#there's one that's taken up residence in the trees next door and i see its fat ass regularly testing the weight capacity on those branches

[vaynglories]

one of those "steal his look" bird memes but it's this guy and his look is just a white sleeveless tanktop

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter One

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.6k

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You awaken to the familiar yet deteriorating landscape of the Dreaming. For years, your narcolepsy has transported you daily into this realm—a realm that, despite its barrenness and brokenness, has become your sanctuary. The muted grays and browns are beautiful to you, in a special way, but you know that the true majesty of the realm cannot emerge without its master, Dream. A being you've never met and only heard stories of. Yet, despite its decay, you have forged friendships here, finding solace among its inhabitants.

You walk through the desolate meadow, the grass crunching underfoot like dried paper. The sky is a dull, oppressive gray, reflecting the sea of sand and rock that neighbors the palace ruins. Your destination is the Library, a place that has barely managed to retain some semblance of order thanks to Lucienne’s tireless efforts. As you approach the grand, time-worn doors of the library, you feel a pang of sorrow for the state of this once magnificent realm.

“Lucienne?” you call out, your voice echoing through the cavernous hall as you step inside.

From behind a towering stack of books, Lucienne appears, her face lighting up with a weary smile when she sees you. “Ah, there you are. I was wondering when you would pop up. How are you today?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “It’s hard to see the Dreaming like this. It feels like a part of me is withering along with it and it was already withering to begin with.”

Lucienne nods, her expression somber. “We all feel it. The absence of Lord Morpheus has taken a toll on this realm. But we must hold on to hope. Things may yet change.”

"It's been over a century, Luce," You point out, "I've been visiting for at least a decade and we've never seen hide nor hair of him. What— what if he's not coming back?"

Lucienne sighs softly, closing the book and replacing it on the shelf. "Maybe not," she admits. "But we can't give up...we must continue searching."

All of the residents that remain, a precious few, were adamant that Dream would return. You believed them, you truly did, but what being abandoned their people like this?? Something terrible must have happened, it was the only explanation you can think of. You were staying strong and hopeful for them, after all, the Dreaming was there home. It was only a temporary place for you to wander until you rouse from your episode. As you ponder what you would do next in this dream, the palace creaks and shakes, the sounds of more stone breaking off and falling to the ground greets your ears.

"Perhaps it would be best if you get out of the palace and visit the brothers? Maybe play with Gregory?" Lucienne offers to you, hoping to get you out of the crumbling palace before you decided to were going to spend your time assisting Mervyn.

"But what if Mervyn—" The librarian cuts you off with a stern look over her spectacles. You glance at Lucienne, her stern expression brooking no argument. With a resigned sigh, you turn and head out of the library, feeling the cool air of the Dreaming settle against your skin. The path to Cain and Abel’s house winds through the remnants of what once was a lush garden, now overrun with thorny vines and twisted trees. At least that's what Mervyn had told you.

As you approach the brothers’ abode, you hear a faint rustling sound followed by a series of thuds. Rounding the corner, you find Gregory tangled up in a net of brambles, his wings flapping uselessly as he tries to free himself.

“Gregory!” you exclaim, rushing to his side. His large, expressive eyes brighten when he sees you. Like a giant puppy, he chirps at you and wiggles his body. You chuckle softly as you begin to untangle the brambles from around his wings. “What happened this time?”

Gregory chirps again, his eyes wide with a mix of relief and sheepishness. You carefully work your way through the tangle of brambles, pulling each thorny vine away from his stone skin. The gargoyle’s weight shifts as he tries to help by flapping his wings, but it only makes the process more cumbersome.

“Hold still, Gregory. You’re not making this any easier,” you mutter with a half-smile.

He lets out a low rumble, a sound that almost seems like an apology. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you manage to free him. Gregory stretches his wings wide and gives a joyful hop, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

“Feeling better?” you ask, brushing off your hands.

Gregory nods vigorously, then nuzzles your shoulder with his large head. His granite skin is always surprisingly warm against your own.

You laugh softly and give him a pat. “Come on, let’s find Cain and Abel.”

The two of you make your way toward the brothers’ house, Gregory trailing close behind like an oversized shadow. As you approach, you hear the unmistakable sound of an argument brewing inside. The voices grow louder until you can make out individual words.

“It was mine! You had no right to take it!” Abel’s voice trembles with indignation.

Cain’s reply is sharp and dismissive. “You never appreciate what you have! Someone needs to teach you a lesson!”

You exchange a knowing glance with Gregory and push open the door. Inside, Cain stands over Abel, who is clutching something close to his chest—a small, tattered book by the looks of it. Both brothers freeze when they see you.

“Is everything alright here?” you ask, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Cain straightens up and crosses his arms over his chest. “Just a little brotherly disagreement,” he says coolly.

Abel’s eyes dart between Cain and you before he speaks up in a softer voice. “He took my journal. I was writing in it, and he just—”

“It’s just a book,” Cain interrupts with a wave of his hand. “No need to get all worked up about it.”

You step closer to Abel and gently place a hand on his shoulder. “Abel, would you like to show me what you’ve been writing?”

He hesitates for a moment but then nods slowly, opening the journal to reveal pages filled with neat handwriting and detailed sketches—mostly of Gregory in various playful poses.

“These are wonderful,” you say genuinely, flipping through the pages. “You have real talent and Gregory is a stellar model!”

Abel blushes slightly under the praise while Cain rolls his eyes but doesn't comment further on the topic. Cain then suggests you stay for tea, his tone surprisingly warm. "Why don't you join us for some tea? Abel's been perfecting his recipe."

You nod, sensing the tension ebbing away. "I'd love to."

Abel beams and scurries off to prepare the tea. Gregory settles down near the hearth, his tail curling around his feet like a giant cat. You take a seat at the table, watching as Cain busies himself with setting out cups and saucers.

"So," Cain begins, filling the kettle with water. "What brings you here today?"

"Lucienne thought I needed a break," you say, leaning back in your chair. "She suggested visiting you and Abel."

Cain chuckles. "Smart woman. This place can be a bit... intense."

Abel returns with a tray of biscuits just as Cain sets the kettle on the stove. He places the tray in the center of the table and sits down across from you, his expression shy but hopeful.

"I hope you like them," Abel says quietly. "They're Gregory's new favorite."

You smile and reach for a biscuit, breaking it in half and offering a piece to Gregory. The gargoyle's eyes light up as he delicately takes the treat from your hand, chewing with surprising grace.

"These are delicious, Abel," you say after taking a bite of your own half. The biscuit is buttery and sweet, with just the right amount of crunch.

Abel's face lights up with pride. "Thank you! I've been experimenting with different ingredients."

The kettle whistles, and Cain pours steaming tea into each cup before passing them around. You take a sip, savoring the warm, fragrant brew.

"So," Cain says after a moment of silence, "how have things been with managing your narcolepsy Have your doctors come up with any new treatments?"

You take another sip of tea, letting the warmth spread through you. "It's been challenging," you admit. "They've tried a few new medications, but nothing seems to make a significant difference. I'm still visiting the Dreaming just as often."

Cain nods, his expression thoughtful. "It must be difficult, living between two worlds like that."

"It is," you agree, "but the Dreaming feels like a second home now. Even with its current state, there's something comforting about it."

Abel looks up from his tea, curiosity in his eyes. "Do you ever meet anyone else in your dreams? Other than us, I mean."

You think back to the fleeting faces and shadowy figures you've encountered over the years. "Occasionally. Most of them are just passing through, I think. But there are a few regulars."

Cain raises an eyebrow. "Regulars?"

You nod. "People who seem to visit the Dreaming as often as I do. We don't always interact, but there's a sense of familiarity. Like we’re all taking the same bus to work.”

Gregory nuzzles your arm again, reminding you of his presence. You smile and give him another biscuit piece.

"Maybe they’re like us," Abel muses, stirring his tea absently.

"Maybe," you say, watching Gregory's eyes follow the crumbs that fall from your hand.

Cain leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "Well, if you ever need a break from your other world, you're always welcome here."

"Thank you," you say sincerely.

The room falls into a comfortable silence as you all enjoy your tea and biscuits. The tension that had filled the air earlier has dissipated, replaced by a sense of camaraderie.

After a while, Abel stands up and starts clearing the table. Gregory helps by nudging dishes towards him with his nose.

"You know," Cain says thoughtfully, "I've been working on something in the garden. Would you like to see it?"

Your curiosity piqued, you nod eagerly. "I'd love to."

He leads you outside to a small patch of land behind their house where he’s cultivated a modest garden despite the Dreaming’s decay. It's filled with strange and beautiful plants that seem to shimmer in the dim light.

"It's not much," Cain says modestly, "but it's something to focus on."

"It's wonderful," you say sincerely, admiring the vibrant colors and unusual shapes.

Gregory chirps happily beside you while Abel joins Cain's side with a proud smile on his face.

You find yourself at the crumbling gate, alongside Lucienne, helping her clear away some of the rubble that has fallen from the deteriorating structure. The two of you work in  silence, the only sounds being the crunch of debris underfoot and the occasional groan of the ancient walls. Where was Mervyn? He usually helped out with clean up since he was the custodian and grounds keeper.

As you lift a particularly large piece of stone, a sudden gust of wind blows its way past where you stand, carrying with it an eerie, almost tangible sense of presence. You glance at Lucienne, who has frozen in place, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and hope.

“Lucienne?” you begin to ask, but she’s already moving, dropping the rubble she was holding and rushing towards the source of the disturbance. You follow her gaze and see him—Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams—lying amidst a swirl of sand. His dark form contrasts starkly against the desolation around him. Lucienne reaches him first, her voice trembling with a blend of reverence and concern.

“Lord Morpheus!” she exclaims, kneeling beside him. “Sir! Sir!”

You make it to where Lucienne crouches and Morpheus lays. His form is gaunt, his skin pale as moonlight, but his presence is undeniable. Lucienne's hands hover over him, uncertain whether to touch him or not.

“Is he...?” you start to ask, but Lucienne shakes her head.

“He’s alive,” she says, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and disbelief. “He’s come back.”

You watch as Morpheus’s chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. His eyes remain closed, and his expression is one of exhaustion. You kneel beside Lucienne, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

“What do we do?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. But before Lucienne replies, Morpheus stirs slightly, his eyes fluttering open.

Lucienne gasps softly and leans closer. “Lord Morpheus? Sir?” His eyes focus on her slowly as if waking from a deep sleep. When he finally speaks, his voice is weak but unmistakably his own.

“Lucienne,” he whispers. Tears fill her eyes as she takes his hand gently in hers.

“Welcome back,” she says softly.

Morpheus’s gaze shifts to you briefly, a darkness flickering within his eyes before it disappears. You rise to your feet and step a few steps back, unsure of what to do or say. Morpheus slowly rises to his feet, his eyes scanning his surroundings with a distant look. He finally focuses on Lucienne, then shifts his gaze to you. His expression is unreadable, a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“Who is this?” he asks, his voice carrying an otherworldly echo.

Lucienne glances back at you before answering. “This is one of our regular visitors. They’ve been coming here for the past decade.”

Morpheus studies you intently, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why do you visit so often?”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “I think we have more pressing concerns at the moment, Lord Morpheus. The Dreaming, she's suffering." Morpheus's eyes bore into you, searching for something unspoken. You hold his gaze, standing your ground even as the weight of his presence presses against you.

"You're right," Morpheus finally concedes, his voice a shadow of its former strength. He had more pressing matters to attend to. He turns to Lucienne. "What has happened here?"

Lucienne hesitates, glancing at you before she begins. "After your disappearance, the Dreaming started to decay. Parts of it have crumbled away entirely."

You nod in agreement, stepping forward. "We’ve been doing our best to maintain it, but without your presence, it’s been difficult."

Morpheus looks around, his expression hardening as he takes in the desolation. He reaches out a hand and brushes his fingers against a nearby fragment of stone, and you see a flicker of energy pulse through him. The stone vibrates slightly, as if responding to his touch.

"It will require time to mend," he mutters, mostly to himself. Then he faces you and Lucienne. "But we will reconstruct." Although he directs his words to Lucienne, his eyes focus on you, filled with hostility. You feel unwelcome.

Date Published: 7/10/24

Last Edit: 7/10/24

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[thisblogisaboutabook]

Solstice Tree Farm

(Christmas Tree Farm)

Azriel x Reader

A Taylor Swift inspired ACOTAR fic

This can be read as stand alone but is a follow up taking place on the solstice before the epilogue of this one shot: Part 1: Ivy (Covered in You)

warnings: sexual content, suggestive language, language, alcohol

Az held my hand tightly, warming the chill of my freezing hands. “Holidays can be hard. Five hundred years later and I still get hit with pangs of sadness when memories of my childhood creep their way to the forefront of my thoughts.”

“Yeah,” I frowned. “That makes sense. Trauma never really disappears, we just learn to cope with it.”

He nodded, giving me a soft smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’ll always be here to help you through the hard times, Y/N. Whether you need a listening ear, space, or words of understanding.”

My eyes lined with silver as I leaned my head gently against his shoulder “I love you, Az.”

He brushed a kiss to my forehead, his plush lips warming me from the inside out. “And I love you. Always.”

My steps halted as I spotted a new wine bar lit up with the sound of its patrons friendly laughter rolling out the front doors. “Oh, I need to get Mor a bottle of wine and I hear they have a perfectly spiced mulled wine here that is imported from Winter.”

Az put his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the door. I browsed the selections, snagging the wine Mor had raved about. We had started an annual tradition of wrapping gifts together while each downing a bottle of wine. It was no surprise that the more gifts we wrapped, the sloppier our wrapping jobs became. The special tradition between my friend and I both filled Az’s heart with warmth and…. made his eye twitch just a little bit. Ever the perfectionist, my mate. His wrappings were always the neatest of the inner circle.

As we browsed the aisles of the wine bar’s shopping section, something caught my eye. A Chardonnay imported from Vallahan - the same wine that was shared between my former husband and I at our wedding.

Nausea roiled in my stomach, the room suddenly feeling too hot. “Az, I… I need to get out of here.” His brows furrowed with concern but he asked no questions as he quickly stepped with me out of the store.

My heart raced. I loathed my husband, his death at my hands was deserved, and I did not miss my life in Vallahan at all. However, there was still blood coating my hands and I was not a violent person.

Az looked to me and I knew that his shadows, my favorite one in particular, noticed the wine too. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently.

“No, I just needed air. I can find mulled wine for Mor elsewhere I’m sure.”

Az offered to go back into the store to get it but I gripped his hand tightly, needing his presence to keep me grounded.

Digging through my mind for any other topic, I asked, “Have you ever seen the bears from the Winter Court?”

Az smiled as we resumed our walking, “I have several times over the centuries. They were also a valuable resource during the war with Hybern.”

I thought for a moment. “I’d like to see them some day.”

We walked for another fifteen or so minutes before I finally asked to return home, fatigue overtaking me. Az swooped me up in his arms and flew me back to the townhouse. We’d occupied it as our personal residence for years now, thanks to Rhysand and Feyre’s generosity.

We could have purchased another house in the city but this one held so many memories to Az, memories of our family, staying there made me feel like I had been a part of their lives for much longer.

~~~~~~~

The next morning, I slept in longer than normal. Azriel had to leave early for a meeting with Cass and Rhys. He left a note stating he’d be home with pastries from our favorite bakery in a few hours.

He’d been so busy recently with work. I had been busy too. I’d taken to assisting Feyre and Ressina at the studio. The children warmed my heart and while I was not good with painting, I loved working with my hands. Each year at solstice, I’d taken to offering crafting classes for the littles to make gifts. It filled my heart with even more joy than I thought possible.

I stretched, as I awoke from bed. My body aching from whatever odd position I seemed to fall asleep in last night. Az and I had every intention of “heating things up” after we’d shopped but I fell asleep while he rubbed my back. He must have sensed that I needed the rest - the reprieve from the depths of my mind - as he let me be.

While I definitely appreciated his thoughtfulness, part of me wished he would have woken me. Tiredness aside, I was hungry for his touch, every nerve in my body screaming out for him. Just thinking about it made my breasts heavy and aching to feel him on me, my thighs squeezing tightly together to relieve the ache if only slightly

I thought about taking the time to scratch that particular itch myself but I had to get ready for my afternoon class.

~~~~~~~

The class went well. Feyre had stopped by to see the children and do some painting in her office. She’d squeezed me tightly, placing a kiss on each cheek in greeting. Gratitude filled me for how accepting she’d been of me when I first came to Velaris from Vallahan. The whole family instantly made me feel welcome, we’d grown so close over the past 10 years.

After the class, Feyre and I decided to visit a nearby tea parlor - chatting about everything from art and politics to Nyx and holiday plans. I laughed as she shared a story of Rhys sneaking off with Nyx to “attend court business” with Kallias and Viviane - but instead it was just to have the pair and their children train Rhys and Nyx on the latest snowball fighting techniques. Anything to gain a competitive edge for their own annual fight at the cabin.

After a while, Feyre reached across the table to squeeze my hand. Her blue-gray eyes meeting mine as she asked if I was doing okay. Daemati abilities aside, she was naturally very perceptive of emotions. I finally confessed to her that I hadn’t been in the holiday spirit this year when normally it was my favorite time of the year. She’d offered comfort in return and shared her own stories of times that she had struggled during the season as well, adding that Rhys had especially struggled after returning from under the mountain

It was reassuring to hear that my family understood the underlaying feelings of melancholy that could rise to the surface during such a joyous season.

When I arrived back to the townhouse, I was greeted with a box of pastries and a note from Az apologizing that we’d missed eachother.

I definitely needed the visit with Feyre but felt a bit guilty for missing him. In true Azriel fashion, there was an arrow pointing to the back of the note:

“Don’t you dare feel guilty for not being home. I’m glad that you and Feyre spent time together.”

Momentarily confused by how he knew where I’d been, the glazed look Feyre had gotten at one point during our tea time came back to me. Gods, daemati powers would be convenient.

~~~~~~~

Azriel didn’t return home until late that night. I’d dozed off while reading on the couch, waking up to him carrying me back to our bed. I gave him a sleepy smile and informed him there was food from our favorite take away spot in the kitchen.

The strong hold of his muscled body pressing into me reignited the fire that had burned inside of me that morning. Clearly scenting my arousal he gave a feline grin. “I’m hungry for something else.”

Our joining that night was hard and fast. I came quickly which only fueled his male pride, by the time he was through with me I was completely and utterly satiated. I all but fell asleep on my mate before he lifted me off of him, curling into me. I awoke briefly in the night to find his wings encompassing us - the warmth and darkness quickly soothing me back to sleep.

~~~~~~~

Once again I woke to an empty bed. I couldn’t help the frown that formed at his departure. We always had an understanding of the unexpected absences that occurred with his work. Selfishly, I had just hoped to spend the morning in bed with him.

I leaned to my side of the bed to find a note reading,

“Don’t hate me for taking off so early. You just looked too beautiful, I couldn’t bring myself to wake a sleeping angel.

Rhys needed Cassian and I at the Hewn City, I promise I’ll be home soon.

I love you.”

I was loved and I was grateful. To go from a loveless marriage to a mated pairing so full of love that the only hint of sadness came from the absence of his presence. And then, even in his absence, he still made his love known. The thought made my stomach flutter.

The fluttering quickly went away as nausea rolled in. I’d forgotten to eat the take away food I brought home last night, falling asleep full of Az instead. I hadn’t eaten since scarfing down a pastry when I returned home from tea with Feyre.

I ran to the bathroom, dry heaved, and then made my way to the kitchen - instantly feeling better after reheating the leftovers from last night.

I took a bath and got ready for my afternoon class when I heard the door open, shadows greeting me before I even heard Azriel approach. He gave me a mischevious look, eyes gleaming.

He was up to something.

I smirked. “That look means trouble. What did you do?”

He just smiled, taking my hand and nodding his head toward our bedroom. “Come here.”

We entered the room and he snapped his fingers. Shadows taking it as a cue, they began swirling into a funnel of darkness. They cleared and two suitcases appeared in their absence. Mine had a gorgeous knee-length cobalt blue wool coat hanging next to it along with a matching scarf and hat, and lined leather gloves.

I looked to Az, filled with excitement and confusion. “The coat and accessories are absolutely gorgeous, and in your color! I couldn’t love them more. Thank you.” I nodded toward the suitcases, “What about those though?”

“We’re going on a trip.” He smiled. “I talked to Feyre and she’ll cover your classes while we’re gone.”

“You packed my bags?” I asked.

“I’m your mate. I know what you like.” A playful look of arrogance masking his face.

“Alright, Spymaster, I’m at your disposal.”

Before I could follow up with questions the luggage disappeared and Azriel took my hand launching us into a winnow.

~~~~~~~

My jaw dropped. Before me in a snow covered clearing surrounded by large mountains and spruce trees of all sizes was a barn transitioned into a home. It was absolutely stunning with twinkling fae lights outside, a warm glow shining from within. The house was decked with spruce and evergreen branches, boughs of holly, each window and door donning wreaths.

“Az? Is this where we are staying?” I marveled.

“Welcome to the Winter Court, my love. Kallias and Viviane are letting us use their evergreen farm as a getaway.” His smile shone brighter than any of the twinkling fae lights. He gestured toward the door, “Come, take a look around.”

Once again, my jaw fell as I took in the inside of the barn turned lodge. A fire warmed the room from the massive stone fireplace, illuminating the reclaimed wood accents filling the place. Huge fur rugs blanketed the floor of the open loft. In a corner of the space, situated in front a wall of windows was a spruce tree that had to be twenty feet tall, decked with ornate trimmings.

“This is……. It’s incredible, Az. I don’t know what to say.” I leaned into him, sending waves of adoration and gratitude down our bond, to which he sent back a surge of love.

Taking my hand, he walked me to the plush sectional couch in front of the fire where warm mugs of cocoa, mints, and a tray of various Winter Court delicacies for grazing awaited.

“I’m sorry…” he sat, pulling me down into his lap before continuing, “for leaving this morning. I know the past few weeks have been difficult for you and after our excursion into the city the other day,” he cut off, eyes filling with empathy. “Well, I thought maybe we could use a pre-solstice getaway. I came here to prepare everything for us beforehand. There’s no better place to get into the holiday spirit than the Winter Court.”

My eyes teared up as emotions flooded me. Gods, I am such a sap. But this male, he never failed to amaze me. His love and devotion to me was euphoric. Nothing in the world could match the high of being with him.

“I love you, Az,” I choked up. “Thank you. This is incredible.”

He wiped a lone tear that fell onto my face and replaced it with a kiss.

The single kiss relit that flame smoldering inside me as I straddled his lap, pressing my mouth to his, tongues and teeth crashing into eachother. In between breaths he managed to get out “Do.” kiss. “You.” Deeper kiss. “Want to” a kiss to the column of his neck. “Go out t-.” a nip to the neck and a heated kiss to take away the pain. “Fuck it.” he ground out before ripping my top off and pinning me underneath him. I snapped my fingers and the rest of our clothes disappeared completely.

~~~~~~~

One hour? Two hours? Three, maybe? blissful hours later, he carried me to the bathroom where a hot bath awaited us. My body ached for it. Az stepped in, setting us both down and situating me between his legs. He rubbed my tense shoulders, a particularly deep knead making my eyes roll back into my head and an involuntary moan escape my lips. “Fuck,” he cursed. “That moan.” He repeated the motion on the opposite shoulder, garnering the same involuntary response. “So. pretty.” He said, voice low, dripping with lust.

Those words alone caused me to rest my head back on his chest, looking up into his eyes. His renewed arousal incredibly evident against my back. He firmly placed a calloused hand on my neck, leaning down to kiss me. Hard. Before I could turn around, he gripped my hips. Strong arms lifted me up before sinking me down onto him, inch by torturous inch bringing the sweetest pleasure back to my body.

~~~~~~~

After a long bath that may or may not have needed to be reheated not once but twice, and sliding into the most comfortable bathing robe to ever grace my skin, we padded to the bedroom.

This room was the type of room that one could enter and be totally content never leaving. A massive four poster bed situated on top of a fluffy white rug called to me. Its blankets and pillows could swallow myself, my large Illyrian mate, and his massive wings. A fire warmed the space and the floor to ceiling window overlooked a hillside at the edge of the clearing, city lights burned brightly down below as coin sized snowflakes fell lazily from the sky.

Candles were lit around the room and fae lights softly illuminated the space. A knock from the outside door interrupted my moment of awe. Az pointed toward a box on the bed, stating he would be right back.

Not sure who could possibly visiting us, I padded over to the bed and opened the gift wrapped box. Inside lay a silken robe and matching sheer night gown. My heart fluttered as once again, the gown was dyed a gorgeous cobalt blue. I dropped the heavy robe I was wearing to dress myself in the see-through gown barely reaching below my ass, the new robe, and matching thong. I sighed at the luxurious feeling of silk lightly caressing my more intimate areas.

“Gods.” Az spoke lowly from the door behind me. “You’ve always been devastating in my color, but this…. I’m starting to think that this is YOUR color. You’re an absolute goddess.”

I turned as he carried in a tray of steaming food. “I had this delivered from the city’s Solstice Market.”

My stomach rumbled at the sight of the stuffed bread, potato pancakes, and sausages on the platter before me.

“Oooh, Az, this is incredible! You’ve really thought of everything.” I looked at him intently. “Thank you, my love, truly.”

He smiled and placed the tray on a table for two set up in the room. I grinned as the smells of the food wafted toward me, “let me run to the kitchen and see if there’s a wine cabinet!”

“Sorry darling, it seems that is the one thing that I didn’t think of. But we do have hot apple cider.” He motioned to a kettle on the large tray that I’d somehow overlooked.

“That’s perfect!” I reached to the kettle and poured a mug of it. The absolutely divine smell of it filling my nose.

~~~~~~~

I awoke the next morning in Azriel’s arms. His wings cocooning us protectively. I turned around to face him, peppering kisses to his lips, nose, and cheeks.

His eyes slowly fluttered open and my heart nearly stopped at the sight of his gold-flecked hazel eyes and long, dark eyelashes. Nearly ten years in and the full effect of him never failed to awe me.

After dinner the previous night, we had cuddled on the bed as his fingers lifted up the hem of my nightgown. He traced lazy circles and lines up and down my waist, the dips of my hips, my abdomen, he spent extra time and attention on my breasts: tracing, tweaking, and gently pulling my nipples, as if he’d never touched them before. I, of course, encouraged the behavior by arching back into him and letting out an occasional soft moan.

At one point, he just stopped all motion, staring deeply into my eyes. Wonder and adoration shone as he stared, as if he too had never lost his awe toward me. We had eachother three more times during the night. Something about the intimate getaway felt like accepting the bond all over again.

I snapped from my thoughts as Az playfully nipped at my ear, retracting his wings from around us.

I looked toward the outside, snow capped mountains gleaming under the sunlight. “What’s on your agenda for us today?”

“That is a secret for me to know, and you to find out later.”

Running a single finger down the length of his chest, torso, lower - I cooed. “I hear that I can be quite convincing, Spymaster.”

His only response, a smack to my ass, “Come on, greedy. That would spoil the fun.”

Begrudgingly I got out of the bed, the warm rug beneath feeling like heaven on my feet.

~~~~~~~

After a delightful breakfast at a cafe in the city, Azriel led me toward a massive building on the outskirts of it, on the opposite side of the palace grounds. Several males posted themselves outside of the structure - one of which recognized Az immediately.

“Azriel, it’s good to see you.” The burly white haired man boomed. “Is this your lovely mate that I’ve heard so much about? I heard that your High Lord and High Lady are quite smitten with her.”

Az greeted the male politely, “Hello Klaus, yes, this would indeed be the exquisite Y/N.”

I smiled as the male shook my hand. “A pleasure to meet you Y/N. Did Azriel tell you what you’re here for today?”

I rolled my eyes tossing a mock glare at Azriel. “No, this Spymaster seems to be quite full of secrets.”

The male laughed, a loud jovial sound. “Let’s not waste time then! Come and see my pride and joy.”

I stepped into the building and my eyes filled with wonder. What was already a massive building outside was truly enormous inside, clearly some kind of glamour hid the true size from onlookers. What really caught my eye, however, were the acres upon acres of training, feeding, and sleeping quarters, along with the armory - none of it on the ground level designed to house or clothe fae, but for animals. Throughout the building were soldiers and animals training side my side, working in unison. White foxes, antlered deer, and there…. Toward the back of the building, my heart skipped a beat, giant white bears! Some wearing armor, some lazily lounging along indoor pools, trainers even brushed the creatures to which they seemed to enjoy the feeling of bristles running through their thick fur.

Klaus spent hours walking us through the grounds of the facility. I teared up when given the opportunity to brush one of the bears. I felt like a child next to such a large creature. I was aware of the danger they posed, but how could anyone resist the opportunity to spend time with a creature with cute little ears like that. They couldn’t be THAT much of a threat to me…. so long as I wasn’t an enemy. The bear seemed to agree as it tilted its head toward me in a pleading manner, as if to say: “Ah yes, right there. Scratch behind my ear just there. That’s the spot.”

It turned out that Klaus was the head of the Winter Court’s animal forces. A highly revered position in their armies, essentially a step below Cassian’s rank in the Night Court. When we were leaving, Klaus told me to come back anytime, kissing my hand in parting. Azriel instinctively sidled himself closer to me, if Klaus noticed, he didn’t show it.

Fae mates. So territorial.

~~~~~~~

After our tour of the training facility, Azriel took us on a reindeer drawn sleigh ride through the remainder of castle grounds. We cozied up together under a blanket, sipping hot cocoa and taking in the beauty of the court.

It turned out that Mor pulled strings with Viviane as such tours were a rare privilege. I teared up yet again, thinking of the effort my mate and best friend put into making this Winter Solstice so special.

I was sure to thank Azriel thoroughly that night. Five times to be exact.

~~~~~~~

The next morning came too quickly, Azriel and I refusing to leave the bed until our stomachs grumbled in unison.

We headed to the Solstice Market for the remainder of our gift shopping. I found a gorgeous bracelet for Amren, the gems mined from a frozen over cave in the heart of the Winter Court. For Feyre, I purchased paints with unique pigments inspired by the terrain of the court. I continued checking names off of my gift list, until all that was left was Mor.

It may have been strange, but what were boundaries between two best friends - I was able to acquire a similar set of lingerie to the one Azriel had purchased for me in a shade of red that would perfectly compliment her features. Azriel rolled his eyes at me in amusement.

I’d also found a particularly smutty sapphic novel for her thanks to the recommendation of a friendly shopkeeper - I picked up a copy for myself too.

Azriel and I then strolled to the wine vendors - this was where the trip took quite a turn.

I bought several bottles of the mulled wine Mor adored along with boxes of decadent chocolates. The vendor was kind, and rather chatty. We talked for twenty minutes or so and were about to leave when he offered us complimentary glass mugs of the spiced wine to warm us on our walk back toward the lodge. Az quickly declined…. For both of us. I playfully huffed stating that I had no objections to such a kind offer. Azriel’s expression grew concerned as he once again waved off the offer.

The male working at the stand watched as I stood disregarding Az’s strange objection. I kept my hand held out waving Azriel off with the other. The vendor clearly knew better than to deny a lady who was clear about what she wanted and handed over the glass.

Azriel then growled. GROWLED.

I turned around to walk away, Az on my tail. I lifted the glass to take a sip when one of his shadows, not just any shadow, my FAVORITE one - restrained my wrist.

Little traitor.

“What the hell, Az!?” I asked. Quietly enough to not cause a scene but loudly enough to convey my frustration toward him. He paused for a moment - a rare show of conflict troubled his face. “We…. We need to talk.” he said and winnowed us straight back to the lodge.

~~~~~~~

Upon arrival, I stormed into the lodge. “Do you think I have a drinking problem or something? What is it, Az? It’s so unlike you to act like this. First the territorial bullshit when Klaus kissed my hand, now taking away my choice in what I want to drink?” My traitorous body let tears slip.

Az said nothing. He stared at me for a moment, before walking up to me and grasping me into his arms, his warm embrace enveloping me. I wanted to pull away but couldn’t. His scent and warmth were intoxicating, placating me.

He kissed the top of my head, his arms still embracing behind me and moving upward, brushing his fingers through my hair before pulling back. His arms released as he took my face in his hands, hazel eyes filled with an emotion I’d never seen before.

“Baby.” He got out. Voice cracking.

“Yes? What?”

“Baby.” His eyes rimmed with tears.

“What Az? What is it? Just tell me.”

His face cracked into a smile full of wonder, the tears spilling. “You’re pregnant.”

Oh?

Oh!

“Ohhhhhh.” I managed to get out. Everything clicking into place. The emotions, the random bouts of nausea, fatigue, the mild aches in my body…the constant need to have Azriel buried inside of me.

“Gods.” I muttered next. “This explains so much! How did you figure it out? WHEN did you figure it out?”

Azriel maintained his composure, resting a hand on each of my arms while running his thumbs soothingly up and down them. “I think my body knew first. I was waking up with my wings around you protectively - normally that only happens intentionally but this time it was involuntary. And then, you started showing signs similar to those when you’re approaching your cycle but… it’s been less than two months since the last one. I couldn’t sense the shift in your scent yet but something deep within me kept telling me to observe.”

Running a hand through his hair, he continued: “Then we came here and it felt like the mating bond snapped into place all over again. The night that we were laying in bed and I was tracing my fingers along your body… your curves felt just slightly more enticing - I don’t… I don’t know how to explain it, but when I ran my fingers to your breasts they were so full, so heavy. Initially I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in trying to stave off my arousal, to allow you to rest but then it hit me. The softest hint of rose. The same scent Rhys described when Feyre…”

I cut him off. “The look, the one you gave me of wonder and awe - that’s when it hit you, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Az replied. “Are you upset?”

“Upset? No! Never! Azriel,” I choked out. “This life with you is the most incredible gift. Having you as my mate, our chosen family, and now this life growing inside of me - this beautiful life created of the love you’ve so wholeheartedly given me. It’s so much more than I could have ever dreamed of.”

Words evaded Azriel as he embraced me, sobs wracking his body- pure joy and unconditional love flooded from him through me. As his sobs settled he pulled back to look at me, eyes filled with promise. “I swear to love and protect the two of you until the end of time. My heart was already wholly yours but now, somehow it’s been filled so much more than I knew possible. Our child will know only love from us. A beacon of hope shining from the darkness of our own childhoods.”

I looked up to him, reciprocating the feelings of joy and love through our bond.

“I love you.” I vowed.

“Oh baby” he kissed my lips.

“Oh baby” he knelt down to kiss my still flat abdomen.

“Happy Solstice. I love you.”

[xxmarcxline]

003 - THE LIGHT OF FREEDOM ON MY FACE - “enchanted!”

Pairing: Edmund Pevensie x Wolfstar!Daughter!Reader

ENCHANTED MASTERLIST!

By no means do I support R*wling’s biased views! This profile is meant to be a safe space promoting escapism <3

TW: none ( although, please feel free to message me if you believe i missed some!! )

THE FLYING CAR BEGAN ITS DESCENT, and soon enough, you were able to catch a glimpse of a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.

“We’re a little way outside the village,” says George. “Ottery St. Catchpole.”

The edge of the brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees, its radiance, Harry found, reflected your own as you grinned at the familiar sight of the Weasleys’ residence.

“Touchdown!” said Fred as, with a slight bump, you landed — a tumbledown garage in a small yard to your right, Harry looking out for the first time at Ron's house.

In all truthfulness, it was run-down, for lack of better term. The structure appeared unreliable at best, as though originally a large stone pigpen, but renovated to fit extra rooms and reach several stories high. It had been so crooked, staggering like the lightning-shaped scar on your friend’s forehead; however, like the mark etching his skin, magic had built and kept it ebbed stubbornly along the grassy surface.

Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign was stuck in the ground near the entrance reading, ‘THE BURROW’. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

“It's not much,” said Ron, rubbing a self-conscious hand along his forearm. He looked around the wooden walls of his home in uncertainty, just as he had when you first came over — a subconscious sign of his insecurity.

“It’s brilliant,” Harry was quick to react happily, thinking of Number 4 Privet Drive and the horrors he associated with its pale, perfected walls.

“It’s nothing short of wonderful,” you followed, smiling at the three brothers, meeting their silent gazes. As you exited the vehicle, the sun’s warm rays cast upon you, moving silently as your shadows crept towards the door.

“Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly,” said Fred, throwing a cautious glance at his surroundings, “and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast.”

He turns to face you and his younger brother, “Then, you lot come bounding downstairs, Ron going, ‘Mum, look who turned up in the night!’ and she'll be all pleased to see you and Harry, and no one needs ever know we flew the car.”

You raised an unimpressed brow at their careless grins. There were so many ways this could go wrong. . . for them. But you were never one for wiping off the twins’ smiles, no matter how stupidly aggravating their cheshire grins could be.

“Right,” agreed Ron, nodding his head in full agreement. He doesn’t give you a second glance as you go, guiding Bowie atop your shoulder. “You know your way to Ginny’s room, I’m sure. Now come on, Harry, I sleep at the top—”

Harry found it odd how his friend simply stopped, going a nasty green in complexion. Meanwhile, you exuded the opposite reaction, grinning goofily and waving madly, gaze set out the kitchen window. His eyes followed yours, blowing wide as he spotted Mrs. Wesley marching across the yard. Chickens scattered, Bowie took cover behind your hair, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, Harry found it remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.

“Ah,” muttered Fred.

“Oh, dear,” mumbled George.

“‘Ello, Molly!” you exclaimed shamelessly as Ron gulped. He appeared close to tears, you mused. How funny.

All of the above were telltale signs of the trouble you five were undoubtedly in, and if Harry had known any better, he would have taken off running and not looked back. But he didn’t, a stupid decision on his part, if Bowie were to say so himself. Mrs. Weasley came to a halt before the lot of you, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next (then there was you, a smile peeking through her tough exterior for a brief moment). She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of her pocket.

“Morning, Mum,” said George, grinning in what he believed to be a jaunty, award-winning means while you and Fred withheld a snigger.

“Where have you been?”

“Have you any idea how worried I've been?” said Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper.

“Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to—”

All three of Mrs. Weasley’s children towered over her, yet simultaneously, they cowered as her rage befell them.

“Beds empty! No note! Car gone — could have crashed — out of my mind with worry — did you care? — never, as long as I’ve lived — you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy —”

“Perfect Percy,” muttered Fred bitterly.

“YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK!” yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred’s chest as her voice rose an octave higher. At that, even you flinched, taken aback. “You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job —”

“They were starving him, Mum!” You were unsure how you felt about your friend speaking up. But you were all for liberation, so, nonetheless of your conflict, you internally cheered him on. “They put bars on his window!”

“Well, you best hope I don’t put bars on your window, Ronald Weasley.”

You loved Molly, you really did. But she had the ill temper of a mad dragon, burning fierce and easily triggered. You consider yourself lucky to be receiving special treatment from the woman — saving you the need to fear being on the wrong end of her fury.

It seemed to go on for hours. You had attempted to ease the boys of her full attention a good few times, although Mrs. Weasley had no intention of cutting her lecture short, shouting herself hoarse before she turned on the pair of you.

While Harry backed away on impulse, Bowie returned to the comforts of your pocket. Godric knows how greatly he fears the woman.

“Oh, darlings!” she beams, her deep frown fixing into a welcoming grin, “How wonderful it is to see you both! Come in and have some breakfast!”

You needn’t hear any further invitation before joining the family for a meal.

Long story short, life at The Burrow had been all but ordinary. Every day, you woke to the sound of small explosions from Fred and George’s room — having to comfort Bowie each waking moment —, and every night, you were kept up by the incessant racket of the ghoul in the attic. The howling creature was a pitiful thing. But your patience could only take so much, wearing thinner every time it had interrupted you and Bowie’s beauty sleep.

With summer coming to an end, it wasn’t long before you heard from Hogwarts again. It had been a sunny morning about a week after you had been welcomed into the Weasley residence. You were at the kitchen table, seated by Ginny Weasley (she always looked forward to your company, eagerly offering to trade all her brothers to gain you as a sister) when you heard the boys thundering down for breakfast.

You feigned ignorance as the younger girl stiffened up beside you, taken by amusement with how she fawned over Harry and the oh-so-holy grounds he walked on. You saw her pupils dilate into cartoon hearts, you swore. And as one would in a cartoon, her admiration blinded her from all else — including her bowl of porridge, until she knocked it to the ground with a loud clatter.

You sent Bowie a silencing look as he chittered merrily, poking fun at the mortified Ginny whose face glowed like the setting sun. Meanwhile, Harry, pretending he hadn’t noticed such interactions, sat down and took the toast Mrs Weasley had offered him.

“Letters from school,” uttered Mr Wesley, passing you identical envelopes of yellow parchment, addressed in green ink. “Dumbledore already knows you’re here, [Y/N], Harry — doesn’t miss a trick, that man. You’ve got them too,” he added as the twins ambled in, their hair askew, still in their pajamas.

For a few minutes, there was silence as you all read your letters. It was the usual, come to King’s Cross on September the first, the need for school supplies, and finally, there was a list of the new books you would need for the coming year.

‘Second-year students will require:

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk

Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart

Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart

Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart

Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart

Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart’

It was ghastly.

The man was one your father had spoken endlessly about, and not in the best sense. Upon every glimpse of his books the pair of you had encountered, his jaw would tick and he would give a subtle eye roll — one only you were trained well enough to see. He would go on about how Lockhart had gone to school with him, and how the Ravenclaw was most undeserving of his affiliations with the good house and his recent fame.

He was a freeloader, a credit-grabber. He would ask Remus to tutor him, and idiotically enough, he was able to provide the younger boy with the answers to his assignments, and all he would do was rephrase and reconstruct the wording. It was quite brilliant, yes, but it irked Remus to this day.

With that in mind, you couldn’t contain the grimace at the sight of that list. There was no way you would support his career by purchasing his books. No way in the seven bloody rings of hell.

Bowie, sensing your displeasure, was quick to attack the ink along the parchment, crossing every trace of Gilderoy’s name until it was but messy scrawls along ruined parchment. He made sure to keep the rest of it intact, however, that thoughtful beanpole.

Meanwhile, Fred, who took quite longer to finish reading his list, went to peer over at yours, eyes widening as he caught sight of the shredded patches. He instead turns to Harry’s. “You’ve been told to get all Lockhart’s books, too!” he said. “The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan – bet it’s a witch.”

At this point, Fred caught his mother’s eye and quickly busied himself with the marmalade.

“Or perhaps a fool. . .” you lowly muttered to yourself, wincing as you caught sight of Mrs Weasley’s tattered book displayed on one of the countertops. You’d momentarily forgotten you were in the company of a die-hard fan. And a fierce one, at that.

“That lot won’t come cheap,” said George, with a quick look at his parents. “Lockhart’s books are really expensive. . .”

“Well, we’ll manage,” said Mrs Weasley, but she looked worried. “I expect we’ll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny’s things secondhand.”

Just then, Percy walked back in. He was already dressed, his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his knitted top.

“Morning, all,” said Percy briskly. “Lovely day.”

It was a wonder how he got up and ready for the day so early in the morning. You may have awoken earlier than him, but you were by no means ready to start the day. Your hair was quite a mess, and you were still in your knitted sweater and comfy pajamas. Most often, you would be able to start your day early. But today was not one of those days. Rather, any day at The Burrow was not one of those days.

He sat down in the only remaining chair but lept up again almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a molting, grey feather duster – at least, that was what the pair of you (Bowie and yourself. . . plus Harry) thought it was until you saw that it was breathing.

“Errol!” said Ron, taking the limp owl from Percy and extracting a letter from under its wing. “Finally – he’s got Hermione’s answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the Dursleys.”

He carried Errol to a perch by the back door and tried to stand him on it, but Errol flopped straight off again so you cringed as the thud echoed loudly in the silence, and despite Bowie’s defiance, you went to pick the poor creature up and balance it on its two left feet. The bloody creature had no sense of balance left — well, if it had any to begin with. Laying him on the draining board, you overheard Ron muttering, “Pathetic,” in much dismay.

Meanwhile, from over by the dining area, Harry admired your care for the rugged creature. He couldn’t contain the small smile that erupted his expression, admiring the gentleness of your gaze despite telling the poor creature off.

Whilst he paid attention to you, Ron made haste, ripping open Hermione’s letter, its contents spilling out, and read her long-awaited message aloud:

Dear Ron, [Y/N], and Harry if you’re there,

I hope everything went all right and that Harry is OK and that you both didn’t do anything illegal to get him out, [Y/N], Ron, because that would get Harry into trouble, too. You both know how often [Y/N] gets injured, especially on the ventures that lack my assistance.

The majority, if not all your days as a first-year (that was an exaggeration, but it certainly felt like it) were spent wallowing (healing) on the second bed of the dull, cramped, sullen hospital wing. (Okay, that was yet again an exaggeration. It was clean and spacious enough, and well-kept, and Madam Pomfrey ensured it to remain as such. But by Godric’s beard, did it get tiring — its four walls became your home at some point or another. But at least, the madam was a good gossip, keeping you entertained during your stays.)

There was that one time a troll had knocked you against the bathroom wall, that “so-so” injury you sustained during that one quidditch match (“A broken arm is by no means mediocre, Ms. Black-Lupin!” you could hear Minnie’s yells echoing from a distant memory), those boils you’d gained from that one Potions class, that one encounter with Lord Volde— You cringed at the growing list.

Nonetheless, I’ve been really worried, and if Harry is all right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl, might I suggest Hermes, or perhaps Hedwig, because I think another delivery might finish this one off.

I’m very busy with schoolwork, of course – “How can she be?” said Ron in horror. “We’re on holiday!” – and we’re going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don’t we meet in Diagon Alley?

Let me know what’s happening as soon as you can, love from Hermione.

“Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too,” said Mrs Weasley, starting to clear the table. “What’re you all up to today?”

Mrs Weasley woke the lot of you bright and early the following Wednesday. After a quick half-a-dozen eggs and bacon sandwich, you pulled on your coats and Molly took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.

“We’re running low, Arthur,” she sighed. “We’ll have to buy some more today. . . ah, well, guests first! After you, [Y/N], dear! Your father must be expecting you.”

And indeed he was. The pair of you had been exchanging letters almost daily throughout your stay at the Weasleys and agreed to meet at the Leaky Cauldron before heading off to buy your supplies. While some notes exchanged your plans for today’s awaited reunion, others contained sweet nothings and greetings, and others bore more pressing matters, such as your father’s well-being after the previous full moon.

Poor Moony had to deal with its aftermaths on his own this time around. . . You could only hope that your friends (the little critters that resided in the forest and those that took permanent residence in your room) were enough company to bring him some semblance of comfort while you and Bowie were away.

“I’ll meet you lot at Flourish and Blotts, yeah?” you turned to your friends for a moment, ignoring the puzzled gaze of Harry as Mrs Weasley offered you the flowerpot. You only smiled as he blinked in confusion, taking a pinch of glittering powder from the clay pot, stepping up to the fire, and casting the powder into the flames. You only faintly heard him ask about the wonders of the Floo network when a large emerald flame swallowed you whole upon exclaiming, “Diagon Alley!” and vanishing.

Remus had been looking forward to this day from the moment he waved you goodbye. It had been a quiet two weeks without your company, and he knew that it would be an even lengthier rest of the year with you off at Hogwarts.

There was something in his gut telling him that this year would be much unlike the last. Not in the sense that he would never see you again, but that. . . his yearning for you, his only daughter, would be strengthened twice fold. That something peculiar, even beyond Lord Voldemort’s reappearance the previous year, would occur.

Thus, he wished to make the most of the little time you had left before the school year began and planned to make it as memorable — if not more — than the last.

If only your (other) father were here to help him with that. After all, despite everything that went wrong, it was undeniable that Sirius Black loved his daughter endlessly. Once, the man compared it (his love) to the galaxy. Infinite and unmistakably immense. Neverending.

Your father always said he “loved you all the way from the moon, and to Saturn.” Always, he would say he loved you even more than that, but, like Saturn’s rings, his love for you orbited his entire world. It was his entire world.

But then again, if that truly was the case, why did he leave? Why did he betray their friends? Although, Remus always made sure to leave that bit out of your bedtime tales.

Every night, as you grew up, unlike most parents who read their kids fairy tales and books, he would recount the stories that consumed his youth. He would recall his days at Hogwarts, the escapades that filled the four marauders’ nights, and the laughter that filled their halls by day.

As much as he despised the love of his life for betraying you both as he did, for depriving your childhood of any sense of normalcy, he couldn’t bear to tell you such a thing. That your father, who claimed to love you so, had left you behind to serve the dark lord. That in his madness, he got himself sentenced to life in Azkaban, never to be seen again. Or so he could only hope.

His secrecy did little to shield you from the rest of the world, however. It was inevitable that you learn of what happened (or what was said to have happened), just as it was inevitable to recognize the fear, pity, and distaste in some passerby’s eyes. But you were strong. You did not let that deter you, if not for your own sake, then for your father’s, who worked tirelessly to provide for you both.

Remus, righteous as he was, was always too ashamed to take anything from the Black family vault, nor from Sirius’s own savings (which contained more than enough, mind you). Although, he did allow himself to use some of the latter to send you to school. He at least owed you that.

The rest, however, and all that you both spent as you walked the cobblestone path of Diagon Alley, he took from his own pocket. He enjoyed spending — so long as it meant seeing those light blue streaks highlight your head of hair.

He grinned as you shared a cup of butterbeer brittles from Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, (though, thanks to his familiarity with the owner, received it with a discount), sniggered as you nearly tripped, having stepped on a cracked stone, and hid a scowl as you joyously greeted one of the subjects of a pile of your letters home from the previous year.

Cedric Diggory knew not what he did to receive a strained handshake from your father, but he shook it off with a nervous smile as you waved him goodbye.

Striding down the rest of Diagonal Alley with an occasional smile, wink, and wave (you were quite popular amongst your peers, you learned the previous year), you caught a glimpse of a shop or two that caught your fancy. There was Ollivander’s Wand Shop, where you’d received your wand (the old man noted it a peculiarity, albeit you hadn’t a clue why), then there was Quality Quidditch Supplies, where you made your rounds, though exited with nothing.

Finally, you reached Flourish and Blotts, where you were immediately tackled into a hug.

Hermione Granger, hair bushy as ever, had weaved through the crowd to greet you after a summer away from one another. You missed each other greatly, yes, but you seem to have underestimated just how much.

“Oh, [Y/N], how I missed you!” Exhibit A.

“‘Mione, oh, love of my life! You haven’t a clue how I missed you! In fact, the parchments of my notebook are drowning in inked sonnets of just how much!” Exhibit B.

“You’re exaggerating,” she hid a grin behind a shake of her head.

“Oh, but I’m really not,” you blinked innocently in reply. Indeed, you really weren’t.

In your trunk was a notebook filled with little things you had noticed about your best friend — how her eyes set alight when she reached certain parts of her books, how she straightened in her seat and furrowed her brows upon a particularly page-turning plot twist. You noticed it all, and being the poet daughter of a Black and Remus Lupin, you turned these simple moments into words, etching them along the pages of your notebook, and on occasion, annotating them by particularly relevant lines of your books.

Truth be told, there was once a time you mistook your affections for her to be beyond platonic. You thought, at some point or another, that Hermione Granger would be the person you would love silently for the rest of your life. But of course, you were only twelve. What could you have known about love?

Not far later, you traded those faux butterflies with the realization and contentment of a sister. That was what you were to Hermione Granger, and what you learned, she truly was to you.

That didn’t stop you from admiring the beauty in her simplicity, however. Rather, you carried on, albeit, now also noticing the others that composed her background. You would smile wider upon Blaise and Theo’s bickering, giggle (though you despised the word) more heartily at the tickle of Bowie’s movements, and drown in grief, albeit momentarily, as professors spoke of your likeness to your fathers, once believing you to be out of earshot.

But that was nothing. You would shrug it off after a moment or two.

Like then, you went on with the remainder of the day. After a short reunion with your friends, Blaise and Theo, as well as a mini meet-and-greet with your father’s favorite schoolmate (he wished to strangle the man in his place), you ran into a bit of trouble with your not-so-distant relatives, the Malfoys.

Lucius was pretentious as ever, taunting Arthur Weasley and your father for their blood and financial status, while his spawn, Draco, was unbearable as the previous year. He, like his father, simply had to taunt Harry with every waking moment, and in doing so, only managed to piss off the rest of his company, and in particular, a temperamental metamorphmagus.

In later retellings and biographies of your life, some would state that it was accidental magic on your part that dropped a particularly heavy book atop Malfoy Senior’s head. Meanwhile, others would say you knew exactly what you were doing, and performed some degree of wandless magic or that you had simply thrown it with your fantastic, Quidditch Chaser aim.

You couldn’t be bothered to correct any of them.

It wasn’t long before dusk made its return, the sun slowly setting to signify the day’s end. Exchanging brief promises of “see you later”s and meetings at the train, you eventually parted ways, gripping your father’s hand as you headed in the direction you first came.

It wasn’t long before you disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a proud set of twins, a starstruck Ginny, a content Ron and Hermione, and a wistful Harry.

The boy was smiling to himself again, staring at the grounds you once stood. It was a strange, dopey-looking smile that left Hermione amusedly rolling her eyes at her friend.

“A sickle for your thoughts?” she asked him, breaking him out of his [Y/N]-induced daze.

“What?” he could only stammer in response, blinking up at Hermione in confusion.

“I see the way you look at her, Harry,” Her tone was almost teasing as she smiled at him. “Don’t worry though. You have plenty of time to win her over.”

“I’m sure of it.”

He couldn’t be bothered to deny her insinuations. After all, it was useless to argue against Hermione — she wasn’t even wrong to begin with. She never was.

Harry took comfort in her words. She was right. He had more than enough time to win over your affections. It couldn’t be that difficult — if Cedric Diggory and Oliver Wood could do it within a year, why couldn’t he? And he had seven!

What could possibly prevent two best friends from becoming more than that?

Meanwhile, as night came upon London, a young boy of the name Edmund Pevensie, gazed out his windowsill in contemplation.

Earlier that day, he had overheard his parents speaking of sending him, alongside his four siblings to a family friend — some professor, if he remembers correctly. He recalls his mother fretting, expressing her worries about the four of them, when they heard a distant creek along the wood of the floor.

They retreated into their room, and somehow, Edmund couldn’t make out a sound.

The rest of the night, he was left to worry, silently and to himself, of whatever was to await them in the coming days.

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[woozihaes]

pairing: mingyu x f!reader warnings: a:tla au. mingyu as a firebender, reader as a waterbender, talk of an arranged marriage. i wrote parts of this back in... 2018? or earlier? i don't know. i just wanted to post it. no plot, lots and lots of fluff, though it's suggestive at the end. notes: two fics from me in a span of two weeks? who is she?!

-

at the end

-

dusk had begun to settle over the fire nation.

the view from their window was spectacular—the capitol glowed orange, and though she couldn’t see the people milling about as the palace was too far from the streets, she could see street lanterns light up one by one, thanks to sharp, precise strikes of fire by the resident benders.

the edges of the sea that touched the land—yours now, you reminded herself—was painted purple, soft curves of white cresting back and forth over the shore in a soothing sight. a flock of birds swelled over a patch of trees in the distance and flew over the island, and out of your line of vision.

the fire nation was magnificent. its people were alive and passionate, its land rich and fruitful. its cities were warm and inviting and interesting, filled with good food and celebrations yet teeming with secrets. it used to be such a scary place to you, because compared to the vast white tundra you'd called home for all your life, a foreign land that looked like a prison from far away, with its black houses and dark palace.

at the time, it felt like you was giving your life away.

someone called your name, and you turned to smile at your husband. he was still wearing the fire lord's pin on his head, but he'd already taken off the robes he often wore to meetings. "hello."

mingyu shut the door behind him and rubbed his temple as he walked into your bedroom. “hi. um, i'm sorry about earlier. i didn't mean to snap.”

you shook your head. "it's fine. i shouldn’t have been a nuisance to you in the middle of a meeting.”

pulling his hand away from his face, he sent you a tiny scowl. “you’re not a nuisance. you’re my wife.”

you cocked your head, walking over to him. "still. you're the fire lord. there are more important things for you to deal with."

his face soured. "i know you're trying to tease because i got short with you earlier, but please don't remind me. i just got over that meeting."

you suppressed your laugh. while mingyu's heart was in the right place, he often found himself at the mercy of the bureaucracy that ran the fire nation. he'd tried to keep his frustrations from you, especially that as the fire lady you'd had inadvertently signed up for the obligation to serve the public in some capacity, but you would always pry. at one point, you'd gotten into a rather heated argument about how he didn't seem to care about your opinions, which had led to a very upset mingyu because that wasn't the case at all, he just hadn't wanted you to see how hard of a time he was having.

you'd understood, really. running a nation was hard. but he didn't have to do it alone.

"you can always call me to come in, you know," you teased, laying your hands on his shoulders. "you know i love terrorizing old geezers."

mingyu's chuckle was deep and pleasant. "i'll remember that next time." he leans forward to kiss your forehead. "but seriously, you should join more meetings."

you hummed when he trailed his lips lower to place them on your mouth. you accepted his kiss before pulling away and walking towards the bed.

when you turned, you caught his open-faced admiration: the way he looked from your bare feet up to your exposed shoulder, peeking from beneath your robe. he didn't even try to hide that he was checking you out.

mingyu had always been such a gentleman to you since the day you'd met him that it still catches you off guard whenever he looks at you that way. it was such a guy thing for him to be caught doing, but you weren't going to lie and say that you didn’t like it.

as soon as mingyu put his hair ornament down on the dresser he walked over and stands in front of you. his hand came up to pull up your robe. "cover this up," he pouted. "people might see and i might get jealous."

you laugh. "sorry, fire lord."

he takes off his undergarments and you unabashedly admired his body; the way your husband kept himself up was very… easy on the eyes. the hard planes of his chest and abdomen finally revealed themselves, and you reached out to trail your fingers from his navel up to gently press against his chest.

mingyu hummed and changed the subject. “what were you thinking about by the window, my waterbender?” 

"the fire nation," you answered truthfully. "how it's so different from the south pole but just as beautiful."

"that's all?"

you climbed your hand up from his chest to his shoulder. "how scared i was when i had to move here after marrying you. it felt like i was giving away my soul." you climbed your hand higher, until it rested on his jaw. "in a way, i was."

"i'm sorry," mingyu murmured.

you shook your head. "don't be. i—" you caress the curve of his cheek with your thumb. "i think it's the best thing that's ever happened to me." you smiled. "you're also here, which is a bonus. gives me something nice to look at every once in a while."

mingyu snorted out a short laugh before letting out a comically loud sigh. "i knew it. you only married me for my body."

you kissed his cheek. "being a queen is nice too, but yeah. the main thing i'm here for is your body."

he sighed again before pulling away and dramatically falling against the bed, eyes closed and arms outstretched. "do what you must, wife," he cries, "i'm prepared to be ravished for the good of my people."

you laughed. "'for the good of your people'?"

he opened one eye to look at you. "whatever. i've had too long a day to come up with something less lame. can we skip to the ravishing part now, please?"

"i never agreed to ravish you."

"can you do it anyway?"

you laughed again. "is it okay if we put the lights out, then?”

"what?" mingyu's head popped up. "why?"

"to set the mood. hey, i'm doing the ravishing here, aren't i? lights off, please."

he pouted. "but what if i want to watch you?"

you rolled your eyes. mingyu was by no means an idiot, but he had a tendency to lose common sense when he was preoccupied with... other things. "then light them up again later, mingyu."

"oh. right." he cleared his throat. with a wave of his hand, the candles and sconces flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness, which was a mistake in hindsight.

"wait, mingyu, it's too dark! i can't see!"

you heard him snap his fingers and two of the furthest of lamps from the bed lit up.

"thanks," you chirped, climbing atop of him.

he gave you a pointed look. "i was promised a ravishing and i still haven't gotten it."

"you can never run a country if you're this impatient."

"we're wasting precious ti—ime!"

"can i start ravishing you now or should i wait for you to finish whatever you were saying?" you asked.

his answer was squeaky. "no, i'm good. i'll take the ravishing, please. thank you."

[urrone]

wip amnesty - jordan eberle/taylor hall

Full disclosure, I think I've posted this before, but I'm officially posting it again just to get it off my chest and out of my active fics folder. It's never getting finished. At the end I will include my notes for how I would have ended it if I had the willpower to do so. I created this document in the year of our eldritch horror TWO THOUSAND THIRTEEN so that's how long it's been muddling through existence.

--

the new normal

It’s not that Taylor hasn’t heard of Oklahoma before, of course he has, though he doubts he could have ever picked it out on a map of the US. He’s just never, like, had to physically acknowledge its existence with his own presence, and it’s weird. 

“Is it as flat as you thought?” Jeff, the intern the team sent to pick him up at the airport, carefully keeps his hands at 10 and 2 on the wheel. Bringing his truck down from home hadn’t made sense given he’s sure he won’t be here long, but Taylor misses driving already. 

“I didn’t really think about it,” he says, and that’s definitely true. Foreign places always resemble a slightly different Canada in his mind until he sees them. And it’s not like anywhere in the US is really that different, not like going overseas. 

And honestly, it does kind of remind him of Edmonton, only with fewer trees. 

Jeff laughs when he says it out loud, and starts pointing out landmarks on the way to the apartment Taylor will share with Jordan. He’s never lost this much playing time before, and he isn’t sure if it’s that or seeing Jordan for the first time since April that has him wiping sweat off his palms every five minutes. 

Taylor lets Jeff’s inane chatter ease him all the way to his new front door, on the second floor of a low rise apartment building that Jeff assures him is only a five-to-ten-minute bike ride from the arena. “It doesn’t look like a lot, but there’s some good stuff in Midtown,” Jeff says, gesturing vaguely to the road behind them. 

Taylor doesn’t know how to respond to this but it doesn’t really matter because Jeff’s already gone.

--

“Are you telling me you actually brought your dirty laundry from Canada to wash down here?” Jordan says, looking at the pile of clothes in front of the washer. “You moved down here just so I'd do your laundry again, didn't you?”

Taylor laughs and chucks the socks he'd been wearing on top of the pile. It’s almost a relief to just fall back into chirping each other like they always used to. It helps him talk through the fluttery bits in his stomach. “Yep, it had absolutely nothing to do with finally being able to play again. I got tired of washing my own socks.”

Jordan picks one of the socks up and flicks it back at Taylor's face. “It doesn’t look like you’ve washed a sock since last season.” 

Taylor bats it away, laughing around the new tight feeling that’s taken up residence in his chest. He'd really missed just being in the same room with Jordan, sitting on their mutually owned couch playing xbox, buying groceries they’d forget to eat, watching Jordan sort their dirty laundry.

“Why aren't you holding up your end then?” Jordan asks. He's given up bitching and started dumping the pile of clothes into the washer. “When's the last time you went grocery shopping?”

“Chill out, I just got here.”

“We can't eat at Earl's every day, dude.”

It's weird that he can eat at a place called Earl's in two different countries. Did they run out of restaurant names? The one down here doesn't have the variety of Edmonton’s, but their brisket is delicious, and Taylor doesn't see why they can't eat it every day if they want to. He says as much.

“The nutritionist might object.”

Fair point to Jordan. “Do you think Tubes would let me borrow his car?”

Jordan snorts. “No.”

Taylor flops down on the couch. “Well do you think he'd give me a ride to the grocery store?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether or not he's already going to the store.” Jordan flops down next to him, and it's not their awesome giant wrap around couch that Jordan’s mom bought them when they moved in, so next to him is kind of on top of him given the way that Taylor's sprawled, but Taylor doesn't mind. He likes Jordan's warm weight against him, even though it's kind of hot in their apartment, despite the air conditioning. It's weird that it's 30C in late October anywhere in the world.

“If we had Vespas we could go to the store.”

“How is grocery shopping with a Vespa different than grocery shopping with your bike?”

Taylor tries to shrug but his shoulders are stuck to the leather. “I'd get there faster?”

“Do you even know what a Vespa is?” Jordan nudges Taylor with his foot. “You still wouldn't have anywhere to put the groceries.”

Taylor doesn’t want to admit that no, he still doesn’t know. “I wouldn't get much. It's not like you're going to cook it.”

“Can't fit a lot of coconut water on a Vespa.”

“I could fit enough.” He nudges Jordan back with his knee, since his feet are currently trapped under Jordan's calves.

“Hey, Cheds.” Sometimes Taylor regrets ever telling Jordan about that nickname, but sometimes he likes that Jordan is the only one to use it anymore.

“What?”

Jordan won't make eye contact with him for a minute, which is weird because it's Jordan and Jordan has never been uncomfortable around Taylor, not even when they first met. “I just. I really missed you.”

It's weird to say his heart flips in his chest, because hearts don't actually do that, really, but Taylor might finally know what people mean when they say that, like this sick warm weird feeling right there behind his sternum. It's awesome and terrifying and he doesn’t know what to do with it. 

He waits until it passes and pats Jordan's shoulder, because Jordan's still looking weird. Which, granted, they hardly ever talk about their feelings for things other than food or hockey, but still. “I missed you too, you non.”

Jordan doesn't even smile at that, and Taylor suddenly feels like they're having two different conversations. “No,” Jordan says. “I mean. I missed. Jesus, Taylor, it was like <i>six months</i>.”

“No it wasn't, I was back in Edmonton that whole time. I mean, except for the surgery.”

“Not on the ice.”

“Well no, but—”

“Not over the summer.”

“We never spend the summer together.”

Jordan's looking at him now, but it's with the distinct impression that says Taylor's missing something big, and fuck if Taylor knows what it is. He kind of does though, because even when he'd been out with his ankle his rookie year, they'd still been around, and it hadn't been some planned thing like his shoulder where they knew it'd go through next season. 

The shoulder thing had kind of scared him, and he guesses it must have scared Jordan a bit too. He puts his hand on Jordan's shoulder again, but leaves it there and holds on. “I get it,” he says, even though Jordan's still looking at him like he really doesn't. “I really did miss you too. And playing with you. And winning with you.”

Jordan looks kind of okay with that, and he reaches up to pat Taylor's hand.

“You want to hug it out?” Taylor asks.

Jordan laughs at that and smacks his hand away and things feel normal again, but a different kind of normal. “Fuck you, turn on the TV.”

If this is going to be their new normal, Taylor could be okay with that. 

–

Practice is weird and it isn’t just because he hasn’t actually had a team practice since last season.  Jordan and Ryan have been down for a month already, since before the home opener, and Taylor hates feeling a step behind. He knows some of the guys from training camp last year, but Schultz is new and Ryan follows him around like a duckling. 

He’s also missed out on several months worth of inside jokes, which he hates almost more than feeling winded after sprints. During practice Justin hip checks Jordan and they both say “sauce” and crack up laughing. Taylor doesn’t feel bad at all when they both land on their asses and get yelled at. 

Tubes laughs at Taylor when he mentions the grocery store, but Hamilton takes pity on him. (Taylor hadn't really planned this well and asked in the locker room. If anyone chirps him about it, he's totally throwing Jordan under the bus about the laundry. Cereal is way better than socks.)

“We can go after practice,” Hammy says. “I've gotta go anyway.”

They end up driving way further north than Taylor's been before, he hasn't really made it past 23rd St on his bike, and stopped there because there wasn’t a bike lane. He figures if it isn't in the confines of downtown, he doesn't really need it.

“But you do,” Hammy says. “Because they don't have a Whole Foods down there.” He then spends about fifteen minutes bitching about the grocery store situation in Oklahoma, because apparently the liquor laws in the States are different than Canada, and for some reason that means no good grocery stores exist in this state. “It's a big fucking mess,” Hammy finishes, just as he parks. He catches Taylor giving him whatever look must have been on his face, because really, <i>grocery stores</i>. “What?” Hammy asks.

“I had no idea someone could have so many feelings about grocery stores.”

Hammy just pushes him into a parked car, and they both run when the alarm starts blaring.

–

“Did you know it's not even called KD down here?” Taylor asks, neatly arranging the offensively labeled blue boxes in the cupboard.

“I did, actually,” Jordan says, not even looking up from the TV.

“You could have warned me.”

“I'm sorry, was it a shock to your delicate nature?”

Taylor lobs one of the wet sponges on the sink at Jordan's head, and fuck yeah he's got excellent hand-eye coordination, it hits Jordan right in the ear. Jordan yelps and comes at him, and Taylor barely gets out “I'm sorry, was it a shock to your delicate ear?” before Jordan has him pinned on the kitchen floor, laughing into the tile. 

Taylor gets his hands under him and shoves up. He's got height and weight on Jordan, which has always made wrestling pathetically unmatched, especially when Jordan forgets to do shit like pin his hands. He gets Jordan wedged into the corner between the cabinets and the floor, and even with Jordan squirming and kicking his truly massive thighs around, he can't dislodge Taylor. Taylor is the fucking master of pinning people.

“Say it,” he says. It's unfortunately a little muffled because he's got Jordan's shoulder pinned with his head, and his mouth is full of Jordan' shirt. Still, it's a familiar enough routine by now, and Jordan's face is free and clear.

“No.”

Taylor presses down harder, his feet hooked over Jordan's legs and their arms tangled. It'd be horrible form if either of them had ever actually officially wrestled in any kind of formal manner, but there aren't any rules here. They're touching knee to head and it’s apparently part of the new normal that Taylor notices this time. Notices exactly how they line up, how Jordan's thigh flexes between his, how Jordan's breath pants across Taylor's forehead as he struggles. He doesn't know why he's never thought about this before, how good everything feels. He's missed it. They've had to be too careful about Taylor's shoulder for so long.

“Say it,” he says again, and hopes his voice doesn't sound as wrecked as he feels.

“You're better than me!”

“At what.”

Jordan sags against the floor and Taylor finds himself resisting absolutely nothing, and then they're just two guys, cuddling on the kitchen floor. “At literally everything,” Jordan says.

Taylor lifts his head. “That escalated quickly.”

“Fuck you, don't quote <i>Anchorman</i> at me.”

“Don't say ridiculous shit.”

Jordan shrugs and Taylor feels it with his whole torso and remembers that, oh yeah, he's still basically laying on top of Jordan, and it isn't for wrestling reasons anymore. He gets up and offers a hand to Jordan. “NHL 13?”

He laughs when Jordan slaps his hand away. “I'm gonna kick your ass,” Jordan says, levering himself up against the cabinets.

“Yeah, we'll see.”

–

Taylor's first week playing with the team for real and not just practicing involves a road trip down to Texas. On a bus. Taylor remembers taking buses to games, it honestly hasn't been that long, but the drive from OKC down to Houston is going to be like eight hours. And because he’s who he is he decides to complain about it out loud in the middle of Earl’s. “Welcome to the AHL,” he mutters.

“It's not that bad,” Jordan says.

“You're like a foot shorter than me, of course you don't think it's that bad.”

Jordan flicks a fry at him. Taylor tries unsuccessfully to catch it in his mouth. “I'm like inches shorter than you,” Jordan says. “Very few inches.”

“At least two,” Ryan says helpfully.

Justin nods. “But not more than six.”

“Fuck you both, it's not six inches.”

Taylor flicks a pickle at Jordan. Fries are too precious to waste, and he's really not a fan of pickles. “I can see over your head without even trying. It's enough.”

“You cannot.”

“I can.”

“Prove it.”

“Right now?”

Jordan gets up from their booth and stands next to it, hands on his hips. “Yes, right now.”

“You look stupid.” Taylor looks at Ryan and Justin, but they're both concentrating really hard on eating right now and are exactly no help. “Seriously?”

Justin looks up from his barbecue. “It makes Nugget really uncomfortable when his parents yell at each other,” he says, with a truly impressive deadpan expression. Taylor is forced to begrudgingly admit, only to himself, that Justin could teach lessons.

Taylor sighs heavily and ridiculously and throws his napkin down. “Fine.” He knows he's exaggerated his and Jordan’s height differences. Jordan knows he's exaggerated their height differences. Literally everyone knows he's exaggerated their height differences, and he stands up and his eyes are right on Jordan's forehead and of course he can't see shit over his head and he hates that he had to stand up and leave his barbecue behind. “Whatever, you non. Fine.” He sits back down again. “Two inches. Why were we talking about this again?”

Jordan is insufferably triumphant with his shit-eating grin. “The bus,” Jordan reminds him. “It's not that bad, so quit your fucking whining.”

“Language, Ebby,” Taylor says. “This is a family establishment.”

Jordan kicks him under the table, and it's really fucking hard actually, but then he leaves his leg pressed up against Taylor's until they leave.

–

Taylor shifts around for the millionth time in as many minutes. The bus is too hot and too cold and too cramped and too . . . everything. He's got his iPad out and has Dexter queued up but can't find a good position for the iPad and his legs and his shoulders. Jordan shotgunned the window seat on the way to the bus and at first Taylor thought that the aisle would be awesome, more room for his legs, but then Arco spread out a blanket, grabbed his pillow, and camped out in the aisle. It's a mad genius idea and Taylor wishes he'd thought of it first, but now he's got nowhere for his legs except under the seat in front of him.

“Stop squirming,” Jordan says, shoving at his shoulder. “I can't sleep when you squirm.”

“I can't get comfortable,” Taylor says, shoving back. “This is the worst.”

House kicks his seat. “Tell us again how wonderful the Oilers plane is, seriously.”

Taylor hunches down in his seat. This is the worst, the absolute worst, but he might be down here for the whole season, given the way the negotiations are going, and he doesn't really want to be <i>that guy</i>.

“Here, just.” Jordan starts manhandling him a bit. “Sit up a minute, will you?” Taylor does and Jordan pulls his leg up behind Taylor and Taylor does not at all see how this is going to be comfortable? But then Jordan grabs his shoulders and turns Taylor away from him and pulls his back into Jordan's chest, so Taylor is basically reclining in a Jordan chair. Taylor tries really hard and really unsuccessfully to not think about every point of contact between them. 

He swings his legs up onto the armrest across the aisle, basically right over Arco's head, but he's asleep and Danis is all alone across the aisle and sleeping with his face mashed against the window and obviously not using the arm rest right now.

“Better?” Jordan whispers, and it's right in his ear and that's definitely what makes the goosebumps spread across the back of his neck. He wonders what Jordan will attribute his full body shudder to, but Jordan doesn't actually ask. Also is it better? No. And yes. 

“Yeah,” he says, just as quiet. It really has no business being comfortable, because they're still two tall, muscular dudes shoved into a seat made for people roughly half their size, but somehow it is, and it’s weird that it is. 

Jordan slings his arm over Taylor's shoulder, because it's that or leave it mashed between Taylor and the seat. He can feel when Jordan falls asleep again, because his breath gets deep and even against Taylor's shoulder.

Taylor puts his earbuds in, props the iPad against his knees, and hits play. He’ll deal with how good all of this feels later.

–

It’s Justin’s idea to go see Cloud Atlas. Taylor doesn’t really like going to movie theaters, he gets bored just sitting there trying to follow along with a plot he doesn’t really care about. He relents when Jordan tells him to stop being a non and promises to buy him a popcorn and lemonade, so he gets on his bike and follows them all down the street to the theater. 

Somehow, when they all go to sit down, Taylor ends up on the end of the row next to Justin, and Jordan’s on the other end next to Ryan, and all Taylor has is his watery lemonade. Ryan and Justin do this thing during the previews where they do a thumbs up or down on whether or not they’ll go see the movie. Jordan starts giving his opinion after he sees Ryan and Justin doing it. 

Taylor keeps his thumb down the whole time and eventually Justin stops turning to ask. 

He only makes it thirty-seven minutes into the movie. By the sixth time a new storyline is introduced and he’s leaned over again to Justin to ask if that’s still Tom Hanks under all the makeup and Justin has shushed him yet again, he just gets up and leaves. He waits in the lobby to see if anyone follows him but eventually Taylor has to concede that they might not have even noticed he’d left. Or maybe they just thought he was taking an extended bathroom break.

The lobby of the movie theater is boring and doesn’t have any couches and he’s actually pretty close to home because everything is pretty close to their apartment, so he just leaves.

He bikes around downtown. There’s a little canal area near the theater and a big statue of a covered wagon. He likes the canal. It’s absolutely nothing like the river in Edmonton but whatever, it’s trying. He stops outside Toby Keith’s restaurant to tweet about the movie and laughs at Whits’ response. 

Most of the time he’s not sure if it’s Oklahoma City that he likes or his anonymity. No one recognizes him here. No one stops him on the sidewalk to ask about their Cup chances. No one laments to him about their godawful power play, or how long it’s been since their last playoff run. No one gives him their insider tips or advice on going top shelf or five hole. He hasn’t been this anonymous in a really long time. 

If he’d stopped to think about it, and he never had, obviously, he’d have assumed he’d find it lonely, isolating. The first time he’d left the country, to go someplace that wasn’t the United States, he’d gone all the way to Russia for hockey. They had people to help them around, translators assigned to help them order dinner and find their way to the bathrooms. And, other than thinking they were obnoxious tourists, the Russians hadn’t really cared much about who he was. He keeps thinking about that time, about being in the middle of a crowd of people and completely unable to communicate with any of them unless they spoke English. 

They speak English in Oklahoma but it’s the same feeling, like there’s something lost in translation between him and the people strolling along the canal. 

He’d never been alone in Russia though, Jordan had been with him. He wonders why he feels more alone now, and he kind of hates it. 

As he’s contemplating that feeling, he realizes he’s hit the highway. And because he’s hit the highway, he doesn’t actually know where he is. It should be easy just turn around and go back the way he came, plus all the streets in Oklahoma City are numbered, but he can’t figure it out. He lets Siri direct him back to the apartment.

-

That's where it ends, these are the notes:

Lockout ends and they go back and Taylor is still pissy and doesn’t know why

Jordan confronts him about it

Taylor finally says that OKC was balls but he missed feeling like they were about to start something, like they were removed from their normal lives in a place where anything could happen

Jordan calls him an idiot and kisses him

“It was like. Anything could happen there. We could have just been two normal guys. And it made me think, if we were just two normal guys, what would I do.” 

“But you didn’t do anything.” 

Taylor shrugs. “We still weren’t normal guys, even though it felt like it.” 

“What’s normal? Nothing’s normal. There’s no such thing as normal.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“So we make a new normal,” Jordan says, and kisses him. 

Okay but now that I’ve been reminded of it I need to add something in there about bonking their heads together as they kiss. 

[manor-tea-time]

Sends a billion fireworks at everyone's exact location (its 8 billion fireworks good lord!) (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

AJHDFSHJDAS THIS ASK MADE ME CACKLE

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

It was a fairly calm afternoon for the residents. The sun allowing a comforting blanket of warmth to trickle into the manor as the residents went out and about their days. At least until a faint noise was heard. NOOOOOOOOOOOM KABOOOM!!!

8 BILLION FIREWORKS HAD LANDED ON THEM WITHIN THE MANOR!! The frantic noises and colorful language were all that could be heard for the next few minutes as they all scrambled to take what little cover they could.

When the dust settled, they were left once again to their own devices, wondering what on earth spawned such a thing.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Wayne (-⊕ ζ ⊕-)< :

Shattered equipment and lanterns scatter the lamp smith's room, the once warm lights now snuffed into a somber darkness. Stumbling up from the mess, the lamp smith went to open the room's door. The light from the halls illuminating the disaster of what occurred inside.

Wayne opened his mouth, shutting it again as he realized he had absolutely no idea how to even begin to respond to what had just played out. Instead, he inspected himself for any serious injuries, grumbling a few curses under his breath as he found them. He'd definitely need to go to the infirmary. Although, he wasn't sure he could explain fireworks hitting him all at once.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Ivy ξ(❁) ⊕) ξ :

Frantic yelling is heard from the costume maker's room as she rushes to put out any lingering fires that may have stuck to loose fabrics. "What on earth was this all about!" She yelled, fumbling to adjust a small eyepatch to recover her face (as to her dismay, porcelain could not withstand 1 billion fireworks).

Her adrenaline from it all was at an all time high, her breathing becoming ragged as she searched around to make sure that had truly been the last of the bombardment. Fire had always been one of her least favorite things, but a group of fireworks? That was a whole other awful thing to deal with all together!

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

LeRoy 🗝️>(⊖▼⊗´)•ζ :

"Owwww, my headdd" The forest ranger groaned, clutching the sides of his head as he tried to keep his head from spinning. He'd been trying to run from the fireworks, he'd nearly been successful in only getting hit by a few as they zipped past him. However, a lone tree root and a quick tumble had been his downfall. He couldn't necessarily run from the rest of the fireworks if he had to focus on not breaking his arm (again).

Perhaps he'd lay there for a moment before trying to head back just yet. At least then he wouldn't feel like half of the wind got taken from him.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Delilah Ⴑ(‘❁◡❁’)Ⴑ :

The sounds of projects shattering and angry spectral voices filled Delilah's ears. She felt almost cowardly for taking cover underneath her bed, but with the crackling threat of so many fireworks looming over head, she wasn't exactly sure there were any other viable options.

Once she felt safe enough to emerge, the glass artist let out a yell of despair at the sight of half of her works now reduced to small bits of dabree. "So much work gone!" She huffed as she paced around the room, seeing what she could possibly scavenge.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Pip (◼⊗_⊗’)/* :

Pip peeked his head out from a small closet he'd ducked into. Did he just witness 1 billion fireworks head his way? Why?! How? He had too many questions popping into his brain the longer he stood there seeing the remnants of the scene.

He flicked a dice into the air, catching and reading it as though it were a penny. Evens. He supposed that meant he ought to check in with some of the others then. Providing help was something any hero should do, after all!

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Miss Manni (,◡ _ ◡,) :

Miss Manni busies herself with picking up some of her scattered limps off of the ground. A small tune being hummed as she slowly, but surely restitches them back together.

"While I do suppose I needed to reinforce some of my stiching, I would have preferred if you'd simply informed me of such my dear." She brushed off some stray bits of dust from herself as she spoke. "I'd say that many fireworks is more than enough to drive that point home."

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Eleanor (´⬬_⬬`)< :

Eleanor blinked as she saw the incoming fireworks rush towards her. "Oh dear," She mumbled to herself, looking down at the new repairs she'd just gotten. She was absolutely screwed.

After the dust settled of the chaos, Eleanor sneezed, a small puff of smoke emerging from them. Studying herself, noting every new dent, scratch, and charcoal stain. She'd need to repair herself once again - perhaps even find something else to wear for a bit. The sound of a sigh came from the automaton. Her performance would have to once again, wait.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Shadowed Man /++ ◡ ++\ :

The smallest whisp of a shadow is all that remains. Unable to comment on the occurrence, but seeming overall peeved as all hell as it struggles to maintain a solid shape. It jumps place to place, looking to cling onto a different resident for the time being until they recover.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

[sakura-no-oto]

Her Turn

(Prologue)

Possible triggering content below

The moon is full tonight, shining brightly through her bedroom window in a pool of silver. Down below, Konohagakure sleeps peacefully, its residents blissfully unaware that one among them cannot so easily turn in for the night. Sakura sighs, staring at the piece of paper in her lap, and the words written in bold at the top: Exam Application. The Chunin Exams, for anyone who longs to surpass the rookie genin level and try their hand at a professional shinobi career—or something like that. Truthfully, she isn’t sure what she personally has to gain from the experience.

Sakura sets the application down on the bed, swinging her legs over the side. A curtain of long black hair falls over her shoulder; she pauses, and then she turns, locking eyes with her reflection in the mirror a few feet away. Painted in the pale, soft glow of the moon, she looks like a ghost, she thinks, studying herself in the glass. This late at night, safe in the privacy of her own room, she sometimes lets her false face slip away. Besides, she’s locked the door.

It’s the real Sakura staring back at her tonight, the one that’s marred her in a monster’s image since birth. Her appearance is a stark contrast to the plain night gown she wears to bed: chalky-white skin, long, inky dark hair and golden, slit eyes framed in purple points. I am a ghost, she thinks dully, and her stomach tightens.  The ghost of a man haunting her from afar. The ghost of her father.

Sakura watches as her mouth thins and lies limp in a deflated scowl. All the traits are there, down to the broad forehead…except where extreme chakra manipulation and strength ought to be, there…isn’t. Sakura can’t do any of the things Orochimaru can—or assumes he can, based on texts she’s come across and fragments of childhood memories. That cold glare and venomous voice are burned so deeply into her psyche, she’s taken him at his word either way. Her father runs all of Sound Country for a reason, and what does his daughter do to uphold his image? She can stick to trees. She can substitute herself with logs. She can throw stars and kunai and maybe, just maybe, she’ll hit a target.  Otherwise, she’d better hope one of the boys is paying attention and comes to her aid. Sakura, in all of her glory, is the tag-along sidekick of her genin squad…and Kakashi-sensei thinks she’s ready for the next level?

The knot in her brow deepens. She can see her application through the glass as well, lying in wait beneath her window. Of course, she’s already filled it out. If there is anything Sakura excels at, it’s the written word. In another life, she’s probably a teacher, or maybe some high-profile ninja’s assistant.  As if I’d be so lucky. Sakura’s never really thought about what to do when she grows up. She’s grown up with only one real objective in mind: find an Uchiha. Befriend the Uchiha. Bring one home. Home... For the last seven years of her life, this place, this village, has been her home.  To everyone in it, she’s simply Sakura Haruno: the ordinary, pink-haired daughter of an ordinary shinobi family. Does anyone even remember she’s adopted? I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t. There’s nothing particularly memorable about the Sakura this village knows: she’s just another genin…and genin, at least ordinary ones, aspire for chunin status.

Sakura glances at the paper again. She knows Sasuke is going to apply. That’s a no-brainer. He told them early on that he’s got lethal objectives in mind, down the road. Her father would probably delight in that, but the thought makes her skin crawl, and she pushes it aside. Naruto will absolutely apply, although how well he’ll fill out the form, she can only guess. He’s so hell-bent on this whole being Hokage thing, he’d probably submit it half-finished if he has to. The thought’s almost admirable, or would be, if she hadn’t been such a stickler for rules and dedication…but is it dedication, she wonders, tugging at the ends of her hair (she can do that, she’s learned, in the privacy of her own room. No one can see her weakness behind these walls.)  What does Sakura want when this is all said and done?

Sakura’s eyes slowly trail back up to meet those of her reflection once more. Gradually (reluctantly,) she brings her hands together, moving through hand-signs with the fluid ease of muscle memory.  In a moment’s notice, her true self fades away and its aquamarine eyes that stare back at her now, Aquamarine eyes, rosy cheeks and layers and layers of vibrant pink hair.

It doesn’t matter what she wants. She should know this by now. Orochimaru left her here for one reason, and that reason is signing up for the chunin exams. Like it or not, ready or not, if something happens to her father’s new host body, he’ll never let her live it down. Literally, she thinks, and the word chills her to the bone. She’ll have to find a way to keep up with the boys. There’s no other choice.

[hiria22]

Hi, I've seen a lot of really good writing on here, and I thought maybe I'd post something of my own! It's not taken from a show or anything, just a simple short story, so I really hope you all enjoy it!

The autumn breeze floats through my hair on its way to drag the leaves off the trees.

School isn't as dreadful anymore. I have some friends, and the looks become more bearable as the comments are fading by the day. Home is much more peaceful. It's a less tense place to be. Those who reside in the home are happier. I open the door and rush upstairs to Bingo. Bingo will always get an update on my life. He lays on my bed just where I left him in the morning. Bingo usually runs to me when he hears the bedroom door open. He didn't today. Bingo is lifeless. This isn't my Bingo. I slowly go to sit next to him and stroke him. As I speak to him, he doesn't show the emotion as he usually does. He just lays there with his head in my lap, giving up. This is it. The time I dread. The inevitable time off life you lose someone, whether it be human or animal, that has been there for the hard ships. Mum is at work until 10 pm. Dad doesn't live here anymore, I have to do this on my own. It's Friday, Bingos' favourite day because for 2 days straight, it's just me and him for 48 hours. I get his coller and beg him to get him. He's going to his place. After 30 minutes of trying, he gains some life to heave himself up. But he won't be able to stand for very long. I prepare myself for the weight of my boy and my tears. It's got to happen. My hands guide him into my arms as they rest under his belly, his head pressed against my shoulder. I quickly slide on my shoes and dash out the door. I need to be quick. He needs to see it one last time. It's the least I can give him. What should have been an hour walk turned into a 25-minute run. The valley. His head lifted off of my shoulder as I put him down. He loves it here. We slowly walk towards his big oak tree. The one I found him lying at when we were both in need of love and attention. I press my back against the oak tree as Bingo lays on the left of me, his head on my lap looking towards the sunset. The magical beam off light that Bingo loves so much will be the last thing he sees. He places his beautiful get black fuzzy paw onto my hand as he takes he begins to take his final breaths. " You did such a good job Bingo your a good boy. You did me proud , I couldn't have done this without you, I love you so much, beautiful boy." He weakly lifts his head up towards me as his big chocolate orbs stare into my teary eyes. With that, he snuggles into me and goes to sleep. His big long well deserved sleep. He did a good job.

[anxiousanteaterr]

through the power of digging through old folders and screenshots, i managed to scrape together some map bits from my island during the past 3 years.

Apr. 22, 2020

This is the earliest one I could find, and clearly was taken after I had already obtained terraforming and building pathways. The idea for Syzygy had already had its foundations that would remains mostly unchanged.

Jul. 30, 2020

Added more paths. Adjusted the eastern river around the houses. Added a pond west of Resident Services?? Moved the campsite to its permanent location. Able Sisters moves to the commercial area of the island. Made the “maze” in the western side of the island more detailed/natural. The museum gets more detail outside. Priest gets his “house” built near the museum and some lore stuff is put up between the chapel and the museum. Finally, the WRESTLING RING is installed just south of Resident Services.

Jan. 1, 2021 (this was grabbed from a vid of the new years event lmao)

Molded the river to run down out of the northwestern pond and through the “maze” on the western side of the island for more realism. Added a slope to the largest maze island. Banished some villagers to the beach as I try to figure out how much yard space they should all get + make it look like the town was built around the river (for more realism). Added slopes for ease of access on the northeast side of the island. [REDACTED] gets his house built in the forest in the northwest corner of the island. Removed the pond west of Resident Services??

Jun. 19, 2021

Added more details to the western river, removed the slope to keep the preserved/untouched feel of the “maze”. The Orchard is moved to the space west of Resident Services. Guy moves in with his surf/summer shop just below the “maze” where the orchard originally was. Added slopes to reach the northern island because I grew tired of using ladders to visit Redd. Villagers are allowed to live on the mainland again. Opted to have the eastern river ‘end’ at one point, and ‘begin’ below, implying it goes underground. Finally, the cemetery is built in the northeast side of the island.

Jan, 1, 2022 (another horrid new years eve vid screenshot) FARMING UPDATE!!!

Added much needed details to the eastern river. The orchard is moved as far up as I can possibly move it without disturbing the natural look too much. In its place: the farming field. The six rocks are finally given their own dedicated spot just below the cemetery.

Mar. 22, 2022

Added a pathway from Guy’s Summer Daze shop to the southern beach, with palm trees dotted all around. Expanded the pond that the eastern river dumps out into for detail, realism, and to just fill in the empty space. Added some decor to the empty gap just south of Able Sisters. Added palm trees all around the eastern edge of the island for detail and to keep things looking natural.

Dec. 31, 2022

Professor moves into the ancient ruins inside the maze that were 100% totally there this whole time! Added dirt pathways across the island for detail. Adjusted the northwestern and the mid-eastern pond for even more detail. Made the southern parts of both rivers little more irregular.

Jun. 4, 2023

Hope establishes her café next door to Able Sisters. Guy’s brother moves in next to Nook’s Cranny. Still haven’t decided what I’m going to do with that house. Hotel? Community center? IDK.

__

It’s really neat to see how much and yet so little my island has changed. I had kinda forgotten how much of it I already had planned out since the beginning. But I definitely remember the pain that was moving the orchard, and literally all of the terraforming. 

It’s also fascinating to see that I really did not touch the little corner where my house is AT ALL. There’s a pear tree next to my house, near the western river, that literally was there day one. Default tree. It is most likely the only original tree left in its original spot on the entire island.

[voidtouched-blue]

[ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 ]

This was the first time he had ever asked her to take first watch. Despite his usual cheerful demeanor, she remembered noting how heavy his gait had been in the earlier hours of the day. Their trip had taken its toll on him, it seemed. As she returned from another trip to gather more firewood, she noticed that Raven hadn't been in his usual spot. Rather than being seated next to the warming comfort of the fire, he had been leaned up against a nearby tree. All she could do was smile as she carefully, and quietly placed the small bundle at her feet.

She glanced over at him, idle hands working with her will to place more logs into the blaze, and watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest in soft slumber. Arms and legs crossed when paired with the way his head had leaned back onto the trunk of the tree had told her enough. He had been truly exhausted. He hadn't really asked her to keep watch over him while he slept, but she couldn't leave either of them without a guard for the night. He had already spent most of their nights camping out taking the first few hours to ensure their safety, acting as though she were a proper lady deserving of such courtesy and chivalry. The thought of it made her huff in amusement.

She was no lady.

Cyra had learned from the first time awakening to the sight of men curiously peering at her, that she was far from anything normal. Turning her attention back to the gathered fuel for their heated comfort in the night, she sighed as she placed another log into the flames. The flickering light and cracking wood reminded her of all the time she had spent peering at the closed door to her room, watching the lines of shadows marching by to make the light behind it dance. The intent to keep her there may have been to protect her, but it felt more like a prison than a sanctuary. She was grateful for the chance to see the world beyond her windowless room. There was nothing else she could remember besides the wooden furniture and the voices of the ones that brought her there. All this had meant was that there was room for new things to take up residence within her mind. Something to fill the space, and new memories to keep her company in the quiet hours of the night.

A short sniff from her sleeping companion had her turning quickly towards the sound. She kept herself quiet as she prepared to attack if the noise brought the threat of violence with it. Yet, as she shifted, Cyra caught the old man wiggling to make himself comfortable in his sleep. If he had heard the sigh of relief that left her nose, he would have laughed or joked about her immediate defensive posture in response to such a quiet sound.

In silence, she got up, pulling at the long fabric she had draped around her and gently shaking it off as she approached. He had such a soft snore. Surprised that she hadn't heard it sooner, her tail flicked as she came to stand beside him. She knelt down, drawing the cloak up and over to cover as much of him as the cloth could cover to carefully rest just under his shoulders.

"You'll need this more than I will," she whispered.

Raven had only mumbled incomprehensibly as he settled into the makeshift blanket. For a moment, she sat perched on her toes beside him, taking the time to look at him for as long as she wanted without worry of him catching her doing so. And it was as her gaze came to rest on his face that she realized this was the most relaxed and at peace she had seen of him. With her amnesia, and Raven's desire to keep himself a mystery, she could only glean what she could read from his body language. It was faint, but there was a clear tension that he held in his shoulders. Here, in his sleep, there were no troubles to plague his mind, at least none that she could see.

Cyra didn't realized she had reached out to gently brush away the hair that covered his eyes, her thumb gently grazing his eyebrow as she did. The gentle touch seemed to cause the archer to stir, sending more wordless mumbles into the night as she quickly took her hand back to rest on her thigh. He was such a troubled man who held an unseen world on his back. It was a pain she could only wish to heal.

"Cyra..." he mumbled out.

By the time the sound had left his lips, the woman could already feel how the skin on her cheeks had become a flame of her own. Surely this had been nothing more than a coincidence. After all, what had she done to earn the honor of having a presence in his dreams? She had healed his wounds on a few occasions, but other than the occasional spell and defending him in combat, Cyra saw no real reason for him to call out for her.

He didn't have a choice in bringing her along, not that she knew what the purpose of this journey was for, but it had been nothing more than another assignment to complete. He was responsible for every time she caused a ruckus with her strikingly 'monstrous' appearance. They had to avoid major towns and settlements if they could manage it, and even when they couldn't, he instructed her that it would be best for her to hide as much of herself as possible. He even went out of his way to fetch a small collection of blankets and various clothing to hide her unique appearance from the common folk. Raven did all of these things because he had to for their safety.

Cyra had only begun to see herself as a burden or a 'tamed monster' as some would call her with every encounter she had traveling in the outside world. She didn't know if she had always looked like this, having more animalistic features than human ones, or if something had made her out to be the very creatures that the shield blastia had been built for. All of these swirling and stormy thoughts had set her ears to flatten against her head, and her tail to curl gently around her legs as she remained crouched by his side. Being the first to keep watch had meant she would be alone with these thoughts until it was time for him to start his shift. She could feel the way they burrowed into her mind, her claws raking the fur on her arms as they did.

He said it again.

This time, his whole posture shifted, and his head lolled to lean towards her side. The sheer imbalance of weight had threatened to pull him down to fall to his side. And without thinking, the creature she was had quickly settled into the space next to him for support. She pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them with her fingers tightly gripping the leather of her pants as she simply stared ahead at the dancing light of the campfire. Perhaps there was a sudden chill that made the idea more appealing, or maybe she had always been seated beside him since she covered him with her cloak? Cyra tried to think of any reason why she acted on impulse to explain such an action. Though, as she continued to identify the source, her string of thought had been cut as he shifted again to rest his head against her shoulder.

The heat of his quiet breaths had ruffled the fur on her arm, giving her heart the smallest flutter to turn her gaze to the peaceful man. Of course, she couldn't see the relaxed expression painted on olive skin from her angle, but she could hear the quiet comfort of his heartbeat. She was supposed to be keeping watch. Cyra was supposed to be awake, alert, and paying careful attention to their surroundings in case of danger. Although there was a guilt weighing on her for failing to hold this responsibility with high importance, she also recognized that he needed this. Whether he would admit it or not upon waking, by the way his unconscious self had trusted and leaned so comfortably against her smaller form, it would be a quiet moment- a new memory- just for her.

For once, she allowed herself such a wanted solace. She told herself that just this one time, she could allow it. Rationalizing that if anything had dared approach with ill will or with the goal of hunting them in mind, her keen ears would pick it up faster than they could strike. She took a deep breath, glancing down at him one more time hoping to catch that sleepy sound of her name on his lips as he dreamed. With a soft smile, and that quiet wish, she slowly rested her head on his own and closed her eyes.

"I'm here."

[needmytea]

A breathtaking moment

There was a point in my life where I felt that my breath was truly taken away. It was not by a particular relative or friend, nor was it a fiery sunset that captured my eye, but it was by my dog, one that I genuinely poured my heart and soul into taking care of for the past 10 years. She was the loveliest partner I knew and ever had, always at my side during the moments where I felt down, and was my guiding light in the darkest of times. Amongst the beautiful memories we shared, one particular brief moment of time stood out to me, and it truly stole my breath away. It was during her last and final year with me, in the simplest of moments.  “I’m home,” I declared, as I unlocked the heavy wooden door of my small apartment. Just like any other day, I was greeted by my pet dog Luffy, tucked beside the sofa, where her resting basket was, lazily lifting up one dog ear as I stepped into the house to greet her. Luffy, in her big 10-year-old Labrador manner, rose up from her bed and pattered towards me slowly. I leashed her gently and we stepped out of the house to go on a walk together. 

It was a particularly gloomy day. The ominous clouds loomed over the houses, threatening to spill anytime. We went to our nearby residential park, which was completely vacant and silent, except for the occasional noisy rustling of leaves due to the gusts of cold wind. As we went along the trail, I was starting to feel the fatigue from being in school all day. All of a sudden, I was forced out of my reverie, as Luffy suddenly stopped in her tracks, making me almost trip over her body.

“What’s going on, Luffy?” I asked, as I noticed that Luffy was staring at this particular large tree in the center of the park for quite a while. The tree stood in its glory, in the most famous and notable part of the park, its massive trunk reaching out with tiny branches, grasping onto the lush green leaves, creating a massive green shelter akin to the shape of an umbrella. I remember overhearing from old residents that this tree has been here for nearly 100 years, but other than its long history in this country, this tree was nothing special to me. I was left thoroughly confused with Luffy’s silence and unblinking stare at the old tree.

All of a sudden, she started running towards it, barking as maniacally as possible, like a hungry buffalo. Caught off guard, I let go of my hold on the leash, and a wave of shock immediately overcame me.

“Luffy, wait!” I shouted, instantly chasing after her. Luffy never did act this way. She was usually a calm dog; nothing ever fazed her in her 10 years of living. Even during our daily walks in the same park, she never paid special attention to the big tree. That is why, the fact that she was overly enthusiastic today piqued my curiosity. 

She kept on barking, her voice reverberating through the quiet park. Scratching at the bark of the tree while desperately trying to stand on her two feet to get up, her once-neat coat ruffled was now messed up by her frenzy. 

Finally I caught up to Luffy, panting for air as I crouched down next to her. 

‘What is it that you’re looking at, Luffy?” I tiredly asked, as I watched my dog slowly soften her barks while still insistently glaring up the tree. I sighed.

Curiosity was like a devil, urging me to just take a quick peek up the tree to satisfy the burning question of “What is going on?” 

So, naturally, I raised my head up, and the cat was out of the bag.

Woah. 

A wide crowd of small crisp white birds, perched on top of the branches of the trees, were looking down at me and Luffy with a sharpness in their eyes, standing tall on their branches, as if we were just lowly servants to the king’s throne. Their pearly white feathers were brought out by the green of the leaves, and their beaks and eyes were a murky black. 

I was absolutely shell-shocked for a moment. Never have I thought to see a whole flock of Duarian Starlings occupying the entire space of a tree, let alone even see a bird perched on a tree nowadays! To a measly teenager like me, we could only ever see such birds through our science textbooks or at the bird park. Moreover, his urban environment was unsuitable for wildlife with the heavy traffic in the mornings and late evenings, with frequent loud horns audible everyday, so to see birds, let alone countless of them, was just insane to me. That moment left my mouth gaping wide open, and all of my wandering thoughts about my bed and food instantly vanished. It was a truly breathtaking moment, where I just stared at the mother birds feeding their chicks, and the birds lightly chirping as if they were having a conversation. I felt so at peace, looking at them.

Soon, soft thunder rumbled through the skies as raindrops slowly started to pelt down the pathment. With no umbrella and Luffy not budging from her spot, I was left with no choice but to sit under the tree and wait out the rain.

So, for the next 30 minutes or so, Luffy and I sat next to each other, dry and right under the tree, staring out at the downpour gushing down on the park and raindrops illuminated by tiny glimpses of the sun, with the flock of white birds, sharing this quiet solace together for a while.  In the end, the breathtaking and unusual view of the birds still have a special place in my heart after so long. That was one of my most memorable and favourite memories I shared with Luffy. Now, everytime I enter the same park, I sit at our same spot, reminiscing about this particular memory with Luffy. 

- written by yoon

mwacks

[sistiadinita]

The Anomaly of Dream

It is so easy to lose track on your dream. One minute you can be so excited to talk about your dream. The next minutes you are over excited that you want to share your thoughts to someone about your plan. The next hour you set all things necessary to accomplish those plans. The next two hours you are restless that you can wait until tomorrow to do something about your dream. The next day, you are caught up in routines that you feel the dream can wait. The next week, you feel your dream is too difficult to realize. The next month, you are already far with your dream that you think you need motivation to restart. The next two months you are bored with your life because you can’t find motivation that fits you. The next year you realize all those motivational words seem like all theoretical since you failed to implement it in achieving your dream. The next two years you are a sceptical person who views others’ success as a threat. Negative feelings and emotions are collided in you and you feel yourself as worthless and unfit to this world because you can’t do something to make yourself more valuable.

This syndrome, is a dangerous attack to the dreamers. There are reasons behind this phenomena that I can conclude:

1.      You don’t talk to the right people. If, you share your dream to the ones who do not understand your passion, your dream will become mere chitchat. Talking to someone who gets you, feel your feelings, on the same boat with you, or has similar interest and passion as yours, would be much more promising. They will help you manage your ideas, giving constructive feedback and warning you some possibilities. They do not always appear agreeable, yet they tend to be more realistic and supportive.

2.      You don’t break your dream into actionable plans. Dream is a “high” word, yet if you break it down with realistic approach, it starts to bend over you that you may feel it is “low” enough you can reach it. As if when you see a guava hanging on its tree and it is beyond your grasp. Then you will look for a stick or anything long enough to reach it. You have to make an effort by going to the backyard, asking your mom, looking for the suitable stick which has enough length to take the guava. Sometimes you have to bend the branches lower for the stick to grab the fruit easier. The same thing applies to the dream.

3.      You have to create pattern and habit. I once read words that sound, “I doubt words. I even question actions. But I never doubt patterns.” It is true that you perhaps do not need much motivational words. The more important is how you react to the words you read or listen the first time. How does it make a SPARK in you. Then it means the words do not have to wait long for the actionable steps to be taken. Motivational words may affect differently to each person. This is why, some words are like hidden gem. You may not find them anywhere, you have to search for it.

Those suggestions above may look like a bunch of meaningless words to those who consider this writing as a mere light reading. But for those who take it seriously, I think it will create different vibes. One thing that we should highlight: Advices never get old. They just enter a person through different doors. Some get through the logical realm, some sneak through the heart- door, and others absorb themselves into the soul. The last one will make a permanent residency in the person’s self. They will stay there until last breath.

So yeah, dream is weird and puzzling. It is also picky at times, Only happens to someone who believes and wants to struggle for it. Above all, the probability of achieving dream is also uncertain. There is never a fixed formula. As mankind, our role is perhaps just to LIVE and BELIEVE.

[motownfiction]

you shouldn’t have

Sam forgot his wallet (again). He’s at the annual Christmas tree lighting ceremony in the parking lot of St. Catherine’s with Will and Daniel. Normally, they renounce school spirit and all its works, but the Christmas tree lighting ceremony is different. For one thing, it’s an excuse to be outside after dark without your parents asking you too many questions. For another thing, it’s the only time they get to enjoy the homemade hot chocolate that Mrs. St. John sells in her little booth near the gym. At least, that’s what it’s supposed to be. But Sam forgot his wallet.

Again.

It’s the fourth weekend in a row something like this has happened. First, it was the movies, and Will spotted his ticket and shared his bucket of popcorn. Second, it was 7-Eleven, where Daniel pitched in a little bit extra so that Sam could get a Slurpee. Most recently before tonight, it was the roller rink, which they would have left if Mrs. O’Connor hadn’t given Sam some money to get through the front door. For three weekends in a row, Will and Daniel have put up with Sam’s forgetfulness. This weekend, they sing a different tune.

“My mom only gives me so much money every week,” Daniel says. “And she’s not even sure she should be doing that now that my dad’s moving out.”

“And my mom counts how much I spent when I come home at the end of the night,” Will says. “If I’m shorter than I thought I’d be, she gets mad.”

“How does Colleen feel about me?” Daniel asks. “With me being five-three and all.”

Will laughs. Sam thinks he’d like to laugh, too, but it’s serious business.

“You think you can just stand here and make jokes,” he says. “I’m really in a crisis! This is the one time a year we get to have Mrs. St. John’s hot chocolate – the best hot chocolate in the world, as far as I know – and you’re really going to make me miss it? You’re really going to make me hold out until next Christmas? I could be dead by then!”

“Yeah, you could be,” Daniel says. “Because if you keep talking like that, I’ll just go ahead and kill you.”

He and Will share a snicker, and Sam wishes he had a Snickers. Anything to satiate his now-overwhelming desire for anything chocolate. He’d take a Tootsie Roll, and those are just taffies with a makeover. He digs his shoe into the pavement beneath him.

“You think you’re so funny,” Sam mutters. “Don’t you know I’m the only one who can be funny around here?”

“What are you talking about?” Will asks. “You sound insane.”

“I feel insane. Without hot chocolate at the Christmas tree lighting, I might as well not even be a person. I might as well be …”

He scans his immediate perimeter before he picks up a small pebbles beside his shoe.

“This rock!” he says. “I might as well be this rock. I’d prefer it, too. Rocks don’t know what it’s like to miss out on the world’s best hot chocolate.”

“I think those were Paul Simon’s original words for ‘I Am a Rock,’” Will says. “I knew you’d know ‘em.”

“What did I say about being the funny one?”

He thinks about bickering with Will for a little while longer – one of his favorite hobbies is pretending that Will is his long-suffering husband – but before he can say another word, he feels the weight and warmth of a hot chocolate cup in his right hand. He furrows his brow and looks around to see who might have put it there. Probably Sadie, he thinks.

But when he looks up, it’s not Sadie.

It’s Steph Armstrong.

When Steph Armstrong smiles at Sam Doyle, his heart flips around like Nadia Comaneci has taken up residence in his chest. He’s not sure how long he’s had a crush on her. They’re in eighth grade now, nearly fourteen, and Sam remembers the first time he thought Steph looked pretty: three years ago now, toward the start of fifth grade. Tonight, she looks even prettier. The moonlight bounces off her blonde hair, which blows in the wind like she’s the star of her very own MGM musical. He can’t see her too well in the dark, but he knows her cheeks are rosy from the cold winds on everybody’s faces. And that smile … the wattage in that smile would put any baseball stadium to shame. He’s pretty sure he’s mixing his metaphors (something Lucy warned him about when he, for a reason he’ll never quite understand, allowed her to read his poetry). But right now, he’s thirteen, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care because Steph Armstrong just put a cup of hot chocolate in his hand.

“Here,” she says.

Sam looks between the hot chocolate and Steph, who can’t stop smiling. It’s a good thing he knows how big his smile is, too.

“Um, thanks,” he struggles. “You, uh … you shouldn’t have.”

Steph shrugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“I know,” she says. “I just … you sounded so upset about it. I wanted to.”

Sam blushes, but this time, he doesn’t really care. In fact, he kind of wants Steph to see him flustered … to see how flustered she makes him.

“Thanks,” Sam says. “Sorry, I know I said that already.”

Steph just shrugs.

“That’s alright,” she says. “I just like talking to you.”

Sam grins and takes a sip of his hot chocolate. He wonders if Steph knows just how much those words meant to him. I just like talking to you. Damn good, he thinks. Sometimes, he gets a little sick of talking to himself.

Maybe, he thinks, those days are numbered.

Maybe, he thinks, Steph will be around to talk back.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Bewitching Garden

Spooky Steddie Writober Day 1

Ever since the Upside Down crept into Hawkins and started spreading its tendrils through once peaceful neighbourhoods, most residents packed what they could and left. The rest was either too economically unstable to leave the literal end of the world (what a thought), or they clung to the thin, nearly transparent hope that things would get better, that the hole to hell itself would magically close up and the screeching, vibrating sounds from the woods around Hawkins would just cease one day. So yes, everyone who had the option and half a brain left the cursed town behind for good.

Steve Harrington wasn't as lucky. He was no optimist, life taught him enough, and despite what everyone thought, he was smart enough to understand there was no future here. But he had made his choice three years ago, when he rushed into the former Byers house and swung a bat full of nails at a creature from nightmares. After the so-called earthquake hit, his parents spent whole two minutes trying to persuade him to come with them (or to them, they weren't coming back, of course), but Steve knew, deep down, that this was it for him. There was no future outside of Hawkins either, no white collar job, no pretty girl with a radiant smile and warm embrace. There was only this, charred remains of a small town, toxic fumes, blood and death, sobs of children who had to grow up too soon, who had seen things no one should have seen.

No one went outside until they absolutely had to anymore. Nothing has invaded the town yet, but with the recent murders, the earthquake and cult rumors, streets were empty. There were grey particles floating in the air, not feeling as nauseating as the ones in the pure Upside Down, but they were getting stronger. But Steve needed out. He couldn't sleep, the lines on his wallpaper reminding him of prison, except now they had finally tossed away the key and left him there for good. He knew he made that choice, theoretically, but he wondered if he ever had any other option. His fingers instinctively reached for the spiked bat that had ironically become his signature weapon, his only comfort in this madness, and he walked out the door.

The town was quiet and mostly dark, wiring too damaged by the portals to provide a steady supply of electricity. Steve didn't mind the darkness, the quiet. The others might call his night stroll a death wish, and perhaps it was, but in the moonlight twisted by red shadows of the brewing storm, he felt even more alone than ever. Yes, everyone was panicking, planning their next move, but they were also together, sharing the weight of the bleak future and all the losses that led them to this point. Steve had no one, no one that would belong only to him, and he would never intrude where he would never belong. 

He could say this was a patrol, but that would be a lie. He had one place in mind, stupid, really, but his feet had a mind of their own and led him to the park, to one of the remaining flower beds. It was still early spring, not much to see, but some stubborn plants already pushed through the hardened soil towards the sun. At least a week ago they had. Now they were grey, brittle, taken way too soon. Just like so many were and will be. Like Eddie.

Everything was dying, trees were losing their leaves, grass was disintegrating. It seemed that this would be the last spring the world would ever have. "I wonder if I'll ever see flowers again," he mumbled and sat down on the bench.

You know the only kind of flower that blooms in the Upside Down, Steve. White and grey, five red petals. So vibrant, so beautiful. I can't wait to show you what I have in store. A whole garden, only for you.

The voice was not there, not really, but Steve felt it reverberating in his bones, the deep growl freezing his blood cold. He had never heard it before, but he knew. Vecna. Henry. Number one. His hand gripped the bat with enough force to hurt, but Steve didn't care. He had been in many fights, Billy, Jonathan, the Russians, all the monsters, but he had never felt the urge to kill. Until now.

Your town will fall, Steve. It will fall and you and your friends will nourish my flowers. They will bloom as you watch your world crumble.

Steve sprung to his feet, unable to sit still any longer. Finally having someone to blame for all the terror, all the death, lost lives, childhoods and innocence, all of it flooded his brain with adrenaline. But there was no one to strike, no physical body. "You talk tough for someone who got burnt to a crisp," he spat through his gritted teeth. "Come on then. What are you waiting for? Not fit enough to snap my bones or send another horde of your pets at me?"

Vecna's laughter was low and heavy, rumbling in Steve's skull. I am waiting for the harvest, Steve. I am waiting for all of you to be ripe for picking, for your minds to be flooded by hopelessness, anger. For any and all hope you feel to get extinguished. And then...I will feast.

"God, he never shuts up, does he?"

He knew that voice. He knew that lanky frame, that untamed wavy hair, that fidgety smile, those dark eyes. The voice in Steve's mind went quiet and, with a pang of inexplicable anger, disappeared. 

Eddie Munson, covered in dried blood and half-healed wounds, stopped in front of Steve and gave him a mock salute. "How've you been, big boy?" he smiled and his teeth were shiny and sharp. "I'm afraid the flowers will have to wait, but maybe my pretty face will do?"

The bat fell from Steve's grip with a clang and he stumbled towards Eddie, too lost for words. He gripped the bloodied shreds of the Hellfire Club t-shirt and pulled its dungeon master into a crushing hug. "...yeah. It will do, Munson. Who needs flowers anyway," he choked into his hair as Eddie returned the embrace.

"Careful, Steve," and Eddie was patting Steve's heaving shoulders, calming motions and gentle circles on his skin. "You don't know what I am. Vecna's illusion, a Munson-shaped Demogorgon, I could be anything. You're too trusting."

It turns out Steve really did have a death wish, because even with this proclamation, he didn't let go, ignored the smell of dirt, stale blood and toxic spores. "I'm pretty sure I know what you are, Eddie," he whispered as he took a deep breath, the first real breath after so many days. "You're a miracle."

[2toplibrary]

GUESS THE AUTHOR!!

There are 10 new TDBKTD fics in the September round of Planet BNHA exchange and a new beautiful fantasy art!!!!. See if you can guess who is behind these works!

❓🤔

don't wake me, i'm not dreaming by Anonymous for sobashouto (snowandfire)

(E, 2.7K, 1/1)

They say déjà vu is when, for a moment, two parallel universes line up with each other.

Katsuki considers this, as Shouto rests his hand on his chest—pads of his fingers lightly brushing constellations on Katsuki’s skin, tracing invisible starbursts close to where his heart resides—and a tide of familiarity, so powerful it almost knocks him off the bed, sweeps through his body. It’s their first time touching, like this, so why does Katsuki feel like he’s been here before? As if the single touch of Shouto’s fingertips breaches the surface of skin, unearthing alternate histories and timelines where they’ve been in this exact place

❓🤔

EXT. HEIGHTS ALLIANCE by Anonymous for fizzseed

(G, 3.2K, 1/1)

Ochako had watched his hands, had watched the way Todoroki just nodded and then reached out and caught Bakugou’s shaking hands between his own, rubbing them together and murmuring you’re cold as Bakugou had stared, slack-jawed, and she had thought, oh.

Ochako knows Bakugou Katsuki, and she knows him with Todoroki Shouto, and she looks at this not-Bakugou’s shaking hands as he snarls at his Todoroki about gruesome ways of dying, and thinks: oh.

Thinks: some things are the same in every universe, huh?

All right, sure, Todoroki is right, Bakugou shouldn't have taken that sword, but how was he supposed to know it would tear a hole in the fabric of his universe?

❓🤔

Visit Again Soon by Anonymous for lovesid

(T, 2.7K, 1/1)

“They both hear a squeak from the other side of the counter, and they’re reminded of Bakugo’s presence. The young blond is trying to look away from the couple, face looking both uncomfortable and jealous. Shouto laughs to himself, ruffling Bakugo’s hair with a hand.

“Don’t worry, I could never forget about you, Bakugo.”

The smaller blond gives Shouto a smirk, puffing out his chest. “I’m that unforgettable, huh?”

“I could never forget the boy I fell in love with,” Shouto says, looking into Bakugo’s eyes.”

Or

Katsuki and Shouto get a visit from a familiar face, stirring up old and new feelings.

❓🤔

Something old to keep my promise by Anonymous for alchemicink

(T, 1,7, 1/1)

It’s a soft landing, palms down on fresh snow outside a modest, white-roofed cabin surrounded by dark trees and quiet. A dim orange light radiates from its windows, warm and inviting. Familiar. Katsuki looks around, icy winter breeze cutting at his cheeks, and traps in his throat the exclamation of surprise that bubbles up when he recognises the chipped wood of the door, the lantern bought at the shop down the mountain, the first car he bought parked in front of the porch.

He’s actually there. Niseko, Hokkaido, sixteen years into the past.

❓🤔

late in the evening by Anonymous for AnnieLucas

(M, 2k, 1/1)

Todoroki Shouto falls in love on a hot, damp night in a far-off town to the tune of ancient odes turned shanties turned siren call to wild abandon, to an ill-fitting youth, to touch for pleasure not for violence. To the raising of voices not in but in ecstasy. To a two-man dance, ungainly and as-yet untrod, though not wholly unfamiliar. No, his very blood awakens for it, thumps in his head to keep him in rhythm, rushes to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, creeps down his chest and lower still to color him red with intent.

Shouto falls in love without ever having really considered the thing itself. It’s happened by degrees, by turns so small and steps so many that when the last of them drops it takes him entirely by surprise.

It goes a little something like this:

❓🤔

His to Hold by Anonymous for linzbees

(E, 4.1 K, 1/1)

One minute he had been watching Shouto fly in a sharp arc between two buildings, only steam left in his wake. And the next minute Katsuki was nineteen again, sitting in Sero’s shitty apartment listening to Mina gossip, the smell of weed and stale socks thick in his nose.

OR

Katsuki time travels and comes back absolutely down horrendous for Shouto

❓🤔

Like I Want You by Anonymous for maynope

(M, 5K, 1/1)

Katsuki's been going through it. Not only was he sent to another world, he's stuck with the asshole version of himself. And the guy he's married to... who just happens to be this world's version of his ex. Who also got sent through with him. Gods, help him.

Or -- Nothing like seeing another version of himself succeed where he's failed can fire up Katsuki to get what he wants.

❓🤔

Dreambusting by Anonymous for bblueraven14

(M, 5k, 1/1)

Top heroes Shouto and Dynamight just want to indulge in a chill dinner with a side of pathetic mutual pining following a successful villain take-down.

What they get instead is quirk-induced mind-fuckery, exposed desires and a need to reinvent their dreams.

❓🤔

Forever Rain by Anonymous for class1akids (BrusselsSprout)

(T, 3.7, 1/1)

He smells like rain and the grass and everything Katsuki wants, with a hint of a scent that is characteristic to him and him alone. Katsuki kind of wants to figure out what it is, take his time doing so. Spend hours like this, hugging him close if he has to.

"I'm coming with you," Shouto declares with a finalty.

Katsuki pauses and looks at him baffled.

"The fuck?!"

Shouto shifts to face him, "I said, this time and all the other times after. I'm coming with you. Wherever you're going."

Oh no way in hell are they doing this. Katsuki can't do this. Doesn't want to, at all.

Or, Katsuki hates the rain but the rain brought him the one he loves the most.

❓🤔

out of this world by Anonymous for sobashouto (snowandfire)

(E, 3K, 1/1)

Todoroki and Bakugou's first time is... anything but ordinary.

❓🤔

visitor by Anonymous for novaephemera

(G, ART!!!)