#thought prompted by within-its-cave thank you

[incorrect-oppenheimer]

Lawrence: *Opens the door of his fridge to find Feynman sitting on the bottom shelf eating a sandwich.* Feynman: "Want some?" Lawrence: *Closes the door.*

[lighthouseshepard]

ahhh been too afraid to pm you but hi from a silent mutual!!

writing prompt: john and yorick chat while arthur sleeps :))

HI HELLO!! im also always too afraid to pm everyone! thank you so much for sending this in and so sorry it took me a while! been a very busy few days (:

"Is he fully asleep, my king?"

John groans in annoyance among the relative darkness he'd been sulking within. Ever since Arthur's eyes shut once he fell into an exhausted, heavy slumber nearly thirty minutes prior, he'd been reluctant to try and exercise what little muscle control he possessed to squint them open again. Manipulating those muscles usually woke him regardless of how careful he was, leaving him with a splitting headache neither of them could explain. And at the moment, John couldn't bring himself to disturb the hard won sleep, as fitful as it was.

Yes, he's asleep, he hisses impatiently. Yorick's voice came from somewhere to their left, still attached by the chain threaded around their waist. Arthur's right arm twitches, fingers scrabbling for some imaginary thing, before falling still.

"Excellent," says the skull. "Our master requires much rest after that entire ordeal."

Our master? John snorts. The subtle stirrings of a cool night's breeze brush against the skin of his left hand, welcome after the wet, stale air of the cave. He's your master, not mine. 

"He is master to both of us!" Yorick exclaims, far too loudly. "Just as you are a king to him and myself. An inseparable pair, the dies irae, intertwined inexorably, dominion over one another and all else."

Jesus fucking Christ, John mutters, wishing he could wince. What does that even mean?

“Exactly as I said. Would you like me to repeat it?”

No, no. Can you quiet down? You're going to wake him.

“Certainly, my king.” His reply drops to a tone only slightly less loud than before. 

 And stop calling me that, he adds irritably. I'm not a king.

"You were once a king," Yorick states matter of fact, jaw clacking solidly as he speaks, a peculiarly troubling imitation of human life. "I do not see the issue with proclaiming this."

Once, he emphasizes. I'm not... I'm not that being any longer. I don't claim to be any kind of ruler anymore.

"Fair enough! What shall I call you if not a ruler, then?" 

John, he grinds out, the last droplet of water among the barren desert of his patience threatening to dissolve. John is fine.

"Alright," Yorick says, sounding pleased. "King John, how may I serve you?"

John heaves a haggard sigh. Unbelievable, he groans, and attempts to turn his attention away for a brief, blissful second to collect what surely remained of his sanity.

The thing that called itself vanguard spoke incessantly. Within the caves, climbing out into rain-damp earth and sky, walking to find shelter for nightfall in the hopes of catching at least a few hours sleep - it had not stopped talking the entire way. John had half a mind to untangle Yorick from Arthur's belt when he wasn't paying attention and throw him as far as his eyes could see. He'd never liked the thought of the vanguard anyway, had never wanted Arthur to take the head, keep the tooth. Something about a creature which existed simultaneously in the Dreamlands, the Dark World and their own reality never sat well with him. 

A hypocritical perspective, possibly, considering. Yet that similarity alone made him nervous, straddling a razor's cautious edge. He knew what he was capable of. Yorick remained a mystery.

They'd found an oak tree, its canopy stretching out far enough to provide cover from the last stray rain clouds rolling by, so long as Arthur kept curled at its trunk. He had fallen under almost immediately. One or two words exchanged between him and that damned skull, and he was out, John's name half formed on his lips in what sounded like the start of a question. It would likely be forgotten upon waking. Already Yorick was taking time meant for him.

Regardless, John knew him to be valuable, an asset they couldn't afford to get rid of. Certainly not now, with nothing to their names except the clothes Arthur wore and the bag he carried, no money, no food. If Yorick could be a wealth of information like he claimed, they'd have to put up with him a while longer. 

And then John could toss him into a lake.

In the stretch of thankful silence, Yorick apparently finally listening to his demands, he reaches over and inspects what remained of the wound. Dried blood coated Arthur's wrinkled shirt close to his heart, stiffening the fabric. Laying his palm flat and hesitantly across his chest, John takes solace in the flighty pulse tangibly felt there. Not too long ago there was none at all.

Arthur murmurs something wordless under his touch. John retracts his hand quickly, mildly guilty at having potentially disturbed him.

“You dislike when he sleeps,” Yorick says. Despite his position by Arthur's hip, rolled sideways where he'd come to rest as they laid down on dry grass, his voice still seemed to come from somewhere else around them. 

John waits a second for more to follow. Nothing comes - it's a statement, not an inquiry.

I don't dislike him sleeping, he huffs. He has to rest, obviously.

“Yet it troubles you regardless? The absence of him.”

I don't, John sputters out, struggling to keep his voice level. I'm not… lonely if that's what you're suggesting. Will you just shut up already? We're both going to wake him up at this rate.

“Our master is blind to the world in multiple senses of the word,” says Yorick. “Deep within a dream. He will not wake for some time.”

How do you know he's dreaming? he asks, perplexed. You can't… see into his mind, or-

“I know a great many things.” Another beat of silence, decorated by the cricket song in the surrounding brush shielding them from view. Again John waits for an explanation, growling agitatedly when none is forthcoming.

Such as? he prompts. What is he dreaming about? 

“I do not know the specifics,” clacks Yorick. “Yet I'm aware of the turmoil of his thoughts. There is a string of piano keys tied like wire around his ankles, a bathtub overflowing, a yellow sun-”

Okay, I get the specifics! John mutters. So a nightmare, clearly.

“Precisely! Excellent conclusion, King John.”

He was starting to immediately regret accidentally adding John to that title. Is there a way we can help him, then?

As if on cue, subconsciously aware he was being discussed, Arthur lets out a low, pained breath of air. Instinctively John’s hand jolts to attention, fingers delicately skimming the wound like he would find answers or assistance there. His legs were twitching, again his arm reaching and then recoiling from something John couldn’t see or understand. 

Nightmares were the only times he felt useful, whenever Arthur slept. Lingering in the corners of his mind, stuck between drifting into his own thoughts and keeping an active listen for anything that might hurt them while he was out - it wore him down in ways be couldn't explain. Yorick was right, even though John would rather revisit the Dark World than admit it. He did hate when Arthur had to sleep for the emptiness it left him with. Being able to wake him from a bad dream as soon as he caught the signs left him aware of a strange, disjointed sense of selfish pleasure. Even if it came at the risk of Arthur’s unhappiness, helping him out of a nightmare was one thing he could do consistently right.

“He will not wake until the nightmare is complete,” Yorick says nonchalantly. “He is too deep.��

Which will take how long?

“I know a great many things,” he says for the second time. “Yet this, I do not.”

Another whimper, softer than the last. John taps the side of his head, tugs at his shirt collar, goes so far as to flick his nose multiple times in a row, as hard as he could manage. Nothing caused him to stir. He could slap him, sure, but in this state he might break apart altogether.

Great. John heaves a sigh. So we just have to listen to this, then? Until he’s, what, done dreaming?

“That is correct. We could always pass the time discussing, my King.”

Discussing what? He snorts. The maggots we just crawled through? No thanks.

“Or,” Yorick adds, “you could always return your hand to his chest.”

What? 

“Your hand,” he repeats, jaw clicking knowingly. “It is the one thing which calms the dreams. I’ve witnessed it many times before.”

You didn’t even have eyes, then, John says sardonically. What could you possibly have witnessed?

“I have no physical eyes now, but I can see you and the master. I was aware then, and in a way, I am aware now.”

In the shrouding blackness of Arthur’s slumber, John imagines the two points of white light where the prince’s eyes once rested staring sideways up at them, awash in tendrils of green smoke. Was this how Arthur felt all the time, kept in the dark, left to wonder how everyone was looking at him? 

Carefully, he puts his hand back in the center of Arthur’s chest. Fingers splay out, one wooden pinky, the rest a thin collection of bruises and scars and broken, chipped nails. That fidgety pulse returns, a bird’s caught wing under his palm. The rhythm remains so for nearly a minute, stuttering and jumping to some melody John couldn’t follow along, and he’s about ready to give it up for nonsensical, stupid advice before he hears Arthur sigh.

It’s not the same troubled exhale as before. This one comes calmer, more even-keeled. As he focuses on his heartbeat he notices it begins to slow, calming bit by bit into a steady, softer pattern. Arthur’s movements drift to a halt. He shifts among the roots, mumbling something too quiet to comprehend, and eventually falls silent.

“He sleeps much like the dead in appearance,” Yorick states thoughtfully. “I believe the dream has come to a close, for now.”

Good, remarks John, at a loss for anything else to say. He wasn’t going to tell Yorick thank you; but it was tempting. The gentle rise and fall of Arthur’s breathing is a placid current, subtler than the new rain beginning to break through the clouds overhead in the night. He could plainly picture him, sprawled out uncomfortably, breeze touseling sweat damp hair, a downward curve in a mouth which always seemed to be frowning lately. Protected just enough beneath the oak, protected enough beneath John’s palm.

Well, at least one of us is content.

“I am much content, King John.”

That makes a total of two. Can you please shut the hell up now? 

“If that is what you wish," the skull says amicably. "Then I will."

It is, John bites. Just thirty minutes of fucking silence. Please.

Yorick says nothing. Relief settles over him as the break distends. Minutes pass until he finally accepts his desire had been properly observed. Crickets sing around them once more.

Sleep well, he whispers, hand firmly over heart. Perhaps we can wait a little longer to get rid of him.

[wind-becomes-lightning]

Hi Nisi! I'm cashing in a writing prompt. May I request ""I told you to forget me, but you stayed by my side."" for Kakashi and Yamato plz? I hope you're doing well!!

Hello! Mic check mic check. Do you still remember this request? Well either way, here it is! _

Hatake Kakashi x Yamato Tenzo

mentions of extreme hunger and thirst

Rated T

2138 words.

Ao3 Link

>>In his dream Kakashi was taken care of by a large, sturdy tree. Branches around his legs straightened them out and when he needed nutrients syrup and fruits was given to him. He felt so safe around the tree, leaning against it, listening to its leaves rustle, that he didn’t want to ever wake up again. Here, in these shades, he could reside. Here in these shades, he could finally die.

But he didn’t die. Instead, he woke to the sound of a campfire.<<

It had been 25 hours, 50 mins and 43 seconds since he stopped feeling the pain in his legs. It had been double as long since his body had given up on screaming for food that wasn’t coming and maybe ten hours longer since his eyes had stopped seeing clearly. He was dying. Through the fog of hunger, thirst and emptiness he realised as much.

Kakashi had thought of death many times. When he was younger he’d been lying awake hoping it would come soon. Then as he rose the ANBU ranks he’d faced it so many times that he had lost count. He had readied himself for the situation, the possibility and now that it was staring into his face he felt in some ways calm and in others worried.

The irony of a collapsed cave being the one thing that was killing him was not lost on Kakashi. The fact that it wasn’t a fast death either. Stuck between several rocks with both of his legs made it impossible for him to move forward or back. He had considered cutting his legs off, but what was the point? If he wouldn’t bleed out he could never work as a shinobi again and if he couldn’t work as a shinobi again, what was he alive for?

No, it was karma that he was dying this slow, agonising death over the last few weeks. By all means, he should have died such a death when he was 12 years old and the big bunny goddess just had ways to get back at him. At least he’d say that if he believed in such stories. 

What surprised him was the way his body reacted to the lack of food and water. He was fantasising constantly. It felt like he was in a state of half sleep even with his eyes open. So many different kinds of food suddenly felt appealing to him. Even sweets. He remembered now how his father made a terribly delicious mochi. Side by side in the kitchen they would prepare the little balls so Kakashi could eat them later. Such a long ago memory and yet it was incredibly clear.

Well, they said you’d be shown your life before your eyes before you die. Kakashi was dying after all.

He could see the paste so well. The slow rhythm of hands moving to make the balls. Green, the colour green right there before his eyes, almost as if it were within touching distance of him. He wanted to pick it up but found his arms too weak. His mouth opened and he could feel a sweet, thick fluid on his tongue. Now he was even fantasising about fruit water. Wasn’t his mind occupied with Mochi not even two seconds ago?

“Senpai…” 

There was a voice talking through the fog. Kakashi lifted his eyes and felt more fluids run down his throat. Was Tenzo here? His lids felt heavy and his eyes blurry, but the man in front of him definitely looked like Tenzo. 

The weight he had completely numbed to was lifted slowly from his legs and the next moment Kakashi opened his eyes he was pulled out from underneath the rubble. He felt so dizzy, but even in his state he could now feel the pain again. Probably all the bones in his legs were scattered.

“You have to drink some more,” the voice said and pulled Kakashi closer. Water trickled down his throat again and though he was thankful for it to be a little sugary water that also gave him energy back, he was positive that eating anything of substance would make him throw up instantly.

His eyes cleared a little, the sharingan spun awake against Kakashi’s will and searched the chakra nature right in front of him. The calming, green spiral of his most dearest friend. Tenzo was here. Kakashi clung to him and Tenzo let him, holding him tight as he gave him more and more to drink.

When had Tenzo grown so strong, Kakashi wondered, looking at the only thing he could see clearly, which were the forearms of  the other man. Kakashi still remembered how small and quiet Tenzo had been when they had first met, all the way back when they were kids and already so exposed to the horrors of the world. Since then they’d been inseparable. Tenzo was always right there by his side.

“I told you to go on ahead,” Kakashi’s voice was no more than a whisper. He had spoken to himself sometimes alone in the darkness, just to see if his voice and his mind still worked correctly, but never very loud. It was as if his lips had dried out too much to even move.

Tenzo let out a little “tsk” and then pulled Kakashi even closer to his chest. “And I did. Took care of the mission, just like Danzo taught me.” He sounded bitter, as if the fact that his Root instinct had taken over was somehow upsetting him. “And then I hurried back to take care of you, just like you taught me.” 

Kakashi was suddenly filled with a strange warmth of affection, a little fire he hadn’t felt like this for a while. Tenzo really was a kind hearted man. “It could have been dangerous,” Kakashi murmured. “You disobeyed my orders when you came back for me.” He wanted to sound strict and angry, but the little flame at his heart flickered happily.

“So what?” Kakashi didn’t need to lift his eyes to know Tenzo had rolled his eyes. “You do it all the time, captain.” Then he pushed Kakashi's mouth open again. “Sage, the state of you. I will need to first feed you a little before I can bring you to Konoha. Right now I don’t know if you’d even survive the journey.”

Before Kakashi could even open his mouth he already cut in: “And yes, you are worth the delay. Don’t even think about pulling the “I-hate-myself-so-much” card on me right now.” Kakashi laughed a little inside. Tenzo just knew him too well.

He suddenly felt dizzy again. A heavy wave of pain and exhaustion rolled over him. Obviously his body was not equipped for any kind of movement, talking included and now that he was no longer trapped the pain in his legs had also become apparent. Kakashi’s hold on Tenzo’s shoulder slipped slightly and he found himself falling into darkness.

In his dream Kakashi was taken care of by a large, sturdy tree. Branches around his legs straightened them out and when he needed nutrients syrup and fruits was given to him. He felt so safe around the tree, leaning against it, listening to its leaves rustle, that he didn’t want to ever wake up again. Here, in these shades, he could reside. Here in these shades, he could finally die.

But he didn’t die. Instead, he woke to the sound of a campfire.

The light burned in his eyes when Kakashi opened them. Too long had he been in the darkness alone. Tenzo had covered his sharingan side, he noticed. Tenzo had also bandaged his legs as much as he possibly could and given him a fresh new set of clothes. He had also provided Kakashi with an extraordinarily comfortable pillow.

“Oh you are awake”, Tenzo’s voice said in surprise and Kakashi realised that the comfortable pillow he was resting on was, in fact, Tenzo’s lap. The other man also seemed to notice Kakashi noticing and he blushed so quickly that it would have made Kakashi laugh if he wasn’t so tired. “I-I’m sorry senpai. I just wanted to give you something soft to lie on and I couldn’t find moss and…”

Kakashi shook his head: “It’s fine. It is comfortable. Thank you, Tenzo.” He grinned beneath his mask when he saw the other man's embarrassed face. It felt almost like this was just part of another dream. After so many days of no water and food, of counting down hours until his death it felt almost impossible that he was now laying here amusing himself about teasing Tenzo again. As if the last weeks had not happened.

“How long have I been out?” Kakashi moved slightly, feeling the sharp pain in his legs that told him that there was still a long time to go until he could move again unless a talented healing shinobi found its way up into the mountains of Iwagakure. 

Tenzo looked up for a moment as if he needed to count first. “Well you passed out on the first day at around the height of the rising moon so when you consider that it is now just sunrise… 4 days.”

“4 days? Well I guess I was really exhausted.” Kakashi let out a breath and looked up at Tenzo. There were unusual lines below his eyes as if he had not slept a bit since he’d gotten to this cage. Kakashi felt the urge to move his fingers over them, but found his arm unable to muster the strength, so he said instead: “You took care of me while I was out, huh? Made sure I had fluids..”

He looked down to cross eyes with Kakashi and then immediately looked away in embarrassment: “You are too weak for solid foods.” He was murmuring.

“You also gave me fresh clothes.” Kakashi winked and then reminded himself that it was unidentifiable as a wink if only one eye was visible. 

Tenzo understood anyway. “They were all dirty! I had no choice”, he replied a little more defensively than necessary. Kakashi chuckled. He would never grow tired of teasing him like this.

There was the warmth again that he’d felt when he had realised it had been Tenzo who’d come for him. The odd fondness that seemed so much stronger than the fondness he’d already felt for Tenzo, and all of his friends for that matter, before this. Somehow, through all the disdain he had for himself, Kakashi always found himself glad to be alive when Tenzo was around him. He wondered for a second what that meant for him, but then decided that this was not the right moment.

“It will be another 5 days at least before you are well enough to move,” Tenzo said to the air in front of him. “I will slowly help you get up and on your feed. Also we will soon reintroduce solid foods into your diet. I could carry you on my back of course, but I would worry you're not strong enough to grip me…”

He sounded like he had thought about this for a while. Well, he had had 4 days with an unconscious Kakashi to form a plan, so he probably had. “Do you think that's a good plan, senpai?” Tenzo looked at Kakashi.

“I am at your mercy. I will be good and do whatever you ask me to,” Kakashi said and turned on Tenzo’s lap to the side. He suddenly felt sleepy again, as if the heavy heat of the fire was lulling him back away into the darkness. Feeling the urge to have some skin contact he scooted closer to Tenzo’s body, rubbing his head into him like his dogs sometimes did to him. Of course that was a little inappropriate but right now, trapped in this situation, he did not care much.

“Thank you,” Kakashi murmured into Tenzo’s middle. “For always taking care of me.”

Tenzo squirmed a little and then talked really fast: “I mean that was just what is expected of me, I mean you would have done the same, it's not like I did it for you specifically or for a reason it's just my job and also if you died that would be so much paperwork for me and I’m not saying I did it for you specifically it has nothing to do with how important to me you a-”

“Yes, yes, I get it.” Kakashi laughed to himself. Tenzo really was so cute when he was embarrassed. 

He could feel the other man tense a little. “Still, I will always be there to make sure you will make it back home. That is not only my duty as your co-captain but my promise as your friend. I will always save your life as you have saved mine.”

There it was again, the warmth at his core. “Always, huh?” Kakashi felt so peaceful at that thought. 

Someday death might come and get him, maybe even as revenge for the many times he’d cheated him, but it wasn’t today and not tomorrow and not anytime soon. Because Kakashi, though he’d been so lonely for so long, was actually not fighting alone at all. And that was maybe something to be grateful about and a reason to keep on living.

[graysonflynn]

Title: subterrane Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Gale/Astarion (though more pre-ship)

Written for the first prompt for Whumptober 2023. Enjoy my lovelies!

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Gale can only barely make out the sentence over the heinously loud ringing in his ears. The cave ceiling is an ever-worsening blur, the edges of his vision fading in and out of darkness. For a long few moments, he cannot be certain whether or not he’s going to pass into unconsciousness.

Blessedly, he somehow manages to hold on. However, the ringing in his ears is quite persistent – which is just as well, because his companion is just as much.

There’s an all-too-rough shaking of his shoulders, which jostles his vision something awful. Gale manages to remember that ah yes I’m not in this alone before he manages to, more or less, roll his head into a position where he can just make out the pale blur that is likely to be Astarion’s face.

Gale manages to follow what he hopes is the dark line of Astarion’s shoulder, down to yet another pale blur that he assumes to be his hand. What should be alarming to him – but only registers as a faint sense of distress – is that he cannot make out at all how many fingers that Astarion is holding up. Likely in some effort to ensure that Gale’s faculties are intact.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Gale tries to focus. But it only amplifies that his entire body aches as it hardly ever has. At least, in a purely physical sense. It should still be far more alarming than it is. His head throbs rather violently, and he can feel the pressure of the orb within its containment behind his ribs, his heart hammering wildly in a sharp staccato. In his ears, if he tries to push back the ringing, he can hear the rushing of his pulse.

However, luckily for Gale, when he manages to force his eyes open again – something that is alarmingly more challenging than it should be – things come into better focus. He can just make out Astarion’s eyes – bright, bright red and shining in the faint light. Gale blinks again, slower than should be natural, and tries to focus on the man’s hand.

“... four?”

Gale’s voice sounds ragged. His body seizes up in a dreadful cough. Wetness stains his lips in its aftermath.

Even with Gale’s vision being as terrible as it is, he can make out how wide Astarion’s eyes are. If only because the red vanishes completely.

“Idiot,” Astarion hisses. “It was two, by the way, but that’s really not our biggest concern right now.”

And Astarion sounds so… tense. It’s unusual. He almost sounds as though he’s forcing the words out from where they have become stuck between his teeth. So unlike the typical Astarion that Gale has come to know over their scant few days of acquaintance. He never seems to be at a loss for words – even when he should be.

“What’s… wrong…?”

He hates how difficult it is to focus on the words long enough to form even such a simple question.

Astarion lets out a sharp huff of air, “You really have to ask? And here I thought you were considered some kind of prodigal genius.”

Gale’s sluggish brain can barely take in the words, processing them takes far too long. Thus, he loses the chance for a sharp comeback. Or a comeback of any kind. Some distant part of him can recall being pushed out of the worst of the explosion. True, his current state means that things are only marginally better, but he isn’t dead and so, he counts it as a positive. No need for the emergency protocol.

Even with his mind being supremely uncooperative – and his body even more so – Gale is able to blink slowly and manage what he hopes to be some semblance of a reassuring smile.

“Th… thank… you…”

“Don’t go thanking me yet,” Astarion says, voice oddly soft, almost tender. “You may regret it.”

Gale tries to shake his head, but it only makes his surroundings spin violently and his stomach churn. His vision begins fading rather rapidly, too.

He only manages a single word before unconsciousness claims him.

“... never…”

[arvensimp]

Choose Your Own Adventure, Part 3

The penultimate edition! lol sorry for the delay here. my self imposed 1000 word minimum and maximum is kicking my butt. also figuring out choices for what to do next was a little tricky. As a thank you for the 1000 followers, I thought it might be fun to do a Choose Your Own Adventure fic. I’ve got a starting prompt linked below, and each part will be followed by a poll where you, the audience, will pick what happens next. Each poll will only last 24 hours, so definitely act fast if you want your voice heard!

[part 1] - [part 2]

What drop, if any, do you get from the raid?

Sweet Herba Mystica

Arven falls to his knees as the crown on the massive Blissey's head teeters then shatters to the floor in a sparkling display. He gives a shuddering sigh, and you're left to watch between him and the fainting pokemon, trying to make sure he's okay. Based on the quivering smile on his features as Mabosstiff and Scovillain give loud cries of victory, you think everything is alright.

You replant your feet and pull a pokeball from one of your pockets. No point in wasting a perfectly good pokemon, especially one that would be handy in rescues. 

A moment later, and the ball gives a definitive click shut, indicating that Blissey is good and properly caught.

"...You did it…" Arven's voice sounds shaky and soft behind you. "You really…really did it!"

"We-" You're about to correct him when you notice that he's actually only speaking to Mabosstiff and Scovillain, holding both pokemon tight in his burly arms. Mabosstiff licks his face, leaving trails of shining slobber, and Scovillain's two heads are wrapped around Arven's neck, giving him a hug of its own. 

A smile tugs at your lips as you watch the scene, but Ampharos and Azumarill eventually pull your attention away. You give them each a few berries then start to gather all the remnants of Blissey's presence in the cave while Arven gathers himself.

You scramble on your knees through the berries and pokemon candies. You even find a lucky egg! Still, no plants…

That is, until your eye catches on something pink.

You scoot over to it, and lo and behold! There are several sprigs of a soft taffy-colored herb growing from the earth.

"Aha!" You can't help but cry out.

"Find something?" Arven replies from where he's still sitting with his pokemon.  He sounds surprised, if not a bit stuffed up, as if jolted from the moment he was sharing with his partners, but he's already up and bounding over to you.

"I think so! Come have a look!"

"That… That's it! Sweet herba mystica, right there!" He laughs joyously, jostling your shoulders.

Arven drops his backpack and takes out a spade. "Lemme just…"

"Oh! Uh, hold on."

He pauses, looking at you expectantly.

"These are pretty rare plants, like you said." You start, cautious. You don't want to sound like a know-it-all or like you're trying to dampen the victory.

"Rather than dig up the whole root system, just take some clippings. You can get a plant to propagate from that. It'll give the herbs here a better chance of continuing to grow and reproduce, without affecting the ecosystem."

Arven stays silent a moment.

"And you're sure I can get a whole plant to grow from just a stem and some leaves?"

"Pretty sure. Plus there's like… six or seven different sprouts here you can grab. If you take care of them, I'm sure at least one of them will give you roots?"

As you speak, you take out a pocket knife and snip off a sprig for him.

"When you get home, you'll clip it again, just exposing a fresh stem, then put it in water. Give it new water every day to keep it healthy, and within a week or so you should have roots that you can place in soil!"

Arven nods along.

"And…this is better than taking the whole plant?"

"It's more ecologically responsible, for sure, especially for what is effectively an endangered species like this, y'know? Go ahead and also take a separate soil sample, too, just so you've got some earth that you know the herbs can grow in once they've got roots going."

He huffs a sigh, crossing his arms. "When you're right, you're right. I'll see how I do trying to grow a few plants before I uproot a whole ecosystem…"

You smile.

"Exactly. Again, too. There's over half a dozen of them here.  Plenty of chances, hopefully."

"Oh." Arven's eye widens. "Uh… Are we not splitting them?"

You nearly laugh. "What? Pfft, no. I have no real interest in growing this kinda thing for myself. They're all yours. You and your team earned them together. My partners and I just played support after all." You finish with a wink that comes off without thinking.

"...Oh… Well… Thanks. Really." If you didn't know better you'd think that Arven might be blushing in the dim lighting of the crystalline cave, but you chalk it up to the fact that he's leaned down closer to the plants to start making cuttings for himself, and the light must be bouncing in odd ways, painting his cheeks in a dusty, glowing pink.

Rather than stare, you go ahead and make yourself useful by gathering soil samples. Between the two of you, it all makes for quick, if not quiet, work. When he's done, Arven stands.

"And…that's that." He brushes dirt from his pants before offering a hand to help you stand. You take it; his grip is about as strong as you'd expect, looking at his physique. Arven makes for a sturdy perch as you heft yourself back to your feet, but his palm is soft, the mark of someone who puts clear work and care into his hands. Your own hand lingers a bit even after you've stood. It's not that you're marveling. No. It's just…the feel of him, his warmth…

Arven pulls away with a forced laugh. The glowing pink of the cave must still be reflecting across his cheeks because the color hasn't faded.

"Haha, so… Um. Thanks. Again." He says, and the pair of you turn to leave.

"Of course!" You respond. "I hope these work out for the cafe."

"Same… I mean… If it doesn't work, I know who to turn to when I need a…battle buddy?" He clears his throat. "Y'know, to do raids and stuff."

"Anytime." You agree. "But, really, your team did the bulk of the work. You should be proud."

Arven pats the pocket of his jeans where his pokeballs sit. "I am."

-

You got the [SWEET] ending! Where do you see Arven next?

[Poll here]

[primavera-weirdeggii]

It’s SKIZZLEMAN WEEK!

Thanks to @skizzlemanweek for the prompts!

Prompt 1: Silent/Shout

Set in a universe that I don’t have a name for yet!

-

Skizz held out his torch, shining the light on the deepslate walls around him. Every tunnel looked the same in this place, and his torch did next to nothing to light up the area.

He’d been in this cave for nearly two hours, and after fleeing from a particularly angry hoard of spiders, he’s left with one less chest plate than he had before, and with no clue which direction leads to the surface.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled. “I’ve never gotten so turned around in a cave before.”

He opened his backpack and glanced inside. So far, he’s gathered twelve pieces of iron ore, eight lapis lazuli, and four string - from the angry spiders.

Skizz thought that there would be more ores the deeper he mined, but apparently that isn’t the case. Apparently, the only thing you get this deep in caves, is lost and confused.

That, or Skizz is just insanely unlucky.

The light passed over something odd up ahead. A strange blue substance was caked all over the floor and walls of a crevice in the back corner of the cave. He raised a brow - that was something he hadn’t seen before.

The blue substance looked like it got thicker and more prominent deeper into the crevice, almost as if it was growing from somewhere within.

Bones creaked to his left, and Skizz quickly whipped around, linking eyes with a skeleton.

Don’t sneak up on a guy like that! He thought, frantically pulling out his shield as the skelly aimed his bow, blocking the arrow at the last second.

He whipped out his sword, lunging forward and landing a hit on the skelly before quickly pulling up his shield again.

Skizz managed to avoid the skeleton’s arrow the second time, but when he lunged to hit it again, his foot slipped into a crack he hadn’t noticed, and he stumbled.

“Shit,” he spat as he tried to tug his foot from the crack. The skeleton aimed its bow again, and Skizz scrambled to pull out his shield again, but it was too late.

The skeleton managed to fire an arrow faster than Skizz could pull his foot from the hole, and he took a good hit to the shoulder. Skizz shouted out as burning pain burst from his shoulder, seeming to radiate all down his left arm.

His shout reverberated around the walls of the cave, and something rumbled off in the distance.

The adrenaline of being shot flooded his veins, and with a burst of strength, he managed to free himself from the crack and swipe his sword at the skeleton, making it drop its bow.

With the skeleton disarmed, Skizz lunged again, ignoring the throb of pain from both his shoulder and his foot, landing one final hit and watching the skeleton crumble to the ground.

He panted as he stood over the body of the skeleton, still pointing his sword as though he expected it to stand up again.

At this point, his mind finally caught up to him, and he turned his attention to the arrow still stuck in his shoulder.

Touching the area around the wound only served to make it hurt worse. After further inspection, the arrow was only stuck about an inch through his shoulder, not all the way through.

“Okay Skizz, what can you do?” He muttered. He had dropped his flashlight and bag during the fight and went back to pick them up, keeping his weight off his right leg.

Kneeling on the ground and holding his flashlight with his teeth, Skizz shuffled through the bag with his good arm, looking for anything he could use for first aid.

His eyes wandered to the four string from earlier. If he tore off part of his shirt, he could probably use the string to fasten a makeshift bandage.

Maybe it hadn’t been the smartest idea to go caving in a button-up shirt, suit vest and tie, but at least it gave him plenty of extra fabric to use.

The vest and tie were in pretty good shape, but the white shirt was already ruined by the blood running down his shoulder.

Gripping part of the sleeve in this good hand and taking the other part in his teeth, Skizz ripped off the entire sleeve at the shoulder, which also gave him a clear view of where the arrow was stuck in his skin.

Just as he thought - not deep enough to be life-threatening, but just deep enough to be concerning.

After making sure he had all his medical supplies ready - ratty string and tattered cloth - Skizz gripped the shaft of the arrow.

He breathed in, slow, counting to four -

And ripped the arrow out.

A scream tore itself out of him, the sound of his broken voice echoing around the dark cavern.

A rumbling started up again from deeper in the cave, and this time, it did not go unnoticed.

Skizz chose to ignore the sound for now, instead dealing with the more pressing issue of his arm bleeding everywhere. He quickly pushed the cloth against the wound, holding it in place with his chin as he wrapped the string around it.

Once the cloth was secure, he shakily tied the string together, pulling the knot tight with his teeth.

He spared a second to breathe a pained sigh of relief, then gathered up his stuff and swung his bag over his uninjured shoulder.

Using his sword to support himself, Skizz stood up and looked in the direction of the rumbling.

It was coming from the crevice with the blue substance.

And now that he wasn’t blinded by pain, Skizz noticed that he was instead blinded by something else.

A dark fog had creeped into the cave, lurking at the edges of his vision and in areas where the dim light of his flashlight couldn’t reach.

Against his better judgement, Skizz slowly creeped over towards the crack, feeling a quiver of nerves in his gut.

Something weird is going on here, and that rumbling must have something to do with it.

[chamomilepetaldance]

Femmegymshipping Week (2024) Day Six: On Pasio! Sabrina and Erika attend a fireworks display on Pasio. Sabrina brings a gift along, despite her worries. A/N: Duty calls, as the sole(?) Sabrina and Erika roleplay blog on here...🫡anyway enjoy! I wrote a lot of it at night so I'm sorry if things are a little wonky sounding... Hehe UH hope I did the prompt right too! Tbh this is my first time doing something like this so! We ball 😎👍

Pasio was a curious region.

To start with, it couldn’t really be called a ‘region’. It might’ve been considered one in the barest sense, but it had no longstanding cities. It had no wild Pokémon. It had no history. Its battling culture was as manufactured as its imported coral reefs and chiseled caves.

Sabrina had been there for over a month, and yet she couldn’t place her thoughts on the island.

The night’s air seethed with heat. The residual warmth from the long-gone sun leaked from the paved bricks, baking the city’s residents as they ran through the streets. A quiet hush had fallen over the city, everyone holding their breath and craning their necks to the star-studded sky.

A fireworks display. To celebrate the start of the PML Tournament, Lear had described that morning to a crowd of begrudging fans. This type of event was common on the island, as Sabrina had come to learn. Perhaps it was just a way for Lear to flaunt his wealth and stroke his ego?

…Regardless. If she didn’t want to attend, then she wouldn’t be standing outside her hotel right about now.

Sabrina stifled a sigh and smoothed out her skirt, rubbing the familiar fabric underneath her fingertips to calm her nerves. The purse over her shoulder weighed like lead, its contents burning a hole through her side. The humid air clogged her lungs, forcefully making each breath laborious and difficult. It was too much to keep her head up right now. She focused on tracing the lines in the bricks beneath her.

It wasn’t that she was worried about being stood up, of course. Not only did she trust Erika wholly and utterly, but she could also see the future. There was not a single path where Erika didn’t join her within a few minutes. No, the anxiety arose from something else- something she didn’t dare spoil for herself.

Sabrina looked up a second before the hotel doors opened and Erika stepped out. Her long shadow spilled out over the street as she smiled, eyes lighting up. She didn’t look any different from that morning, and yet Sabrina’s breath still hitched in her throat.

Perhaps it was how Erika held herself, graceful and poised, as the door slid shut behind her. Perhaps it was the smile that played along her lips, growing when she spotted Sabrina. Perhaps it was her eyes, glittering like jewels in the amber streetlight, hiding some hidden spark that lay beneath.

Maybe it was all of it.

Sabrina swallowed and crossed her arms to hide their tremors.

“Rina!” Erika called, hurrying over to her. “Oh, thank you for waiting…but you didn’t have to, you know.”

“Of course I did. We were supposed to walk to the plaza together, weren’t we?” Sabrina replied.

“Mm…that is true…” Erika ran her hands over the folds of her kimono absentmindedly. She smiled a little wider. “…Well, thank you. I’m sorry it took me so long to get ready…” her voice trailed off as she stifled a yawn.

Sabrina let her hands fall to her sides. “You don’t need to apologize. I didn’t mind waiting.” Especially if it let me calm my nerves.

(Ignoring the fact that her nerves weren’t calm.)

“…Oh! Speaking of! We should head over,” Erika blinked. “We wouldn’t want to be late!”

“Right.” Sabrina stepped to the side, offering Erika the lead. She gripped her purse and tried her best to chase away the visions dancing on the edges of her mind.

Erika hummed softly. She reached out and grabbed Sabrina’s free hand, wrapping her delicate fingers around Sabrina’s clammy palm, and gently tugged her along.

The warmth that filled Sabrina’s chest was more freeing and wonderful than the air in her lungs.

The plaza was packed, as expected. Trainers pooled around the fountains, crowded under awnings, peered through windows at the sky, whispering and chatting and laughing with one another. Sabrina could make out some of her coworkers amongst the crowd- Janine laughing at something Blaine was saying, Lieutenant Surge standing beside Bruno beside a café’s entrance, and even Misty sitting on the fountain’s edge, talking to a blue-haired girl Sabrina wasn’t familiar with. She tried her best to tune out both their voices and their thoughts as she walked.

Erika led both of them to a spot where the warmth of the street lamps and the hubbub of the crowd lingered, but they could still maintain a sense of privacy. Quiet, private, but not isolated.

Erika pulled her hand out of Sabrina’s grasp to adjust her headband, and Sabrina felt herself compulsively longing for that warmth between her fingers.

“So many Trainers…” Erika murmured. “No matter how many times I see it, it always amazes me.”

“I…must agree with you.” Sabrina held her bag’s strap. “It’s a grand feat.”

Erika pulled out her Poryphone, the new screen unblemished with fingerprints, and checked the time.

“If the show is supposed to start at nine…well, we have a few minutes,” she remarked. She tapped the screen again and opened the camera function. “Hm…let’s see if I can get this to work.”

Again, the future was beckoning Sabrina. She bit her tongue and staved off the vision. She didn’t want to witness the fireworks before they happened. She wanted to see them with Erika, first and foremost.

Sabrina’s gaze lingered on Erika as the latter took a picture of a flower garland beside them, soaking in every detail. Her face, dusted with pink from the midsummer air. Her eyes, still sparkling like amber even if they betrayed her tiredness. Her kimono, elegantly pressed and delicately adorned. Effortlessly graceful, down to every single movement.

She was beautiful. Sabrina’s chest grew tight.

…This was nothing new.

“Hyacinths and asters…what a lovely combination!” Erika commented at last, seemingly satisfied with her evaluation. “I wonder if Lear was the one behind the decorations.”

“If he was, I’m surprised he didn’t go to you for advice,” Sabrina pointed out with a smile.

Erika chuckled, and if Sabrina didn’t know any better, she’d say her blush grew deeper. “Well, I’m surely not the only florist in Pasio! There must be others.”

“…Maybe…” Was Sabrina stalling? Why couldn’t she move the conversation along?

…

Well, the gift seems a little petty in retrospective.

Erika’s smile faded. She lowered her hands. “Is…something troubling you?”

Perfect. She was giving Sabrina an opening. She’d be silly not to take it.

“There’s nothing wrong,” Sabrina replied. “I…I just had something to give you.”

“Oh?” Erika tapped her phone against her cheek before quickly Skwoveting it away. “Oh! Well, you certainly didn’t have to, Rina…”

Hm. What a sight. The stoic psychic, the Mistress of Psychic-type Pokémon, tongue-tied over a book.

She gestured to her purse and psychically pulled the gift out, worried it would fall through her cold fingers. It was a small thing- a simple book about flower arrangements, bound with golden thread and adorned with a velvety green cover. The storeowner had included a bookmark, too; really nothing more than a pressed rose in laminate.

It was simple. She might’ve been making too much of a fuss over it. Sabrina hovered it out in front of Erika with bated breath.

Erika gasped softly. She reached for the book and Sabrina released her psychic grip on it. She was suddenly overcome with an intense interest in the pavement.

“Oh…oh my! This is gorgeous,” Erika whispered. She leafed through the pages, her gaze practically melting at the sight of the bookmark. “Oh, and what a beautiful rose…was this from one of the stores?”

“…Yes. I saw it, and I thought of you.” Sabrina cleared her throat. She had to at least attempt to save face. “I hope you like it-“

She was cut off as Erika leaned forward and pulled her close, wrapping her arms around Sabrina’s neck.

“I love it,” she muttered. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

That warmth was back, but this time it filled Sabrina’s core and overflowed to her fingertips. She hugged Erika back with a smile.

“I’m glad,” she murmured in return. “I was a little worried.”

Erika pulled back to stare at Sabrina, unamused. Her eyes burned like embers. “About what? That I wouldn’t like it?”

The tips of Sabrina’s ears started to burn. “Well, sort of.”

“…Rina.”

Erika reached up and cupped Sabrina’s cheek. The sounds of the plaza dropped out of her ears, and the world melted from her eyes as the two of them stared at each other. Sabrina’s face was blazing.

“You don’t ever have to worry about something like that. Know that, please.” A smile spread across her lips. Her lipgloss sparkled. “I’ll love any gift you give me. Because I love you.”

Sabrina couldn’t help but smile back.

“I love you, too,” she returned.

The two stood there, locked in a tight embrace, gazing into the each other’s eyes as the summer air crackled with energy. The world around them slowly blinked back into focus and crescendoed with a countdown she didn’t remember the beginning of. The future danced along the corners of her gaze, but Sabrina didn’t need to see it to know what was coming next.

Their lips collided as the sky above them exploded into light.

A/N: Dividers made by me! Taken from Pokemon Masters, fittingly enough

[free-for-all-fics]

Separate Cowboy Namor AU prompt because this got long and tumblr was being difficult with its precious block paragraph formatting. Inspired by Amnesia Rebirth. Thanks to @okay-hotshot for help on this! Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of the ideas written here and want to write something, I’d love to read it! 💜💜

Reader and Namor are married during the 1800’s, where they live on and manage a ranch. Their firstborn child was wonderful and greatly loved, but the child was born with a weak immune system, so they were very sensitive and got sick easily. Reader and Namor were terrified whenever their baby got a fever, and these fears were realized when their eldest child succumbed to an unknown wasting disease before they’d reached 6 years old. You and Namor spend years coping with your grief and mourning your losses. Slowly both you and your husband heal. The pain doesn’t hurt anymore but it’s still there.

Later, you unexpectedly have a second child. Since the loss, it had made you and Namor far more protective about who came into contact with your future children. Your second child is born healthy and as they grow older, they get better and stronger, so you and Namor thought things would be ok. Until your second child becomes sick with the same strange wasting disease as their late elder sibling. You and Namor are unwilling to lose another child, so you set off to find a cure. No matter what it takes. On your long, harrowing journey, both you and your husband are tested during the grueling days, weeks, or months you spend on the road. You endure the adverse weather conditions and whatever obstacles lie in your path.

An already dire situation gets worse when you both contract smallpox along the way. Upon discovering you’re all sick, you and Namor resolve to either save your child or die trying. Either way, you’ll be together as a family. You’re finally led to a cave surrounded by water. When Namor dives in, he resurfaces with a strange vibranium-infused plant sprouting from a blue rock. This will save your child. This will save all of you. You’re sure of it.

You all ingest the herb and fall unconscious. Namor awakens first, in a cold sweat as he writhes in excruciating, unbearable pain while his body mutates. He tries to crawl towards you and your child, stretching out his hand to reach you, but he can’t. He claws at the sand as his bones break and reform, until wings sprout from his ankles and his ears become pointed. He can feel his internal organs being rearranged so he can breathe in both water and air. Your husband’s distressed screams and the shrill cries from your child wake you. But you find yourself gasping for air as both you and your child’s skin turns blue. All of you rush towards the ocean and seek sanctuary within its depths.

[aphroditesacolyte]

Meryl and Diosia P16

Ch 16. // Self Care // Read on AO3

Masterpost

Summary: As a celebration to Aquedyus, the god of merfolk, commences, Diosia happens to find it a suitable time for a ritual of his own.

Content warnings: Fictional religion and god(s), cult vibes, murder/sacrifice, plotting to kill (eat) people, themes of fear and despair, please read at your own discretion, thank you!

~Approx word count: 2,262 words

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*The night following chapter fourteen, Your Saccharine Taste.

In the early night, his focus centered out on the empty, calm water’s edge. It was not quite still, for if he looked closely, he could spot the ripples of a fish’s movement or a natural current, but Meryl was nowhere to be seen. Even so, he kept on watching the water’s surface for a little while, as if watching it could prompt some sort of change—or truthfully, he never wanted to be off-guard, especially here of all places.

Bound to the sand he felt vulnerable, his usual escapes became impractical if they were ever needed, or so it seemed. Testing his boundaries however, little by little, was proving that he needn’t worry of being flightless much longer. As a matter of fact—

His vision whipped back to the water, then down the river.

Empty.

He then casted his gaze to the sky, measuring out the moon and stars with a narrow, calculative expression. It was late, yes it was. Tonight—he was certain—he’d be left alone.

With this in mind, a hand reached over to the splint upon his wing, and a gentle snap allowed him to pull away the days upon days of worried aid that he had been provided. It was endearing and entertaining, but unneeded, regardless of what the little mer thought was best for him. Once Meryl returned, he’d simply tell him that the thing unfortunately snapped in his sleep—Meryl had proved himself quite gullible; it wouldn’t be a hard lie to sell.

Now, with his wing free, the splint was set aside and in the depths of the night he rose. Slowly he trailed along the river, and his body held a certain arrogance as he gracefully brushed through the plant-life of the estuary. As if he were a crane in search of fish, he cast his gaze down at the water and ground below him, heedful in watching his surroundings and keeping his eyes open. If the waters were to ever provide him an opportunity, he would never miss it, and if prey were to come along, he would always find them first. It was the way of life he was accustomed to.

Even though his movement’s held a majesty to it, long strides pulled him across easily, until he met at the estuary’s mouth and found the shore. His head cocked slightly in study of the waters, but he quickly deemed them empty and moved along.

If one continued their walk along the shore, they’d eventually find that it curves, and replacing it comes an indent of water, shallow, yet terribly dark. In that shallow water one would have to watch their step as they waded through, cautious of the jagged rocks, and if they followed along as the shore grew taller, almost like a cliff compared to the water it stood over, they’d find a cave—it’s mouth wide and gaping, dark within, and tucked in the beginning of its jaws a few curious objects: Ropes and clothes, old and tattered with an ugly look of dark, dry crimson that sort of browned out in some places from its old age.

Diosia plucked up these supplies and turned his ambitions back out to sea. With all he needed, he was in search of his quarry.

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Like a fish out of water, scales flailed and scrabbled against the stone they were dragged along, the scraping sound it made accompanied by muffled cries, as if within the cave’s mouth there was ever hope of help or escape. Diosia heaved the rope along with a sort of mocking elegance, bringing the bound mer in tow.

The path became framed by the depths of waters that muttered and whispered as he passed, and the dim light of a few strange crystals thrummed through the place to illuminate where one must follow. The deeper he went, the lighter the cave became, its walls furiously embedded with these crystals all over, blue ones that blanketed a mystic, glacial colour over the stone.

The streams of waters drove themselves into the wall as the cave narrowed into a single, curved archway that led into the round chamber beyond. In this chamber the waters flowed again, encompassing all but the entrance and the center of the room. The water’s aura was that of the blue glow, shallow streams that purred against the edge of the stone. Throughout the floor intricate patterns were carved, symbols and words that far out-aged him, and in the center of it a round stone had sunken itself slightly into the floor and declared the highest being of the ground’s surface, even if it were quite short. On the walls these great symbols sat too, and the crystals made themselves at home where they did not disturb old words.

As he pressed out of the entrance he announced, “My Mistress, Aethyrsule, I bring you kind bearings.”

With that, he laid out the bound, writhing mer upon the heightened stone, and turned to the entrance. There, against the wall, laid a sharp, curved knife, its handle a heavy, blue-ish stone material, supporting a blade of clean silver. He plucked it up and adjusted it in his hand briefly, then brought himself back to the mer.

For a moment he looked them over, the fear in their eyes almost a burning hate, face scrunched and furrowed in their horror as they screamed out without caring that the sound hardly passed the cloth in their mouth.

“It’s a shame you’re not for me.” He mused, only for a brief second before he flicked the knife upwards.

It plunged down, and the stone swam with red. Across the letters and channels and lines of the floor the red liquid spilled, until it steadily streamed into the water.

He bowed his head and softly set the knife aside, freeing his hands to unravel his victim, who lied lifeless in Her altar. The ropes and cloth were all pulled away, and the knife returned to its original spot. Before he left, he turned and gave a bow of respect, and his chin remained  bowed as he began to exit the cave.

As he moved however, something caught his eye.

Along the path there were always crystals, but in some places those crystals would flatten out, joined together as if they were a distorted mirror, and in that mirror, he saw himself. From his face there was no longer the ugly marks, and when he stretched out his wing it no longer ached. His lips curled into a slight smirk—he hadn’t been expecting of Her, but it was thrilling to have his hope satisfied.

However, upon even closer inspection, something else caught his eye. His wings, though obviously well and healed, had not returned to their normal state. Like a raven’s wings they subtly glimmered with blue, as if they had been neatly laminated. He stared, confused, almost amazed.

He turned his head back to the Altar chamber. “What does this mean?” He questioned softly, then looked back to the strange new colour of his wings.

They still were black, they most certainly were, but in their black they held a shimmer they hadn’t before.

No answer came to him from Her Altar, and after another moment of befuddled staring, he left the place in peace. He oughtn’t stay somewhere sacred for a time more than needed.

As he set aside the supplies and met the night sky once more, something closer to a grin came across his face, and he spread out his wings. Why, if he were healed and free, there was plenty he could do again.

In this he became much more preoccupied, and spent the rest of his night gliding across the sky, savouring his freedom. It felt as if everything were happy to have him back, the wind carried him with vigor and the weather was clear and pleasant.

For the first night without Meryl, he only spent it exercising his regained freedom. The second night however, he realized something.

Meryl wasn’t back.

Actually, Meryl was busy, very busy.

He pondered over in his mind how long Meryl would be busy for, perhaps he had time for a little dabbling? Yes, Meryl was supposed to be his next meal, but frankly his fast had already been ruined by Meryl’s insistence to keep him well-fed. He couldn’t be angry at that though, it was… he didn’t know, but it made him feel a certain pleasantness inside, the sort of pleasantness akin to what one would feel when embraced by a soft bed of grass, or hammocked by the warmth of a woolen blanket. It was an experience so strange to someone whose bed was stone, and whose blanket was salt water and cold air, but he had come to accept whatever the feeling might be. He had no complaints regarding it.

The next thing he realized was that a merfolk being his next meal was very, very impractical. Meryl might’ve been busy, but the rest of them were just as, and painfully, it was busy with each-other. And, although Diosia would love to toy with more mer than one at a time, he knew he very well wouldn’t be able to handle a dozen mermen he couldn’t enchant crashing down on him. To pursue a mer when they were all together would be foolish—their celebration, their large, large group, kept them all safe from his clutches.

And that brought him to his alternative.

Unfortunately, there were no humans foolish enough to sail the seas, at least not tonight, which only narrowed his options even more. He settled upon it; he’d go out to the humans (colony? School? Pod? Why did it matter? He cared very little for whatever their groups were called.), catch himself one that was satisfactory, and settle down for a bit by himself, all cozy and blessed with new wings and a full stomach.

If he controlled all circumstances, it wouldn’t have been his ideal choice, sure, but it would do.

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*The third Blue Night.

It felt like he was dying—genuinely.

Actual death.

It was as if Meryl’s heart was failing him, breaking down and decaying, yet still running so wildly, like it was a freight train bound for a wall. He wondered if in some places veins had bled out within him, making his heart cry out in its desperate race to save him—save him from what? What was it?

He didn’t know. How could he know?

He knew nothing.

Nothing of why the splint was broken or the sand disturbed, nothing of why when he called out his name it was not returned, nothing of why the ground was soiled with the same crimson liquid pulsing in his ears, and nothing of why most importantly, Diosia was gone. He called out again for his lover, only for the dull quiet to stare at him, scorching him.

“Diosia?” His voice shuttered.

No, no. He was gone.

It took a few moments for Meryl to gain even a semblance of wits, and even then, his throat was tight, all sorts of tears and sobs caught in the back of it that he was trying to snuff out. The dark swallowed up anything he could see at a distance, and so as his search became desperate, it was forced to become more and more thorough. He sought out every corner, looked up and down the shore in every way. He made it a point to seek out every place he possibly could, and grasped to the shreds of comfort he had.

It wouldn’t have been a mer who found Diosia, everyone was still enjoying the third night by this time, and aside from a few very introverted merfolk who favoured their sleep, no one was away. They were all there. Anyone who had the will or power to harm Diosia was far, far away from the estuary.

Had it been humans? What were humans doing there?

His mind buzzed.

Diosia’s home was still empty and silent, and as was everywhere else he searched. The night stalked over him until it treaded past him and left him in dusk, and then the sun became to peer over him, almost mockingly.

There were no signs of Diosia—nowhere at all.

It stayed like this for a fortnight—a painful, painful fortnight. Each day Meryl felt worse and worse, and even with his family to distract him he couldn’t be consoled. There was no one he could tell about this, no one he could ask for help. He just had to stay quiet and act as if someone so beloved and important to him hadn’t disappeared without a trace nor explanation, nor goodbyes.

His heart ached. He couldn’t stand it.

His sobs were wrenching, and he couldn’t stand that either.

Quiet, he told himself. It would be worse if Bondi knew—somehow Meryl knew that. And he couldn’t tell Roka, for as sweet as he was, Roka would let the secret slip because he found sirens frightening. It became harder and harder to hide his feelings in front of his friends and family, and so he hid his whole self away instead.

It came to the point that he could almost always be found curled up in a little patch of sand as the sun beat down on him, and he was miserably hot and dry save for burning eyes and cheeks wetted by tears.

He murmured and whimpered and cried, “Where are you?”

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<- <- <- Last Part | Next Part -> -> ->

[xzho-writes]

Hii <3

Tartaglia + [if your trying to make me feel guilty.. you've succeeded] + pretty much a workaholic!reader

weaknesses

pairings: childe x gn!reader

genre: fluff

summary: it’s hard not to cave into childe’s wishes, what with all his crafty shenanigans to get you to rest.

wc: 1.8k

warnings: none

a/n: the childe kissers have absolutely swarmed my inbox and i just think it’s hilarious-

directory

- ✦ masterlist - ✦ event info - ✦ event masterlist

the sound of metal against porcelain rings throughout your little office as you fix yourself your fourth cup of coffee. a spoon twirls aimlessly within your grasp, mixing the caffeinated blend and watching as white swirls with brown, the scent wafting into your nose.

taking out the spoon and placing it atop a nearby saucer, you draw your body straight and stretch your weary bones. you can hear the little pops and cracks and wonder if you should be concerned by how many there are.

a soft sigh breathes past your lips at your exhaustion. how long had you been up, exactly? if the large grandfather clock stationed by your door was anything to go by then it must’ve been at least a few hours since you last left your office.

the clock’s little hand seemed to be pointing at the number two, it’s larger one situated in between the sixth and eighth interval.

two thirty five…

a quick glance to your window signified that it was still the early hours of the morning. the moon smiled knowingly down at you, her soft rays dancing across your body and caressing the exposed skin. she had been your sole company for the past few hours. you offer her a tired smile, a thank you, yawning soon after.

your hand instinctively rises to smooth the furrow in your brows, lest another headache returns and further sours your mood.

you knew you shouldn’t have offered to help your incompetent coworkers.

stacks upon stacks of paperwork cluttered your desk and a few pots of ink were found empty thanks to how many you’ve gone through already. the ache in your hands only seemed to grow as your gaze flitted over the empty jars, over the quill laying on one of the papers.

“what have i gotten myself into…”

shaking your head and heaving a heavy sigh, you sit back down on your wooden chair. after taking a gulp of your now lukewarm beverage, you flex your wrists and crack your knuckles before braving to face the piles of mundane paperwork crowding around your desk like the infamous walls of mondstadt.

it wasn’t long until your body finally decided to give up on you. fatigue makes itself known and soon enough your posture begins to falter, head lolling back and fourth in an obvious display of sleepiness.

unable to keep yourself up any longer, the arms supporting the weight of your upper body collapse underneath you as you all but topple onto your desk, head crashing down unceremoniously with a loud thump. the action unfortunately causes your cup to fall over. it hits the ground and breaks into fine fragments, spilling its contents out and onto the floor beneath you.

the commotion immediately catches the attention of a certain harbinger who stood not too far from your door.

your lover had woken up for a quick glass of water. after noticing, however, that you weren’t lying in bed next to him as you did each night, childe grew slightly worried. at first he thought that you had simply gone to the toilet but after five minutes had passed and there were still no signs of your return, childe surmised that you must’ve been elsewhere, prompting him to search for you.

his first guess was the bathroom. the door was wide open, though, meaning that nobody was inside.

his next guess was the kitchen. perhaps you grew hungry? no, the lights were still off, but there were a few things scattered about. the kettle was out of its usual place, milk and sugar placed on the counter, and he could just about make out the faint scent of coffee beans.

so you were in the kitchen then. past tense, at least. not anymore.

maybe you just wanted to relax in the living room with your drink of choice?

childe’s feet quickly led him towards the cosy space but you weren’t there either. the room was still dark, curtains drawn shut, and nothing looked amiss.

that’s strange, thought the harbinger uneasily.

a newfound sense of panic rose within childe’s gut at the thought of you not being anywhere in your shared home. quickly he dashed back in the direction of the bedroom to don thicker clothes so that he could go out and look for you, but the sound of your commotion was what finally drew him to your presence.

as he made his way towards the sound, he couldn’t help but slap himself on the forehead for forgetting to check the only other room left in the house.

your office.

of course you’d be in there.

sliding the door ajar he was greeted by none other than his beloved sprawled disastrously over the only desk in the room, papers strewn across the surface.

and there, right beneath your desk, was a broken cup swimming in the coffee he had smelled just a few moments ago.

child wants to laugh at how comical the scene looks, what with your hair haphazardly splayed in different directions and the sheer state of the room, and he does, but it doesn’t take long for his amusement to die down in favour of finally taking care of you.

with practiced silence thanks to his years of combat knowledge, the young harbinger slowly makes his way towards you- ready to sweep you into the comfort of his arms.

his bare hand reaches out for your head once he’s finally by your side. he sweeps away the hair obscuring your face so that he could admire the person he held dearest.

a soft smile settles itself on his lips.

your expression was peaceful- lips slightly agape in a tiny ‘o’ to let out puffs of warm breath, brows relaxed and eyelids gently shut. you had fell in such a way that your head was thankfully cushioned by your forearms.

he loved this look on you and could only hope to protect such a treasure, willing to forgo his life just to keep you away from harm. the urge to place a kiss upon your forehead grows unbearable and so he does as his heart begs him to.

a small peck to your temple.

the action causes you to stir and, soon enough, the ocean is met with its beholder’s favourite colour.

his smile only grows.

“hey,” childe coos.

“…hey.”

your body is shifting for reasons your dreary state could not identify.

“i didn’t know you preferred sleeping in your office, of all places,” he snickers. “am i truly that insufferable to you?”

you’re sitting on something- no, someone. they’re terribly warm. cosy.

you can’t help but snuggle closer to the source of heat. the new presence soothes their thumb over your cheek and the action elicits a quiet mewl from you.

“mmm…”

the voice is silent for a moment and then you feel their fingers smoothing over your hair, the other rubbing soothing circles along your rib cage.

“come back to bed with me,” they coax. “you can’t keep staying up and working like this.”

your brain is only just processing the fact that the speaker sounds rather masculine, oddly familiar, until it zeroes in on the magic word- work.

and all of a sudden, light engulfs your world.

“WORK!”

childe is taken aback by your outburst, by the way your body suddenly snaps awake, but his grip on you is thankfully enough to keep you both from doubling over.

“archons be damned- my paperwork!” you fuss, attempting to clamber out of your boyfriend’s arms.

it’s no use; he only tightens his hold and sighs at your antics. you then try to grab at the nearby document you were finishing up before you fell asleep when childe all but snatches it away from you, extending his arm well out of your reach.

“your paperwork,” he emphasises, dangling the coffee-stained parchment above his head. “can wait until tomorrow.”

“but my—!”

your boyfriend shakes his head, auburn tresses swaying at the motion.

“nope,” he tuts. “bed. now.”

you’re tempted to reach out for the document again but realise it won’t reap much of a reward. you settle in his arms instead, weakly punching at his shoulder and crossing your arms.

“that was important, you know! i have to get them all done by monday and i only have—” you pause, mentally counting down the days until your deadline. “three more days!”

childe wants to hack away at whoever gave you such an overload at work, but he’s known you for years now. he knows you willingly took on the job yourself in an attempt to ease the strain on your coworkers. to ease their stress.

but what of yours…?

you’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re moving. taken off guard, you quickly wrap your arms around your lover’s neck to prevent yourself from falling.

not that he’d let you.

“if i’m being honest,” comes childe’s voice. you swear you’re dreaming but you can’t help but notice that he sounds rather agitated. “i couldn’t really care less about whatever you need to have done by monday. what i care about right now is you, and you don’t look too good.”

“hey!”

he rolls his eyes playfully. “you know that’s not what i meant. i’ll help you in the morning after you’ve gotten enough rest.”

“ajax, i’m fine, really! i was just finishing up what i was doing,” you reason.

your words are received in exchange for the doubtful raise of his eyebrow.

“i swear i’ll come back to bed as soon as i—”

“no, you’re coming to bed with me now.”

“ajax—”

“please.”

you don’t know if it’s the tone of his voice, the way he squeezes you tighter, or the way he looks as if he’s imploring you to listen to him, but you find that whatever argument you had died as soon as he looked at you with such sad, dejected eyes.

so you relent, defiance slowly diffusing out your body. how could you ever deny him when all he was doing was looking out for your well-being?

your head falls back against his chest but not before sending a flick to his forehead. you hated how quickly you folded to his wishes sometimes.

he pouts.

“if you’re trying to make me feel guilty,” you grumble. “you’ve succeeded.”

the sly fox grins, thankful.

there’s a pep in childe’s step as he guides you both towards your shared bedroom, holding you flush against his chest.

you’re already dozing off again as he all but kicks the door to your bedroom down. closing it behind him with his foot, childe carefully places you on your side of the bed, tucking you snug under the blanket before sliding in himself.

his gaze lingers on you a little longer, once again on your peaceful expression, before leaning in to place gentle kisses on your forehead down to your nose, and once more on your cheek.

one of his arms snakes its way underneath your head as a cushion and the other pulls you close to his chest once more. the young man breathes a sigh of relief at the familiar sense of comfort your presence immediately brings him, easing away his prior anxiety.

“g’night, bunny.”

the quiet puffs of your breathing create a peaceful atmosphere and it lulls ajax to sleep in a matter of minutes. there wasn’t a sound more consolable to the young man than that of your safety and content.

souls resting side by side, the two lovers sleep blissfully.

taglist

- ✦ @irethepotato , @gloomybow1 , @pinkuberii , @fiannee , @tellerluna-stories , @byeol-ssi , @kuniizushi

published on 13/07/22

[bnhatrashcanons]

they hurt your feelings

w/ bakugou and kirishima

genre: angst to fluff

a.n. i have seen so many people in different fandoms tackle this prompt and now its my turn so suffer along with me <3

bakugou

you knew going into this that katsuki was a little rough around the edges. this was more than fine for you

to make up for his prickly edges you decided to overwhelm him with love and affection, surprise hugs and face kisses all the while you scrounged for any affections you could get from him

he never told you it bothered him, though you should have guessed

you just loved him so much and you wanted to show it

clearly that desire for affection was going to come and bite you in the ass.

you sat with your arms wrapped around his waist, head nuzzled into his back. you peppered soft kisses to the clothed muscle every once in a while. he had been working at his homework which was fine with you. you didn’t mind the silence as long as you got to hold him. but he had been at it for an hour and a half. he deserved a break. you pressed a kiss onto his shoulder before speaking for the first time this evening. 

“hey bubs?” you whispered and were just met with a soft grunt from your boyfriend, sounds of pencil scratching onto the paper louder after you spoke. “bubby?” you asked one more time after a few moments. 

“jesus fucking christ, what, y/n?” he snapped, running his hands down his face with a groan of frustration. you jumped a little bit at the sudden harshness of his tone. you swallowed thickly, unsure if you wanted to answer him now. “you’ve already interrupted my train of thought you wanna fucking talk to me now?”

“i was just gonna suggest that you take a break,” you meekly whispered. “i just think you deserve one. you’ve been at this for so long and i just. i could rub the tension out of your shoulders.” 

“no.” he snapped. wow. okay. shut down so quickly. 

“okay baby, i just-”

“can you shut the fuck up for five minutes?” he pried your arms off him and scooted away. “you’re so fucking annoying jesus christ. i have never met anyone more clingy and annoying in my life. do me a favor and fucking leave i’m busy.” you blinked at him, tears pricking in your eyes. did he really just say that? were you that annoying. instead of putting up a fight and risking more of your feelings getting hurt you nodded and exited his dorm, heading back to yours to cry your eyes out. when you collapsed onto your bed, putting his notifications on mute so you didn’t have to talk to him. if you were clingy then keeping your distance was the best option in keeping your relationship alive.

on katsuki’s end, after an hour of cooling down he began to flood your phone with texts apologizing. nothing big or meaningful just a few ‘sorry. didn’t mean it’ type messages. not that you read them, which was confusing for him. you usually responded within 3 minutes. he set his phone down. you’d answer him in the morning. he tried falling asleep but dreams were replaced with the darkest of nightmares. he woke up feeling like he couldn’t breathe. like there was someone pressing onto his chest trying to get into his lungs and rip them out. he hated this feeling. he hated the memories masquerading as dreams. where were you? you always calmed him down. getting up he scrambled to grab his phone and call you. biting his knuckles he kept calling and calling but you didn’t pick up. 4 times. what the fuck? his heart continued to pound. he couldn’t do this. he wouldn’t be able to get back to bed. slipping on some form of shoe he walked down to your dorm and banged on the door. the nightmare kept replaying in his head and he felt like screaming. you still weren’t answering.

“y/n,” he spoke voice raspy. “i know you’re in there open the door please.” he knocked again. nothing. he knocked one last time. “y/n please i need you open the door i can’t.” after a few moments of you not opening the door, he was going to walk away. but then you opened the door. “y/n.”

“bakugou go to bed,” you demanded with your arms crossed. 

“first its katsuki to you,” his voice was shaky. “and i can’t sleep.”

“not my problem,” you snorted ready to close the door on him but he held it open. 

“please. just let me in,” he begged. you sighed and moved out of the way to let him in. he sat down on the bed and pulled his knees to his chest. he was terrible at asking for this, usually you just caved and gave him the hugs and cuddles he needed but instead you just stood there. he looked up at you. he looked so tired. you wanted to hug him but after that outburst you didn’t think you should. “y/n?” he asked after a moment.

“yeah?”

“i’m sorry. for what i said earlier. you aren’t clingy. i mean you are but it’s not a bad thing. you keep me sane. i’m sorry.” 

“thanks for the apology but-”

“hold me please? i’m not good at this but i need it.”

you crossed your arms. “do you really think i’m that annoying? i’m sorry for it i just want to show you how much i love you but-”

“i don’t. i’m sorry. i’m sorry i’m making you question how you show me your love but please damn it. i know it’s gonna make you uncomfortable but i need a hug. please?” you nodded and sat next to him and held him tightly.

“we’ll get through this katsuki. tell me about your dream. talk it out.”

kirishima

you never in your wildest dreams believed that loving doting eijiro kirishima would make you feel insecure.

he loved you so much and not showing it wasn’t manly, according to him

but with the more dates he skipped out in favor of bakusquad hangouts

you weren’t so sure you were enough for him anymore

this was the third date this month kirishima missed. he stood you up and you were starting to think that the restaurant was going to stop letting you come back if you kept getting stood up. you texted him only for him to leave you on delivered. you texted sero asking about kirishima’s whereabouts for him to respond that they all went out to dinner. you were aghast. you really weren’t enough for him anymore, were you? the moment you got back to the dorm you got into bed, pulling the sheets close to your chest. he would rather be with anyone else but you, huh? you couldn’t stop yourself from crying. you were so wracked with sobs that they eventually rocked you to sleep. 

you woke up the next morning to your alarm for class. groaning you picked up your phone to turn the alarm off. you looked idly at your notifications. 23 texts and 4 missed calls from eijiro. you didn’t listen to the voicemails and all his texts were empty apologies. you didn’t bother opening them. instead you got ready for class and to join the rest of your classmates downstairs for breakfast. he sat next to you at the table as you silently ate your rice. it was quiet between you before he smiled at you brightly.

“so i know i missed our date last night, but i was thinking you and i could check out that botanical garden tonight? to make up for it, you love flowers-” you felt bad cutting off kirishima’s happy, excited proposition but you got up in the middle of his sentence.

“no thanks. i’m busy tonight.” you commented shortly. he blinked, smile faltering a little bit before returning.

“no worries! what about tomorrow? we have the day off from school and maybe we-”

“no. busy tomorrow too.” you cut him off again, cleaning your bowl despite momo’s objections that she would do it herself.

“seriously?” his tone was filled with dejection, his tall frame faltering a bit at that. you just nodded.

“ask bakugou,” you snorted, gathering your materials for class. 

“bakugou wouldn’t want to go. i asked you.”

“then ask kaminari,” you gave him a venom filled smile.

“hell yeah let’s go eijiro!” kaminari beamed. kirishima didn’t even fight to continue the plans. he just accepted that kaminari would be his new hangout buddy. fuming you left the dorm. kaminari winced. “what’s their problem?”

“they’re pissed because kirishima has been ditching them for us,” bakugou snapped, sipping his tea. kirishima’s brows furrowed.

“what? no they’d tell me.” kirishima wanted to shrug it off but something about bakugou’s accusation sat heavily on his chest.

“then why did they say no and tell you to go with kaminari? face it dumbass they think you don’t want them anymore.” that hit kiri like a bus. no. of course he wanted you! and only you! swallowing thickly he got up and ran to catch up to you. you couldn’t have gotten too far to campus. all he had to do was run. he caught up to you and called your name loudly. against your better judgement you sighed and stopped walking. he finally reached you and panted, wanting to speak but his windlessness prevented him from doing so.

“go-go out with me tonight please,” he begged through jagged breaths. 

“i told you i’m busy. besides you have more fun with your friends anyway,” you rolled your eyes and he grabbed your hands and squeezed them tightly.

“i don’t want them i want you! i’m sorry i’m sorry i made you think that i wanted to spend more time with them than you i’ll be on my best behavior from now on! just don’t leave me don’t i don’t know what i’ll do whatever you ask i-”

“shut up,” you smiled and hugged him. 

[rebrandedbard]

Number 16 - “It could be worse.”

My writing method is just chucking prompt phrases into a mixing bowl with Cool Historical Artistry Facts, a pinch of aesthetic, and a dash of lore, baking it in a pressure cooker and seeing what we get and I love that you encourage this.

16. “It could be worse.”

wc: 1738

Thunderstruck

Geralt and Jaskier come face to face with a violent lightning storm and hide out in a cave. Jaskier is afraid of thunder and lightning. Geralt helps him through it.

-

 Zeniths were a spectacle. To be present in the height of a storm, to be in the midst of its power and bear witness to its thrall is a mighty thing, even in its horror. It served as a reminder of one’s insignificance, and what a magnificent blessing it was to be thus. Jaskier stared out at the storm in awe. He jumped back from the mouth of the cave with a shriek as a bolt of lightning crashed down, splitting the bark from a tree not fifty paces away. Strong arms reached out to catch him as he went stumbling backward.

“It could be worse,” Geralt joked.

The thunder’s echo still rumbled through the cave’s walls, dying under the crash of another, and another, the cave never silent. Jaskier covered his ears and scowled at Geralt. “Oh really?” he asked, raising his voice against the deafening noise. “I feel I’m inside a war drum! I’m jumping out of my skin!” There was a crackling in the atmosphere that stood his hair on end. He’d never experienced anything more frightening in his life, and he’d had to drag Geralt from the edge of death with a mad nightwraith on the prowl.

He shouted and buried himself under Geralt’s arm as another bolt of lightning touched the earth, the sound following not a fraction of an instance after the light flashed. “Why is it touching the ground?” he panted, heart racing in his chest like a frantic horse. His skin was pale in the darkness, almost white, illuminated by the flash of lightning. He shook, his eyes wide with fear. “It’s so close. I swear, a god is trying to smite us, Geralt.”

Another crash outside and Jaskier tucked his head, hands flat against his ears. He whimpered, and Geralt had never known him to show such fear. The fear he knew was comical at times, more urgency or discomfort than any true terror. But this—this was a fear Geralt knew in others. Jaskier reeked of it, and it burned to breathe it in.

Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier, leading him back into the depths of the cave where Roach waited. He set to work making camp, removing the saddle and setting out their bedrolls. With a tug, he pulled Jaskier down onto one, then positioned Jaskier so he lay with his head against his arm. He placed his own hand over Jaskier’s other ear so the sound was twice as muffled.

“Close your eyes,” Geralt said. He then made a sign with his hand and a bright purple glow spread over them. The storm seemed to disappear, only the low bass rumbling through. It sounded distant as if their heads were under water.

Jaskier opened his eyes, blinking in the odd glow. He slowly pulled his hands away from his ears, squinting at the pulsating barrier in a dome around them. “Is this …?”

“Quen,” Geralt answered. “It … dampens the noise.”

Jaskier turned his head to look at him. “You used a sign for me? But you said using signs outside of battle was frivolous.”

Geralt did not meet his eye. He shrugged, putting his hands over Jaskier’s ears once more. “It’s a precaution. In case the storm collapses the cave,” he grunted.

“And covering my ears as we lay together?”

“Would you rather I cover your mouth?”

Jaskier managed a nervous laugh. His heartbeat began to slow—cautiously—and his trembling to cease. He closed his eyes once more. To Geralt’s surprise, Jaskier rolled over, tucking his head beneath his chin. Geralt’s hand fell over his shoulders, cradling him.

For a moment, Geralt felt uncertain. But as Jaskier nestled, breathing gently against him, he wrapped his arms more securely around his form. Though there was little need with the barrier in place, he flattened one hand over Jaskier’s exposed ear and used the motion to tuck his head closer. They lay together until the storm passed, the hours fading into sleep.

 Geralt followed the faint hum of his medallion in the early dawn. His boots crunched over the splinter of charred wood. The fragments littered the area, and the tree had collapsed in the night. He found the place they’d been camping before the rain broke over their heads. The wood of their campfire now lay in a soaking pile, barely blackened. Beyond their camp lay the sandy shore of the lake, and it was there that his medallion led.

Upon the yellow sands he crouched. He brushed the sands carefully as he searched. It was something he’d read about before, something left in the wake of powerful storms when the sky reached down to touch the earth. In the old tales, it was meant as a gift from the gods; a promise that no storm should ever again harm the one blessed with it. The stories were so old, he thought they had no true merit, but the medallion made him rethink his position. He felt a solid bump on the surface of the sand and dug around it. As he dug, a strange tendril emerged. Then another, like the root of a tree in its shape.

Geralt dug the lightning from the earth, made solid and harmless. The glass was explosive, its many branches reaching outward, smooth in places where the lightning melted the sand best, grainy in others. He turned it in his hands, struck with wonder. Touching the thin ends of one branch, the glass snapped free. Upon examination he found that it was hollow within; the lightning had escaped its vessel.

Fishing out his dagger, Geralt selected a wide tendril and scored one end. He tapped it with the handle of his dagger and it fell free in his hand with a clean line. He scored it again, tapped, and a ring fell from the glass. After a bit of searching in his bag, he found a sanding block, pasted with dogfish. He sprinkled a pinch of sand over the block and rubbed the sharp ends of the glass ring over the abrasive surface, smoothing them away.

He washed the ring in the lake and tested its edge carefully. When he was sure the edge was dull, he fished a length of leather cord from his bag and looped it around, tying off the ends. He wrapped the rest of the glass in his spare clothes and carried the lot back to the cave.

By this time, Jaskier was beginning to stir.

Geralt tapped his shoulder. “Hey,” he coaxed. “Wake up, I’ve brought you something.”

Jaskier turned over groggily. “Is it breakfast?” he asked. “If it is, you can leave it by the fire. I’ll get to it. Just … twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes indeed. Geralt chuckled and pried one of Jaskier’s eyes opened. “It’s not breakfast. It’s something rare. Something I think you’ll find fascinating.”

“Can’t I be fascinated in the late morning for a change?” Jaskier complained. But in spite of the early hour, he sat upright and rubbed his eyes. “Alright, I’m up. What’s so rare and fascinating? Are we off to see some nigh-extinct bird that only comes out at dawn in this isolated range of the mountain? Some magical fish that walks on land two days of the year during mating season?”

“Give me your hand,” Geralt said.

Jaskier squinted at him in suspicion. “Geralt of Rivia, I swear: if you’ve woken me up to put a bug in my hands, I will spit in your eye.”

Geralt sighed as he reached into his bag. “It’s not a bug. Will you just do it?”

Cautiously, Jaskier held out his hand, still keeping it rigidly close to snatch away should he spy any hint of a creepy crawly thing, whether by leg or antenna. Geralt rolled his eyes and pulled his hand forward. He dropped the ring into his palm, letting the cord drape over the side.

Jaskier’s eye widened and he picked up the ring, inspecting it in the early morning light. The glass was a marbled yellow and white, speckled with flecks here and there of brown and tiny black particles. “Oh,” he whispered in admiration. “Oh, what is it?”

“Fulgurite. Lightning glass.”

“Lightning glass?”

Geralt nodded. “When lightning strikes sand, it melts it into its shape. There are stories of it, though I’d never seen it before. In some stories, the lightning becomes trapped in the glass, released only when it is broken; a punishment from the gods for those who wished to claim their power of nature for themselves.”

He opened his bag and removed the hollow glass for Jaskier to inspect. “There are friendlier stories,” he explained, “wherein the glass is a blessing. After difficult storms pass, a mass of fulgurite is left behind. He who finds it and carries it with him is blessed with fair weather all his days. The hollow in the glass is the eye of the storm, the one place of calm amid the chaos.”

Jaskier poked a finger through the eye of the ring. “Fascinating doesn’t begin to cover it. Song worthy better hits the mark.” He passed Geralt the ring as he packed away the glass once more, but Geralt stopped him, closing his hand around the ring.

“I want you to keep it,” he said. “To protect you. Lightning will never strike near you so long as you wear it.”

Jaskier stared down at his fist, opening it slowly to reveal the cold glass ring within. “I thought you didn’t believe in stories like that,” he replied.

Geralt picked up the ring by its cord and lowered it round Jaskier’s neck. “Some stories—some superstitions—are facts forgotten by time. Whether or not it truly will guard you from storms, we’ll learn in time, but I can feel that there is magic in this.  There are charms in this world, if you know where to find them.”

Jaskier pressed the tips of his fingers to the ring, a small smile tugging his lips. It rested against his collar with a comforting weight. When he looked at Geralt, his eyes were bright and crinkled at the corners.

“Thank you, Geralt.”

He stood up, one hand on Geralt’s shoulder for balance. As he did, he leaned in and pressed a grateful kiss to his cheek in passing, then went to see about getting breakfast started.

Geralt knelt frozen on the spot.

Thunderstruck.

[4dtk]

more than a bet (cont. from a sweet bet)

anon: “ohmygod i loved that sub!jae work sm😭😭 would you be able to do more?? maybe with a soft femdom and whiny jae? its truly heartbreaking seeing the lack of sub!jae on here 😔” i’m glad you liked it!!!!! hope u like this one too <3 i might have made reader a bit of a mean dom i’m sorry ;;

ps was gonna make jae orgasm untouched but…. aha / you don't have to read the previous part to understand but anon is talking about this fic!

warnings/tags: pegging, bit of dacryphilia, handjob, sub!jaehyun, soft femdom!reader, brief face-sitting, brief cunnilingus

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI!

“back for more already?” you laughed, eyeing the timid boy standing in front of you with fists clenched onto the straps of his book bag. his knuckles turn white from how tight he’s holding it and you don’t miss the nervous shifting he does with his feet.

all jaehyun lets out is a dreamy sigh, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips as he ignores the calls of his friends a metre from him.

he’s tall, although all the male wants to do right now is turn to mush with the uncomfortable rub of his thighs against each other and the gaze you’re looking down at him with.

it’s no different when you have him in your bed later and in the palm of your hand, literally, as the other clutches onto the sheets with the same intensity earlier, the skin of his neck exposed from how far he’s dropped his head back in pleasure.

jaehyun’s dick leaks pre-cum like no other while his tip throbs red, begging to be touched impatiently by your rather patient hand. it stays at the base of his cock, squeezing and unsqueezing as the other’s whines reach your ears.

“(y-y/n)… hurts s’bad!” jaehyun groans, eyes which were scrunched tight opening as they plead with you. it was shameless in the way his legs were spread to accommodate you in between, with the occasional buck of his hips that made the rustling of sheets ever resonant in the room. he was at your mercy, from day one in the quiet classroom, and he was at your mercy, now, with mouth parted as delicious moans spilled from his lips.

“what does, baby?” you ask, knowing full well what he was hinting at before leaning down to place a harmless kiss on his tip. you relish in the way you make him feel, the gesture making his thighs almost close, something that he does out of habit if not for your hands holding them open.

“t-that! that hurts, (y/n)-ssi!” he chokes on the moan he lets out, twitching with sensitivity when you finally move your hand along his shaft, giving him what he wants. your hand moves easily with how much he’s leaking, the lewd noises increasing in volume as you increase your pace. you make sure to pump his full length, up, down, up, down, with his arousal providing for sufficient lube.

jaehyun lets out a sob, slapping a hand over his mouth as the knot in his stomach tightens and tightens, threatening to release at any moment with how good you’re making him feel. your lips feel dry with the desperation in his movements, sounds and noises alike bringing much wetness to your underwear. it’s not the priority on your mind for now, rather more fixated on helping jaehyun to his high.

“you wanna cum, hm?” you mocked with a grin, speeding up your hand while the other goes up to tweak at his nipples, rolling them in between your thumb and index as his moans become more prominent and frequent. there’s multiple affirmations spilling from his lips, yes, yes, yes, i wanna c-cum!

“go on, then, cum,” you prompt with a pant and it hits. it hits like truck as a sultry groan rips from his throat while you observe how his veins pop out in frustration and quads flex when the string snaps. jaehyun’s eager to get more pleasure as he jerks into your already moving hand.

there’s endless profanities mixed in with mewls as he spills all over your hand, white hot spurts of cum dripping from his tip and down the back of his hand. you so skillfully lick it up while it’s still wrapped around his cock, deliberately avoiding the shaft.

as jaehyun catches his breath, there’s a whispered question of do you think you’re ready? you don’t push it when he shakes his head, but you realise that you’re thankful. so so thankful he’s come back a second time for you to be able to see this again.

and again.

and again.

the next time, you’re lapping at his hole, prodding and teasing with your tongue while his face stays buried in his sheets. he’s struggling to keep a quiet front even when you slip a finger in, both from embarrassment and the family movie going on outside and sticks his ass up into your face achingly.

“that’s it, baby boy, relax for me. gotta prepare you for my cock, now, yeah?” you moan at how easy his hole is sucking in your finger, no doubt doing the same to your strap later on.

jaehyun watches in awe as you remove your outfit, eyes lingering on the obvious bulge sticking out of your underwear. his mouth hangs open, both in fear and excitement with you having worn the strap-on for the whole day of university, lips turning up at the mere thought of you ruining him in the next few minutes.

“whatcha smiling about?” you grinned, guiding his chest down onto the bed again as he mumbles with a whine, something that makes you freeze up in the midst of lubing your cock.

“just thinking of how dumb you’d fuck me, (y/n)-ssi.” you’re sure it’s the innocence laced within the voice, so pure, so needy, yet so dirty.

your breath is shaky as you ease the strap-on into him. every inch that disappears into him only make you groan in the sight, while the male bites down on a finger to prevent any noise. by then, you’re unable to keep a cap on your lust, snapping your hips to deliver a hard thrust that has jaehyun’s moans hitting the walls.

“you doing okay, honey?”

jaehyun only hums, a pleased smile spreading across his lips as he turns back to you with eyes that take your breath away. they’re dilated, tinted with something you never knew you could bring out of jaehyun.

as his back arches to get more of your cock, you have to swallow. it’s the only way to take your mind off the sweat glistening off his back and the tight grip his hand has on your thigh.

“’s so good, (y/n), ’s so so good- mmh!” he drawls out his speech while you continue to thrust in and out at his confirmation, losing just a bit of control with how smoothly your name rolls of his tongue.

your hips meet his ass continuously, feeling the burn of your thighs and the roughness of the sheets below you. there’s distant chatter outside the door, fortunate enough for jaehyun’s room to be at the end of a passageway and away from the living room.

“h-harder! faster, p..pleeease-!” he almost screams when your cock meets his prostate, mouth dropped at the immense pleasure and tongue lolling out.

tears lingered at the corners of jaehyun’s eyes, making you want to cum on the spot with the expression on his face. beautiful, beautiful, all spread out for me. it repeated like a mantra in your head.

jaehyun cries out when your hand wraps around his cock and he swears he sees heaven for a second with eyes rolling back. you’re stroking with fervour, matching the pace of your satisfying thrusts and the squelching sounds only contribute to the atmosphere, room smelling like sex and musk and desperation.

“c’mon, baby boy, cum on my cock. do your worst.”

and he really does.

“hhhn- cumming, cumming, so good- so full!” jaehyun whimpers into the sheets, just loud enough for you to hear when you’re hovering over his body. it’s the most the male’s cummed since the last time, white staining both the sheets below you and your hand while his body jerks at the intense orgasm.

you hum, easing out the strap that jaehyun moans at the emptiness. nevertheless, he relaxes when you place a kiss on his shoulder, still recovering from the hypnotising high.

“what about.. you… (y/n)-ssi?” he slurs, turning his head on the pillow so his eyes could see you in your glory.

“you’re tired, aren’t you? come, let’s rest up-“

“no…” jaehyun whines, and you’re so close to edge him again, “wanna eat you out, (y/n)…”

your lips can taste his cum when you bite a finger out of nervousness, hands fumbling to remove your strap almost immediately. you’re positively soaked when you touch yourself after, caving in to your desire when jaehyun drags you closer.

“just relax, (y/n). take your seat,” he’s still delirious, giggling when your surprise shows. and when you eventually do? it’s the best fucking seat that he offers, his mouth sucking on your clit as your legs tremble around his ears.

“you’re delicious, (y/n).”

it’s the best fucking seat and jaehyun’s glad to clean up after you, worshipping you at the foot of your throne adorned with gold and velvet that he always comes back to. it’s addicting, but how could he resist when you’re a queen that never stops giving?

[mythicamagic]

Enemies to Lovers - Sesshoumaru is injured - "Lean on me" prompt

AN: Because there’s a lot of prompts to get through I probably should have/could have spent more time on this one due to the heavy subject matter buuut since in the anime Sesshoumaru only gets 11 episodes to recover from the loss of his arm, I don’t feel too guilty XD

Warning: body trauma

---

Inuyasha's wench had found him around an hour ago. Unlike Rin, she'd deliberated approaching for a few moments. Unsurprising. They were still foes after all. Crimson eyes remained burning, glaring listlessly at her face.

She'd seemed to silently decide something, determination steeling her expression. The yellow nekomata he vaguely recalled belonging to the slayer was her sole companion, who growled at him warningly not to try anything. As if he would.

The miko carried a large cumbersome bag, so he assumed she'd been headed somewhere before running into him within the forest.

Kagome cleaned his wound as best she could, before binding it to try and stop the excessive blood loss. She'd then approached with the beast, proceeding to kneel beside his bloody form. Sesshoumaru remained where he was, reclined against a tree and settled at its base.

Kagome winced, arm secured around his waist after having removed his armour.

"I can't just leave you like this. Lean on me. I'll take your weight enough to move you onto Kirara."

Sesshoumaru turned his head, gazing at nothing.

His lips moved, speaking too softly for her to hear.

"What?"

He repeated himself in a tight voice. "What is the point?"

Kagome stiffened against him. Her heart thudded quicker, fear brushing his senses.

Sesshoumaru allowed his hazy red eyes to dull into empty gold, staring right at the woman.

He could survive a missing arm. Had adjusted his fighting style enough to manage.

But the Killing Perfection could not survive the loss of a leg too. His body would save him from blood loss, but his spirit lay broken, irreparable.

Kagome swallowed loudly, resting a hand on his upper thigh. His leg ended below the knee.

"T-this… it's nothing for you," she mumbled quietly. "You're going to be okay. You'll find a way to walk again."

Sesshoumaru chuckled dryly, resting his head back against the trunk. "Why do you care, wench?" he flashed sharp teeth at her. "We are not allies. Leave me."

"I won't," Kagome moved closer, grabbing a handful of his hankimono. "Listen, I might not be your friend and you've tried to kill Inuyasha more than a few times, but…" her hand shook. "But you're the strongest person I've met. If you fall, then what hope do the rest of us have?" she questioned softly. "Despite myself, I admire people like you and Kikyo. Always so crazy strong."

Sesshoumaru scoffed, gripping her hard by the hair and forcing her head down to look at the stump of his right leg. "Do I look strong to you, miko?" he hissed in her ear.

Kagome braced her hands on his available leg, twisting in his grip to look at him.

Sesshoumaru stilled.

Unshed tears lay in her eyes.

"Yes," she muttered with conviction. "So long as you don't give up now."

Sesshoumaru stared. Inky black hair slowly fell limp around his fingers. He settled back against the tree.

Kagome straightened, winding an arm around his waist again. "At least come with me to find shelter. You can't stay like this out in the open."

Sesshoumaru remained dead weight. He did not see the point in trying.

He could not hope to recover from this.

Kagome tugged and heaved at his body, his mass much too big for her to hope to move.

She sighed with frustration, blowing air at her bangs. "I'll tell Inuyasha about this," she grumbled.

Sesshoumaru blinked, sliding his gaze back to her. "I would kill you before you managed to leave."

Kagome smiled a little, patting his shoulder. "That's better. You look a bit more like yourself when you're threatening someone."

He wanted to snap at her. To snarl and bite the soft looking skin of her neck, frighten her enough to leave.

He was tired. A part of him felt content to die after his pride lay in such shattered tiny pieces.

And yet…

And yet a part of him, instinctive, strong and indomitable, refused to lay down and perish. It appreciated her continued efforts.

The thought of him hobbling about so pathetically was almost too much to bear, but Sesshoumaru closed his eyes, realising very wretchedly that this meant he did not in fact wish to die.

"We can do this," Kagome was muttering, trying to angle him enough to lay on Kirara, who pressed in close, offering assistance.

Sesshoumaru stifled a sigh, making a silent choice. He begrudgingly leaned against her, shifting his remaining leg beneath him.

Kagome gasped, "that's it!" she encouraged, helping him into a crouching position before he fell forward onto the beast. Kagome adjusted his leg, ensuring he was steady, before nodding for Kirara to stand.

Sesshoumaru did not pay attention to their surroundings, the forest passing in a blur.

If he'd just been quicker, the bull demon who had humiliated him would have perished sooner. The beast had produced a second weapon out of thin air, axe cleaving through muscle and bone. All he could do was pull back- lest he lose his entire lower half.

He felt no pain. Surprisingly, everything remained numb. His flesh was cold and clammy, and he lay as if outside of his own body.

Sesshoumaru closed his eyes, lapsing into unconsciousness.

---

The scent of rain stirred his senses.

Sesshoumaru turned his head, finding himself laying down upon a strange futon that resembled a squashed cocoon. The nekomata lay behind him, keeping him warm.

Sesshoumaru blinked. The miko had found them shelter. He soon located her sitting at the mouth of the cave, looking out at the rain while a fire lay in the centre of the cool space.

When she noticed he’d regained consciousness, Kagome rose and offered some water from her strange water container.

She’d changed clothes, donning more unusual clothing Sesshoumaru was unfamiliar with. Her pants clung to her form distractingly.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, hovering close.

He tsked, passing back the water after taking a swig. “Like I have one leg and one arm. How do you think I am feeling, mortal?”

She winced, “shitty.”

“Indeed,” Sesshoumaru lay back down, staring at the cave ceiling soberly.

“Do you want something to eat?” a crunchy noise rustled from her pocket as the woman produced a rectangular bar of some kind.

He couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice, eyeing a picture of the food on its strange packaging. “What is it?”

“A peanut butter and chocolate energy bar,” Kagome winced. “Look I don’t know how to hunt-” he scoffed, “-so this is the best I’ve got. Sorry, your Highness.”

Sesshoumaru sneered, “you may keep it. I do not eat human food. Least of all bizarre creations such as that.”

“Fine but it's your loss.”

His expression became blank, noticing her wince and start apologising for the wording. He wasn’t listening anymore though. The initial shock was beginning to wear off, and now he was more than painfully aware of the shooting pains running up and down the remainder of his leg, from stump to upper thigh. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, refusing to show his discomfort.

“...You’ve used a human arm before,” Kagome said carefully, sitting beside him and crossing her legs. “And what looked like a dragon one. By that logic, you could attach a demon leg to yours, right?”

Sesshoumaru slid his gaze to her, silently thankful for the distraction. The coming agony would be something he’d already dealt with due to the loss of his arm. Phantom limb pain was a real bitch.

“Yes,” he managed, before taking a steadying breath. He managed to arrange his features into something smirking and lofty. “Are you implying you will fetch me a new limb, little miko? How very generous.”

Kagome’s eyes turned flat. “I’m not about to go out and lop off some poor demon’s foot just to help you. But...if…” she said slowly, “if I’m attacked- which happens often because of the jewel shards- maybe I’d…”

Sesshoumaru dropped his smug expression, frowning softly.

The rain continued to pour, pelting the ground hard. It was a sobering reminder that if she’d left him to the mercy of the elements, he’d be in a much worse state.

He ran careful attention over her features. “Why?”

Kagome’s deep blue eyes held his probing stare, not a flicker of deceit in them. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly, “things can’t go back to normal for you right away- or at least, they shouldn’t. You should take the time to recover. I don’t know how the hell you managed to come after us so quickly after losing your arm. It likely wasn’t healthy for you.”

He arched a brow. Repressing every single fibre of the experience and any feelings about the fate that had befallen his left arm had worked wonders for his recovery. Granted it made sleep difficult at times, but none had ever had the audacity to lecture him about his decisions before.

“But- I also don’t want you to be vulnerable to attacks or starvation,” Kagome kept rambling. “Giving you a leg won’t solve everything but it’ll help- ah, are you burning up?” she noticed a bead of sweat roll down his temple, reaching out automatically.

Sesshoumaru snatched it mid-air, pushing up with a burst of speed and yanking Kagome down, simultaneously rolling atop her. Her back hit the ground, punctuated with a squeak from her startled lips.

Silver hair hung down, creating a curtain that blocked out the rest of the world. Those blue eyes widened, breath hitching. Their lower halves pressed intimately together, stomachs meeting as Sesshoumaru leaned closer, using his hand to brace his weight above her. A fire burned within the back of his throat, ancient, tattered pride stinging. He found that he resented her slightly. Resented her for seeing him so weak. It hadn’t mattered when Rin had found him wounded. A battered child had no relation to him. But this girl, Kagome- was an enemy. She should not have seen him thus.

“Do I seem so very vulnerable to you?” he asked in a hushed voice, mouth inches from hers. The fire crackled, rain pouring. Her breathing sounded a touch quicker, heartbeat loud in his ears. Drumming.

Against all logic, he felt her body relax beneath his. She even smiled a little, “no,” she muttered.

“Is something amusing?”

“I’m just glad you proved me wrong. I’d rather you kept acting like a jerk than look so...defeated like you did earlier,” Kagome gave a nervous giggle, gesturing between them, “uh...if you could let me up now though that would be great.”

She tried to rise, but he let more of his weight sink down upon her soft, warm body. “No, I do not think I will.”

Kagome gasped, drawing a knee up and inadvertently opening her legs, allowing him to fit snugly against her. If he hadn’t lost a limb several hours earlier that same day and wasn’t experiencing agonising, blinding pain, Sesshoumaru had to say, the feeling was enough to make him...consider something previously thought impossible between himself and humans.

As it was, he hissed a breath through grit teeth, the stump licking phantom flames of blazing fire around the wound.

“Sesshoumaru? Sesshoumaru!”

He shuddered, trying to prevent himself from crushing her beneath his weight, arm shaking.

It hurt. It suddenly hurt like hell- and nothing was working. No distraction could take him from the blistering, lonely, maddening sensation that holy fuck his leg was missing. He wanted to do something as meaningless as wriggle his toes and he could not-

Suddenly, her arms were around him. Pleasant fresh scents assaulted his fractured senses, citrusy and clean. Kagome pulled him down while rolling herself, flipping their positions.

“I don’t have anything for the pain,” her voice strained apologetically. She quickly moved off him, but Sesshoumaru wasn’t paying attention anymore. He panted, temples pounding. His body shook, pain shooting through the nerve endings in the remainder of his leg.

Something cold and wet lay over his marked forehead. Cracking the burning suns of pained golden eyes open, he watched Kagome adjust the cold compress, before checking his leg.

“You heal quick, but you need new bandages. M-maybe that’ll help until I can go home for painkillers,” she muttered, grabbing her bag and digging through it.

Sesshoumaru panted softly, seizing the fretting miko’s wrist.

“Your...scent,” he grunted.

“What?”

If he were sober he’d never request something so undignified, but Sesshoumaru kept talking, somewhat delirious now that all sense of shock had worn off. “Come here...again. I want your scent.”

Kagome’s shocked features were lost to him as the Daiyoukai hissed, squeezing his eyes shut.

The scent of citrus returned after a moment. Soft, curling locks of dark hair brushed his nose as Kagome gingerly embraced him.

Sesshoumaru wrapped an arm around her shoulders, burying his face into the black fall of citrus-scented strands. He lost himself to instinct, gripping onto the stable, pleasant sensations that took the form of Inuyasha’s wench. She let out a tense breath but soon relaxed against him, verbally assuring Kirara when the nekomata growled.

For the second time that day, Sesshoumaru unwillingly lost the battle for consciousness.

----

She was gone by the time he awoke in the morning, but the nekomata remained. She growled and hissed softly whenever he looked at the beast for longer than necessary. Kagome left a note, explaining that she’d be back soon.

Sesshoumaru had little to do except wait. The pain had become a continuous throb, which was easier to deal with but equally as irritating, exhausting him.

When Kagome returned several hours later, she produced wrapped pieces of cooked chicken from her bag, cheerfully explaining that she’d returned home. Sesshoumaru turned his nose up slightly at the food.

“I would have preferred the bird...raw.”

“Wait like freshly dead?”

“Alive, favourably.”

Kagome gaped, leaving the lunchbox with him. “That's terrible!”

Sesshoumaru stared at her flatly, opening his mouth and drawing out his tongue, transforming his features into something more monstrous and canine while placing the food into his mouth and eating it in one quick snap of his jaws. “Demon,” he muttered pointedly.

She rolled her eyes and let him finish his meal in peace.

---

They fell into an odd routine of planned visits for several days, talking about the strange things she brought back from home. He came to learn she was from the Future, of all places. They discussed its advanced technologies while she bandaged his leg.

He suspected the miko felt some sense of responsibility for him now. The thought set his teeth on edge, mildly humiliated.

When he brought up the subject of his vassal, ward and steed, Kagome shrugged and told him they’d been accepted into Inuyasha’s group for the time being. They worried about his continued absence and Inuyasha complained about having to share a space with Jaken, but bared with it. Not one person knew about his situation except Kagome, for which he was thankful.

By the end of five days though, Sesshoumaru needed to move. He began by pulling himself along the ground via his hand and knee, which proved awkward but not impossible. Next came standing, which- after many failed attempts- he finally managed to do, gripping onto the cave wall.

Walking was impossible, of course. And by the time Sesshoumaru realised the very sobering truth that he’d have to hop everywhere the rest of his life or walk with the use of a cane or crutch unless he could grab a demon leg- he wondered why he’d bothered moving at all.

“You’re standing!”

Dulled golden eyes slid to the miko, who stood at the mouth of the cave. In her arms was a large sack faintly marred with blood, and he could tell from the wrinkle of her nose exactly what it was. Surprise slammed into his gut.

“Miko-”

Kagome set the bundle down, hurrying over and steadying him when he tipped too much to one side. “Are you alright? You should be resting-”

“Give me the leg, miko.”

Kagome fell silent, eyeing his stump. He’d stopped needing bandages two days ago. She didn’t protest, merely looking at him carefully. “Are you sure?”

Sesshoumaru leaned against her, allowing her to help ease him down into a sitting position. He briefly touched her cheek, gliding a thumb there and watching it redden. His heart thudded with gladness. “I am sure.”

She nodded, soon bringing the bloodied sack over. She explained that he’d gotten lucky, as while the first two demons they’d faced in a group of three had been too large and bulky to fit his build, the third had been smaller. Inuyasha had been extremely disturbed and suspicious when she’d asked him to hack their leg off once all three were dead.

“It’s not been easy, avoiding his questions, you know. He’s tried to follow me here more than once. I managed to convince him that this leg was for my weird Grandpa.”

Sesshoumaru blinked, finding himself watching her instead of studying the leg as it was revealed to him. The miko had been astronomically helpful and considerate in all the ways one could to a demon lord. His chest felt strange. Warm, upon realising the extent of her actions for his sake.

“Well, do you like it?”

Sesshoumaru jolted, focusing on the red-scaled leg laying before him. From its scent, he knew it to be from a lizard demon. Not his first choice, but this was no time to be picky. Sesshoumaru grabbed it and pressed the severed end to his stump after aligning it. He didn’t so much as flinch as muscle and bone wove together, the process over in seconds. Kagome gaped with amazement.

When he moved to stand, she quickly assisted, pulling him to his feet. Sesshoumaru took a step and staggered, looking downwards.

Ah.

Kagome’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh. Oh no...it's too short isn’t it?”

The height was off by a few inches.

He made to reply- before stiffening, scenting salt. “Why are you crying about it, foolish woman?”

“I-I’m sorry,” she waved it off, some tears escaping down her cheeks before she roughly brushed them away. “I just wanted it to be perfect but now you’re kind of...tilted.”

Despite the situation, a smile tugged at his mouth. A noise bubbled up from the back of his throat, escaping as a quiet laugh.

Kagome froze, tears clinging to her lashes.

“It is fine, miko. More than...fine.”

Sesshoumaru held onto the wall for support, feeling the bite of putting weight onto the leg, his stump flaring. It would take time for his body to adjust. Despite this, his warrior heart filled with purpose again, powers working to heal him. Just having the ability to walk after having it stolen away renewed his spirits.

Kagome watched him with a smile, occasionally offering aid but largely keeping her hands off. He could sense various soft emotions rolling off her in waves. Admiration, relief and something else. Something he could not name. It remained untouched and unnamed long after he left the cave behind one afternoon.

He had no writing utensils to leave a note, instead carefully tearing out a segment of his sleeve, leaving the red and white flower symbol of his family crest for her to find.

---

Kagome panted hard, catching her breath and folding down into a crouch, gripping her bow tight.

“Are you alright, Kagome?” Rin asked, closely followed by Shippo as they approached from Ah-Un, having kept away from the random attack on the village. Thankfully the hoard of boar demons had finally been dealt with, but Kagome’s nerves were shot to hell after racing around so much, trying to protect villagers.

“I-I’m fine, guys, thanks,” she smiled, looking between them both. The orphans had bonded quickly, and she felt a surge of warmth, happy they had a companion their age to talk with. It had been two weeks since she’d last seen Sesshoumaru since his disappearance, and while she loved having Rin around, it did make her worry. Sesshoumaru always returned to his group. Where had he run off too?

Maybe he went to find a better leg, she thought, taking the children’s hands and walking towards Miroku- who was helping up an old man from where he’d fallen. Perhaps he needed time to get used to walking on what’s essentially a prosthetic.

For humans- such a thing took up to one year. Demons really are something else.

Kagome’s lips curved, picturing the burning, determined gaze of the Daiyoukai.

Or rather, Sesshoumaru is something else.

“Kagome, look out!” Miroku yelled.

Jerking, Kagome sensed a lone boar youkai barrelling towards her through the forest, knocking trees aside. It was quicker than anticipated- and despite Kagome grabbing the children and trying to run out of its way, it charged straight for her, grunting, throwing its head wildly.

People were screaming her name, but they were too far away. Kagome twisted her body, pushing the kids aside and in order for her to take the brunt of the hit-

Red light exploded to life, consuming the boar demon before it could reach them. Hide and blood were caught up in the attack, leaving Kagome mercifully free from the boar's flying carnage.

She panted, shaking a little and gazing at the steaming remains of the demon. A pale figure floated to the ground, landing elegantly.

“Lord Sesshoumaru!” Rin cried happily.

“Lord Sesshoumaru?!” Jaken’s distant yell could be heard.

Kagome straightened, heart doing a funny thing in her chest. She immediately looked at his leg- finding him clad in white hakama pants and black boots. The same as always.

Blue eyes widened. He appeared completely unchanged. Somehow, he must’ve found an inhuman demon and took their leg so that he could masquerade as his usual self.

His tiny group circled around him joyously, while Kagome’s friends gathered together a little ways away. Inuyasha’s ears pinned back to his head with displeasure.

Jaken hopped up and down. “Where have you BEEN, mi lord!”

“Nowhere."

“Tch, bastard,” grumbling, Inuyasha raised his voice a touch. “Hey- you could at least thank us for babysitting your damn group while you were probably out doing power-hungry shit.”

Sesshoumaru’s gaze slid over the Hanyou dismissively, stopping on Kagome. Her breathing hitched.

“I am not here to thank you, Inuyasha.”

Kagome remained frozen as a shadow fell over her face, his head of silver hair blocking out the sun. Golden eyes replaced the burning circle in the sky, blazing and intent. Slit pupils pinned her in place.

She was vaguely aware of her friends exclaiming in surprise and alarm, thinking he meant to harm her. The sound of Inuyasha drawing his sword was enough to make her mutter ‘sit boy’ absentmindedly, paying no attention to his subsequent impact with the ground.

Sesshoumaru raised a hand, resting pale knuckles against her cheek in a slow drag down to her jaw, skin cool, clashing against her warmth. White lashes lowered, becoming half-mast.

“You’re okay?” she breathed.

“Hn, I merely needed some time,” Sesshoumaru’s low rumble melted her insides.

She cleared her throat, cheeks tinging red because of his proximity, his dark youki brushing her senses, his touch- his everything. Reaching into her pocket, she produced the segment of his clothing, the pattern of his clan. “Did you want this back-?”

“Keep it,” he closed her fingers over it, catching her eye. “You have my loyalty for what you have done for this one, miko. Keep it,” he said softer.

Kagome nodded slowly, opening her mouth to ask more-

Firm lips slanted over her own. Stiffening, she became deaf to her friend’s even louder exclamations of surprise, Miroku quietly voicing his awe, impressed.

The miko inhaled sharply through her nose, feeling Sesshoumaru’s mouth move, brushing against her own in several lingering kisses. Blushing, it took a moment for Kagome to get over her stupefaction. But then she pressed a little closer, kissing him back perhaps a little nonsensically. But it felt right. Her toes curled at the feel of him.

A low groan rumbled in his throat and his lips softened against hers, mouth parting to brush his sinuous tongue against hers.

Kagome shivered and wondered if he could hear how her heart hammered in her chest. His palm felt steady upon her back, arm encircling her waist. When they finally pulled away, their lips lingered close.

“What...what was that?” she breathed, cheeks flushed.

Sesshoumaru’s lips quirked, “that was this Sesshoumaru conveying my deep sense of gratitude, miko.”

“Funny way of thanking someone, but I’ll take it,” Kagome’s eyes glittered. She could think about the consequences of such an action later. For now, she was content to hold his gaze and keep his secret safe- for however long the prideful Daiyoukai needed.

[arvensimp]

Choose Your Own Adventure, pt. 1

As a thank you for the 1000 followers, I thought it might be fun to do a Choose Your Own Adventure fic. I've got a starting prompt below, and each part will be followed by a poll where you, the audience, will pick what happens next. Each poll will only last 24 hours, so definitely act fast if you want your voice heard!

Each part will only be 1000 words, and my intent is to keep this GN.

For now, there are no warnings.

-

The late afternoon sun beats heavy on your back as you ride through Socarrat Trail. Despite the lack of trainers out today (not surprising given the overwhelming heat), it remains almost inconceivably loud, with heracrosses chattering and chirring up a storm to rival the sound of a hurricane. 

Your eyes expertly scan the trail and off the beaten path, going along your typical route of inspection as a ranger in the area, double checking that no one is in any sort of danger and that nothing seems terribly awry. No fires, rock slides, or crazy damage from the inevitable pokemon battles that take place. The usual.

Everything seems typical, so with a relieved sort of sigh, you round the trail to start the return trek to the ranger station on the other side of the forest, eager to get back into the blessed air conditioning.

On the way, you ride close to the rock formation that sits in the middle of the forest. Several years back, before you joined the workforce, apparently some super strong pokemon was released from a cave within the stone, and no one had seen hide nor hair of it since. Or so said all your superiors over at the station. You’re pretty sure it was all hazing tauroshit.

…Pretty sure being the operative phrase, of course. It doesn't hurt to stick close by when you can, just in case some kinda cool Pokemon ever does appear.

In just a moment, you'll see the familiar chains that apparently kept the creature confined…or behind a door…or…whatever. That part of the story always changed, but one thing remained consistent:

Out of nowhere one day, a massive cry shook the ground for miles around the area. 

When the rangers went out to check on the commotion, the cave had been opened, the seal broken, and everything inside…gone. They tried to track it, but other than signs of a battle and mussed up Pokemon prints left in soft earth, there wasn't much else. Anything that had been inside was well and truly gone, scattered to the winds that carried its far reaching cry.

"Son of a BITCH!"

The sudden shout startles you from your thoughts of unknown pokemon, and you quickly make your way toward it. It came from within or nearby the cave, probably some kids from the academy searching for treasure, as some inevitably do every year. Doesn't matter how many signs your team puts up.

"DANGER: ROCK SLIDES LIKELY

CIVILIAN ACTIVITY PROHIBITED"

It's one thing for you, a trained park ranger, to idle along just off the path from the cave. You're a professional afterall. Kids, on the other hand, aren't, and they're drawn to danger like teddiursa to honey. Without real protective measures like those in place around Area Zero, you and your colleagues are left to deal with fallout and infrequent calls for an emergency taxi to take folks to the hospital.

"Hello? Socarrat Trail Park Services here!" You call toward the sound as you approach the cave. "Is anyone in need of assistance?"

"Ugh, fuck," You hear a voice softly echo through the mouth of the cave before continuing more loudly. "No! No, it's fine! No need for help, thanks!"

You continue into the cave anyway, putting on your best Official Ranger posture and tone.

"That's good to hear. However, this area is off-limits to civilians, so I have to ask that you…"

As your eyes adjust to the dim light of the cave and you realize whom you're facing, your official façade drops.

It's been years, but you saw a photo of him not too long ago online.

"Arven Sada-Turo, is that you?"

Wavy, two-toned hair which partially blocks his sight, his bits of scruffy beard, and his stocky, built form face you.

The man sighs, wiping his hand on the back of his pants.

"Yeah, yeah. That's me. Listen, I, uh…didn't realize the area was off-limits or whatever." Probably a lie. There's signage everywhere. He should've seen it. "But I'll be outta your hair soon. Didn't mean to trespass. Promise."

"Wait, Arven. …Uh." Suddenly you feel awkward. This isn't easy to ask. "Don't you recognize me?" You draw closer to the little camping set up he seems to have built for himself in the cave. "Mesagoza Academy? We graduated the same year. Not that I blame you if you don't remember, for real! Geez, what's it been? Must be coming on almost a decade, yeah?"

Arven's eye narrows a bit as you approach, not trusting you immediately. But when he's able to take in your face a little better, his face relaxes with recognition.

"Oh… Oh wow! Shit, uh…" He fumbles for a moment, but he gets your name right first try, and you nod in affirmation. "Who'd have thought we'd see each other like this, yeah?" He laughs, gesturing around him. 

Your expression quirks a bit.

"Yeah… What are you doing here? Like I said, this area isn't really meant for civilians, so…"

He straightens, the single eye you can see brightening. "I was foraging. See, I'm doing research on herbs for use in my café."

You're familiar with the place. Though you've never been yourself, you know Arven's face and frame from a photo of him outside the establishment back when the place first opened.

Massive Munchies: New Café to Open, Featuring Flavors of the Titans!

The article was accompanied by a photo of your current classmate, knelt down next to his Mabosstiff, both giving huge, goofy grins. No longer was he the awkward, broody teen of your school days. He was replaced instead by the impressive form in front of you.

"Research…on herbs?" You chatot back.

"Yup! The region has a rare plant, colloquially called herba mystica. Folks think they're legend, but they're not. Just super rare. I need to find a few more; see if I can get them to propagate… Anyway, I wasn't able to find any here, so, like I said, I'll be outta here shortly."

~~

What will you do? (link to the poll embedded in the text)

Challenge Arven to a battle as "punishment" for breaking the rules

Invite Arven on a tera raid as a potential method to find more herba mystica

Let him leave, promising to visit the café this weekend

Ask to have a picnic at his current camping set up

Ream him out for ignoring official signage

[lunarsands]

Flower Husbands Week 2022: Day 3

Prompt: Flowers

Setting: Empires SMP

Characters: Scott Smajor, Jimmy Solidarity

Tags: Fluff/angst(?)

(Also available on Ao3!)

---

When the elven king held out a bouquet of poppies, the Codfather felt a strange jolt go through both his head and his heart. He was briefly struck by a vision of a small cave, heat from a furnace, and his own hand holding out the same flower toward someone who looked just like Scott.

His eyes were a different color, and his clothes were different and strange, but it had to have been him.

Shaking off the image, he pulled himself back into the moment. This was more than just a peace offering to form an alliance. It was in the way the elf smiled, then lowered his eyes almost shyly, only to look up at him again with a hopefulness within them. It was…as if he was showing his feelings without having to say too many words and hoping they would be returned, as if they both already knew what these particular flowers meant, as if it was obvious—

Jimmy reached to touch Scott’s hand instead of immediately taking the bouquet, struggling to find an answer to all of those thoughts. This was a different side to the elf that he was seeing – not to say that he was aloof toward the other rulers, but there was something about the way he acted around them, some type of standard or wariness, like there was a front he needed to uphold and not let slip or else risk some type of fall.

Scott was letting all his walls down for him.

And Jimmy still didn’t know what to say yet. He shifted his hand to finally take the flowers and mumbled quietly, “These are lovely. Thank you.”

The shy smile returned, as if that response had been correct. Jimmy then followed him toward what he assumed would be a meeting hall, expecting there to be a more formal reception and discussion of the fine print on an official treaty to bind their alliance. He suspected any such treaty would be more in his favor than Scott’s; he had the threat of Mythland at his doorstep every other day after all, and Scott had already tangled with its unpredictable king.

To the Codfather’s surprise they actually went down to a scenic cave, and there was…a picnic. No war generals or bookkeepers, no lengthy scrolls or exhaustive clauses. Just the two of them, and some cake, and a garden’s worth of flowers spread around.

He could suddenly picture a small valley with a pond in the middle, two homes facing each other and a wall protecting them, flowers growing everywhere.

Their own little kingdom.

He found himself reaching for Scott’s hand again, interrupting the elf’s chatter. He might have been thanking him again for rescuing him, but Jimmy hadn’t been paying attention.

“Why do I know you?” Jimmy asked. “Why is all this—” he motioned around at the plant life with his other hand. “—Familiar? All the flowers? Do you - Do you remember them, too? Do you remember a valley? It was just a small one but it was…” He trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Home?” Scott suggested, staring down at their clasped hands, not moving. “I remember the flowers. I remember your eyes.”

Jimmy thought about time and the colors red and yellow. And then green. Scott’s eyes had been green the last time he saw him. That was important. He didn’t know why. “I remember your eyes, too. And that first poppy.”

Scott gazed over at him hopefully.

“Was - was there an us?” Jimmy asked nervously. “Is that why this is so familiar?” He lifted both their hands, then stared awkwardly like it had been a weird thing to do.  He suddenly thought about the color gray, and he squeezed Scott’s hand. “There was death waiting outside those walls, all the time.”

“Yes, but—we always had the valley to come home to. It was safe there; just the two of us.” Scott pulled their hands down then took a step closer. “Although I do remember losing you, I think. There wasn’t anything I could do about it.”

“This is starting to sound a bit like a nightmare.” Jimmy felt uncertain but didn’t let go of the elf’s hand.

“Well, maybe it was a dream, then. But a dream we somehow shared?” Scott gave an amused look. “Would that make it better?”

“Not really.”  Jimmy found himself gazing into Scott’s eyes, looking for that hint of green – or yellow, or red, or a reflection of his own eyes to ground himself, to check if his own were yellow, or red. “N-No, it had to have been real, as real as we’re standing here now. Because I remember— I remember all the flowers. That’s what we had – they were for us, right to the very end…”

 ~End~