#training with his hair down is impractical

[bottlesandbarricades]

[delphi-shield]

instant connection .ᐟ.ᐟ

di!leon x reader - long-distance relationship - part 1

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leon's a liar.

he doesn't mean to be. he tells you he works in security because it's easier than explaining the shitshow that is the DSO. you'll ghost him in a few messages anyway - and if you don't, he'll do the honors.

leon. 6'0''. works in security at no. undecided on kids. doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, long-term relationship, open to short. his first picture is of him throwing a peace sign to the camera, hair immaculate. (he'd had to crop out the hideous monster, a writhing mass of flesh and teeth, and now bullets. leon had realized very quickly that most of his selfies were ones he sent to hunnigan and ranged from drowned cat couture, 'forgot my umbrella today' to 'i'll help you train if you want to be a field agent, you're missing out', encouragement in the same frame as his latest monstrosity.)

the only thing completely true on his profile is his name and his status as a non-smoker and newly minted teetotaler. (according to his sobriety chip, he hasn't touched a drink in eight months. he keeps it in the same pocket he used to stash his flask in.) he's probably six foot in his shoes, he figures. that's only a half lie. 'undecided' should be 'unlikely', but that hadn't been an option in the drop down menu. his therapist says he needs to keep himself open to happiness, not to hold his dreams under water and drown them the moment he dares to have hope. it sounds kind of like bullshit, but undecided is the closest he's letting himself get to optimism for the time being. it's the same deal with long-term, open to short - blind optimism undercut by what he knows life has in store for him.

companionship isn't in the cards for him, not in any meaningful way, and that's fine. you get used to it after a while. it dulls out, gets hazy, only really creeps in on lazy weekends when he leaves the window cracked, swept in on sweet-smelling spring breezes.

it's one of those days when he opens his dating app to review his scant few likes. he clears the cobwebs from his profile only often enough to keep it active (there's that hope again). activity was few and far between, usually saved up to have claire or hunnigan go through his options and point out red flags that he would gladly sail right past - but that day, a cavern had opened in his chest. he only knew how to fill it with validation.

you were half-way across the goddamn country. you'd probably liked him weeks ago when you were passing through. seemed like a safe enough bet. more than likely, you'd never respond. even if you did, this would never work out. the distance was crazy.

so of course he messages you.

all right, what's wrong with you?

kind of a weird thing to say to a stranger, but you take it in stride and turn the question back on him when you respond an hour and a half later, the notification so surprising to him that he has to reel back through your profile to see what he's actually dealing with.

the distance makes it safe. there's a buffer between you. unspoken, mutual understanding that this is impractical and a waste of time.

the messages get more frequent. the stilted conversation melted to daily updates, and he'd exchanged phone numbers with you out of convenience. the app was a pain in the ass. he didn't want to get guff for being on a dating app during work hours, but texts were easily hand-waved. daily pictures escalated to weekly calls, which mutated into scheduled movie nights. there were a host of classics he needed to show you. his contribution to society was making one more person culturally conscious of leon s. kennedy's greatest hits.

leon remembers exactly where he was when you'd sleepily confessed that you weren't talking to anyone else. posted up in a hotel in belgium, getting ready for his operation. it was the middle of the night for you. the day loomed ahead of him, loaded with hostility and viscera. you were half asleep. he could have told you anything and you would have hummed and forgot it, nestled into your pillow. he tells you the truth instead, that he'd deleted the app you'd met on, that you're the only one he's talking to as well. it's the closest to commitment he can do and you take that promise to your dreams.

since then, he warns you when he'll be away for a 'business conference', unlikely to respond.

(conference sucked, he messages you from his hospital bed. he's fresh off assignment chest wrapped tight in bandages. he'll be out in a few hours. nothing serious. part of him aches to reassure you about something you didn't even know you had to worry about. execs tried to eat me alive out there.)

leon realizes he's fucked when he pays more attention to you, pinned to the top right corner of his laptop, than the cheesy horror-comedy you'd picked out for movie night. one hand itches for the bottle and the other itches for you, imagining what it would feel like with your weight dipping the mattress next to him, how his hand might fit against the arc of your hip - the movie on the big screen, not his laptop, still ignored in favor of watching you.

"are you even paying attention?" your voice crackles over the speaker, competing with the honking of a clown nose. he's lost the plot of the movie, doesn't quite understand where all the clowns came from (outer space, he thinks, but that would be ridiculous). he's too busy replaying your voice in his head, imagining it slower, sleepier, pressed into his shoulder.

"yeah, of course."

"uh-huh," you hum doubtfully.

you encourage him to pay attention to the next scene, pointing as if that will do anything when there's so many miles between you. something about the practical effects. he tries, honest to god, but his eyes keep drifting up to you.

he's not a monster. he waits til the movie is over to spring his stupid idea on you. leon respects the sanctity of film, the intimacy of showing your favorites with another person and the anxious hope that they'll understand the piece of you you're trying to share with them.

but he can't get the idea out of his head, and he'll make it up to you with a thorough analysis of the movie next time you have a movie date because if he doesn't say this now he's going to pussy out.

"listen, i was thinking," he ruminates, taking his time to chew his words. plenty of time to back out. leon's grown good at identifying what sort of anxiety is brewing in his gut - perks of the job - and he knows he'll kick himself if he back out now.

"that's rare."

"hilarious. i'm serious, i've been thinking. i've got some time off built up. if i don't use it by the end of the year, they don't pay it out. company's a bunch of cheap asses."

he's talking in circles and you've already reached the ending. he leans a little closer to the screen, hopes the look in your eye is glee and not fear.

"so..." leon trails off. plenty of room to back out. if you don't grasp this he'll just ask for travel tips and lick his wounds somewhere warm and tropical.

but you don't offer that. you sit up a little straighter. he swears that's a smile that you're fighting to keep down. "so...how soon are you thinking?"

casual. nice.

"as soon as possible." less casual. shit. "i was thinking a week. is that--?"

"that's great. can you let me know the dates?"

"yeah. yeah, of course."

this is going too well. too smoothly.

leon takes a breath, combs his fingers through his hair.

"we are talking about me coming to visit, right?"

you laugh at him. he's never been so happy to be laughed at.

"yeah, leon. you're coming to visit."

"just making sure."

it's impractical. it's unlikely. his therapist is going to have a field day next session. he still hasn't figured out what to do when you find out that 'security' had been a very misleading description of his work, or when you figure out that he's only 5'10'' on a good day. none of it is fair to you, he realizes, but booking his flight is his first step in trying to do right by you.

"i'll pick you up from the airport," you insist.

"i want a sign with my name on it."

"i'll put 'kennedy' on it and wear a suit and sunglasses so people think you're a big deal."

"i kind of am a big deal."

you roll your eyes. "oh, my mistake."

if only you knew that was the truth.

dividers from @/adornedwithlight

[justmywriting1313]

You're a blonde... (Simon x reader)

Simon was many things. He was the best recruit of his rookie year, having set the highest kill rate—a title he still holds. Not only was he a lieutenant, but he was also a lieutenant with the best training regime, and he was part of the strongest, most sought-after task force across the military world. But before all of that, he was a man. No matter how hard he tried to be a ghost, a man of few words, he was a boy lost and breathless when the woman he fell in love with sat across his lap, tipsy and giggly, counting his eyelashes.

Simon couldn't breathe…

Simon was many things. He was one of the best recruits during his initiation. He had the highest kill rate throughout the base, including among his own teammates. He was a lieutenant and a member of arguably the best task force. If nothing else, he was a mountain of a man who could snap arms like twigs.

And yet, he still couldn't breathe…

To be honest, it was unreasonable to expect him to breathe, especially not with your knees on either side of his hips and a big smile on your face as you traced the line work on his mask. He tried again to breathe through his nose and out through his mouth, certain that you were too tipsy to notice the heaving of his chest, but you noticed. One hand fell to rest at the centre of his chest, feeling the beat of his heart. Simon's hands flexed against the skin of your waist, the warmth of your skin making him heady and unable to think straight. Your oversized sweater had steadily fallen off your shoulder with your squirming, and the eventual skin-on-skin contact made it even harder for Simon to catch his breath. He returned his gaze to your face when he heard your little giggle, his own huff escaping as he watched you keep your eyes steadily fixed on where it rested. With as much confidence as he could muster, he asked,

"Whats so funny darlin'?"

You finally looked up and the beaming smile you give him completely disarms Simon all over again as you lean your face closer. Simon can see every detail of your face so clearly and he locks away the little things somewhere safe in his head. He can smell the sweet taste of flavoured liquor as you finally muttered,

"... Nothin'... its just you heart beat sped up"

Simon cleared his throat, voice gruff as he asked,

"and thats amusin' because..." "Because its just like mine when you look at me"

Simon's sure that the words escaped you with no intention to break him, and yet he nearly keened over. His hands squeezed your body before letting go, only to wrap themselves around your soft curves and heft you further onto his lap. The loud groan that left him sounded out into your neck as you tucked Simon's head under your chin. The surprised sounds that left at his strength you made something primal curl in his stomach at being so much larger than you. It's a feeling he has slowly become familiar with, never having given it much thought, especially on base where most individuals were hard, lean, and muscular until you stumbled into his office, soft fleshy curves dressed in oversized sweaters and leggings that he one day dreams of ripping off. However, the primal feeling is always accompanied by a rush of protectiveness which began the first time he saw the rookies surrounding you. Comfortable as they were with you as their registered psychologist, Simon was immediately in rage at their rough-housing, your small stature easily overwhelmed when one of the boys hefted you up and dropped you down. It made the large man intimately aware of just how impractical your tenderness was on a military base and the thought of you hurt making Ghost filter through the Simon.

The curling of your small fists in the material of his shirt pulls Simon back to his body as you slowly lean away, Simon letting you but only by a margin. You tilt your head down, your hair coming undone falling down one side of your face. You looked too much like an angel, and Simon could only swallow the three little words that were dancing on the tip of his tongue. One hand of yours was still fisted on his shoulder holding you up while the other came to ghost over his face. Simon closed his eyes, giving you the space to feather a touch over his eye lids only opening them when you exclaimed,

"Oh..." "Whats wrong?" "Nothings wrong Si... Its just... your eyelashes"

Simon's confusion must be visible through just his eyes with the way you chuckle but you soon clarify,

"I didn't realise you're a blonde... Always see you looking at me but I'm sorry I never realised... its pretty against the black Si, makes you seem like an angel"

Simon's breath catches in his throat as you continue to observe his masked face, as if you could spend forever looking at him, unaware of the state you have put him in.

Simon has come a long way to heal from the trauma of his childhood. To learn that it doesn't define him but is a small part in the larger story of his life. This healing doesn't mean he doesn't still consider himself a bad man because at the end of the day he kills without second thought and then saves the money he gets to do it. He bullies recruits to train harder, and he still snaps on bad days, no kindness in sight. He can be cruel and harsh and mean…

And still, all you have to do is smile his way, open your mouth, and say something like this, completely unraveling his sense of reality. Suddenly he isn't a broken husk of a human but a man who is trying and a man who wants so desperately to be worthy of the words that you throw his way. Kind words that mend so much of him even when he hasn't even had the courage to ask you out.

But sitting here in the rec-room, with your legs around his waist, Simon decides he can't really spend another night without the possibility of being something more with you. And so, with none of his usual hesitation, he brings one of his hands up to pull his mask up and over his head, and before you can really register the action, he has his lips pressed to yours, absorbing the sound of surprise that leaves you. He will sit you up in his lap tomorrow same as you are now and let you observe his face till your heart's content, but for now, he would be damned if he was letting you leave without tasting you and perhaps leaving a mark or two.

The kiss started off strong, a harsh press of his lips against your much softer ones before the both of you eased into it. One of simon's hands coming up to cup your face and keep your hair back while both of yours cupped his jaw. As much as Simon wanted to start slow the cute nip that you gave him along wit the feel of your smile had Simon growling as he pushed up further into you pushing his tongue past your lips quickly taking control of the kiss. Slowly and reluctantly you pulled away, giggling at the way Simon followed your lips – the kiss ending much too soon for his liking. Your eyes were hazy with lust and lips were red and Simon counted to ten in his head trying to dispell the need to kiss you again. He can let you get some of the jibber jabber out of your head before he was kissing you again.

"Simon... thats your face"

Simon laughed, a deep sound that shook his whole body and made you feel warm,

"Yes my love... I'm aware" "Are you sure about this..." "Well its too late now isn't it?" "I know but still... I dont want you to feel pressured or you know feel like you have to just because–"

Your sentence cut off by Simon who was once again pressing his lips to your by pulling you down to him stopping whatever trail of thoughts your silly overthinking brain was sending your way. He only pulled away long enough to say,

"Lovie I'm not goin' to repeat myself yeah? I'm not pressured! I didn't feel like I have to and if you'll allow it I would like to take you out to dinner sometime soon so that I can officially say I'm datin' you and so I kiss you again and again for a very long time to come... yes?"

It took you a minute to process his words but when you did you were quick to nod though that was not enough,

"Words lovie words..." "Yes Simon I'd love for you to take me out to dinner"

Simon was already leaning in to kiss you again but you leaned back one last time eyes sparkling with mischief as you said,

"You're a blonde Simon but didn't peg you for the dirty blonde type bet you get it touched up right?"

"Oh that's it come here you

Simon growled before he was hefting you up into his arms, forcing your legs to wrap around his legs before making his way to his room, lips attaching themselves onto any amount of skin he could find. He knows tomorrow will come and he will sit and be the object of your fascination for a while, and he will have to answer a million questions from Soap who had quietly slipped away when you had entered the room and so many more things but for now Simon was happy carrying the love of his life back to his dorm with your hands tugging on his dirty blonde hair...

Okay so the idea of a reader who noticed Simon was a blonde because of his eyelashes has been killing me so here enjoy....

As always please like and reblog yes? yes and give some COD requests cause clearly the well of inspiration is flourishing tho I do hope there is more reception on the Price fic cause me kinda inlove with the man

[planetarynerd]

Here me out. Luke learns how to do braids.

Annabeth was such a baby when she first ran away from home, she definitely had no clue how to manage her hair. She didn't really have a mom in the picture, and her dad.....well, I cannot confidently say that he would have put in the effort to teach her then.

A few years pass, and while Annabeth is training she catches some Aphrodite's kids making fun of her. Not because of her training style or anything, not even because of what state her hair is in(which was definitely just a natural afro), but because of how unmaintained her hair is. They start asking her question about her current routine and when she shrugs and just says she washes it, they make even more fun of her. She tries and fails to cuss them out, and now Annabeth is determined to get these kids off of her back.

So, she bursts into Luke's cabin complaining about how the Aphrodite kids are making fun of her because of her hair. They're talking about edge control, gel, leave-in, and she has no idea what they mean. Regardless, Luke can see she's really upset, and simply rolls up his sleeves and gets to work. Why? Because he will not have anyone making fun of his baby sister. Since smartphones are established in the pjo-la, he scrolls through countless Youtube videos, tells Chiron to get the supplies he needs, sits Annabeth down and gets to work.

The first set of braids are a little clumsy, pretty loose, and the parting is....attempted. So now, when the Aphrodite kids see her, they don't make fun of her as much, but still critique Luke's work. Well, now he and Annabeth are pissed, so for the next set of braids, they stay holed up in their cabin, spending hours on the parting. Luke making sure the braids aren't too tight as to not rip out Annabeth's hair. Annabeth also helps him out, by taking over when his hands cramp.

It takes them the entire day to do these braids. Braiding hair litters the floor, there is leftover gel on the back of both Annabeth's and Luke's hand...even on the ground. And after all that work, they emerge victorious. Her edges are laid, her braids (although impractical) are down to her knees, she is ready. Without a glance or a word, she walks by the Aphrodite kids, flips her braids over her shoulder, and heads to the dining hall with her big brother Luke right behind her. The Aphrodite cabin is speechless and never comment on this matter again.

The braids we see in the live action are the handiwork of both Annabeth and Luke (he only really helps out with parting the back) and they are fabulous because they did it together.

[sincerely-anascot]

Levi thought your long hair was impractical as a soldier in the Survey Corps. Even though you always kept it in a neat braided updo during training and expeditions, he doubts it’s an easy task. There’s also the fact that hair fall sounds like hell for a clean freak like him—he shivers imagining the shower drains after your turn.

He shuts up about it when he finally witnesses your skills with the ODM. You were a decent soldier at the HQ but an even better titan killer outside the walls.

He learns from someone(Hange) that you kept it that way since your mother adored your thick hair and taught you how to do all sorts of hair styles growing up. When she passed away after the fall of Wall Maria, your father learns to do your hair for you as you both grieve. It becomes a routine to commemorate your happy times. So, you go through the painstaking daily trouble of wrangling you hair with a brush and spending a good chunk of your hard-earned money on hair products. It’s all worth it when you get your leave to visit your father and he happily tells you he’s been practicing with the neighbors’ kids.

After the Battle of Trost, you had no more reason to keep your hair long anymore.

Levi catches you just as you motion to slide a knife across your hair. He admonishes you for being outside after curfew but then surprises you when he offers to cut your hair.

Just before he starts to slice away, he sees the hesitation in your eyes. You talk and explain why you kept your hair long after all these years and he pretends it’s his first time hearing the story. You break down and he does a very shit job at comforting you.

“When you braid your hair in the morning, will it remind you of their deaths or will it remind you of their love?” He asked you.

The question felt like a slap to the face when you realize the moments of peace when your parents did your hair was one of the happiest memories you had of them. And like a fool, you were about to rid of the only reminder of those times.

Years later, Levi would visit you with your favorite flowers at hand after the war.

He’d apologize if he didn’t have enough fingers to braid your hair anymore. But ruminates that you wouldn’t mind;

They buried you with your hair down after all.

[pakunod-a]

Silly Prom Night

Prompt: It's prom night! What do these men do in the ballroom? 🤨

Pairing: Overblot boys x Reader

Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil (I) [here]

Vil, Idia, Malleus (II) [here]

CW: Random stuff, not really fanfiction-ish, more like drabbles, some shorter than others lolololololololololol Reader is referred to as You and Yuu. Reader is described to wear a gown, other than that it's gender-neutral if you don't mind the fabric gap. Bad English because I'm not a native English speaker :( not proof-read, random as FUCK and characters might seem very ooc if they do I blame my not-so-American education

Notes: entire work is based off of stuff that happened to me last night at prom, and i was thinking about various characters that would probably fit the profile of all the mishaps that happened to me last night lolololol

Work under the cut :)

Riddle Rosehearts !

You were sitting at your table, waiting for the buffet service to end so you could take the dance floor.

Well, it's not like anyone's dancing with you.

To be fair, you were supposed to be partnered with a first-year, who got sick the night before, so he couldn't make it. Poor lad.

It was horribly long, it felt like a very, very long time.

It took around thirty minutes for the dance to start, and everybody's got a partner.

All, except for you.

What a bummer.

Wait, is that the housewarden of Heartslabyul, in the corner, without anyone asking him to dance?!

Let's go fix that. 🏃

You ask him if he wants to dance, and he simply says;

"No."

"Come on, it's a ball, you're supposed to dance. You're getting there whether you like it or not. This long ass dress won't stop me from dragging you on the dance floor."

You ended up having a half-hearted Riddle dance with you.

Honestly, the way he held you felt like he wasn't interested at all, let alone happy. It felt like he was disgusted by your presence.

Every time you'd look at him, he would have an unpleasant look on his face, and aim his gaze elsewhere.

After the dance is over, and everyone returns to their seats, and you get a notification from your phone on Magicam. It was Cater, tagging you in a post.

"So cute! I'm vouching for RiddeYuu next year. #RiddeYuu #YuuRid"

..huh. Attached to the post was a video, and a bunch of hashtags you swear you didn't care about. You clicked the video, thinking that it was some kind of impractical prank being played on you.

Oh boy.

Boy, were you wrong.

In the video, it was you and Riddle dancing together on the dance floor. Riddle was a mess, blushing and shying away from all the lights. He had a small smile, as he evaded your gaze whenever you looked at him. He seemed genuinely happy to dance with you.

Maybe he wasn't disgusted after all.

Maybe he really did love dancing with you.

Leona Kingscholar !

You couldn't count the number of times this guy stepped on the hem of your train.

It's like your hair being pulled out of your skull, except it's your entire body being pulled back like a slingshot.

It wasn't the most fun experience.

Then, you had to pick a partner to dance with for the nth time this evening.

Your feet hurt already, how much more dancing?

Surprisingly, even though you had little to no interest in dancing, a certain sleepy lion approaches you with a scowl on his face.

"C'mon herbivore, chop chop. Vargas says I gotta dance for extra credit. You look like you could use it too."

This feels and sounds condescending.

He's pretty nice to dance with, doesn't step on the hem of your train anymore, nor does he step on your feet.

On the contrary, he scoops up the longer part of your train whenever you'd have a hard time walking somewhere.

Other times, he straight up carries you like you're a cat.

It's funny, really.

There was this one instance where you mentioned you wanted ice cream.

He set you down on his chair near his party's table, and disappeared. He actually came back with half-eaten ice cream

You love your sleepy lion, even if he seems a little TOO catty at times. :)

You eventually got too tired to dance, and just sat down. Leona napped on your shoulder.

How sickeningly cute.

Azul Ashengrotto !

Where there is bank to be made, Azul Ashengrotto's the merchant's name.

Seriously, this guy's part of the catering group for the buffet.

Bro did NOT stop making deals at a school function. The grind never stops, respect for that.

You'll probably end up selling your kidney and a lung if you stayed there any longer.

Buuuuut, he does need a dancing partner.

So what say you, if he offered you a slice of mango graham cake and a cup of coconut jelly with a side of gelato in exchange for a dance?

Hell yeah. sorry to the readers that dont have a sweet tooth, have some roasted garlic and onions.

He wasn't too bad honestly, never stepped on your feet once.

You do remember having two gold bracelets on your hands.

He admired one for a quick moment, and it seemed to disappear.

Now, he wouldn't go around stealing stuff from anybody.

No no.

He found it on the floor, while you were too busy dancing.

You want it back?

"Three more dances. Then I'll give you your bracelet back. After all, what's a precious bracelet in exchange for a few dances, no?~"

"You're wasting my time, screw you."

You ended up dancing with him, ten times.

Not thrice.

Ten.

Bro just exploited the jewelry glitch, and wore you out all night.

"Oh, poor Yuu, however will you get back home? If you promise to help out at Mostro Lounge, I'll have you home in a jiffy—"

Thud.

You fell on the ground, snoring.

Oh. You're asleep now. That's convenient.

Don't worry, he'll carry you back home to Ramshackle, free of charge.

After all, dancing with him all night must've tired you out.

He'll just repay the favor.

Surely, that would be the more gentlemanly thing to do.

Jamil Viper !

Would you believe me if I said this guy was in the corner, squinting his eyes as he looked for someone?

Oh. Dude must be looking for Kalim. Fortunately for him, he's over by the second-year's table, away from him.

Hold on.

Away from him???

But the Octotrio sits at that very table.

The Leech twins and Azul Ashengrotto himself?!

Hell no!

Jamil sprints half a mile across the ballroom in an attempt to sweep Kalim away.

"You shouldn't be sitting with them. They're not exactly the type of people you should be socializing for this type of event."

Not even a few seconds later, Kalim trips on a giant camera stand.

He face-planted into the ground, his nose bleeding from hitting the ground too hard. He still has that stupidly goofy smile on his face.

It honestly gives you cuteness aggression.

He had to be brought to the infirmary.

Poor Jamil, he really doesn't get a break.

It's not until he gets dragged to the dance floor, does he leave Kalim's side.

Let me tell you, once this guy relaxes, DAMN can he dance.

He could be blindfolded and spun around five times, and he'd STILL have the balance and elegance of a ballerina.

Work it girl, show those students who's boss.

note: "which events were these inspired from?" oh wow i thought youd never ask let me give you a tour of my brain juice i used to write this real quick and indulge myself in an immersive storytelling 🤜💥🧱

For Riddle: when i got called up for my award, there was a boy who also won the same award in the male category. we were instructed to dance together, for the Royalty dance. i thought he was disgusted because i was holding him, so i felt uncomfortable dancing with him. in a video posted by my schoolmate, they tagged me in a video of him looking at the camera and smiling as he waved. he looked half pale and half pink.

For Leona: while dancing for the "waltz" part of the prom, i felt hungry and told my dancing partner i was hungry, but they wouldnt let me back into the buffet because my dress almost took up the entire line for the buffet, so i either had to ask someone to get it for me or have my homeroom teacher get it for me. he eventually sat me on a chair, and ran back with ice cream from the dessert bar. he did eat the whipped cream and cherries, so i made him go back and get another.

For Azul: this one student was working behind the counter at the buffet, and he was jokingly stealing his dance partner's earrings, necklace, and bracelets while she wasnt looking. he said it costs three waltzes for a singular piece of jewelry to be reclaimed, but if she danced to a budots remix, she'd get everything back. she waltzed for more than seven times until she collapsed onto a couch and snored for an hour straight. she did get her jewelry back, and she resumed dancing with our Azul-like classmate.

For Jamil: i saw someone slip and their friend was scolding them for not being careful. he sat down at the table full of people who dont like him, and he got an earful from his friend on why he shouldnt sit there. his friend reminded me of Jamil so much, i had to write him like that.

[arafilez]

੭୧ ⼂ SPECKS OF LOVE ﹗

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ ktr x fem!reader ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤfluff 𓏧 kissing in rain is too impractical according to him...well too bad ㅤㅤ warnings kissing ㅤ﹢ㅤ1.1k wc ㅤ𓏧ㅤ req

Rain has always easily been your favourite from childhood. So much that even with all windows closed you could tell when it falls, simply by the smell of the fresh ground hit by the rain. You loved sitting by the window, tracing the raindrops on the glass, reading a book or simply just looking outside.

Today was no exception as you feel the cool breeze hit your face from the open windows and look over to see a drizzle outside. After a week of continuous heat, the cool weather makes your mind infinitely better as you sway lightly to the soft music in the speakers.

You gasp lightly and then giggle when you feel Taerae’s hand wrap around your waist as he nuzzles his face in your neck mumbling, “Morning.” You lean your head against his, the familiar scent encasing your senses making you smile in bliss as your slow rhythmic heartbeats and music take over the room.

“Morning sleepyhead, did you freshen up?” you ask, stroking his hair lightly and he nods against your neck. Taerae is not even sleepy but your appearance and your mood in the morning have walked all over his senses as soon as he walked in and it just makes him want to hold you more.

Still holding you he gets up from your shoulder and pecks you on the lips taking you by surprise and says, “You look particularly happy today.” You stare at the man incredulously making him smile with his adorable dimples.

You kiss his dimple and say, “Well, when I am not sweating through every pore of my body it makes me happy,” he lets out a loud laugh at your sentence and you continue sighing softly, “Plus, it is raining!”

“Yes, it is, the roads will be slippery today,” he says making you scoff and roll your eyes saying, “Okay extreme S we get it.” He shrugs lightly as he sways along the music with you, hands still not leaving your waist and he asks, “You love rain don’t you?”

“I think it attaches well with lots of emotions,” you hum, eyes training on the raindrops accumulating in the glass window and you continue, “Like it is romantic and if you wanna step up a notch, kissing in the rain is absolutely my dream.”

“Well, that’s,” he pauses, looking everywhere but your eyes as you look at him questioningly before he sighs and continues, “Impractical.” “What?” you whisper, gasping a tad bit too dramatically but it was worth it as you bite back a smile seeing Taerae’s deadpan look.

“How could you not like kissing in the rain Kim Taerae? It is romantic and I will prove it to you,” you say swinging the butter knife in the air rather carelessly as you try to explain to him. He holds your hand, gently making you put the knife down and chuckles. “Woah, baby why did we transfer to government names?”

You swiftly turn around in his arms and poke a finger at his chest saying, “Because you mister do not think kissing in the rain is romantic.” He scrunches his face a little at your cute act before saying, “I am just saying it is not worth it, you can catch a cold with it. Also, there is nothing special about it.”

You face-palm yourself before putting out the two toasts from the toaster and turning towards him again.

“You know what, I will prove it to you right now,” you say tearing yourself out of his eye contact before dragging him by his hands. He whines loudly, starting all over again how utterly stupid it is and how you two will catch a cold but you turn a deaf ear as you turn the lock of your main door.

Taerae relents into your shenanigans, partly because he knows it was useless to go against you and mainly because as much as he finds it impractical and unrealistic he is a man in love and thus would do all kinds of stupid things for you and you only.

You pull him outside as he rolls his eyes at you but walks with you anyway to the small garden in front. The rain has increased a bit from before and it soaks his shirt and yours as you two stand face to face now. Water feels heavy on your eyelids as you realise how you did not plan this well at all.

Now that you are outside you realise you did not think this through. Standing awkwardly with the rain pelting your skin and rolling down your cheeks, you look at Taerae and blink slowly. He chuckles seeing your flustered state and says, “Well, prove it.” You release a small noise of desperation from your throat looking anywhere but him as he grins cheekily saying, “If you can’t prove it we should just go inside because you know we will catch a cold and then we need to take meds, and rest, unable to move for days-“

He knows he has accomplished what he wants as you pull him by the collar and kiss him wanting him to shut up with his boring sentences. Your eyes widen at your own actions but Taerae is quick to act, melting into the kiss as you close your eyes too. Your lips move in a lazy rhythm as he holds your hand and your cheek making you clutch his shirt.

Water drips down your lips, getting into the kiss and making it messy but all the better as your mind goes into a form of haze with the rain in the background. The scent of the ground in the rain, your soaked bodies pressed together, his hand that has slipped from your cheeks and is tracing along the side of your body down to your waist makes it feel so surreal.

As you part, a little breathless from the kiss, you watch the raindrops sitting on his eyelashes as he looks at you through eyes clouded with a multitude of emotions. Your clothes are fully soaked and Taerae’s cold fingers on your bare skin under your t-shirt make a shiver pass down your spine as he licks his lips to devoid it of any rainwater and to reminisce the aftertaste of the kiss.

He looks at you and watches the specks of rain on your face, making you sparkle in a whole different light in his eyes. The tinge of warmth creeping on your skin at his gaze and the flush on your neck makes him lose more and more of his sanity with each passing second.

“I- I don’t know,” you start but he doesn’t let you speak as he pulls you towards him and your noses bump lightly from the contact. His lips fall over yours, an addiction he can never comprehend and an incomparable taste as he holds you close in the pouring rain.

Yes, he may be realistic but this impractical thing is so much better with you! 

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤtysm 🥭 anon for requesting, had wayyy too much fun writing this, i am down bad for this man ㅤ𓏧ㅤ libraryㅤ zb1 shelfㅤ navi

੭ 𝅄ㅤ ꒰ TAGLIST ꒱ ㅤ⏤ㅤ @slytherinshua @sxmmerberries @haecien @haneagerr ㅤ𓏧ㅤ fill this or comment or ask to be added

ㅤㅤ(ㅤㅤ© arafilez on tumblrㅤㅤ)

[avonne-writes]

HS au question: I know Gale ties his hair up a lot, but does he ever use hair clips or bobby pins? I feel like it would be really cute, especially when he’s studying. Also, does Bucky ever carry around emergency hair elastics for Gale? Also also, has Gale ever had a phase where he did or has he ever thought about letting his hair grow really long? It’s only about shoulder length, right?

Yes, he does use bobby pins, but only for sports. He always has a few in his bag though and often ends up fiddling with one and then - of course - putting it in his mouth. He often puts the prongs around his fingertip and then forgets about it, so if someone asks him a question, he’ll gesture around with the pin on his finger 😅 Sometimes, he also taps on the desk like that while he’s studying. He doesn’t use hair clips. He tried Georgia's and didn’t like the way it looked on him.

Bucky doesn’t carry emergency hair ties because he’s so thoughtful or something, he carries them because Gale leaves those things everywhere and he picks them up and then forgets to return them! 😅 So, when Gale needs one and doesn’t have any on hand, a lightbulb turns on in Bucky's little head and he opens the small front pocket of his school bag / training bag, where dozens of hair ties have been waiting for their moment patiently for months.

While we're at the topic of hair ties: Gale has a habit of putting his hair tie on his wrist when he wants to leave his hair down. However, this is a weird preference of his, he doesn’t want to have sex with the elastic on his wrist. It’s funny because he doesn’t mind socks or a necklace or any other item, just the band on the wrist. It’s probably because it gives him the illusion of something restrictive.

For the last question: in the beginning, he considers growing his hair even longer, but he does these online hairstyle try-ons and doesn’t like the super long-haired look. He likes it shoulder-length. Also, long hair is impractical for swimming, he doesn’t want to deal with even more hair drying.

He starts growing his hair out just before high school, so when he meets Bucky for the first time, he looks kind of like this:

[whatthefishh]

the Chester problem

Rydal Keener x f!Reader

Part of the Oxford Comma series

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: swearing, mature themes, no smut but mentions of sex, someone gets punched

Chester probably didn’t know he was the cause of your breakup. Or your attempted breakup.

Rydal said he’d go get you both some coffee from the cafe inside the building you were studying in front of, leaving you alone with the chaotic textbook pentagram you were surrounded by. Leaning against a tree, you were comfortable in the evening spring air, taking note of the turkeys staking claim over a certain patch of grass a few yards away. You started packing up your things, thinking to yourself that you may as well head back with the warm drinks in hand and spend the rest of your evening in his dorm. 

It wasn’t too dark out, the sky already darkening but not so much so that you were without light. If you headed back now you could still watch a movie together. You were perfectly fine in your train of thought until a tall figure stood directly in your line of vision. It took you a second to angle your head to see who was attached to the tall frame, heart dropping in your stomach seeing that it belonged to none other than Chester. His dirty blonde hair looked perfectly mussed, his clear skin making him look more boyish than you knew he was. The crisp white cotton piqué polo he had on only served to piss you off further. The guy really had no qualms wearing all white, the impracticality of maintenance not even on his mind.

“Ah, just the little minx I was looking for,” he smirked down at you. 

“Rydal will be back in just a few. You can… wait over there or something,” you looked back down to the text in your hand. 

“You know, I know you’re not as squeaky clean as he thinks you are.”

Your relationship with Rydal’s oldest friend wasn’t… the greatest. The mere sight of him made you uncomfortable, his piercing gaze making you feel as though you were constantly under a microscope and you swore you could feel when he walked into a room just based on your spine tingling from the heavy weight of it. At first, he studied you, studied your dynamic with Rydal, went quiet when he’d make you laugh just for you to sober up and catch him staring with his head tilted and a curious glint in his eye. He would watch how Rydal greeted you when you’d join their group, how he casually slung his arm over your shoulder on the couch in the common areas, eyes tracing over the comfort in which you touched each other. It unnerved you to say the least. This was all before the comments started. 

You thought he was still mad about his white Sperry’s from that fateful first day, so you tried to apologize and laugh about it with him. He had looked you up and down before blinking at you and walking away. Honestly, you don’t know what you expected. You didn’t tell Rydal about it out of fear of sounding like a whiny girlfriend, afraid of causing a rift between the two friends. You would just shoulder the discomfort for his sake, not because Chester deserved any ounce of your kindness. 

Chester then made a comment about how you didn’t smell so bad anymore shortly after Rydal had gotten you the Chanel perfume, loudly noting how you didn’t hold back from using it. As if you carried some sort of poor people stench with you before. As if you had to burn through the bottle just to coat you in something palatable. That was the day you spat back at him, startling Rydal with how much hate you actually held in your voice, but again he didn’t intervene. Your severe vacillating verbal abuse only served to create tension between the three of you, and you avoided him as frequently and as blatantly as you could. 

Shoving your notebooks in your bag with more force than was necessary, you looked up at him without bothering to hide how irritating his mere presence is for you. Standing up didn’t help in balancing out your height difference but it made you feel a lot less small next to him. He still had at least a foot over you, and he smiled patronizingly at you in your show of defiance. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Chester takes a step closer, your chests almost brushing if not for your step backwards, and he continues until your back is pressed up against the tree you were leaning against just moments before. Placing a hand next to your head, effectively boxing you in with his frame, he leans down until your faces are inches apart before speaking again. 

“It means, sweetheart, that I think we both know why you’re really with Rydal. You’ve been having a grand old time in our world. Why don’t you let me have a turn, hmm? I can buy you nice things, too, if that’s what it’ll take.”

You’re not surprised that he thinks you’re with Rydal for his money, it’s not the first time you’ve heard it nor is it the first time he’s made a snide pass at you for not belonging. That was something you were still struggling to get over, but seeing as it was only Chester you were hearing it from for the time being and not anyone of importance to you, you would brush off his comments, regardless of how much the thought pissed you off. Rydal never fed into his shit, easily telling him off in one way or another before you could even get a word in and you were grateful that he often didn’t even bring it up to you. It didn’t stop it from bothering you though. 

No, what shocks you is that this is his weird attempt at hitting on you… you think. If this was Chester’s way of showing interest, this was frankly the most insulting way to go about it. Did this work on other girls? He basically called himself a flavour you could try out, if you were so inclined. Which, honestly, repulsed you. It’s as if the personification of unseasoned baked potatoes was smirking at you, thinking he had you good, thinking he had fed you a great line. 

You were too stunned to answer for a moment too long it seemed, and unfortunately, Chester took this as permission to close the distance between you and plant a kiss right on your lips. You didn’t even have time to fully comprehend the slimy feeling of his mouth on yours, his tongue already trying to push its way through the seam of yours before he was abruptly pulled off of you. 

Rydal had torn Chester off of you, one hand on his shoulder whirling his body around to face him and, without hesitation, swinging a fist into his face. 

The crunching sound wasn’t pleasant.

Your mind was running to catch up to the scene unfolding before you, your heart pounding in fear of all the worst case scenarios, and you were frozen in your spot against the tree. Blood, and lots of it, ruined Chester’s pristine white shirt, dripping down his face from where his nose was bleeding. It was pretty satisfying. 

There was yelling, on both sides. Rydal was fuming, you’d never heard his voice so loud, never seen his eyes look so dark before and it startled you. He was yelling something about not touching you, not touching what was his. 

Another attempted swing from Rydal before Chester flung himself back to avoid it. Another bout of yelling, this time from Chester, a few well-selected nasty words about trailer trash and proving a point. He agilely threw his own arm and successfully landed it into Rydal’s jaw, finally causing your paralysis to break. 

Running forward to step in between them before either of them could charge at each other again, you looked to see Rydal touching his bleeding lip, turning to spit the excess blood out before glaring at his friend. Well. Former friend? 

“Come on, let’s go, stop it!” you found your voice, pushing against Rydal’s chest as he was gearing up to throw his arms at the taller boy again. “We’re leaving!”

You grabbed both your bags, essentially pulling on his arm to forcefully drag him with you, away from the cussing and bloody mess that was Chester. He probably had a broken nose. 

///

The walk back to Rydal’s dorm was uncomfortably silent, which was unusual for the two of you. Silence was usually comfortable, albeit not common. You didn’t say anything when he took your bags from you, you didn’t say anything as he mumbled awkward apologies to you under his breath about the long forgotten coffee, and you didn’t say anything when he put his hand on the small of your back ushering you in his room first.

There was a faint glow coming from his window, the last bit of sunlight left in the sky barely illuminating the room and you didn’t feel like switching on his harsh desk lamp. It wasn’t like you were going to get much studying done tonight anyway, and the thought of a movie was far from your mind.

When he sat on his neatly made bed in a huff, you wordlessly went to the bathroom to wet a towel for the dried blood on his hand and face. Although Chester was in much worse shape, you still wanted to tend to your lover’s wounds, no matter how small. He didn’t look at you until you pushed your way to stand between his legs, his knees outside your knees. You gently take hold of one hand, palm to palm, and examine the damage, swiping at the blood to make sure none of it is his. It wasn’t. His beautiful hands are unmarred, and you sigh a breath of relief at that. 

This is the most tender you’ve probably ever been with him, apart from the moments after he fucked you too dumb to be mean to him. The silence blanketed you both, only amplifying your actions. His shoulders sagged and what was only minutes felt like hours. Rydal had nowhere else to look other than you and your smaller hands, gently wiping his clean of the blood that was spilled, that he spilled, for you. 

Once his hands were sufficiently unblemished by your standards and the rag was stained pink, you chanced a look at his face, catching him already gazing at you a little warily. Like a little boy, like he was waiting for your disappointment and lecturing. Reaching a hand up to cup his cheek, you smiled a little achingly at him before your eyes caught the droplet of blood delicately sitting on his now busted bottom lip. His poor bottom lip had seen better days, no matter how many times you’d bitten it blue. You were tempted to lick his wound shut, swipe at the red liquid until his flesh was healed and the whole thing was forgotten.

He’d done it for you. 

And if that isn’t reason alone for you to give in to the raging hot desire coursing through you when you look at his split lip – for you, foryou – a physical reminder of his devotion to you, to defending you, to properly standing up for you to his childhood friend. Someone who was practically a family friend, their fathers going for weekly golf meets, their mothers organizing social mixers in the same circles.

Meeting his eyes again after staring at his mouth for too long, you finally broke the silence.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I messed up, didn’t I?” his response came out quietly.

“No! Well… yes, you made a mess of things but–” his irritated sigh cut you off, “–but, listen, he deserved it. And…”

“...and?” he’s waiting for your next words like they have the power to dictate whether he’ll be able to sleep tonight. 

“Andifounditkindahot.”

“Sorry,” he laughed in disbelief, the stretch of his smile causing his lip to split further and the droplet of blood you were fixated on to spill over, “what was that? You found it what?”

The hand that was holding his face slipped further to entangle itself in his dark locks, and you tilted his face up towards yours none too gently, the angle making his Adam's apple more pronounced and inviting.

“I said, I found it kinda hot, you dumbass,” you whispered right before pressing your lips together hungrily. 

It was obscene, really, the way you moaned when the distinct taste of copper reached your tongue. If he felt any pain from the press of your mouth, it was only serving to intensify his feelings in that moment, his tongue fighting for dominance with your own in a surprising show of fervor at such a time.

Your mouths moved against each other in raw passion and you leaned into his greedy touch, his hands clutching, clenching, constricting your waist. Any residual anger that was left in Rydal’s body was currently being used to turn you inside out with just one kiss, working in tandem with his ability to render you breathless. He was quick to flip you over, pinning you under him with his body while still devouring your lips. If this was his way of reclaiming you, the fucked up carnal part of your brain was egging him on, thrilled at the prospect of his tangible protectiveness. 

When you inevitably broke apart for air, you dumbly noticed that he wasn’t bleeding anymore, the faintest memory of a voice – your mother’s, put pressure on the wound – telling you how to stop blood flow in an emergency popping up in your mind before you met his eyes again. Sharing the same ragged breath, you shuffled even further into his bed making sure to hold him close the whole time.

He didn’t leave your arms for the rest of the night.

[snarksalon]

MHA has a gender problem.

Before I begin unpacking my thoughts, I would like to make clear that I am aware that Shonen is a genre which caters to boys. I do not think that a genre catering to a specific demographic excuses poor writing choices.

I am not by any means the first person to make a case for the importance of well-written female characters, however, as a lifelong anime fan, poorly-written women are a consistent issue in many anime/manga. The treatment of female characters in MHA limits the story's potential and at times makes the manga utterly unbearable.

MHA presents us with an unequal society, however, in the world of MHA, women uniquely lose out. In the hero world, women are sexualised and clearly provided with fewer opportunities than men. This is reflected in both the gender distribution of the classes at UA as well as the hero rankings themselves. There are six girls in both class 1a and class 1b and there are only two women in the top 10 of the hero billboard chart, those being Mirko and Ryukyu. The costumes which female heroes in the story wear are often highly sexualised and impractical, and on numerous occasions in the story the sexualisation of these women is openly demonstrated to the watcher/reader. In our first interaction with Mt Lady, she is sexualised with her butt being focused on.

Need I say much more.

This isn't the only example of the sexism within the narrative. During the internships following the sports festival, Momo and Kendo internships with Uwabami, and instead of gaining valuable experience they participate in a hair commercial. To make matters even worse, the message that Uwabami imparts to them is that keeping up appearances is crucial. Here, Momo and Kendo are deprived of gaining training and development and the harsh reality of what the hero world is like for women sets in. This experience is humiliating, and the narrative plays this off as joke.

Beyond these two examples, other sexist things occur within the narrative which are barely commented on. There's a headline in a newspaper which references a rescue that Tsuyu and Uraraka are responsible for which refers to them not by name but as "two cuties". Endeavour literally purchases Rei to be his wife and domestically abuses her (let's not even get into the horrific power dynamics here). The women in class 1-a are sidelined and frequently saved by their male counterparts. Mineta frequently sexually harasses and violates women in the story (grabbing Tsuyu's chest in the USJ arc comes to mind here). Momo is made to wear a revealing costume because she wont be able to phase the items she creates through the fabric but Mirio's costume can stay on as the fabric in his costume is interwoven with his own hair.

Additionally, power scaling in this manga is gendered. The majority of female characters have non-combative quirks, and the female characters who have combat-oriented quirks are usually weaker than their male counterparts. Ryuku for example, struggles to take down Rikiya Katsukame in the overhaul arc and has to utilise her three student interns to accomplish this. In the overhaul arc, the girls are majorly sidelined and are thrust into a support role. Many of the women in the manga are sidekicks, and a lot of the female pro-heroes don't have heavy-hitting quirks. When characters do have heavy-hitting quirks, Horikoshi's poor power scaling becomes most obvious. For example, Mina's quirk allows her to produce acid capable of melting metal and she isn't regarded as having a formidable quirk within the story. Similarly, Neijire's wave motion quirk is under utilised.

Most disturbingly, though sexism is deeply entrenched throughout the story, none of the female characters acknowledge its existence and this is a bad writing choice because it is antithetical to the values held by someone who is pursuing a career as a hero. In the MHA universe, heroism is pursued to help others and to achieve justice within society. Within the story, heroes are presented as the protectors of the weak and the facilitators of order within society. Thus, as a reader it is hard to believe that women who are pursuing heroism as a career path would be content with their own oppression. The women in the story also do not strive to be at the top, save for Mirko who is the main exception.

UA is the top hero school in the country and has a highly selective admission process. It is astounding that the majority (if not all) of female students that we meet are comfortable with becoming support or rescue heroes. In classes 1a and 1b there isn't a single female student who has the ambition of becoming one of the school's top three. The female students are not as ambitious or competitive as their male peers and are forced into gendered rivalries with other women in the story (see the Kendo and Momo rivalry, Ochacho vs Toga).

The inclusion of moments of critical reflection by the female characters within the story would have made them feel more three-dimensional. If Momo's self-doubt during the final exam arc had been the result of being chosen for an internship due to her looks rather then her hero ability, it would have made her self-doubt more understandable and would have demonstrated her discontent with her physical appearance being valued over her talent. If Tsuyu and Uraraka had been disheartened that the major takeaway from their rescue was the result of their physical appearance, this would have added another dimension to these characters. Hakagure having to be naked all of the time is played as a joke at her expense, but understanding Hakagure's thoughts and feelings about this would have allowed us as an audience to greater empathise with her rather than viewing her as a spectacle.

Ultimately, MHA's depiction of women is disappointing and a lot of potential is wasted here.

[smallraindrops-blog]

I Know A Place (just for you and me)

Part 5

WMFTD!Y/N X Hypnos

Word count: 7.3

Warnings: Fluff, heavy angst, implied sex, death, AUs out of the wazoo, no beta.

Notes: 

I was going to hold off on posting this but with how long it's been since I posted anything I made, I decided to push this one out a little earlier. Thanks everyone for their patience and I hope y'all enjoy this!

also everyone go tell @jun-yng thanks for their big brain idea of ‘How to train your dragon’ AU, it wouldn’t exist without them. ( also look at their pretty art and pet the screen as you mutter like a feral person)

All parts can be found on the Masterlist

~

Fighting Evil by Moonlight (Magical girls au)

Hypnos wanted it to be noted in the records that she wanted nothing to do with any of this. 

Like she was going to hire a handsome lawyer who would nod with compassion as she told him everything and yell ‘objection!’. He would do it for her honor, then he would confess to falling madly in love with her the moment she stepped into his high rise office. 

She had been more happy to stay home with her clay mask and her softest pj on while she reread ‘The Surrender of Aphrodite’ for the millionth time. 

Unlike Zagreus who had seen the shiny dumb egg fall out of the night skies and went chasing after it. 

”Duck!” Zagreus yelled to the team, her dark hair fanned behind her as she twisted out of the way of the queen monster’ glimmering beam, causing her black skirt to lift up.

Hypnos landed on the damp, cold ground of the park, cursing as the disgusting mud touched her bare thighs. Her - stupid, too short, too ruffled - ruby red skirt hid nothing as she rolled to get out of the way of another beam.

Once this dumb thing was sent back to the underworld or wherever they went to, Hypnos was going to treat herself to a double cheeseburger with some fries and a good crying session in a very hot shower.

“We need to kill these things and fast!” Melinoë called out. Her swift form was a blur of orange as she swung her weapon, taking one of the freaky and smaller monsters out.  

“Like you don’t say? I thought we were going to invite them over a sleepover!” Hypnos snapped between chatting teeth. 

Hypnos took the chance to get back on her two feet, wobbly on the high heels and flipping her long curls over her shoulder. In a desperate attempt to summon her own weapon, she waved a hand in front of her chest.

Her impractical red flower brooch began glowing from its place in the middle of her giant bow but no weapons formed. Again.

Instead she coaxed her own magic forward, pale and misty. So unlike the vibrant colors of the other princesses, Hypnos thought sourly. 

A moment later, red flowers bloomed from the mist in her palm.

While everyone else got cool weapons and flashy attacks, Hypnos just had these dumb red flowers. However if she tossed enough in her foe’s face, they went down for a nap time. 

That little fact she discovered the first time in pure panic when Zagreus found that egg and a slime monster tried to eat them. 

One of the monsters rushed toward her, the eyes in the skull glowing an ugly yellow, its mouth a gaping black maw and Hypnos readied the flowers in a tight fist. 

Only to realize in horror that two more were charging from both sides.

Hypnos froze, her breath caught in her chest as she tried to work out what to do. She wasn’t a fighter- she wanted to go home- they had only been magical girls for two weeks-

Just as the monsters were about to jump her, their fangs sharp in the moonlight, Hypnos felt something heavy wrapped around her waist, yanking her up against a solid form as they leaped away from the oncoming monsters.

The monsters slammed into each other, so hard that they vanished. 

Hypnos blinked, dizzy as she realized that she was unharmed, her hands grabbing at the heavy arm around her waist. Then she saw the fluttering cloak in the breeze, matching the scarlet of her ridiculous outfit, and the golden shine of armor. 

A gleaming spear moved in front of her, another barrier of protection.

”Protect the princesses!” Her knight in shining armor roared to the other arriving knights, each one swiftfully taking out the monster far more faster than any of the princesses did.

Zagreus and Meilnoe weren’t going to be happy about the Knights coming to the rescue once again but Hypnos couldn’t find it in herself to be that upset. She slumped against the knight with a heavy sigh. 

She parted her lips to thank her knight.

Only to get dragged away and shoved into a bush. She winced in pain at the sharp jabs of the leaves.

”Hey- what is the-” Hypnos went quiet as the gloved finger pointed at her. The knight’s face was hidden by the golden helmet and shadows. But Hypnos still felt the intensity of their eyes on her.

“Stay here. I will fetch you when it is safe.” The knight growled then turned away, still muttering. “I swear you all are a butch of boneheads. Pains in my ass, all of you!” 

“Am not!” Hypnos called back, suddenly wishing that the knight didn’t save her just so they would have felt guilty when Hypnos got hurt. She huffed as she watched the knight neatly killed off the monsters.

Zagreus was yelling at one of them, silver armor with a black cloak. Melinoe was just trying to help finish off the last few with her knights in silver and orange. 

Hypnos’ knight - not that she liked calling them that but it seemed the magic wanted them all to be color coded for whatever reason- looked far too dashing in their golden armor and red cloak as they ruthlessly killed the queen monster in a single hit. 

Like a knight from a storybook that Hypnos would daydream over. 

Deciding for herself that it was more than safe, Hypnos stood with a huff and went to join her fellow princesses. 

~

It was after five minutes or so of listening to Zagreus arguing with the knights that Hypnos decided she was far too cold and hungry to stay out much longer.

Besides, it was a school night anyway. And she was done wearing these heels.

”I’m leaving.” Hypnos informed the group in a loud yawn. Not that anyone was paying attention to her anyway.

Hypnos turned on her heels and began the long walk back home. Hopefully her brothers or mom won’t notice Hypnos sneaking through her bedroom’s window, she will just act like she was asleep the whole time when they finally do see her.

A moment later, she sensed rather than hear the knight join behind her, a watchful guard - or a babysitter if she was being honest. 

“I will be fine. Shoo, go polish your armor or kill a dragon or whatever it is that knights do.” Hypnos waved a dismissive hand over her shoulders. 

“What knights do is watch over their foolish princess, especially when she tries to walk home alone in the dark.” Her knight shot back. Hypnos felt her cheeks flushed at the implication of the words but only scoffed.

She lifted her arm up, scowling at her flower brooch, and with a tap on it, her school uniform was restored in a gentle light as the brooch changed back to a dainty bracelet with a single charm of a red flower dangling from it.

Thankfully - or unfortunately depending- it returned her school bag as well, but her knight picked it up before Hypnos could, swinging it onto their shoulder. Hypnos gave them a cool glare before she began her walk again.

If her knight wanted to carry her stuff, so be it. Less work for Hypnos.

While the long sleeves of her button up and longer skirt helped a little, it wasn’t as much as she hoped. Shivering, Hypnos crossed her arms. She really needed to remember to get her beloved coat from school tomorrow.

“I swear you guys don’t know how to take care of yourself at all.” Her knight grumbled. Before she could snap back, a heavy, warm weight enveloped her form. 

The cloak. 

If Hypnos was like Zagreus, so desperate to prove herself, Hypnos might have protested but she wasn’t. Hypnos sighed deeply in relief, wrapping it around tightly and buried her face in it to get warm. There was a faint scent to it, almost like a campfire maybe. 

Whenever it was, it smelled good.

For a long moment, they walked side by side in silence. Even with the armor, the knight moved with a quiet, easy grace that Hypnos was envious of. 

“Thank you.” Hypnos said finally, peeking up from her lashes. Gosh, but the knight might be one of the tallest people she ever met. Beside Asterius.

If the voice was deeper, more masculine, it could be Asterius… Hypnos felt her heart flutter with hope.

“Just be more careful next time.” Her knight grumbled. Their voice was low, more like warm silk but most certainly not Asterius.

Hypnos nodded, her hopes dashed but she was surprised to find that she wasn’t that upset. Asterius and his ‘friend’ had something going on even if Hypnos was the only one to notice. “I'm just not made for fighting. I don’t even get a weapon.” 

“You are the reincarnation of a sleep deity or something right? Why would you be near a battlefield anyway?” The knight asked. From the way their tone sounded, it seemed like that question had been on their mind for a while.

Hypnos shrugged, her tone dry. “Seems wrong to get some type of power and not help out my fellow princesses. Zagreus also wouldn’t leave me alone. And I don't want to upset whatever god tossed that egg our way.”

Another silence fell between them. The trees rustled, losing more of the bold leaves. 

“You know what?” Hypnos said suddenly. “I wouldn’t mind all this- the fighting, the late nights -that uniform- you saw how short that skirt is right? Especially with those heels. Anyone could see my panties.”

At that the knight made a strangled noise, like they were in great deal of pain but Hypnos decided it must be their version of laughing in agreement. 

Hypnos sighed, waving her hand around, scowling at the sparkling charm. “I wouldn’t mind if I was actually useful. All I can do is create those dumb red flowers- ow!“

She stopped, hissing at the sharp pain in her scalp. She twisted her head, staring at the charm that was caught in her curls.  Hypnos heard the knight muttering something under their breath, stepping far too close. 

A gloved hand caught her chin, their thumb pressed against her sudden flushed cheek. The leather was cool against her skin but it didn’t help to cool her skin. Hypnos’ heart raced, like a bird caught in her chest as the knight leaned in. 

With gentleness Hypnos didn’t expect, the knight began to untangle the charm out of her curls. 

“Stupid flower.” Hypnos said, desperately trying to look anywhere else. Her other hand tightened on the cloak.

”Poppy.” The knight said abruptly. Hypnos frowned up at them with a quick glance, her eyes on them once again. Even this close, their face was hidden away.

”Those flowers? They are called poppies.” Her knight chuckled, they sounded too amused for their own good. 

“Oh. Wowie, didn’t know that.” Hypnos whispered, once again unable to look at the knight. She sounded like a fool and she wanted the ground to open up to swallow her.

That little laugh had sent a pool of warmth to her chest and Hypnos was torn between running away, her hair be damned or leaning in closer. 

Hypnos wanted to say something else, something clever or seductive like Lady Aphrodite would come up with but her tongue felt heavy as she caught a whiff of that spicy scent again.

“They are supposed to help with pain and with rest.” Her knight spoke up, their voice low. “That's why the chaos egg gave you these gifts. Poppies belong to you, princess, just as sweet dreams and gentle sleep all belong to you.”

Hypnos felt the moment that her charm was freed, the knight’s warm hand curled around her wrist. With a shaky breath, Hypnos looked up, wishing desperately that she could see their eyes.

The knight shifted closer, there was barely any space left between them. Hypnos licked her lips nervously, her heart racing. Like a flash, Hypnos wanted to stand on her toes and kiss this stranger.

Then they jerked, as if realizing how close they and Hypnos were. Her knight immediately stepped away, dropping their hands away.

Hypnos swayed, thrown off balance by the abrupt change. She had been sure they were about to say something else. Her knight shifted the bag on their broad shoulder, already walking away. 

“Come on, princess. It is getting late.” They snapped. 

Hypnos gasped in outrage. She almost didn’t follow them but then remembered they had her bag. 

Fuming with a childish anger, She stuck her tongue out behind their back.

”Put that back in your mouth.” They called out, not even turning around to look at her.

Hypnos sighed loudly and had to run to get caught up.  Nothing was more said between them. Hypnos kept glancing over them but unable to find the right words.

“We are getting near the park’s entrance.” Her knight informed her and Hypnos blinked in surprise. She didn’t realize how close they were, too lost in her thoughts.

“Oh.” Hypnos said. They were still hidden by the evergreen shrubs but it would be easy for someone to spot them once inside the park.

Hypnos gave her Knight a side glance. “You should probably change back. People will notice someone walking around in shiny, gold metal. The movie set thing won’t work, trust me.” 

She couldn’t hide the hopeful tone of her words. Hypnos wanted to know the face behind that helmet. She wanted to know the person that damn egg had paired her with.

”Nope. Sorry, princess.” Her knight said, not sounding all that sorry. Hypnos resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a toddler.

The knight handed over her school bag and she huffed as she looked back at the city. “Stay in the lights, I will protect you until you get home safe.”

Hypnos frowned, turning back to glare at the knight but the space next to her was empty.

“W-what-“. Hypnos turned in a circle, trying to find her companion in the shadows of the park. “Oh come on!”

Hypnos tightened the red cloak around her like a blanket. She stomped her foot. “This is so unfair. I am keeping your cloak!”

~

(The next morning)

At the sound of a motorcycle, Hypnos lifted her head up to scowl at her new guest. Next to her in a sleek sport bike, you peered at her through the visor as you stopped the vehicle in the bike lane.

Thankfully this street was empty with no traffic, making it easy to hear.

You were dressed in your uniform of jeans and your worn leather jacket open carelessly to reveal a black shirt with your parents’ gym logo in the middle.

She felt her cheeks flushed, those familiar butterflies returning to her stomach. She pointly didn’t look at your chest. Or shoulders. 

It was so unfair how much cooler you were. All of Hypnos’ life, you were always this untouchable cool girl that everyone wanted but couldn’t have. 

It didn't do anything to kill her crush on you however, if anything it just made it worse.

“Get on.” You ordered, with a nod toward the backseat. “Did you sleep in again?”

“I was up late last night, you know, saving the world and all that.” Hypnos replied cheerfully. She could be lackadaisical as she wanted, she knew you wouldn’t believe her.

You rolled your eyes like Hypnos knew you would. “You are so spoiled. I have your stupid helmet in my side bag.” 

With a half-hearted glare,Hypnos moved quickly as she could, pulling out her cherry red kitty ears helmet. She loved it so much. 

With a practiced grace, she got on the bike as she placed her helmet on.

it would mess up her hair but as long as she didn’t get in trouble for being late for school again, she didn’t care.

She wrapped her arms around your solid waist just before you took off. Hypnos tucked herself in close with a sigh as you expertly weaved around the traffic. 

You should have been in school with her but you had studied harder than most students and graduated a solid year before anyone else to help with your family business. 

You were probably the reason your parents' business hasn't gone under especially with the rumored health problems of Patroclus. 

Hypnos gave you a squeeze, hoping you knew what she was trying to say. 

And oddly enough, afterwards the faint spicy smell of campfire lingered around her for the rest of the day.

She was going to ask you where you got that cologne, it should definitely be a clue on which guy from school was her knight.

~~~~~~

Speak. (Podcaster Au)

It was around three in the morning when you gave up the ghost. 

Sleep didn’t come again.

Your body felt too anxious, sure that enemies lurked in the shadows, ready to bury a blade in your neck. You rolled out the bed and began to pace in your room. You lived alone, so you wouldn’t be bothering anyone else with your craziness thankfully.

or PTSD as the therapist called it, throwing more alphabets at you along with bright orange pills bottles. Colorful pills that did nothing for you and you glared at the medicine on your nightstand.

It was unfair because you knew this stuff had to help others but it had been months, hell years since you got a good night's rest. Even nightmares would be better than insomnia at this point.

You just wanted to be able to close your eyes and sleep.

~

It was the desperation of seeing another sunrise with dry eyes that burned that sent you looking at podcasts, Zagreus never shut up about them. He always seemed to have one on, and constantly sent you links that you never opened.

Maybe there would be one that would bore you to sleep.

You carefully avoid the ones about current events, you were not in the right headspace for that shit right right now. Definitely not the true crimes one. You scoffed at the alpha males podcasts and rolled your eyes at the historical wars ones. 

No one knew what it was like until it was them in on the muddy fields, listening to everyone dying-

You shook your head sharply, slamming it against the headboard. You didn't wince at the sharp jolt of pain that shot your mind like lightning. You welcomed it. You resisted the urge to repeat it.

You closed your eyes as you forced yourself to do the breathing exercises. 

In.

Hold. 

Out. 

Breath. 

Half an hour later, you resumed your hunting, this time on the much softer couch. Beams of sunlight peered in, dust molts in the amber light. You debated trying to eat something but the thought of even trying made you nauseous. 

It was only by luck when you saw it. You remembered that Zagreus had mentioned it, the name unusual enough to stick in the dimness of your mind. It didn’t seem very popular.

You read the title again.

‘Shut up, Hypnos: A rambling podcast.’

Frowning, you skimmed over the playlist. It seemed this guy picked the most random topic imaginable and then spent anywhere from three to- you blinked and squinted, bringing your phone closer- sixteen hours just talking.

Shut up indeed, you thought with an exhausted chuckle. 

Deciding the seven hours episode on the history of the card game ‘Uno’ was a safe one, you began it as you stared up at the ceiling. There was the first minute of ads, a woman talking about building websites in a near orgasmic tone. 

Then.

”Helllloooo, welcome to my closet and to my podcast. If you don’t know me, my name is Hypnos - yes, I know the name is weird, tell that to my mom- and this is ‘Shut up, Hypnos.’ Where I will talk to you until you either toss your phone into a river with pure disgust at humanity or fall asleep from sheer boredom! Whichever comes first.” 

You blinked, of all the voices you expected, it wasn’t that one. It was airy, not bad but something that told you the man might be pitching it up higher than natural. 

But still, not bad.

”Uno. Dos- tres- No, only Uno please.” Hypnos laughed at his own joke. It was a nice laugh. Your eyes traced the sunbeams on your ceiling.

“That game was the bane of my existence from the moment I gained consciousness and the dexterity required to hold the cards. I don’t think I won a single game and I always ended up with half of the deck in my hands.” Hypnos rambled on. 

You never ever saw this man, not a single clue of what he looked like but you could picture it, a child scowling at the cards. 

“A family ‘game night’ brought up the memories of my horrible childhood and I decided to look up who created this game solely to torture me and me alone. So, my listener, if you haven’t driven us off a cliff yet, let me take you to a magical place called ‘Ohio’ in the year of 1971…”

The last thing you remembered was Hypnos’ outraged at the man who mortgaged his house for a mere eight thousands dollars - ‘shush, listener, I know it was the seventies and it worked out for them but still!’- and the way the golden light seemed to dip like honey.

Hypnos began speaking off topic something related to the game but his voice was faraway now, a quiet murmuring that flowed like the river lethe.

You didn’t remember closing your eyes.

~

When you woke up, you had dried drool on your chin with no idea what time or day it was. It was dim inside and it felt like you had been sleeping forever. Your mind was sluggish and it actually took you a moment to sit up. 

Your phone was on the ground, Hypnos’ cheerful voice still going. You rubbed at your face as you tried to wake up. 

He was no longer talking about ‘Uno’. You weren’t sure what it was about but when Hypnos had said something about genitalia and heroin in the same sentence, you finally picked your phone up.

The episode was named ‘The Ballad of Sexual Dependency by Nan Goldin: post Stonewall art’ 

Then you saw the time. 

You had slept for a solid fifteen hours straight. 

Your phone was clinging to life with six percent left and you needed to pee and you felt your stomach growl, hunger sharp in you for the first time in months. You still felt lost in the fabric of time and space, your head heavy with sleep.

Hypnos was still talking, ranting about an art project that a teacher failed him on because it wasn’t showing Hypnos’ truest intentions.

“What does that mean? What the fuck-“ Hypnos ranted, his anger so genuine that you smiled. “Why spend hours telling me art is subjective then go tell me that-“

You never felt better.

~

A week or so later, Hypnos was spinned around in his wheely chair, sipping on his ice coffee, trying to decide if he wanted to rant about the elephant and their pinnae. He eyed his computer with about twenty tabs he had pulled on elephant ears as he kept spinning.

Monie was staring at him, or rather at the iced coffee in his hand. Her little white Pom tail swayed with hope.

“You can’t have this.” Hypnos informed his dog for the millionth time, still spinning even as the world was getting blurry. “You will die.” 

Monie only made her black eyes bigger and wetter and so much sadder because Hypnos loved her enough to make sure she didn’t kill herself with caffeine.

“I know Monie, no one’s life is harder than yours, you silly dog.”

He heard a ping, meaning his Patreon just got something. Hypnos stopped himself, dizzy as he tried to see what he got. He usually got a dollar or two here and there. So he could definitely get more coffee. 

Maybe even enough for some Taco Bell. He was a big dreamer afterall. He laughed to himself as he looked.

His face went numb, his coffee spilled over his lap as he stared open mouthed at the screen.

He was reading it wrong.

Right? Right.

He automatically picked Monie up so she couldn’t lick at the spilled coffee.

Oh gods.

Rubbing his eyes hard as he could with one hand, he leaned forward, Monie still held aloft as he stared like a fool.

A fat, whole ten grand. It had to be a mistake. He was sure of that.

Then Hypnos saw the message, no real name, just random numbers and letters. 

Just a simple ‘Thank you, Hypnos.’

~~~~~~

Fly high (HTTYD Au, Icelos' pov )

The day they lost Dad, all Icelos remembered was fire. Fire and screams in the dead of the night, the black smoke of dragon fire hid even the stars. Her father’s scream of anguish was louder than even the mightiest dragon roar.

She remembered crying, her twin’s face was a mirror of her own pain.

It was the day they lost their Father too, a proud man who left as a hollowed out ancient tree after a great fire, one that still stood, blackened and ruined.

~

The few scraps of information that Icelos got about her Dad came from others, an off hand comment here or there from Achilles or a neighbor. They had uncles and aunts from their Dad’s side but they never visited anymore.

Icelos wondered often if they blame her father for what happened. 

Sometimes she wanted to write to them, her neat penmanship messy from her anger, to let them know, their stones of guilt were mere pebbles to the world that her Father carried.

She never did.

Instead she hoarded the few bit of her dad that she could.

’Your Dad had the worst sweet tooth I have ever seen, especially with honeyed goods.’ That had come from the baker, after waving a wooden spoon at Morpheus for taking a third helping of hard honey.

‘I still expect to see him napping on the porch.’ Achilles had remarked to Patroclus once, not realizing that Icelos was still in earshot.

And when she was younger, she found books tucked away in a box, many with notes inside an unfamiliar handwriting. It had been the mentions of her Father’s name along with ‘my husband’ that she realized it must be her Dad who wrote these.

She devoured every last one, reading the off hand comments and the bad jokes - so many that it reminded her of Morpheus- to some akin to worship. Icelos thought maybe if she listened hard enough, she would hear him like a lost god murmuring her ears.

Father rarely spoke of Hypnos, although sometimes Icelos caught how Father would watch them sometimes, like he saw someone else. His harsh demeanor softened for a moment.

Icelos wanted to ask him, what did he see? 

Was Dad there in the curve of Morpheus’ cheesy grin, or the way her twin brother would find a perfect patch of afternoon sun to nap in like a cat? 

Was it Photobtor and his eyes, perfect honey gold even in the dark of the night?

She had wanted to ask, perhaps more than anything, did she have anything from Hypnos that none of the others had? Something that was purely theirs. Hypnos and Icelos.

Father always turned away before Icelos found her courage, his broad shoulders just slumped ever so slightly.

Unwillingly, their dad had become a shade in their lives, or something so mystical that it would ruin the house if spoken aloud. Or maybe it would just burn away at the last remaining bit of their father, causing him to fall like an old tree, wood too rotten even for warmth in the cold, lonely night.

~

Icelos was so startled by how warm the dark scales of her night fury felt underneath her palm that her breath hitched. The dragon closed its eyes, completely trusting Icelos.

She let out a breathless laugh. Tears burning in her eyes.  

If her Father could see her now…

She looked down at the trusting beast, its hot breath gentle on her skin. 

He could never know.

~

So of course, Father found out a week later.

But there wasn't time, she had to save her best friend, her father and her grandparents, to show her brothers, everyone what it meant to really fly.

What she remembered wasn’t the flames reaching up for her. It was the determination in her night fury’s eyes. 

Sometimes Icelos wondered if she actually heard her Father’s voice, screaming out her name.

~

After everything, years later with dragons flying in the cold skies of winter, it was Icelos that Father brought to the clan meetings. 

She stayed quiet, standing by his elbow as he dealt with clan matters of hunting, food storage, supplies for homes and the construction of new pathways. There were disputes to settle between the clan members- land rights, cattle and so on- and there were so many countless little things that she never thought about before. 

Her Night Fury had fallen asleep about five minutes in and Icelos never felt such envy before.

When the last of the villagers left, her Father sighed heavily.  “I don’t suppose your dragon won’t mind adding to the fireplace for us?”

“What?” Icelos yelped, waking up her dragon who huffed at her. “But what else is there to do?”

Father smiled grimly as he nodded toward the books on the table. “We shall start with the fun stuff first. We have to go through the incident reports- your dragons are a little too enthusiastic about helping then we have the petitions, expense reports, contracts, reports or requests for help from other clans, livestocks records and so on.”

Icelos moaned in pain as she fell backward into a chair, rubbing her face. Her dragon grumbled at her, sending a burst of flames toward the fireplace. 

“My thanks.” Her father told the dragon, taking a large piece of dried jerky from the table and tossed it. Her nightfury snapped it up greedily, purring in pleasure.

”Father, must we?” Icelos glanced over the piles of books. Was this why she didn’t see her Father until late in the evening? Her knee ached, the false leg cold against her skin. 

She used to like winter but as the weather got deeper and she got older, she found herself not enjoying it as much as she did in her youth.

Icelos shifted and somehow her dearest friend knew, pressing its warm body against her leg, resting their heavy head on her lap. She gave them a pat on their head.

Father approached her, his brow furrowed. “Is your leg bothering you?”

”Yeah but I want to stay.” Icelos said firmly, straightened her back as she met her Father’s hard stare. She kept her head high, not glancing away like someone else might have from her father. 

She may be older now but a single glance from those eyes could still make her feel little like a girl with her hand in the cookie jar.

For a long moment, Icelos thought he would order her to go home but he just nodded, pulling out a leather flask from his cloak. When he poured her a small drink of ale, she nearly went bug-eyed. Father was a hard ass about his kids drinking hard liquor.

”Just this once.” He told her with a wry glance. She thought she almost saw a rare smile. “For the leg. Don’t tell your brothers.” 

Icelos nodded, suddenly feeling very grown up with her drink and paperwork.

After a deep drink for himself, Father brought the books closer to her along with papers and quills. She didn’t have to do any of the paperwork yet but he went over each piece of information carefully, telling her the context and exactly why it mattered. 

It was late in the night when they were done. Icelos slumped in her chair and she watched with heavy eyes as Father placed the paperwork away. 

“Do you know why I chose you?” Father said abruptly, causing Icelos to wake up a little. After a moment, she gave him a goofy smile.

”My neat handwriting?” She guessed, not sure where he was going with that. He huffed, an almost laugh.

”No.” he told her, returning to stand next to her. He placed a large, warm hand on her shoulder. His expression shifted, unreadable in the firelight. “You remind me so much of your dad.”

Icelos blinked, her lips parting but no sounds came out. How long had it been since she last heard Father speak of Hypnos, the shade that haunted their lives? The one that Father still seemed to look for sometimes. 

Father was no longer looking at her, staring into the fire. “Your dad wasn’t suited for leadership but he knew how to… keep me grounded, to make sure I didn’t lead with an ax in my hand and damnation in the other.”

Icelos only nodded, too stunned to speak. She gave her confused dragon a pet on the head, the smooth scales comforting her. 

“You have the best of him. He knew how to stay cheerful even in the darkest times, he was gentle even if he couldn’t help but make smart comments, especially to me.” Father continued, his voice was so quiet, so hopelessly fond. 

Years and years later, he still sounded like he was in love. “Just like you.”

”Oh.” Icelos swallowed, tears forming unwillingly. She didn’t want to cry because if she did, Father might stop.

”You could be a great leader for our clan, Icelos. You have his gentle heart but my iron hand. The fact you already unified our clan and the dragons is only the tip of the iceberg of far you could go.” Father turned back to her, his eyes watchful.

And maybe she was imagining it in her sleep deprivation but- he looked proud. Of her.

She nodded, trying to appear like a leader. She wanted that desperately, to fit in the role her father gave her. “I want to be great. For you and dad.” 

“You already are.” He said, squeezing her shoulder gently.

~

Icelos thought she was going mad. 

Her body was shaking, her breathing kept hitching sharply. Her Night Fury let Icelos braced herself against them, their eyes locked on the pair before her.

A Light Fury was glaring at them, their teeth bared but the man next to the dragon didn’t move, didn’t breath.

How often had Icelos seen those white curls, those golden eyes reflected back in the mirror?

Faintly she heard a noise. Soft and broken. 

Then she realized it came from her twin. Morpheus was shocked into silence, his harsh breathing the only thing hint to his anger, to his pain while Phobetor watched with an hesitant expression. 

“Oh my little starlights.” Hypnos said quietly. the once shade, the ghost that haunted their home, that broke her father beyond repair, smiled warmly. 

His sunlit eyes were bright with tears. “It really is you. All of you.”

Just like that, Icelos and everything she thought she knew fell apart.

~

In the chaos of everything, Icelos had tried to plan for how Dad and Father were going to be reunited after she fixed the issues with the alpha dragon and the bastard keeping other dragons locked up. 

Only for Father to come looking for his lost ducklings. His stormcutter, an old king like her father, has swept in the hiding place with a liquid grace. 

There was no chance to warn him.

Icelos waited for the rage, for the hurt to spill forward like the flames of a Monstrous Nightmare. 

It was clear that Hypnos was doing the same, his shoulders tight, arms crossed over his chest. Father was staring at Hypnos like he couldn't believe he was really there, like he was seeing a ghost. 

Her father was rarely surprised, the only other time she had seen this was when he had caught her riding her beloved dragon. Then he flew in a rage unlike anything she had ever seen.

For painfully long moments, the silence grew. The heaviness of it barring down on her shoulders. 

“I would welcome you to my humble domicile but you didn't even knock.” Hypnos quipped, his voice was airy but Icelos heard the tension in it, a bird’s racing heartbeat. “Just like our wedding night. No manners whatsoever.”

Icelos knew she looked bugged eyed just like her brothers, no one had ever spoken to their father like that. Not even their most ferocious enemies.

Father stepped closer, his eyes locked onto Hypnos. Hypnos swallowed, but didn't look at him, eyes on Father's chest. 

Slowly as if Hypnos was more mist than flesh, Father touched his chin and lifted his head up, studying every line and curve of his husband's face.

Father looked raw, like something made new. His expression tender as a heartbreaking smile broke across his face, his eyes shining. He was about to cry, Icelos realized.

“You're as beautiful as the day I lost you.” His voice was low, rough and so in love. Hypnos gasped, his face crumbling with tears.

They embraced, clinging together so tightly not even the gods could part them now. 

Hypnos was sobbing, his words spilling out of him in a rush. Father was shushing him, his own mighty form shaking as he cupped the back of Hypnos’ head.

At that point, Phan touched her shoulder, jerking his head toward a different, far away area. Icelos nodded, realizing that the other two had already left, giving their parents some privacy.

Later, Icelos dangled her feet off the edge, smiling as her night fury chased the light fury. She had a suspicion her dragon was madly in love but she won't tease them just yet. 

Morpheus had taken off, needing to lick his own wounds, still hurt and angry at their dad. Her twin was speaking to Phobetor of what happened that night. 

He had been far too young the night it happened. 

And Icelos… 

She watched from high above,a stolen moment in the gentle lights, the soft greenery of the cave as her parents swayed together. 

Their voices were too low, too far away but they looked happy, even with tears marks on their cheeks. 

Maybe it was too soon, everything still too raw by the scraping of lost years on their souls but somehow she knew this would be for the better.

~~~~~~

Decisions (Reincarnation au)

Hypnos woke up alone, his cheeks stained with tears. He sniffed, rubbing his face as he sat up. His wings fluttered against his hands. The blanket was spilling off of him and onto the floor.

It was already fading, whatever it was that brought him to tears although the familiar grief lingered in his chest.

Waking up like this was something that just happened sometimes. Hypnos wondered if he would ever get used to it. If he even should get used to it.

”You’re crying.” His captain’s voice was low, gravelly as the bed dipped under your weight. 

“Was. Now I am at the gross snotty phase.” Hypnos corrected, shifting as you pulled him into your arms. Hypnos sighed, tucking his head under your chin. Humans were so much warmer than his species, their bodies hot as a pure summer day.

His wings flared out and lifted up, the tips kissing your cheeks as a greeting. You turned your head, nuzzling against one, and Hypnos couldn’t hide his smile. He loved that his captain tried to mimic his species’ sign of affection with his own human ones.

Your hand rubbed up and down his back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Hypnos hummed low in his chest, thinking about it. 

It was no secret that you had oftentimes disliked the other versions of you. Your born calloused, possessive and beastly nature against the civilized knight of your mind were often at war with each other. 

Sometimes the knight won, other times it was the beast. Sometimes they coexisted. 

Hypnos didn’t have the heart to tell you that you still carried such behaviors even now. 

Your large hand spread over Hypnos’ lower back when someone else looked a little too long, the way you would dipped your head to listen to him, the adoring nips on his vulnerable neck as you worshiped him like an pagan and their god. 

Beast and man, always at war with each other.

“I don’t agree with some of the choices I- the other me made. I understand but I don’t agree. I think.” Hypnos sighed. He wiggled in your lap until he could look at you. “How do you deal with it?”

“I call them -or myself- a worthless bastard and try to move on. Can’t change it now.” You said, trying to lighten the mood like Hypnos often did.

Hypnos nodded slowly, then decided he didn’t want to think about it. He silded his wings behind your head, pulling you down for a greedy kiss. Your hands squeezed his waist, pulling his slender body flushed against yours.

Later, tangled together like vines and dozing, Hypnos mused on cycles, death and birth, the ebbs and flows of time until his eyes grew heavy and he returned to the realms of dreams.

~~~~~~

Dappled lights (a quiet world au)

In one life, there was a butterfly with gleaming red wings, fluttering slowly on top of a single daisy as it ate. 

It was unaware of the other butterfly watching them, admiring the shine and artwork that was their existence in the golden lights.

They will only have two weeks together, a mere blink in the eyes of gods but for them it was forever and a day.

In this life, one was a wolf, born with a deadly grace and teeth that gleamed. The other was a lost half breed, their fur soft as snow. They ran together under the moon, eyes shining and tongue lolling, they were light and darkness side by side.

When one had to leave, the other followed, curled around their mate in their small den. 

Another, so short was the lives of mayflies, only here for a moment but they fell together.

in this one, they were oak saplings, growing together side by side. Their branches grew out as they got taller. One stopped, unable to grow anymore but the other, healthy and strong, grew the branches downward until they met, tangled together forevermore.

Just one more ( it is always just more life together, just more one moment then they would be satisfied. They never are) 

But just one more, a sheep and its guard dog, bloodied to save their beloved companion. 

But just one more, two sparrows and their wings lifted by the winds, the sun shining down on them.

Just one more, one was fire and the other was fuel.

One more, an impossible, empty sea and a life giving river met, a line marking where they kissed.

One. it was the sun, warm and golden and the other was the cool, dark earth. Life bloomed wherever the sun caress them.

More. They were void and the other was everything.

Again?

Time was a flat circle, reality was infinite and they spun and spun around, laughing as they kissed.

Again.

[stra-tek]

Excerpt from I Survived Kirk, a forthcoming trashy tell-all autobiography fanfic about a bitter redshirt on Kirk's U.S.S. Enterprise

Oh yeah, the ship.  It was supposedly the USS Enterprise that had essentially been my home for five years, “refitted”.  But from what I could tell, in the past two years she had been rebuilt entirely new.  Hell, not long after we docked I saw some of the refit concept plans with the header “USS ENTERPRISE NCC-1800” – and nothing says “yeah, it’s an entirely new ship” like a new Naval Construction Contract number.  But, for whatever reason in the end they decided to keep the old number.  Remember, I’m an engineer.  I knew the Enterprise backwards and inside out, and I didn’t see a single thing of the original ship in the new.  Not even the corridors are where they were.  I’m told some of the saucer superstructure remains from the original.  I even heard a rumour the stardrive section was built entirely anew, because the original had been [REDACTED BY STARFLEET COMMAND].  Sounds completely insane, but hey, insane is what we do for a living.

It’s sterile.  The bright colours were gone.  Oh yeah, and THEY CHANGED EVERY SINGLE CONTROL ON HER.  I had to LEARN EVERYTHING AGAIN FROM SCRATCH.  They gave us all copies of the Bridge Operations Manual to study, saying if we could operate the controls on the bridge, we could operate them anywhere.

Now, I’m not one to say the enterprise has the most user-friendly interface in the galaxy.  In fact, it was really quite impractical, with buttons being largely unlabelled and context-sensitive, and a nightmare to do anything outside of the expected context in a hurry.  If that makes any sense.  But rather than evolve the existing designs, they just swapped them out for something based on Vulcan interfaces.

Now, in fairness, Vulcans had been flying through space for thousands of years (versus our hundred and fifty-odd) so their interfaces are probably among the most tried and tested in the galaxy, but they’re not what I grew up with.  They’re not what I trained on and they’re not what I could use in my sleep.  Nobody was happy.  Scotty (now sporting grey hair and a pornstache) wouldn’t say a word against the change, but he chose his words carefully when discussing the new control interfaces.  Other than that, of course, Scotty was bubbling with pride about the new Enterprise.  He was one of the lead engineers on the refit project.  Now her top speed was supposedly an insane warp factor 12 (up from 8 on the original, not that we ever adhered to that much), she had new and far more powerful weapons (when they worked, we quickly exposed a critical flaw in the phasers during the V’ger incident).

A lot of people say she’s the most beautiful starship ever created.  I’ve never been one to say a starship is beautiful.  It’s a thing, a vehicle, a machine, a means of conveyance.  I was like that with cars as a kid and I’m like that as a grumpy old man.  Anywho, all that said, yes this Enterprise is aesthetically pleasing, although I hate the the look of the new warp nacelles (the red spinners – or space energy matter sinks to those of us who lived on her) on the front were what got me interested in starships as a kid, to lose them sucked donkey balls), and the pylons looks as though they could be severed with one well-placed torpedo at their base.

Inside, as said already, she was sterile.  Brushed metal everything.  Particularly disconcerting, they’d added a shield to the transporter, protecting the transporter operator from… what?  We were always told it was safe.  The crew used it HUNDREDS of times without a shielded operator booth.  Hell, I beamed dozens of people and tons of cargo up and down from various places.  What was I unknowingly exposing myself to?  Was it whatever sent Decker Sr, Tracey, Garth and the rest batshit insane?  No straight answer from Starfleet.  No straight answer even from Scotty, the man I trusted even though a part of me still suspected he killed that stripper and her husband.

The technical manual calls it a transparent aluminium radiation shield but treats it as if it’s always been there.  So I dug back through records.  Dozens and dozens of records, loads of ship designs and variants over 150 years.  I eventually found the USS Franklin NX-326 had one on it’s cargo transporter, specified to “shield the operator from any cumulative radiations emitted by the transporter machinery during use”.  What the fuck are “any cumulative radiations”??  It’s as if they don’t know themselves.  And they probably didn’t, it was the age of terrifying stories of transporter ghosts like Cyrus Ramsey and Quinn Erickson, and 404 file not found errors.  They were fucking with shit they barely comprehended.  Hell, we wouldn’t have artificial gravity if it weren’t for a Slaver stasis box found on the moon.  Let that sink in for a moment.  We didn’t even design that shit, which we’ve just adapted and used for centuries.  Did we come up with the transporter?  We were technologically behind every other power in space when we first ventured out, but we were among the very first to beam people and things around?  Hmmm.

Rumour has it Admiral Jonathan Archer was sterile due to overuse of transporters in the 2150’s.  It’s a fact that his former weapons officer Malcolm Reed was unable to father children although no cause was officially given.

Maybe all the surviving insane starship captains should file a class-action suit against Starfleet.

[silentwillowwhisperer]

Day 6- Samurai

I did it. I know it’s late, ignore that.

I was gonna do a cool au for this, but then I realized that I don't have that in me, especially after this week.

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

Shiro

Shiro had always wanted a sibling.

While growing up, his imaginary friends were imaginary brothers and sisters to keep him company.

And obviously, when a scrawny feral little child steals your car, what else are you gonna do that adopt him?

Keith might deny it furiously, but they're both growing on each other. Shiro knows this because the other day, the boy sat down next to him on his bed instead of reading in the kitchen. Before, Keith would hurry out of the room just at the sight of him.

Right now, Shiro is watching Keith slam his fists into a punching bag. He has his thumbs tucked in, and he's lucky his punch looks weak, or else the child prodigy pilot would find himself with 2 broken thumbs.

(Side note: as soon as I typed that out, I was like, 'that sounds like saying that I've heard before.' Is it? No, it's not, I just saw a bunch of pictures of broken thumbs. Back to the thing now.)

Shiro walks over to his desert child and places a heavy hand on his shoulder. He jolts and does a (kind of adorable) little hop into the air. When he whips around, his mop of hair flies with him and smacks into his face. He sputters a bit to get the black strands out of his mouth before clawing it all out of face and eying Shiro.

Shiro is kind enough to pretend he didn't see any of that.

"Don't tuck your thumbs in, kid, you're gonna get hurt." Shiro smiles kindly and Keith's shoulders slump a bit from their rigid posture. "Also, what are you doing with your arms? You're not trying to hug the bag, you want to hit it."

They reach a middle ground like that. Keith finally accepts Shiro through the combat lessons, and Shiro finally has his little brother.

After a couple years, they move on to weapons. Keith is taught how to use a knife, and then a sword (even though it's a bit impractical in Shiro's mind) and Keith picks it up so smoothly it seems like he's been using a blade his whole life.

"You're doing great, Samurai."

Keith pauses his training to raise an eyebrow at Shiro. "Samurai? You mean those tall dudes with the funky hats and the cool swords? Aren't ninja's cooler though?"

Shiro sighs dramatically. "Oh you poor, uncultured child. Ninjas were warriors of evil, Samurais were protector and fought for good. Obviously."

Keith shrugs and goes back to his slashing.

Shiro can already tell Keith's going to be a wonderful Samurai when he's older.

2. Hunk

Hunk is used to people warming up to him immediately. He smiles and people open up fairly fast. (People who are not Iverson, but that guy deserves to be called some rude words that Hunk will not be using at this moment. Lance will do it for him.)

Keith does not open up to him. In fact, he seems to see Hunk's grin as a flashing 'danger' sign.

Hunk does not let this discourage him. Keith reminds him of a skittish cat, the way he creeps around and startles when others approach him.

Hunk wakes up early that morning as he always does to make breakfast. However, this time he finds Keith sitting on the kitchen counter with his legs swinging to the rhythm he's humming. Yes, Keith is humming. Hunk is surprised too.

He stops at the doorway and says a soft, "hi" so that Keith will notice him.

Keith stops humming and stares him down. He looks uncertain, and moves to hop off the counter.

Wait. Wait no. Keith is leaving. Hunk is about to miss his chance to bond with Keith and Keith will hate him forever and probably stop eating Hunk's cooking and he's gonna cry if that happens.

"Wait, stop, NO!" Hunk yells without realizing is, and Keith is staring at him with wide eyes. It reminds him of when he caught his little brother stealing an extra cookie from the baking tray. Keith has the same vaguely terrified yet defensive look on his face.

Hunk flushes nervously. "Oh, sorry man. I just meant you can stay there if you want. You look comfy, and I have plenty of space to cook.

Keith's strangely colored eyes are fixed on him. It's unsettling, but Hunk sees this as a kind of Keith ritual, and he's scared that if he moves, Keith will bolt.

Lance would laugh so hard if he saw Hunk right now.

After about 30 seconds, Keith nods and starts swinging his feet again. He turns his head to stare absently at the fridge.

Hunk grabs ingredients for the morning’s meal in awkward silence. Is Keith going to start humming again? Because Hunk has the clawing urge to say something, but will that annoy his… (companion? Friend? Teammate? Unintentional castle-sharer/occasional co-couch sitter?)

So he does the only rational thing a person can do in this situation.

He starts humming ‘Here comes the sun’ and swings his hips around exaggeratedly as he walks. He feels Keith’s eyes burning holes into his back.

Oh no, Hunk really hopes Lance isn’t right about Keith being mean, he does not want to get judged right now.

Instead, he hears a tiny giggle.

He turns to see Keith with a hand slapped over his mouth.

They eye each other for a long moment before Hunk starts laughing his guts out.

Seriously. he feels kind of nauseous.

But it’s completely worth it, because Keith starts giggling again, and those turn into giant cackles.

They both laugh together until they forget why they started in the first place.

Of course, Allura crosses that moment to walk in. She chooses takes one look at the two of them with tears streaming down their faces and turns right back around. They can hear her mutter something about ‘strange humans’ and they keep on chuckling until Hunk has to puke in the trash can.

Keith does not make a rude comment about that. In fact, he walks over to pat Hunk’s back gently.

After that, Keith goes back to his perch on the counter and Hunk takes out a knife to cut up the space-veggies.

“I can help with that? If you want.”

Keith is looking down at his feet and the tips of his ears are tinted red.

Hunk wordlessly passes him a cutting board and the knife, as well as the space equivalent to coriander.

Keith balances the board on his legs and gets cutting. At first, he fumbled while trying to cut neat pieces, but he adjusts and get the hang of it after a minute or two.

“Shiro was right,” Hunk remarks.

Keith raises a questioning eyebrow.

“He calls you Samurai, right? You’re not too bad with that knife.”

It’s hard to believe Hunk never saw this side of Keith before. His big eyes are sparkling, and he looks like a puppy being praised. (Fine, yes, Hunk likes comparing people to animals, what about it? Pidge is like an angry bunny, by the way, but don’t tell her that.)

Keith starts humming his random tune again. Hunk doesn’t join in, there’s no way he could follow along with the random pattern of notes. He’s content to have it as background noise, along with Keith’s chop chop chopping.

And regardless of however much patience it took, Hunk is glad to have this subtly sweet yet fiery person as his new friend.

A samurai indeed.

———————————-

I was gonna do everyone of the team, and then I did not. Maybe I’ll do a part 2 eventually?

[69misato69]

Halcyon (Alhaitham & Kaveh) ✦ 500 words, fluff, slight angst and comfort

archive of our own ✦ twitter

masterlist pinned on my profile !

neurodivergent homosexual and his court-mandated comfort person

cw: sensory overload

"Ugh, why can't you be practical for once? We could've split the cost." Kaveh sighs at Alhaitham, they make their way back to the house, bickering even though they have missed each other dearly during their time apart in different corners of the desert. 

They arrive at the door, Kaveh shuffles for his keys, only they're nowhere to be found so Alhaitham takes out his. 

It's tangled with a golden-brown key with a lion-head embellishment. Kaveh rolls his eyes at his roommate's grin and snatches his keys away from his hand.

They make their way inside while the quarrel gets more heated.

"Kaveh." Alhaitham says, but Kaveh keeps rambling, rambling about how selfish and impractical he is. Most of the time, Alhaitham has no problems reiterating, he enjoys listening to Kaveh’s complaints and debunking them one by one, but today is just one of those days where he feels overwhelmed, his senses turn both heightened and dulled and a cloud fuzzes up his mind, slowly yet surely.

"Kaveh." he says again, it sounds like a warning and a plea. Kaveh stops talking abruptly and looks at him, and he understands. He understands that Alhaitham truly needs peace and quiet, his train of thought suddenly becomes so unimportant to him. So, Kaveh makes a motion as if he's zipping his mouth shut and he makes his way to the kitchen. 

The house falls to silence for the following hours, no sounds but the pots and pans clanging lightly as Kaveh prepares dinner for the both of them. 

He makes Alhaitham's comfort dish just the way he likes it and slithers into his bedroom to leave it on the table. He doesn't need to look in Alhaitham's direction to know that he lays in bed with his headphones and twists the cord around his fingers in repetitive motions.

A few minutes later, Alhaitham walks out with the plate in his hand, the food still untouched. He heads into the kitchen where Kaveh is eating alone and sits across from him.

Kaveh doesn't say anything, a faint smile forms on his lips as they dine together quietly and peacefully. 

He doesn't let Alhaitham handle the dishes and cleans it all up himself, then joins the scribe on the couch. Kaveh loves to talk, but the silence doesn't bother him when it's shared with Alhaitham. 

They sit next to each other, Sumeru settles into a tranquil night, the perfect setting for dreams and rest. Alhaitham leans on Kaveh's shoulder, and it doesn't take long before he reaches for Kaveh's hand, gently holding it inside his palm. 

Though Alhaitham loves being alone, Kaveh is the only person that knows how desperately he needs affection after isolating himself. So, as always, he indulges his roommate generously and comforts him with gentle kisses on his forehead and light strokes on the tops of his thighs.

"You okay, Haytham?" he asks to make sure. Alhaitham lets out a relieved exhale and hums. Kaveh's soothing touches reassure him, everything is fine, time stops, his worries cease to exist, the annoying static in his head quiets down. 

They switch into a more cozy position, Kaveh lays down on the couch and pulls Alhaitham to settle on his chest. In repose, he feels Kaveh's warmth while slender fingers brush through his gray hair. 

Though it looks different to the outside world, Kaveh wants nothing more than for him to be comfortable, and Alhaitham wakes up everyday thanking the archons for blessing him with the gift of his presence. 

[shadowstarion]

thinking about shadowheart astarion + karlach and their specific relationships with sexuality and intimacy… gets spicy below the cut

i think shadowheart and astarion would be very big on nonsexual intimacy. obviously astarion wants to be loved for more than just his body and treated as more than just a sex object, and shadowheart’s been trained to deny herself pleasure or gratification to the point where it’s scary. with her memories wiped, she has essentially no experience so it’s not something she’d immediately prioritize. she wouldn’t expect anything from him and astarion adores the fact they can kiss, lie together, touch each other, twist their fingers in hair and whisper sweet things with the knowledge that it won’t eventually become something that makes him feel used or exploited

and of course we KNOW shadowheart isn’t 100% pure and virginal, we know she’s essentially the repressed catholic girl who reads smut and has wild fantasies, but when it does happen? she’s gentle and trusting and willingly gives astarion control. he calls the shots when he wants to, gets to bask in the feeling of not being used, but having shadowheart give him anything he wants, give herself to him entirely. not necessarily letting him use her, but she wants to please him, focuses on how much she can give him, wants to be so good for him. it’s about so much more than just getting off when it’s shadowheart, being so diligent while giving him her mouth or hands, holding him tight and whining out her admiration while she’s under him, saying his name over and over like a prayer

i could go on about how they fuck for hours but alas, we need to talk about karlach. oh god the poor thing, just as repressed as shadowheart and immensely eager/touch starved in a way that astarion can’t comprehend is even physically possible. her engine making intimacy dangerously impractical would drive shadowheart crazy; we know shads was down horrific the moment she saw her for starters. it’s another comfort to astarion, knowing that karlach’s kindness toward him has no ulterior motives, that being open and vulnerable with her won’t lead them to bed because she cares more about his wellbeing and safety than she does her own wants. watching karlach politely refuse any of shadowheart’s attempts to escalate their relationship would make astarion genuinely swoon, because gods does that woman care so deeply and love with all her heart, maybe he can grow to trust her too…?

once her engine is repaired enough for physical touch to be safe, karlach is an entirely different story. while shadowheart gives herself up in a way that’s inexperienced and submissive, karlach’s whole “care for __’s wellbeing” complex translates to her being the service top of the century. anything shadowheart wants she’ll get x10, anything astarion doesn’t want is completely out of the question. she’d never push boundaries, asks for consent and won’t keep going if it isn’t enthusiastic, is constantly checking in to make sure she’s not going to hard or too fast, while simultaneously being sooo brutally needy. astarion could have her on her knees begging and pleading for permission to touch him, to make him feel good, to show how much she loves him, and she wouldn’t move a muscle until he gave her an explicit yes, dear, you may

now with shadowheart it may be a little different in the sense that she, to put it plainly, doesn’t have immense sexual trauma but moreso apprehension and curiosity about sexuality. she wants it all, hard and fast, unhinged and unrestrained and karlach is more than able to provide that. karlach wouldn’t let her beat around the bush, would wring every last fantasy and fetish and desire out of her in verbal conversation and remind her it’s nothing to be ashamed of. she wants bent over the the table and fucked until she cries? wants karlach’s hands around her throat and her tail prying her legs apart? wants to be hit and degraded and hauled off to gods-know-where over a barbarian’s shoulder? all she has to do is ask for it and mama k will provide.

on that note, something can be said for karlach and astarion’s dynamic together with shadowheart. they’d absolutely team up every now and again, because sometimes astarion wants intimacy but can’t handle being touched, or because shadowheart is being indecisive and cagey about what she wants, or because there was a close call and karlach needs them both to know how cherished they are.

astarion watching from his comfy seat with a book open in his lap while karlach completely takes shadowheart apart, having her look at him and tell him how good it feels, occasionally letting astarion give instructions so that he can feel the closeness without having to confront physical touch

karlach having trouble getting shadowheart to be open about some kink or fetish because she doesn’t understand it well herself and Shadowheart is too embarrassed to explain, so astarion is the phone-a-friend who knows Everything and can translate shadowheart’s awkward explanation of wax play or whatever and mercilessly teases her with the most explicit unashamed dirty talk

shadowheart getting downed in a fight while trying to heal astarion and karlach raging, absolutely obliterating their enemies because she’s had enough taken from her. how dare anyone threaten what’s hers? for a split second she thought shadowheart was gone and astarion would follow without her healing and her engine is running hotter than ever with pure fury. of course, they make it out alive and are able to recover quickly back at camp, but the fear of losing them sticks with karlach. she wants them close to her as soon as they’re back in good shape, holding and touching and squeezing and kissing every inch of them she can. keeping shadowheart pressed in between them with astarion at her back, karlach’s hands around his waist, just a panting mess of i love you and i was so scared and please don’t ever leave me and need you need you both so bad

my brain is full. i need them to fuck so bad

[the-hero-story]

Because the html formatting doesn't work on mobile (not even on a browser, I checked), I'm posting the whole story here too :)

We were married in the spring. 

No one liked the idea of a spring wedding, least of all my husband, who complained about it as we drove away from the cathedral. It was rotten in Moscow in April, and worse in Petersburg, where the snow hadn’t even begun to melt. I had wanted the wedding at Voronetskoye, the old estate, the lynchpin of our world, but my husband refused: staying in Moscow would be impractical, and God forbid, unfashionable. Because it was his reputation at stake, and not mine, I agreed. 

That summer, after our honeymoon in Paris, we came back to Russia and met my father at Voronetskoye. My father worked in Petersburg, but since my mother died he spent most of his time at the estate, reading and drinking. It was a beautiful place to grieve, a manor surrounded by acres of lush green fields. We arrived in the evening, with an hour to spare; my father’s carriage waited for us at the station. 

If there was any time when the estate looked most perfect, it was, perhaps, evening in early summer. I never looked forward to these trips, yet whenever I came to Voronetskoye I felt as if I was returning home after many years away. It was always frozen in time, fading family portraits hanging on the walls and old heirlooms hiding under canopied beds. My father hadn’t wanted to make it a time capsule; the time had just passed, and the dust had eaten away at everything it could find. 

My husband hated it there. Whenever he left Petersburg he was like a sailor on land. He needed the city air: it was fast, it was relevant, there was always something to do. 

“We’ll go back Saturday,” he had said on the train to Moscow, pinching his mustache as he liked to.

“Father asked us to stay the week. We talked about it earlier today, Vasya. Please, just this one time — you know how lonely he is down there.”

“The man doesn’t own you.”

“Neither do you.” 

Vasily rolled his eyes. “It’s exactly this kind of talk that makes me—”

At that moment the attendant came through with the baby, and we dropped the argument. 

When we got to the manor, it was empty and silent, practically deserted. For a minute, as I climbed the double staircase, suitcase in hand, I thought my father had died. Then I heard my brother’s voice, coming from the drawing room. 

“Kitty,” he called, that old familiar sneer.

“Where’s Father?”

“Upstairs.” Alexis emerged in the doorway, his pale face framed by a mess of black hair. He was flushed, dressed hastily in his robe. “I thought you were in Petersburg.”

“We were. Don’t you have a concert tonight?”

He pulled his lighter from his pocket and took out a cigarette, tapping it against the gilded lid. “Postponed.” The flame flashed before his face, and he took a long drag, looking off towards the corner. “I was practicing all day,” he mumbled. “Had no idea you were coming. 

I knew what his days consisted of. Since he’d been expelled from military school two years ago, he had taken up a career as a pianist. He was a genius at the piano, there was no denying it, but he spent most of his time in bed, God only knows with whom. 

“Isn’t he cute?” he said, gesturing to the baby, who was swaddled in cotton on Vasily’s shoulder. “What’s his name?”

“Maria,” I said. “It’s a girl.”

My brother blushed.

“Father didn’t mention anything to you?” I asked, taking my suitcase and walking towards the stairs. “He wrote to us a month ago.”

“He’s probably forgotten about it by now.”

“Alyosha, he’s been through hell. Try to understand.”

My brother shot a grimace in my direction. “Your room’s in the west wing, isn’t it? Right, I’ll be in the drawing room. Holler if you need anything. I think Father’s in his study — you can go knock if you want.”

Shutting the door behind me, I put my suitcase at the foot of the bed. 

“God, that boy is insolent,” Vasily said, gazing out the musty windows. “Any idea what he did to get himself kicked out of the Cadet Corps?”

“Vasya, we’ve been over this. I’d rather it stayed a mystery.” I brushed a cobweb from the wooden footboard. “It’s his career, not mine. Besides, he does well as a pianist. Lots of attention.”

“I’m sure he likes that.”

“Really, Vasya, drop it. He’s practically a child.”

My father did appear at dinner that night, late and still wearing his uniform. He was a sad sight: his disheveled shirt and his unshaven, once-handsome face. Out of deference, we all stood up as he entered.

“Sit down, sit down,” he said, slowly walking across the room and taking his place at the head of the table. 

We obeyed. The dining hall had never been my favorite room in the manor: it was squat, gloomy, and lined with old portraits and older statues. The heirloom silver tray, which still stood in the corner on a pedestal, had once been as pristine as a mirror; now it was stained, tarnished, and edged with cobwebs. Opposite it was an ancient family portrait from the nineties. It was the best likeness of my mother, the last one drawn before her sickness. She was the spitting image of Alexis; her dark hair curled around her luminous face in intricate coils, her dark, ceaseless eyes gazing at an unseen sky. He had gotten her beauty; I had gotten her heart. 

My brother’s friends were there, a frilly girl called Sonya and a boy named Petr, who had been at school with him before the expulsion. They were strangely cheerful; though Alexis was prone to gloominess and violence, the three of them talked about opera and would not look at me. Vasily and I were left with my father. 

“It’s been so long,” he said, though it had only really been a matter of months. “You look so much older. That new wardrobe… very au courant. How was it in France?”

I had hated France. Paris was overcrowded and obnoxious, but, as Vasily said, fashionable. He was desperate to make a good impression on the world, and Paris was the way to do it: the opera, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the brainless shop clerks who couldn’t figure out how to spell our last name. 

“Lovely,” I said. “It’s so fresh there.”

Vasily nodded. “Paris is a perfect city. We’d stay there all year round if we could.”

My father smiled. “God knows it’s a good time to leave Russia.” He gestured to Alexis and his friends. “Take him with you. He’s wasting his days here, and it’s a terrible place to be young. I want him to live.”

“You’re a pianist, aren’t you, Alexis?” my husband asked, glancing across the table. 

My brother looked up, surprised. “Yes. I play at the Bolshoi Theatre.”

“Why piano?”

“I’m good at it, that’s all.”

I saw my husband smile. “Why don’t you play for us sometime?”

My brother’s eyes flitted over to me and back to him. “Of course,” he said, but sounded ill at ease. “You like music?”

“Mostly just Tchaikovsky.” Vasily set down his fork and fixed my brother with a piercing stare. “Did you start playing before or after you got kicked out of the Cadet Corps?”

A wave of angry embarrassment flashed across my brother’s face. “Before,” he muttered. “Years before.”

In our bedroom after dinner I sat by the window and nursed the baby. Vasily was in the brocade armchair, smoking, the lamplight dancing across his face. 

“Even the paper’s out of date,” he muttered, blowing a cloud of smoke in the air. “We can’t stay here, Kitty.”

“We can leave a day early, if you hate it so much.”

“What, you’re having fun? You don’t have to pretend you like it here just to appease your father. You can’t convince me you really want to spend more than an hour here with that whore brother of yours and his school friends? I swear to God I could kill that boy.”

“Vasya, you agreed to spend one week here with me. As soon as the week is over, we’ll leave, I promise. Lord knows we’ll live the rest of our lives in Petersburg, so let me have this week with my father before he dies.” 

Vasily held up his hands. “As you wish.”

By the time I woke up the next morning, Vasily was gone. He enjoyed an early morning walk; he said the world was most beautiful before sunrise. I sat in bed with the baby, brushing her shock of auburn curls out of her soft face and pinching her chubby cheeks. I had named her after my mother, a last-ditch effort to keep her with me, but the only resemblance was in my baby’s eyes. Even when she was smiling, there was a light in her eyes that seemed to belong to another world, one I knew I would never see. 

Half an hour passed, and there was a knock on the door. It was my brother. 

“Oh, you’ve got little Masha,” he said, peeking around the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course. Up early?”

“Rather. Couldn’t sleep last night — had all these awful nightmares. Where’s your husband?”

I laughed. “Out walking, I think. Maybe hunting. He left before I woke up. Here, come sit.”

He crossed and settled himself beside me on the bed. “Can I hold her?”

Gathering her linens, I passed the baby to him. He smiled, touching her nose. “Your husband’s rotten, isn’t he?”

“Alyosha, that’s a bit on the nose.”

“But he is.”

I hesitated. “Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes it isn’t. That’s how marriage is. You’ll understand when you’re married.”

“I don’t want to marry. Seems pretty awful, as far as I can see. Gosh, Kitty, she is cute. How old is she?”

“Two months.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t look pregnant at your wedding, otherwise all of Russia would’ve been talking about it,” he said. “If they knew—”

“Alyosha, have you just come in here to pick a bone with me?”

My brother rolled his eyes. “Course not. You’re here for the rest of the week, aren’t you? Why’d you come back, anyway?”

“Father asked me.”

He made a face. “Since when did you care what he thinks?”

“I don’t know. Since when do you care about me?”

His cheeks went red, and he got quiet. 

“Not so nice to be interrogated, is it?” I took the baby back — she had started crying. “I came back because I wanted to see Father one last time. Not that he’s on death’s door, but with the way he drinks you never know. I’m sorry, that’s grim. But there it is — that’s the reason. And I suppose I missed it here.” 

“I miss it too, whenever I leave. It’s great here, isn’t it? The huge gardens, the dusty rooms… You could spend the rest of your life just exploring the east wing.” He sat back, looking up at the ceiling. “Isn’t this place funny?”

Behind us, on either side of the bed, a pair of French windows were glowing in the palm of the sun. The curtains, lacy and sheer, were fluttering in the breeze. On the far wall, the paint had begun to chip. It was as if the house itself was dying. 

My husband did not come back for another several hours. When my brother left I heard their voices in the hall, and waited for Vasily to come in, but he never did. Soon the sound faded, and I was alone again. The baby had fallen asleep, and I put her in her crib. By then it was getting brighter, and warmer. There was, for once in my life, no urgency in the air. I found a book in the mahogany bedside table and flipped through it, careful not to crease the spine. The title page said “Katya’s Book” in ugly Russian cursive. My childhood handwriting had never won any awards. 

I got back into bed, the baby in my line of sight, and began to read. It was an old book about a countess escaping from an evil huntsman. She had gotten lost in the woods looking for her dog — an amateurish mistake — and the huntsman had captured her, carrying her over his shoulder like a featherweight piece of cargo. I had annotated it liberally as a child, and enjoyed reading notes such as “this is very stupid” and “why doesn’t she just try climbing out the window?” — notes which, I’m sure, would have amused the poor author. 

The countess had just managed to break out of the house when I heard a strange noise coming from the east wing. It sounded like a scream, an awful scream, like someone’s heart had been ripped open. The halls were silent, then I heard it again. It was my brother’s voice. 

“Dunya,” I called to the maid, who was ironing in the room next door. 

She appeared a moment later. “Yes, Your Serenity?”

“You hear that sound? What is it?”

Pausing to listen, she frowned. “I’m sorry, Your Serenity, I don’t know.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, as far as I know.”

I dismissed her — she was no help — and went back to the book. The countess was deep in the woods now, running for her life. She could hear the huntsman shouting behind her, but in the distance she saw a flickering light. She ran faster and faster, and the light got closer and closer. She was almost there. 

That scream rang out through the manor again. Then a second time. My heart began to drum inside my chest. 

“Dunya,” I hollered. 

“Yes, Serenity?”

“I think my brother’s hurt. Will you stay with the baby while I check?”

“Yes, Serenity.”

Of course, as soon as I left, the whole manor was silent. All I could hear was the dust billowing up from the floor as I walked towards the east wing. As I got closer to his room I heard something else — a persistent moaning that made me blush. Looking through the keyhole, I saw him tangled up with another man: Petr, I thought. Feeling sheepish, I retraced my steps and went outside. 

It was a perfect day. The sun pierced the vast blue sky; a dappling of clouds lined the horizon. The copse behind the manor was a glowing canopy of leaves, green above and green below. Far away, there was the sound of water trickling down a creek. Years had passed since I had last walked through the grounds; everything had been so different when I was a little girl. I remembered the vastness of the sky — gazing up at it while lying in the grass and thinking it could’ve swallowed me whole. 

My mother loved the gardens. Even when she was dying, she used to sit under the old oak tree for hours, needlework in hands. During my French lessons I could look out the windows and see her, smiling and stitching away. She liked to sing as she worked, and I would hear the strains of old folk songs; the words, all in Russian, were almost familiar. Now, standing by the oak, my hand on the chipping bark, I almost heard the song again. 

When I went back in, the manor was quieter than ever. Even the wind had hushed up. The silence was eerie and strange. In my room, Dunya was sitting in the armchair with the baby, softly speaking to her in Russian. I was almost hesitant to disturb her; I loved her round, smiling face beaming down at Masha. But she heard the door creaking, and looked up as I came in. 

“Where’s Vasily?” I said, taking off my jacket. “He came back, didn’t he?”

Dunya shook her head. “No, Serenity. I haven’t seen Prince Golitsyn since morning.” 

“Did he tell you where he went?”

Again she shook her head. “No, Serenity. I hardly saw him before he left.”

“Well, I’ll find him.” 

Back in the east wing, I searched the library and the lounge, but both were empty and decaying. As I walked back towards the center of the manor, I passed my brother’s room — it was silent. 

I knocked on the door and called his name, but there was no response. I thought I heard a fluttering sound, but I couldn’t be sure, and knocked again. I didn’t know why, but I felt a little breathless, almost scared. Curious, I tried the door. It was locked. 

“Alyosha, open the door,” I called. “I know you’re in there.”

Nothing. I rattled the handle. 

“Alyosha, you’re scaring me. I’m not upset with you, I just want to talk.”

I took one of the pins from my hair and stuck it in the lock. It was a dirty trick, one that my friend had taught me when we were both young girls. The lock gave, the door swung open. 

The bed was empty. I thought it was strange, the rumpled sheets and displaced pillows, but stranger things had happened in my brother’s room. I stepped inside, and felt something soft under my foot. It was my brother’s robe. A moment later I saw his face, as placid as ever, his eyes open and unmoving. A thin red line ran across his forehead. He was dead. Beside him was my husband, a hole in the side of his head and a gun in his hand. I leaned down to touch my fingertips to his cheek — his skin was still warm. When I stood back up my petticoat was edged in blood. 

That night, Dunya and I boarded a train for Crimea. She sat across from me, the first time we had ever been equals, and held the baby in her arms. It was dark, but the lamplight slipped over her cheeks and glinted in her eyes.

The train started up. The clicking of the wheels grew louder. I glanced toward the window, feeling the tears in the corners of my eyes. I looked back. A beam of light flooded the compartment: a lamp on a passing platform. The moment was over; the light became weaker, then faded altogether, and we went on, as the landscape danced in the windows and the track slowly split the country in two.