such that could convince him puppeting both Radahn and Mogh would be for the Greater Good), could not allow the Scarlet Rot to spread.

The other option is that, again, Radahn broke his promise to Miquella, Malenia's march was in pursuit of vengeance, Miquella arrived too late to stop them from destroying each other, and his ascension was in turn a reaction to losing his promised consort and his sister.  In this charitable perspective, his original plan was the Haligtree, watered with his blood and fully absent of gods, shelter to all.  A throne of unalloyed gold, sadly abandoned when his hopefuly ideals clashed with cold reality.

Either way, we come to Mohg.  Why Mogh?  Again we turn to the moral calculus.  Miquella needed a guardian while he slept, and without his loyal Blade, turned to the next most dangerous demigod.  And also, the more expendable.

Of the others: 

Messmer was already in the Land of Shadow.

Rykard was a heretic and possibly a snake-god at the time.

Morgott had assumed regency of Leyndell.

Ranni was either dead, missing, running Caria, and/or definitely couldn't be trusted with the plan.

Godwyn was a cancerous corpse fused to the Erdtree.

Miquella needed a body for his Lord.  The closer in relation, the better.  And it needed to be someone who wouldn't be missed.

Mohg's Dynasty was small, heretical, slightly obsessed with blood, deeply tied to an Outer God, and possibly already involved in the whole murder and kidnapping thing.

An easy choice.

Either way, little suggests Mohg somehow knew a way to reach the Land of Shadow.  The closest connection is the Formless Mother's foothold with the Bloodfiends.

More likely, Miquella had the power and knowledge to reach it himself, and his ascension was delayed until both Mohg and Radahn were properly dead.

A lord's soul delivered, and a body to host it.

And so the enchanted followers and a lone Tarnished followed him into that hidden realm.

Of the two interpretations, I ask both myself and the reader, this: which is the more tragic?

That the good-natured promises of salvation are built on lies, deceit, and manipulation.

Or that the dreams of someone good and kind and loving have corroded into cruelty.

[breezybangtanbebe]

3D: JJK💋 Part One

A/N: Jungkook is in a closed triad with Janelle, the bubbly brown skinned bookworm with alluring eyes and luscious hips, and Katya , the semi alt bartending vixen with copper toned curls and a silver tongue.

Tags: jungkookxOC’s in closed traid/polyamorous relationship. Sex (raw and protected), oral (female and male recieving), threesome. Some fluff and mild plot because theyre loveds afater all 😌✨

4k words

The smell of cherry bomb body oil, weed and sex coated the air. Notably Jungkook's favorite combo, and he was a coni'sour of scents.

Incense.

OG Kush.

Shea Butter.

Pussy.

ESPECIALLY, Pussy.

Every woman was different based on various factors of diet and hygiene of course but there was a distinct musk that Jungkook found intoxicating. So much so, that his tongue licked at the air before curling over his top lip, his eyes rolling back as he savored everything.

Katya's pussy bloomed like the flower it smelled like, sucking his length in loudly as he drove himself deeper.

"Ah..ah..ah..shit..." she huffed against the bed, her gold ringed fingers fisting the crumpled sheets. From behind her, a tatted hand comes over her tawny waistline to squeeze her flesh, pulling her back to bounce against his dick.

"Oh fuck —- like that. Just like that.." she cried, Jungkook chuckling sharply through his nose.

"Hmm? like this Kitty?" He rasps, his eyes dropping to the silver piercings denting her dimples of Venus. He snaps his hips a bit harder, forcing gusts of air to jut from Kat's lungs.

"Look at you gripping my dick like you love it..My pussy? hmm? This is mine?" He taunts her with a heckling grin in his voice.

Normally, Katya would resist his need to dominate and make him really work for it. She'd deny his claims and make him prove it, ultimately ending in a mess of both of them. But today she didnt have the fight in her. She just wanted to cum again and again so she'd have an excuse to binge eat whatever was in the snack cabinet.

Sex burns hella calories after all.

"Shut up and just fuck me.." she muttered into the sheets. Jungkook grunts at her brash response, only happy to oblige as he lifted one leg up and planted his foot for balance, commencing to plow into her even harder and faster.

"Yes..yes...yesss.." she mewls, tearful eyes rolling back. Jungkook grunts as he kicked up his rhythm , his jaw slack and his brow crinkled as Katya tried to lift her head from the bed.

"Oh fuck yes..dont stop!"

"Uh uhn..down.." Jungkook shakes his head and he further enforces the demand by getting hold of her by her hair, a wavy knot of copper tangled in his fingers, pinning her head down to the mattress.

The pounding continues for another minute straight, Kat's inevitable undoing on loud and messy loop as Jungkook sought out to prove his point repeatedly.

The loud and messy sex is muffled effectively behind the door, far off at the end of the hall on the east side of the apartment.

Janelle is blissfully unaware as her key turns the front door's lock and she enters on tired feet, grimacing as she crossed the threshold.

Today was shit.

Everyone was rude.

Minor inconveniences felt monumental.

And her uterus felt like it had been doused in gasoline and tossed in a dumpster fire.

And her air pods just fucking died on her!

The telltale downward beeps further dampening her mood and muting the lofi she'd been on the whole walk home.

Today was shit, as previously stated, and it seemed to only get shittier.

"Fuck!"

Jungkook's voice is heard from the end of the hallway and based on his tone, Janelle assumed he was gaming or something. Her tummu fluttered at the sound since it confirmed he was home.

She just wanted to curl up under her man, sniff his neck while he rolled her a blunt and forget about the day she'd endured.

That was exactly what she needed.

Setting her keys and bag on the kitchen counter, Janelle shook her week old silk press out from its messy bun on her way towards the growing sound of her partner's voice ready to dump her troubles on him.

When she opened the door however, she's pinned by two sets of wide and surprised eyes at her sudden appearance in the doorway..

Her boyfriend of a few years, Jungkook. The tall and pretty idiot with dream boat hair, fuck boy tatts, abs for days and a toothy smile.

Although he wasn't smiling now..

"Nell.." he stammers, frozen where he was looming over the freckle faced ginger whose head was hanging off the side of his bed.

"Youre home early." He states the obvious , furrowing his brow as he's still nestled deep inside of Kat, both of them regarding Janelle with equal concern while not separating.

"Hey Jelly Belly.." Kat , her girlfriend of less than a year , greets her with a smile as sweet at the nickname spoken and Janelle mustered a weak smile in return.

"Hey Kat. Hey babe...I didnt mean to interrupt.." she begins, already about to close the door and leave them to it.

"Its fine/You didnt.." both canoodlers chime in tandem, shooting eachother a scorned look before putting the spotlight on the woman simpering in the doorway.

"Did you have good day at least? You look sad.." Jungkook goes on to ask and from the way Janelle's bottom lip trembles and her hesitance to answer, it was clear.

"Aww Belly.." Kat sits up on her elbows, pushing Jungkook back so that he has no choice but to pull out. His dick sheathed in cream-covered latex drooped under its weight, and he immediately begins pulling the condom off.

"Did you wanna talk about it?" he lifts his brows earnestly.

Watching the two of them scrambling to get away from eachother as if they weren't just engaged in what she knew was very intense sex, Janelle's blank expression gave little away as she shook her head.

"Naw. Im just gonna go lay down. Yall carry on..." she says.

There wasn't any room for a response since she hurried from the room, closing the door behind her to leave a half dressed Jungkook with a semi poking at his boxers and a topless and messy-headed Kat exchanging dubious and guilty looks.

Nearly a year ago...

"So who's in charge here? You or her.." Katya pointed her half eaten french fry between the couple sitting across from her in the booth.

The post rush buzz in the old-school-themed burger joint was supposed gave the three of them the space and comfort to have conversations such as this. Katya was fresh off from work with aching ankles from bartending all night. A gig she found to be her niche after her meager attempts at typical 9 to 5's flopping. It wasnt odd for her to get offers out for a late dinner and night cap post shift, with these two specifically, but tonight's meeting was different than the others for many reasons.

Janelle takes a sip from her soda through a straw, her pretty eyes lifting through her ebony bangs at the copper-headed redbone across from her. Beside her, Jungkook chewed lazily with his arm stretched over the back of the red tufted booth behind his girl's head. He glances at Janelle expectedly as he rached for one of her fries, the two of them smirking knowingly. She gives him a little nod and he returns it before speaking.

"No one's in charge of anyone." Jungkook muffles over his food, adding the stolen fry to the pile in his mouth. Janelle nods in agreement, swallowing her sip of soda and pushing her cup aside.

"Yeah, come on Kat. You know us. Theres no heirarchy here. He's with me and Im with him." she insists. Katya narrows here eyes at them both, still using her fry as a stylus drawing an accusatory figure eight between the two of them.

And she did know them. Mostly in passing at first. Jungkook frequented the outside of her bar with his gorgeously loud group of friends on their bikes with their tattoos and growling engines like mating calls on a Saturday night. She rarely paid them much mind.

At least until he brought those tattoos inside, flashing her with that stupid pierced smile before asking for a drink. Through small talk they became mildly aquainted, nothing unusal or overly flirtatious. Something Katya found intriguing until it became clear to her that Jungkook was taken.

Janelle was nothing like who Katya imagined Jungkook would date. With the sweet and innocent face of a baby doll but the body that most women show to the doctor as an example of what they want, Jungkook's girlfriend was opposite of him in almost every way. Flawless brown skin and shoulder length yaki textured tresses that swayed as she moved. Minimal make up apart from her NYX lip liner and Fenty Gloss Bomb'd lips that caught Kat's eye immediately.

No tatts. No piercings other than in her ears. Dressing in shades Kat never observed her man donning. Bright and bubbly and way out of his league if you asked her.

She stuck out among the grunge when she entered the bar behind Jungkook the first night she saw her, intriguing her even more...

"Mmhmm...So now yall want to add me to the mix, right? Not just on some 'one night' basis.." Kat finishes what she assumed Janelle was going to say, popping the pointer fry in her mouth.

Kat normally wasnt this straightforward on her dates, despite being a naturally shrewd individual, but this date felt like more like an interview from the way Jungkook and Janelle sat across from her with open eyes and ears for any questions she may have.

Proposing for someone to be a part of a nontraditional polyamorous relationship wasnt as uncommon as people liked to think. And it surely wasn't Kat's first offer.

She just didnt expect it from them.

"This was your idea wasnt it?" Kat adverts her glare to Jungkook now, making him choke on his drink mid sip.

"What? Why would you assume that?" he coughs humorously and Kat shrugs with ber elbow on the table.

"Iont know. Because its always the mans idea. You know how many bitches fake being gay just to appease their dude or keep them from cheating? How should I know this isnt that?"

"Because it isn't." Jungkook grunts, not showing anything other than amusement at Kat's demeanor. Janelle seems taken aback by the the statement however, her soft eyes widening.

"No one is faking anything, first of all.." she shakes her head, her pout pulling Kat's attention back to her. She lifts her brows at the implication, looking Janelle up and down with even more interest and a smirk.

"Oh?" she mirths.

"And I'd never cheat on Nell. This is something she suggested..." Jungkook cuts in, Kat's eyes jumping back to him.

"Hmmph..I have a hard time believing that but ok.." the ginger shrugs, leaning back on her side of the booth. Finding the skepticism a little vexing, Janelle scoots closer to the table to assume the position Kat had just been in with her elbows and forearms resting on the table.

"Its true. And the part about it being my idea is too. Look, Jungkook and I have been together a while. We get eachother. Likes and dislikes. Bad habits and pet peeves. Fantasies and ambitions. He's legit my best friend."

Janelle pauses to look over at her boyfriend, who just gives her a smile that told Kat the feeling was mutual.

"I know it's probably hard to explain but...I brought up the idea of opening our relationship up a little and Jungkook was hesitant because he never considered being with anyone else. And neither did I but, I dont want one of our needs for something different to seperate us when we could experience it together. Or at least with some level of understanding between eachother."

"So is this about sex or..." Kat cuts in, still wanting to get to the root of the situation. Janelle grimaces lightly in thought, her eyes lifting towards the ceiling breifly.

"Eh..yes and no. The companionship aspect is relevent here too. We're not just looking for someone else to have sex with. Sexually, we have zero complaints when it comes to eachother, but that's not to say theres things we're not open to try..."

Kat sits with both of her arms resting on the back of the booth, her short legs tucked underneath her comfortably. Her hard expression softens the longer she listened to Janelle.

She had a nice voice. Soft and slightly raspy. Easily the most placating tone Kat had ever heard. She'd listen to her read a grocery list and be this invested.

"...Point is..We know you and you know us. We both find you attractive and Im comfortable with coming to you with this. But Kat, if youre not interested, that's fine. And Im sorry if this makes you uncomf..." Janelle pauses when Kat shushes her, one black coffin nail lifted.

"Hush babe. Im interested for sure. In you more than him..." the nail tilts in Jungkook's direction.

And that was saying something because he was most definitely her type. From the charcoal tinted tattoos, broad shoulders and chest, height, and urban style of dress. But something about his girl made her tongue water in ways she didnt want to say out loud just yet.

"Youre cute though , so No offense." she adds.

"None taken." Jungkook smirks and she continues.

"I just wanna make sure this is a legit arrangement where all parties are on board and participating on their own free will. I dont want you feeling weird or imposed upon by my presence. Because Im not sure if you knew but Im alot to handle."

"Im not worried. Are you babe?" Janelle smiles over at her partner with expectant eyes, and its too damn sweet and enthusiastic for the context of their conversation.

Even Jungkook's eyebrows go up in surprise at his girlfriend's bold response.

He picks up his drink again, smirking around his straw as he shakes his head in amazement and disbelief. He takes a quick draining sip that gurgles the ice cubes,setting it back down.

"Yeah..Im not worried at all either, Kitty Kat."

The unsolicited nickname makes Kat's eye twitch, and something else deep between her legs. She hated it and could already see that Jungkook was going to be an issue. Unlike Janelle, who seemed to be the more accommodating of the two despite her calling the shots.

She regards him with a lifted brow and Jungkook mereley smirks back at her with a challenge in his eyes that made her want to come across the table.

Kat mirrors his expression, licking her top teeth sexily before lifting her chin.

"Ok. Im in."

A few knocks at the bathroom door were followed by its creaking hinges and Janelle opens her eyes just as two guility faces peaked through the steam.

Feeling rather sticky from being outside all day, Janelle decided to soak her stress away in a steaming bath of essential oils and relaxing fragrance. Her face had been scrubbed of her make up and outside exposure, her straightened hair pulled up into a knot on top of her head. She knew the sweat from her scalp would have her roots reverting but she didnt care.

The sharp pains in her pelvis had just began to subside,  but she knew this was just the beginning considering her cycles in the past.

She says nothing as her partners approached, her expression tired and stoic as she turned her head to face them.

"You alright?" Jungkook is first to speak, stepping ahead of Kat to sit on the toilet lid. He was fully dressed now, the only evidence of his activies being the way his messy hair.

Kat stands near the sink, leaning her hop against the counter in her crumpled gym shorts and bralette.

The bubbled water ripples gently at Janelle's slow nod, a weak smile gracing nude lips.

"Yeah..just tired. And sore."

"Period?" Kat scrunches her nose in disdain, folding her arms over her chest. Janelle nods again.

"I think so. Im not bleeding but the cramps are just over the top today. I popped two pain pills an hour ago and its barely taking off the edge."

"So thats why you left work early? Damn...Why didn't you call me? I could have came to get you." Jungkook scolds her, knowing the distance bewteen her job and their apartment wasnt small. He was generally the one taking her on the back of his bike when he was available.

Janelle gives him a weak smirk.

"Well I called but..." her eyes go to Kat breifly before continuing.

"I think you were busy." she cringes, sinking lower into the water as realization slaps them both in the face.

Yeah, they were busy.

Busy fucking.

All while their sweet little succulent was in need, calling both of their phones before ultimately deciding to hoof it 5 blocks before her manager changed his mind about letting her leave early.

Jungkook's head dropped, smacking his face into his palm.

"Shit..Im sorry babe...really." he mutters, guilt-eating him from the inside out. Kat steps towards the tub, dropping to her knees to come closer to Janelle's level.

"Yeah sorry Belly. Our phones must have been on vibrate or something.." she pouts guiltily. Jungkook shakes his head in disagreement.

"Even then, we should have been more aware. What if it was an emergency?" he directs his fussing at Kat, who turns to him sharply.

"No shit Sherlock. You were the one who could have been the most aware considering the fact that it's your responsibility to pick her up. So dont blame me.."

"Im not blaming you." Jungkook rolls his eyes.

"Sounds like you are.." Kat seethes and Jungkook is ready to continue arguing when Janelle slaps the water in frustration.

"Stop fighting! Damn..Its fine. Im not dead. It not the first time Ive had to walk somewhere in my life and it wont be the last. Plus it was early...You could have just as well been asleep and missed my calls so..its no big deal. Shut it.."

In the way she always did, Janelle effectively ends the bickering between her overprotective boyfriend and her vigilant girlfriend with the simplest reasoning.

They still glowered at eachother resentfully, as it they werent just doing loud and raunchy sex with eachother 30 minutes ago.

Jungkook sticks his tongue out st Kat childishly before dismissing her presence, returning his full attention to Janelle.

"Ok but Im still sorry. It wont happen again, I promise." he assures her. The stress melts from her face at his unnecessary apology.

"I know babe. It's ok, foreal. Im just glad I'm not at work anymore. Everybody was unusually more rude and aggravating today than normal. I think im just gonna stay in this weekend. I know yall wanted to go out tonight but I dont think im gonna make it. It hurts to walk. Hurts to stand..." she trails off.

Kat reaches over and dips her arm into the water to rub Janelle's thigh in empathetically, resting her chin on the edge of the tub.

"Awww Belly. I hate seeing you like this. Makes me sad.." she pouts.

"Same. Yeah we're definitely not going anywhere tonight. I'll just tell Tae to sell those tickets he copped for us. There was a show I wanted to take yall to but fuck it." he shrugs casually. Kat looks at him over her shoulder, her normal frown nonexistent at the knowledge of his plans.

"You got tickets to see Bad Omen's?" her voice is small, most likely her attempt at not seeming too excited. Knowing her favorite band was in town for one night with no available tickets had her in her feelings all week, and learning that Jungkook got the hook up on tickets anyway made her wish she'd been a little nicer to him.

Just a little.

Janelle looks to Kat's hopefull face and wilts with guilt.

"Awww no. Kat was so sad she couldnt get those tickets. You guys should just go. I'll be ok.." she insists, resting her hand on Kat's under the water. Both Jungkook's and Kat's snap towards Janelle.

"What? No..." Kat begins.

"Yeah, that wouldnt be right. You wanted to see them too." Jungkook adds.

Janelle shrugs her shoulder.

"Only because of you and Kat. I know like..one song. That was yalls thing. I wouldn't be upset if you went." she locks eyes with both of them.

Theres a moment a silence in the bathroom as Kat and Jungkook considered her words, neither of them feeling comfortable with her suggestion to leave her behind.

"Nell.." Jungkook frowns, his eyes forlorn and in avid disagreement. Janelle just shakes her head.

"Just go. Both of you. I'll be fine, I promise. Tell me all about it. Kat, record if they do my song, record some for me?" she squeezes Kat's hand with the gentle ask and Kat's pouted lips twisted in conflict.

"Please?" she lifts her brows, giving the world's most irresistible set of puppy eyes anyone had ever seen.

With s reluctant smile of her own, Kat nods slowly.

"Of course Belly. I'll record the whole thing." she ensures her.

Feeling satisfied with the agreement, Janelle smiles tiredly at Kat before releasing her hand.

"Good. Its settled then. Now if y'all don't mind, talking is starting to make my head hurt and I want to soak a little bit longer.."

"Say less.." Jungkook is first to stand, gesturing for Kat to follow him with a irrefutable look in his eye. For once, Kat doesnt protest and she nods before leaning to kiss Janelle's wet temple.

"Let us know if you need anything, Ok?"

Janelle nods, beaming weakly at Kat's show of affection before speaking.

"I will. Now get out." she smiles and the two do just that, Jungkook following behind Kat. He gives Janelle one last look with fondness as well as melancholy in his gaze before shutting her back in her steamy candle lit oasis.

In the hallway, Kat taps Jungkook on his chest with the back of her hand to get his attention.

"Hey..Are we seriously gonna go to that show and leave her here in pain?" she whispers roughly so Janelle had no chance of hearing them.

Jungkook kisses his teeth, glancing at the door breifly before shaking his head.

"Fuck no...I just wasnt about to argue with her. I might go to the store though. Get her some shit to help her feel better.."

"Ok good because I was gonna say..."

"Hell naw." he chuckles.

Jungkook's about to walk away when Kat stops him again. He lifts his brow curiously at her soft grip on his forearm.

"Why didnt you tell me you got those tickets? You knew I was trying to get them.." Kat says lowly, not quite in a whisper.

Jungkook smirks at the question.

"I know. I was planning to surprise you with em. You know Tae works security at that venue sometimes so he pulled some syrungs for me." he shrugs nonchalantly.

Kat's peircing eyes thaw instantly, the corners of her mouth perking up in a smile.

"You asshole..I could kiss you. I didnt know you liked me that much." she perts her lips, nudging Jungkook's pec with her fist. His nose crinkles with his smile, feeling a tiny bit of satisfaction at effectimg Kat this way. He reaches up to pinch her chin between his thumb and index finger affectionately.

"Aww. Come on now. You know me better than that Kitty Kat.." he teases.

At the sound of the dreaded pet name, Kat's smile vanishes and she snatches her chin from his hold.

"aand you just had to ruin it.." she grimaces but Jungkook merely grins as he leaned in for a chaste kiss, pecking Kat's pout loudly.

"You'll be ok." He slides in cheekily, giving her ass a smack and squeeze before they go their separate ways towards their respective quarters.

[eclipsedrgn]

He loves me

Pair: 2k12 Leonardo x Rise! Reader

Summary: At the final battle against Kraang, you sacrificed your life to save the Turtles only for you to end up with another version of them.

Warning: Angst with happy ending

Part 1

RISE OF THE TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES - P.O.V

The blue bandana turtle gasps awake as another nightmare filled his dreams, it's been happening for quite some time, the same dream. His brothers, father, Amelia and (Y/n) fighting the Kraang then it fades to (Y/n) tearily saying goodbye to them as the portal shuts. Amelia has been there for him every step of the way, but lately she's been having her own problem above ground and couldn't be with him.

Groaning, Leo turns to his side to see the clock, it was only five am, other than Raph who was probably training or Donnie working on an invention no one would be bothering him. But he stood up anyway and walk out of his room, to his surprise, his brothers sat there in the TV room with a gloomy look on their faces.

Ah yes.

It is (Y/n)'s third death anniversary.

Every year the brothers go to the same spot where you were perish, the same time as the battle ended and leave flowers. Since your death Draxum has been searching for a spell to bring you back, perhaps you were still alive on the other side but as time became hours, days, months and eventually three years have passed.

Draxum knew you were gone.

"Hey Leo" Raph greeted, "Ready to go?"

"Is everyone ready?" Leo asks.

Raph nodded, "Dad and the others went ahead, we three waited for you. We know how much this has been hitting you, even though years have gone by"

Leo chuckled darkly, "It should've been me"

"Leo..." Mikey sighs, "I should've been able to open the portal like Casey said future me did. But I didn't. I couldn't"

"We have to accept that (Y/n)'s dead. She couldn't have survive that dimension without any needs" Donnie pointed out.

"Let's just go" Leo groans as they journey their way to your final resting place.

Arriving there, Leo saw the rest of his family as his eyes starts tearing up. A little monument for you and the flowers you favored laid there, light pink candles lit up in your honor as the family said their prayers.

"We defeated the Kraang, three years ago today" Splinter says as everyone looks at him. "But we also lost an alley, our friend, my daughter"

"I still remember the way she looked at me" Amelia says her voice cracks as tears gather in her eyes. "She told me "I love you all" as the portal closes"

"I-I just wished I could've done something-"

"BUT YOU DIDN'T" Leo shouts, done with everything, done with his girlfriend constantly reminding him she could've help. But nothing. "For three years you say that, you stood there and watch her die. And you have the audacity to tell us she loves us as you stood there. J-Just shut up"

"Leonardo" Splinter warns, shocked at his son's temper.

"I barely sleep, I barely eat, every time I close my eyes I see her haunting my dreams!" Leo cries.

"Bro, relax-" Mikey says placing his hands on the blue clad's shoulder. "She wouldn't want this"

"Every year..." Donnie mutters.

This was a first of Leo snapping at Amelia, the passed two years he's screamed his feelings to his brothers but never Amelia, he didn't want to make her feel bad.

But did she really have to repeat those words?

Every fucking year.

"I j-just want to f-forget about her" Leo cries as he collapses into Mikey's shoulder.

Raph sighs looking up to the sky when he sees something weird, "Uh guys? Is the sky suppose to have purple triangles?"

They looked at the red clad weirdly before looking up, seeing the exact things he's described.

A flash of white and their screams was the last thing people heard.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

2k12 TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES - P.O.V

3 long years since the death of Master Splinter, the defeat of the Shredder and the mumified Shredder... for some reason...

The Turtles has completed their mission, the Foot Clan now under Karai is on their side, the Mightly Mutanimals are their partners for missions and the Kraangs officially gone from earth.

They're lives became rather peaceful.

Donatello invented what he calls a T-munization, a watch that helps mutants blend with the human world. The Turtles uses it to go on dates, walk around during the day and even went to school.

Raphael welcomed Mona Lisa to earth a year ago after she decided to move in with him, leaving her life in space behind. Wearing the watch, Mona is a latina woman with beautiful dark brown curly hair and dakrish golden eyes. Currently, she's in university earning her degree in fashion, something she sound fasinating when moving to earth.

Donatello completely moved on from April when he met Hailey, a complete opposite personality from Donnie. Hailey is a half white, half asian girl with blonde hair and pink highlights, her blue eyes slightly brighter than Leo's. She's a fun, active and hyper girl but extremely smart. Currently, she's finishing her double degree in Mathematics and Biology.

Michelangelo was in a relationship with Renet, but the long distance and her constantly not reaching out to him got him sad and thought she wasn't worth the time anymore. The two mutually broke up and now he's dating Katherine or Kat for short, a short white girl with blonde hair and blue eyes with a dazzling personality matching Mikey's. She's an athlete focusing on volleyball.

Lastly, the leader in blue Leonardo. Trying to work things out with Karai didn't work in his favor. It was too weird knowing she was related to Splinter, though even if she didn't care, it was like he was disrespecting his sensei.

Then he met, you.

(Y/n).

The girl who fell from the skies.

Leo saved you as you fell from one of the kraang portals that appeared out of nowhere, you were battered and bruise, Donnie totally thought you were a goner.

Then you took a breath.

They rushed you to the lair to care for you, when you woke up, you were completely unfaze to them. That's when they learn you weren't from their universe but another universe of them. Thanks to Donnie's technology and skills you were able to live in their world like you've been born there and lived there, you were sad knowing Splinter has passed on but happy as you gained a new family.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Today was the third year in this new world, you were walking in the streets on New York holding your nephew's hand as he giggles and squeals every time he steps on the puddle. It was slightly raining out today and you thought you'd give your girl a break from motherhood and decided to take you nephew, Alex for ramen.

You entered through the alleyway and lifted the manhole, carefully carrying your nephew you climbed down. You hummed listening to him babbling as you entered the lair, you called out for Leo as he greeted you with a kiss when another kraang portal opens.

Leo places his arms out to you, covering you in case you were sucked in when a familiar bunch of people landed on the living room groaning in pain. You placed your hand on Leo's arm, the other holding Alex tightly.

"Everyone okay?" Raph shouts rushing out of the kitchen with Mona following.

"We heard a crash- who is that?" Hailey asks following Mona out once she saw a pile of people in the living room.

"GUYS, GUYS THERE'S A KRAANG- Oh nevermind" Donnie paused seeing the pile.

You placed Alex down as you patted Leo's arm in comfort, you appraoched the pile of people and mutants stopping closely by them.

You muttered, "You're here"

[akariarda]

Aging

Due to the resulting problems, Garmado and Wu find themselves in a situation where they compare their aging with the aging of others.

Request from ao3!

"Garmadon!!" Wu yelled panicly as he ran through the halls of the monastery. "Brother.."

"What's wrong, Wu?" Garmadon asked semi-interestedly, continuing to strike his target with his katana.

"We have a problem.." Wu tried to catch his breath.

"Yes?" Garmadon raised an eyebrow, now seeming a bit more interested. Nervously.

"The Serpentine are rising up again and causing chaos in Ninjago City." Garmadon frowned at that.

"But we recently made a deal with their king!"Garmadon angrily said.

~~~~~~~~

"Who are you?" The Serpentine Guard asked Wu and Garmadon.

"We are here to speak with your king," Garmadon replied firmly. "He has broken some of our deals."

"Enter." The guard grumbled and let Wu and Garmadon stand before the Serpentine throne.

"King Mambo VII." Wu solemnly replied.

"You mean Mambo VIII." The young Serpentine turned and looked at them.

"You are not the king!" Garmadon said confusedly as he studied his face.

He resembled him, but not too much.

"Of course I am! And who are you?" The Serpentine king asked.

"I am Wu. This is my brother Garmadon and we are the sons of the First Spinjitzu Master! We come because of a breach of the deal we made with..."

"I don't remember you from our ancient legends." Mambo VII looked confused at Garmadon and Wu.

"My king...." an older Serpentine arrived and whispered something in his ear.

"Oh, of course.. So you are the old story my father tells." Mambo VIII looked at them thoughtfully. "But how do you look so young?"

"What old story?" Wu looked puzzled at Mambo VIII. "That was just... "

"40 years ago!" Garmadon interrupted.

"Just?" Mambo VIII looked angrily at Wu and Garmadon.

"Well, I don't know what kind of creatures you are when 40 years is just... But the deal is no longer valid." Mambo VIII slammed his fist on the throne.

"I demand to see King Mambo VII immediately!" Garmadon said angrily.

"My father is on his deathbed.." Mambo VIII sighed sadly.

"Why?" Wu asked worriedly.

"Because of old age, you fools! And now get out of here before I make you die with him."

~~~~~~

"Maybe we should focus on the Elemental Masters.." Wu sighed as he and Garmadon sat on a bench in the park.

"If they are still capable..." Garmadon sadly lowered his head.

"Why are you like this, Garmadon?" Wu looked at his brother with big eyes. "They are more than capable.."

"Look over there, brother." Garmadon cut Wu off abruptly. "Do you remember forty years ago when we sat on this same bench?"

"Yes."

"Look there, do you see that monument."

"They added something new!" Wu noticed happily.

"Now remember those kids who forced us to play with them.."

"I remember them." Wu smiled. "They were so cute.."

"What do you think they are now?" Garmadon spoke seriously.

"They probably have their own children or are busy with work. Either way, they are fully grown." Wu sighed thoughtfully.

"Now do you see that all those old children are now older than us?" Garmadon looked at Wu.

"But that means we will never be able to bond with anyone.." Tears filled Wu's eyes. "Everyone will leave, and we have to stay and watch them die.."

"I'm sorry, brother." Garmadon said, putting his hand on Wu's shoulder. "Maybe one day, Wu, you and I will find someone worth growing old for.

But until then, we must protect Ninjago, the land of our ancestors. Our land.. They only live here for a short time so they are not able to protect it properly..

~~~~~~

"She was a good friend." Wu sighed and placed a flower on the former majestral leader's grave.

He noticed a couple in their thirties smiling and talking. When he thought that thirty years ago he and Garmadon were the same and likely will be for another thirty years..

And they will age..

"You got lost in thoughts again." Garmadon lightly elbowed Wu.

"I am Maya." Some woman presented themselves to them. "The new master of water. And behind me stood the Elemental masters. You called us."

"Are you all new?" Garmadon asked as he apologized when he saw the look on Maya's face. "I mean, we haven't met yet..."

Garmadon nervously scratched behind his ear.

"I feel like we already know each other!"

"Master of ice!" Wu exclaimed in amazement. "You look... different."

"I've aged a bit." The Master of Ice smiled. "And look at you! Still so young!"

~~~~~~~

"Wu.." Garmadon said as he quietly entered the monastery.

"Yes?" Wu peeked his head out of the training hall.

"Do you remember when we were talking a few months ago about finding someone worth growing old for?"

"Do you have someone in mind?" Wu asked, biting his lip.

He knew who he was talking about. The same woman he thought about every day.. Misako

~~~~~~

"I have to confess something to you." Garmadon sighed.

He and Misako were sitting on a bench in the park. On that bench where he and Wu sat through the years.

"You look like you're about to tell me you robbed a bank." Misako smiled at Garmadon.

"I.."

"Did something happen, Garmadon.." Misako looked at him with concern.

"Can you imagine watching people around you grow old and die while you remain eternally as you are.." Garmadon said in one breath.

"Yes.." Misako said confused and thoughtful.

"Now imagine that your father is the First Spinjitzu Master, a dragon and Oni hybrid, and that you are over thousands of years old.."

"You are over a thousand years old!" Misako shouted, palely looking at Garmadon.

"If you are.." Garmadon swallowed.

"It actually makes sense." Misako said, smiling. "I just can't imagine that in a few decades you and Wu will probably not even remember me.."

"No!" Garmadon quickly said. "For some people, it is worth growing old and dying with them. And I am sure that for the first time ever, I have found such a person."

Saying that, he smiled and took a flower, placing it behind her ear.

"Don't tell me." Misako sweetly smiled.

[nettedtangible]

The first chapter to my new fic Burn It All is now up on Ao3

The fic is Jegulus first war canon divergence

check it out here or read the first chapter below :D

***

The first time they’d tackled boggarts in class, everyone had thought it was a bit of a laugh.

Regulus had been in third year, sat in his Defence Against the Dark Arts class when Professor Kettleburn had come stumping in on his wooden leg, announcing to the rather timid new Defence Professor- a Professor Merry-something- that the groundskeeper- Hagrid- had caught a boggart hiding out in his cauldron. The man had robustly proclaimed that Dumbledore had considered it a good learning opportunity for the Defence students and without further preamble had levitated in a bulky chest, setting it at the head of the class with a loud thump. The students had drawn closer, leaning over their desks to get a better view, drawing in a collective breath of alarm when the thing had shaken and rattled against the flagstones.

“Wands out then,” the Defence Professor had said in an attempt at self-assured command. Regulus had pursed his lips, unimpressed. There had been a monumental scraping and within seconds, the desks and chairs had been carelessly shoved to the side, a sizeable swathe of floor left open in front of the wooden chest.

Kettleburn had given the briefest of descriptions as to what – in fact – a Boggart was, before thumping away with just as much ceremony as his arrival. Professor Merry-weather? Merry-flower?- Regulus couldn’t remember- had then followed up by giving a much longer, and much less comprehensive account of the creatures. She had showed them the spell and given them their instructions and waved her wand at the lock all before the students had much of a chance to comport themselves at all.

Chaos had reigned. Regulus leaned against the back wall, twirling his wand idly in his hand, watching his classmates run around like headless horsemen for the better part of the period. The Boggart had begun to target students, assuming the form of a vampire, a snarling wolf-like beast, and a truly horrific pantomime figure that one of the half-blood Ravenclaws informed him was a muggle ‘party clown.’ Some students ran up valiantly, brandishing their wands with laughter bubbling in their throats, ready to take on whatever fear may be thrown at them. Regulus shook his head in disgust, Gryffindors.

Eventually the pandemonium had reached a fever pitch, sending the majority of the present students into fits of nervous laughter, which was particularly exacerbated when one Gryffindor boy forwent his wand altogether and took a mighty swing, punching the Boggart- now something called a ‘zombie’- right across the face. Two of his friends jumped into action beside him and all three attempted to tackle the Boggart, landing on a heap amongst themselves as the creature transformed.

“Now really-” Professor Defence shouted, brandishing her wand uselessly. “Single file. Single file. How many times do I have to say it.”

“How about once more,” Regulus muttered, causing Barty next to him to snort with laughter, always delighted whenever Regulus deigned to engage in something as undignified as sarcasm. 

All the laughter in the room seemed to have confused the thing, subdued it somewhat. Ironically, the opposite effect was seeping through the students, the infectious excitement and adrenaline-fuelled mania only redoubling in intensity. Barty was in his element, dancing through the throng and stirring the pot any which way he could. Regulus thought he even saw the boy taking bets on people’s fears. He shook his head with a slight nose exhale. The Regulus equivalent of a laugh.

“Alright, alright, alright!” the Professor yelled above the clamour. “Single file, while it’s confused.”

The class haphazardly obliged, clumping together in the middle of the room as the Professor ushered them forward in turn. Most students had no issues with the creature, despite the utter lack of instruction or any proper teaching really, the charm was simple enough and the energy in the classroom was doing the bulk of the legwork.

“Stebbins, really!” the Professor cried, affronted as one of the Hufflepuff boys had turned the Boggart from some terrifying form of Medusa to another, rather less clothed and more voluptuous version of Medusa.

“I’m facing my fears Professor,” the boy implored, smirking as he received down-low high fives behind his back from several of his peers.

“Everyone needs to have a turn, keep the line coming. You three at the back, participation please.” Regulus sighed, looking between Evan and Pandora. Barty was somewhere in the thick of the line, dolling out sickles.

“What’ll yours be then?” Evan asked him as the three had pushed off from the wall, joining the back of the line reluctantly. Regulus had shrugged, trying his hardest to keep well stored images from bursting forth in his mind. His mother with a raised wand. His father with a raised wand. Sirius, bloody and cowering. He cleared his throat.

“I know what yours’ll be,” Pandora taunted, giving her brother a shove, causing the boy’s face to fall and pale as he shot her a minute head shake. She laughed viciously at his panic.

"Gentlemen,” Barty had emerged from the crown, purse full. “Merlin, everyone is so predictable, I won at least six bets.”

“How nice,” Regulus drawled, his calm demeanour more fastly held on than ever, as if some internal version of himself had run around in a panic, stapling the inside of his face to his skull.

“Merlin the Gryffindors are thick,” Evan smirked, hand over his forehead as the Boggart took on three of their red-clad peers at once, wands, yet again, seemingly forgotten. Pandora laughed musically, her tinkling voice at odds with the underbelly of ruthless cruelty Regulus knew the girl to possess. Really she ought to be in Slytherin, he thought. Though she did look beautiful in blue.

“This is perhaps the most useless class we’ve ever had,” Regulus sighed, resuming his wand twirling, “at least Binns says something mildly interesting every few hours.” Barty snorted next to him.

“You’re the only one that’d know.” Regulus thinned his lips, almost a smile.

“HA!” cried a girl at the front of the room, a burst of gold light exploding out of her wand and blasting the Boggart to smithereens.

“Well,” Professor Useless said a few minutes later, dusting off her robes and looking extremely flustered, “now you all know how to tackle a Boggart,”

Regulus sighed, raising his eyes slightly to the ceiling.

“I don’t get it,” one of the Hufflepuff boys- Stebbins- said as they all traipsed out of the classroom, half of them splitting off to Potions and the other half to Charms, “I thought boggarts were supposed to be some sort of big deal. They’re not scary at all.”  

“I thought it was a right laugh,” smirked one of the Gryffindor boys- the one who’d thrown a punch. Several of his cackling friends jumped on his back, extoling his heroics. Regulus took a deep breath and finally tucked his wand away, ignoring his friends as they animatedly discussed the events of the lesson.

***

No one thought they were much of a laugh anymore.

Regulus was in sixth year now, and it had been three years since Hogwarts had played host to a Boggart of any sort. Now, Professor Sinistra had found one lurking in the Astronomy tower and it had been brought into the Defence classroom for practice.

‘Brushing up,’ McGonagall had called it as she announced the joint session. The younger year levels had already had their turns with it- supposedly in a much more orderly fashion than the infamous third years of 1974.

The fifth-year students had had an entire afternoon devoted to it; their new Defence Professor Broadbranch having hinted it would come up in their O.W.L.s. Now the sixth and seventh years were crowded up in the classroom together, McGonagall at the head, ensuring things ran smoothly. Perhaps she remembered which class it had been that caused the notorious Boggart episode in the first place.

“Single file,” she instructed in a clipped tone, meeting no resistance. Broadbranch reminded them all of the charm and the wand movement, instructing them to plan ahead for their humorous transformations. Regulus sighed, leaning against the wall at the very back.

“I don’t know why we’re bothering with this,” came an obnoxious drawl from somewhere to his left, “this is first year stuff.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, always nearer the surface whenever his brother was involved.

“Stop whinging Pads,” came the dry voice of Remus Lupin, towering mildly over his friends as he helped a couple of other students with the wand movement, showing them how to flick their wrists.

“I just think we all have better things to do,” Sirius responded roundly, causing his other two insipid friends, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew to laugh sycophantically. Regulus looked away, irritated.

“Mm, like that prank you were planning to pull in the fourth-floor girls’ lavatories?” Lupin responded blandly. Regulus didn’t have to look to know Sirius was smirking.

“Black you fucking bastard,” one of the muggleborn girls yelled at his brother and Regulus had to keep the ghost of a smile from alighting his face, “you know that’s the only loos with decent mirrors around here.” Sirius laughed gallantly, spinning the girl around in a circle under his arm.

“Don’t worry MacDonald, I wasn’t going to harm the mirrors.”

“Oh really, what were you going to do then knucklehead?”

“He was going to have all the taps spout unstemmable Manegro potion,” Lupin supplied, a twinkle in his eye that Regulus hadn’t noticed before. The red-head- Evans- next to them groaned.

“Fucking Manegro, hair growth potion? You absolute bastard Sirius.” The boy in question threw back his head in a laugh.

“It wears off after a few hours,” he smiled winningly, earning himself several arm slaps from several different girls.

“I- am- not- walking- around- with- hair- sprouting- out- of- my- face.” Evans smacked him with every word. Regulus bit his lip slightly to hide the smile, looking away instantly when he caught eyes with James Potter. Ah fuck. He chanced a glance back, infuriated to see the Potter boy was still looking at him, amusement lurking behind his eyes. Regulus turned roundly away, straightening his posture and tuning out the annoying conversation.

“Everyone’s will definitely have changed,” Pandora was saying to Barty, who was dropping some sickles between his hands. “No one will still be afraid of the same things they were at thirteen.”

“Care to make a wager?” the boy replied, eyebrow raising in challenge. Regulus leaned back against the wall, utterly disinterested.

“Attention,” McGonagall called out over the heads of the students. Many, like Regulus, were bored, or seemed to feel as though they had something better to do. Others, like his insufferable brother, were simply taking the opportunity to mill about with their friends.

“Now, you’re all N.E.W.T. students and you all know what you’re doing so this shouldn’t take long. It’s a quick brush up for each of you. Dumbledore thought it prudent in these… troubled times.” A whisper flew around the room at her words. Ah yes. The war.

It never seemed to be truly out of sight these days, hanging about their existence like a cloak disappearing behind a door. Never really there, never really gone. There had been several attacks in the last few weeks alone. And more to come, as Regulus knew for a fact, though didn’t have anywhere to put that information, merely storing it away in the neat filing cabinet of thoughts he had arranged in his brain.

It had been coming on for a while now, the attacks, the escalations. Regulus could see it in the way his parents’ behaviour changed at home. It wouldn’t be long until he was asked to take the Mark. He could feel it. He was entirely unsure as to what he would say when the time came. His shoulders hunched inward slightly. Knowing better than he did himself his lack of choice in all matters.

“One at a time please. Potter, Evans, as head boy and girl you can start us off and oversee the line.” Professor McGonagall instructed before pointing her wand at the rattling telescope cabinet. Regulus straightened up off the wall, looking over to the front of the room in a slight panic, trying to shake the encroaching thoughts from his mind. What would his Boggart be? he thought, feeling rather frantic in some deep, unaccessed place in his chest. Would it be Sirius under the cruciatus curse? Would it be his mother, his father? Voldemort himself? Regulus had only ever seen the man in person once, at his cousin Bellatrix’s gala in the summer. It had been rather less of a gala and more of war rally, and Regulus had hung back from the throng on that occasion as well, but he’d seen more than enough of Voldemort to send a chill right down his spine to the soles of his feet.

He was snapped from his reverie by a scream. It was Lily Evans, staring at some corpses, Regulus presumed her family members. Potter was taking her into his arms as she sobbed profusely, passing her to two of the Gryffindor girls who had rushed forward to comfort her.

The rest of the lesson proceeded much like this. Each person stepped forward with grim determination set on their faces, or else raised hands of fearful trembling, and each person was greeted with much the same thing. Disfigured family members. Family members being tortured. Inferi. Dementors. Once a little girl, hanging from a noose, swinging as if from a tree. The girl who conjured that Boggart had had to be escorted from the room by Broadbranch. McGonagall stood at the head of the class through it all, mouth a thin line, face set in a stony mask. Potter was taking it upon himself to move the line along, offering each student to face the Boggart a hand on the shoulder or a hug. Regulus once again fought the urge to roll his eyes at the performance of it all.

Nobody thought Boggarts were funny anymore.

When Sirius stepped forward, Regulus actually leaned to the side, angling for a better look in spite of himself. The Boggart transformed and he blinked, looking into his own face, staring blankly back at him. On his arm rested a blood-red Dark Mark.

“Riddikulus,” Sirius said, sounding almost bored, and the Boggart-Regulus turned into child Regulus, half stuck through thin air. Regulus remembered it as the time he’d gotten stuck in one of the magical doorways of the Black manor and Sirius had laughed himself silly before even attempting to help him. They’d found his arm on the fifth floor eventually. Sirius let out the slightest chuckle before moving aside, Potter placing a steading hand on his shoulder that was immediately shrugged off. Sirius looked utterly unconcerned, though Regulus could see clearly his hands were shaking- badly.

A few more students were next. And it was a lot of dead relatives. And tortured loved ones. Remus Lupin saw his three friends dead on the ground. Sirius stared down at his own corpse, wide eyed. Lupin had simply hitched in a breath, casting McGonagall a defeated glance and a shrug before murmuring “Riddikulus,” and causing party hats to appear on each of his dead friends’ heads. At this not Lupin, but Sirius, had barked out a genuine laugh, running to slam a hug into his friend. McGonagall said nothing about the commotion, she was still looking down at the behatted bodies of her three students.

“I think we’d all have a cracking party in the afterlife,” Potter called out heartily, sweeping an arm out to his friends. “Everyone’s invited of course!” A few watery laughs echoed out in response.

“What are you gonna see Reg?” Dora asked him in an undertone as they shuffled forward in line. Regulus shrugged, still staring at his dead brother on the ground, gone in an instant and replaced with somebody else’s dead brother.

“I have no idea,” he murmured truthfully, panic seizing his insides at the words. He didn’t like feeling this out of control. He didn’t like not knowing. It churned around inside him. His Boggart could be anything- and at this point he was half hoping it was Voldemort, that at least wouldn’t be novel, they’d had him a couple times already.

The Slytherins approached last, all congregated together at the back of the line. Regulus barely paid any attention as his peers took their turns, his mind sharply spiralling in abject terror.

Barty was up, playing with the Boggart and the only one who seemed to be having any sort of genuine fun with the exercise. Ironically, the only one who likely had any real chance of defeating the thing as he cackled and forced it to transform again and again. Regulus could do nothing but watch, wide-eyed and frozen in fear. He was next. What was it going to be? Whatever it was, everyone would see. Sirius would see. His breaths began to come shorter, and his heart thudded wildly in his chest. He noticed, vaguely, that Barty was still taunting the thing, the thought registering dimly that perhaps his best friend was attempting to finish it off before it got to be his turn. He didn’t have the ability to feel gratitude against the mounting panic right now. He also noticed, slightly less vaguely and more sharply- adding to the terror- that James Potter was watching him intently from behind his ridiculous glasses. Regulus forced his face into something calmer, colder. He would not betray his fear in front of all these people. In front of Potter. He simply wouldn’t allow it. Despite his façade, however, his insides were clamouring against his rib cage, a mess of organs and guts and muscle and flesh, pounding at bone doors, desperate to get out. He felt like a caged animal, wounded and violent, twisting and turning against frozen metal bars, searching for an escape, even if that meant going through himself.

Barty was excused by McGonagall. His way was open. He stepped forward, breaths shallower than ever. Potter stood to the side, entirely too close. He wanted to scream at him to get away. To give him space. But he certainly wouldn’t be able to open his mouth at the moment even if he tried. He turned to the Boggart, some strange and unholy amalgamation from Barty’s ministrations and saw it begin to spin, churning sickeningly before his eyes. He flinched. He couldn’t help it. He flinched away, eyes screwed shut against the truth. And then, all of a sudden, he was on the ground and the Boggart was shifting between two unrecognisable forms.

“Potter, what the fuck,” he hissed at the boy who had knocked him to the ground. Potter scrambled back, rubbing his neck.

“Ah, shit,” he said, smirking slightly, “sorry Reg.”

Regulus blanched at being called ‘Reg’, by James fucking Potter of all people, and opened his mouth to spit back an insult to find it was filled with hair. Whipping his face around in confusion, Regulus brought his hands up, touching his skin, every inch of which was now covered in rapidly growing black curls.

“I don’t know what happened Professor, I just tripped,” Potter was imploring to an enraged McGonagall, who was reminding him of his place as head-boy and stripping points along with a detention.

“The bottle must’ve broken in my pocket when I fell,” Potter smiled self-effacingly, rubbing his neck. “Self-conscious about my hairline, you know.”

Regulus noticed Sirius staring stonily at the boy, felt confusion bubble up at this unexpected turn of events.

“Crouch, stop whatever you’re undoubtedly doing and take Mr. Black to the hospital wing,” McGonagall instructed sharply, causing Barty to twirl from where he was overseeing the distribution of winnings.

“Certainly Professor,” the boy said smoothly, smile slightly too wolfish to be charming as he hauled Regulus to his feet and got him out the door.

“Potter is such a fucking prat,” Regulus spat as his hands ran through the curls on his face, grown to the length of the hair on his head. Barty laughed next to him.

“Yeah but he got you out of it, didn’t he. Silver linings, right?” Regulus paused for a second. Potter had gotten him out of tackling the Boggart. His mouth thinned slightly. Perhaps it was worth a face full of hair after all.

One thing, however, was for absolute certain. James Potter would have to pay.

[shroomi1e]

❝ bouquet ❞

kazuha + albedo + zhongli + childe + xiao

summary: flowers and their meanings that represent genshin men

cw: fluff + angst throughout (heavier angst on xiao)

what i listened to while writing: bouquet - ichiko aoba

a/n: i honestly had a lot of fun researching floral language and learning different flower meanings. i definitely wanna do this again but i have another idea in mind so it might be a while before a pt. 2 lol. sorry again for the hiatus (as always) but i just wanna thank you guys for supporting the blog despite the lack of content 🩷

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kazuha | narcissus: until i finally see you again

even from afar, you are always at the forefront of kazuha’s mind. he makes careful brushstrokes on a maple leaf, writing in flowers how he misses you so dearly. and when the moon climbs up to the sky, he climbs up to the crow’s nest of the ship, praying to the wind to deliver his message to you. with a final gentle kiss to seal his words, he lets go of the leaf, watching it ride the wind toward you.

and in the days he misses you, the samurai often finds comfort in nature, all the little gifts from the gods reminding him of you. the way the delicate leaves sway in the wind is reminiscent of your soft hair in the wind as you lean over the edge of the ship, the sprouting cherry blossoms of inazuma are just like your rosy cheeks after you’ve read another one of his haikus, the quiet lamp grass flowers shine in the night just as your eyes do, the melody of the birds sounds just like your soft giggles as you lay next to him, and the way kazuha brushes away the dew drops in the early morning reminds him of your fingertips wiping away his silent tears at night when the nightmares are too much to bear.

“the gods must have molded you after this world,” he thinks to himself, “for your beauty rivals that of the flowers, birds, and all that is beautiful.”

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albedo | daisy: you have made me born anew

albedo has always known that he is different from the others. too different, in fact, to fit into society. he has neither mortality nor a human purpose, only a single mission given by his master: to find out the purpose and meaning of life. despite being a pure, pristine being, he can’t help but want to be dyed in your colors. for the first time, the alchemist feels human. the steady thumping of his heart, the warmth crawling up his cheeks, and his fingertips shaking, it’s all so new to him.

albedo finally understands what his master meant. rhinedottir had never wanted albedo to run on commands, but rather pursue something that gave him a purpose, that ‘something’ being you. that’s precisely why she abandoned him with the last mission, the last question. and despite having neither status nor money, what albedo does have is his time. in a world where a century feels like a minute, the world suddenly seems to spin slower as soon as you wrap your arms around him.

when albedo caresses you and takes in your scent and your warmth, he melts into something else. he wishes no longer to be the kreideprinz, but instead the human named albedo, a regular alchemist from mondstadt.

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zhongli | bluebell: my love for you is everlasting

the geo archon’s hand trembles ever so slightly as he slides the ring on your finger. your hands feel unbearably warm against his as you slide off his gloves, revealing his dark brown fingertips with veins of gold. when you push the golden band onto his ring finger, zhongli makes a silent promise to you.

he wants his love to be everlasting, to last longer than the rocky mountains of liyue, longer than the ancient monuments and ruins, and longer than his own soul can last. zhongli knows very well that you won’t be here for long. it’ll all be one ephemeral moment before you turn to dust, but your soul will always lie with him, in his heart. he’ll carve your words into stone, he’ll shape the mountains to your figure, he’ll mold the land of liyue after your beauty, and anything else it takes to immortalize you forever.

and when you finally have to leave him, zhongli sits at the stone table on mount aocang, waiting. every day he sits there, pouring two cups of tea and admiring the scenery of the stone forest ahead of him. he knows it’s rather childish; it’s already clear that you’re not coming back.

but the ever-so-rational zhongli can’t help but imagine. what if one day you trek up the mountain and greet him just as you always did? what if you sit next to him and begin telling him about your day, complaining about that same co-worker as you always did?

it’d be such there wasn’t a cup of tea ready for you if you were to come back…

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childe | cornflower: i crave your gentleness

childe doesn’t fear anything. mighty dragons, corrupted abyssal creatures, not even the higher-ranking harbingers themselves. he is bold as ever, always the first to raise his fists or his weapon, always the first to find himself a challenge. battered bruises and scars are routine to him, and the strength of his enemies excites him.

but why is it that he so easily crumbles beneath your touch?

it’s the way your fingernails barely kiss his eyelashes and graze down to the freckles on his cheeks, counting them one by one as if you were counting the stars in the sky, that makes childe afraid. your touch feels so soft, so gentle that he fears that you might turn to dust, that this might all be an illusion of his dreams.

childe’s arms sit like lead by his side, unable to reciprocate your serene affections. what if his skin doesn’t reach yours, and he instead realizes you are a ghost? what if you shatter like porcelain under his touch? please, please just stay by his side. he doesn’t care if you are real or not, just keep giving him those same gentle touches as you are now. just at least until he falls asleep, where he can meet you in his dreams.

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xiao | sweet briar: i am wounded, and yet you're here

though most people believe the hardest battles are between xiao and the demons, it is between xiao and himself where he most struggles. every day is a tug-of-war between him and his masked self, a battle that determines whether or not he can resist the corruption that has piled up within his soul. and yet he always manages to win by a hair.

but of course, xiao has his weaknesses as well. there will always be days when his nightmares claw at his body and attempt to tear him apart, where the wails and screeches from tormented souls echo in his head. he can feel his mask getting tighter, almost as if it’s suffocating him for his sins. but xiao knows you’ll always be there. he knows you’ll come running towards him, ripping his mask off, which is now stained with tears. he knows you’ll wrap your arms around his body, kissing his forehead while muttering sickly sweet affections.

even on the days when he half expects you to not be there, you always manage to find a way. this is why xiao made his promise to you, to always be at your beck and call, even through worlds and universes. even if he's battered and frayed, he wants to embrace you at your lowest, just as you always do. whether he survives isn’t important, as long as he spends the last moments in your arms.

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a/n: i didn't mean to make zhongli's much longer than everyone else's, it just kinda happened... i wanted to add pictures of the flowers but for some reason tumblr just won't let me :((

[schmergo]

So I know there are over 430 sites in the National Parks System but only 63 official National Parks. The rest have designations like National Monuments, National Historic Sites, and all that jazz. But sometimes you hear about one of these lesser parks jumping up the ranks to become a National Park.

Now, I know a lot of bureaucracy goes into determining the qualifications for these categories, but a little fantasy makes life on this cold unfeeling space rock more bearable, so I like to imagine these promotions happen because the landscape just… got cooler.

Picture a young park ranger making his rounds at Chattahoochee National Forest, making sure there are no fires or anything, when he steps into a familiar clearing and freezes in place. He takes off his sunglasses and stares like Sam Neill in Jurassic Park. A 4-mile long, 5,000 foot deep canyon has opened up overnight. “Well, that’s gonna mess with the Ruby Falls trail,” he whispers.

That evening when he gets back to his cabin, he hops on his Park Ranger group chat, ready to share the good news. Turns out his friend Steve in Arizona got there first.

“New waterfall just dropped.”

“What?”

“Yeah, there’s a huge waterfall in the middle of the Sonoran Desert.”

“That should definitely promote it from lame National Monument status, right?”

“I don’t know, did you hear about the Ohio redwood?”

“Is that just what it sounds like?”

“Yeah, a 300 foot redwood tree grew in the backyard of the James A. Garfield National Historic Site and they didn’t upgrade that one.”

“Okay, but historic parks don’t really have that upward mobility, Steve. Like, it’s not gonna get more historic.”

“A giant redwood in Ohio is pretty historic! I heard it’s all politics. They already made Cuyahoga Valley a National Park and they’re not gonna do another Ohio one so soon.”

The ranger vaguely remembers another interesting story that had been rumbling around the group chat. “Becca, how are those crystals coming along?”

A few months before, his colleague Becca had been giving a tour at Blanchard Springs Caverns in Ozark National Forest when she stumbled upon a hither-to unseen chamber in the caverns filled with hundreds of iridescent flower-shaped crystals that gently sang in four-part harmony when water dripped onto them.

“Oh yeah, some higher-ups from NPS came by and took some notes, but they said keep an eye on the crystals and let them know if they multiply into the thousands or if we identify any incidents of missing body parts regrowing after rubbing one of the crystals.”

“That seems like overly harsh criteria.”

“That’s what I said. Apparently Carlsbad Caverns has one that can regrow kidneys. But only kidneys for some reason.”

“That’s weird. New River Gorge became a National Park and it’s way less cool than your crystals.”

“It’s my understanding there were some classified elements at play.”

The young ranger leans back and takes a deep pull from his Gatorade. He knows what “classified” means for the NPS. Those darn sasquatches.

[dawneternal]

Just a Favor | pt 4 | Gwynriel

✦ Warnings: all fluff

✦ Word Count: 1.4k

✦ AO3 Link

✦ Masterlist

Azriel was not at training the next morning. Cassian led the Valkyries assisted by Nesta. Gwyn noticed, of course, but preferred to go about as usual. She thanked the Mother that no one said anything about him so she had no opportunity to blush and stutter and look like an idiot. 

By the end of the session, though, she was feeling a little desperate. So much energy filled her body and the exercise had done nothing to reduce it. It was equal parts nervousness and excitement, tangling together and filling her blood with adrenaline. Her entire world was on the verge of some monumental change and all she could do was wait. 

“Gwyneth,” A deep voice startled her from her thoughts. She whirled around from the weapons rack to find Azriel looking down at her, holding a little bouquet of daisies.

“Cauldron boil me,” She breathed, placing a hand on her chest. Her gaze swept over his figure, checking for any changes since she had seen him last. It was only a couple of days ago but it felt like so much longer. 

She noticed the way his fingers trembled around the stems of the flowers and his restless wings, twitching and fidgeting. His eyes were wide and full of anxiety, with purple smudged underneath like he hadn’t been sleeping much. His shadows rushed toward her as usual, twining around her limbs and through her hair. 

As for Azriel, he could not help smiling. He took her in and decided she looked more beautiful than ever, even with her face streaked with dirt and her hair stuck down with sweat. Especially so, because he loved that she was a warrior. If he was brave enough, he'd drop to his knees right then and ask her to be his forever. 

They stayed like that for a moment, staring at each other while they thought about each other. Completely oblivious to Cassian and Nesta exchanging wry smiles and pretending not to watch. 

“Did you need something?” Gwyn asked, her voice soft, teal eyes still locked on his hazel ones. 

“Yes,” Azriel swallowed and held out the bouquet, “I wanted to say sorry again. In person. And I wanted to ask you to meet me here tonight.”

Gwyn's heart pounded as she took the flowers, taking care not to brush his fingers. She wasn't sure if she could handle it at that moment. It would only remind her of his touch in the moonlight on the bank of the stream. Her rosy cheeks dimpled as she grinned up at him. 

“You don't have to be sorry,” She said, just above a whisper, “What would you like to meet for?”

“I would like to talk to you about something,” He said, cursing himself for his stiffness, “Nothing bad.”

“As long as I'm not in trouble,” Gwyn smiled, tilting her head in that alluring way. 

“Is 7 okay?” Azriel asked, voice trembling just a touch. 

“I'll be here.”

Azriel gave her a nod and then turned, making his way back to the House. Gwyn watched his back as he left, clutching the daisies in her hands and trying to collect herself. She was dizzy, body even more jittery than before.

He wouldn't ask for a private meeting just to tell her she was a terrible kisser, right?

In all of the turmoil of the past few days, there was one thing that Azriel clung to. It was the first thing he'd thought of as he'd flown into the night, leaving Gwyn on the ground as a small smudge of copper. 

He was nervous, possibly as nervous as he had been to show up at the training ring to see Gwyn. He had another bouquet in one hand, pink and yellow lilies, and a box of pastries wrapped with ribbon in the other. 

He paused on the doorstep of the little cottage, wondering if she'd open it before he could knock like usual. But he'd surprised her this time and he found himself staring at the closed door. He couldn't help smiling as he knocked, anticipating her reaction. 

The grey haired woman appeared in the doorway with furrowed eyebrows, ready to tell off unwanted visitors. But then she saw that it was Azriel and a grin spread across her weathered face. 

“My boy,” She reached out her arms for him, hugging him around the gifts he carried. 

He ducked into the cottage and put his gifts on the kitchen table. His mother clocked the wringing of his hands immediately, the restlessness in his eyes. 

“You’ve come to me with troubles today?” She asked in her lilting voice. Azriel would never get tired of it. He would always be the little boy inside that longed to hear just a little more of her voice before being locked in the darkness for another week. 

“Not troubles,” He said as she put the kettle on the stove. He'd do it for her if she'd let him but she never would. He also stifled his protest as she put a napkin in front of him and set a pastry from the box on it. 

“Tell me,” She demanded, sitting across from him and picking a pecan roll for herself, “I'm desperate for gossip these days.”

Azriel had been determined to hold it together. But it was impossible, in front of this woman with such soft eyes and so much love for him. It mingled with the joy and relief and nervousness he was already holding inside and became something overwhelming. His throat ached as tears threatened to spill over. 

“Mama,” He croaked, “I have a mate.”

“Azriel,” She breathed, her roll pausing halfway between the table and her mouth. Then she was up, snack forgotten, throwing her arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses. She knew how long he'd been waiting for something like this.

“Mama,” He chuckled, trying to loosen her grasp around his neck. 

“Who is she?” She demanded, reaching for the kettle as it began to squeal. 

“Her name is Gwyneth,” He said, as shy as a school boy revealing a crush. “She works in the library. And she won the Blood Rite last year.”

“The Blood Rite?” His mother cried, putting the kettle down so she did not scald herself in her surprise. Azriel nodded, eyes glowing with pride.

“She's a Valkyrie.”

“That's a match made by the cauldron if I ever heard one,” She smiled, tilting her head to the side and watching the way his shadows sped up as he talked about her. “I will meet her, right?”

“Of course,” Azriel said, smile fading, “But I haven't told her yet. I asked her to meet me tonight.”

“Ah, that's why you're acting like a little boy the night before Valentine's Day,” She laughed and set a cup of tea before him.

“I am not,” He protested, grinning in spite of himself. He wrapped his hands around the warm mug and breathed the familiar scent of cinnamon and ginger.

“You're worried she won't accept?” 

Azriel nodded. His mother said nothing, only took a sip of her tea and then got up from the table, disappearing into her bedroom. He could hear her rummaging through something.

“What are you doing?” 

“I saved something for you,” She said, returning with a little velvet box. She set it on the table in front of him and stood back, hands on her hips and eyes glittering. 

Azriel's heart hammered as he looked at it, tears already stinging his eyes. He picked up the box with gentle fingers and opened the lid. Two beautiful earrings lay inside on a bed of silk, sapphires encased in silver metal, carved with little stars and moons. 

“I got them as a gift once,” She said as he admired them, “They were the only nice things I owned for a long, long time. They meant a lot to me. And I saved them because I wanted to give you one to have made into a ring.”

Azriel shook his head, a tear falling down his cheek. His mother reached out and swiped it away, placing a kiss where it had been. He remembered the days when she had nothing nice at all. When she was always tired and ragged with almost no hope left. 

“You should keep them,” He swallowed hard. 

“I'll keep one,” She said, her voice trembling just a touch, “And I'll put it on a chain. But I want you to take this one and have the gem put into a ring and the metal made into a band.”

Azriel stood, leaving the little box on the table, and folded his mother into his arms. It was a long while before he let go. 

“Promise me?” She whispered when he pulled away, reaching up to cup his cheek.

“I promise,” He put his hand over hers and leaned into her touch.

“Good, because she won’t say no to such a beautiful ring. Now tell me everything about her.”