#trix fics

[bonetrix-arts]

Decided to open writing commissions :3

Examples are on my Ao3!!

[sukunasbow]

sfw hcs, the specialists.

summary: the specialists and sfw hcs!

warnings: fairy!reader and not fully proof read yet!

notes: i know winx probably doesn’t have much of a fandom on here but honestly this show gives me so much nostalgia so enjoy!

sky ✿

sky spoils you so much, he treats you like a princess, which is ironic considering he’s a prince.

to him, you’re his world, he’d never do anything to hurt you and he loves you so much.

sometimes, when the two of you are relaxing together, he lets you style his slightly long hair.

speaking of relaxing together, that’s one of his favourite dates, when the two of you just spend time at a cafe, getting a break from the chaotic fairy and specialist duties you usually deal with.

brandon ✿

you were one of the few people to first know that sky and brandon switched names. brandon wanted to be completely honest about the switch and you understood due to sky’s feelings about wanting to try a normal lifestyle.

literally the sweetest boyfriend ever, he treats you so good. he’s so gentle and loving with you, your heart melts every time you’re with him.

he doesn’t get jealous that often and neither do you, the two of you trust each other and have a relationship that’s really built on honesty and loyalty.

riven ✿

no one would’ve thought the two of you would get together, as riven has a high temper and you pretty much have no temper, always calm and relaxed. in fact, the only people that suspected something was going on with the two of you were bloom and sky, they always took notice of the flirty comments and subtle touches between the two of you. however, ever since you’ve announced your relationship with the hotheaded specialist, you’ve been extremely happy with him, and your friends started relaxing exactly how much sense the two of you make.

you’re a balanced couple that occasionally has rough patches, as riven can get really jealous and insecure, but you guys always make it out and your love grows even more. riven loves you and never wants to make you feel less than appreciated.

his favourite date with you consists of literally anything that involves you two being near each other, but he especially loves when you and him help your friends defeat the newest villain. he also loves when you cuddle with him, as he’s really just a softie deep down, constantly wanting to be touching you. he’s a huge fan of pda, unless you’re uncomfortable with it.

helia ✿

you and helia go together so well, no one was surprised when the two of you made your relationship official. your both calm and loving people, quickly becoming one of the best couples out of your friend group.

you love his hair so much. he just lets you run your fingers through his hair and style it into stupid little ponytails and buns, the man not even complaining about it, actually secretly enjoying it.

he’s literally the best boyfriend. he is always at your side when you need comfort and he gives you all his love.

timmy ✿

it took a while for timmy to build up the courage to ask you out, but once he did, you happily said yes.

the two of you are the definition of ‘opposites attract.’ you’re outgoing and a social butterfly, compared to timmy, who’s shy and doesn’t talk to many people aside from his friends.

he isn’t a big fan of pda, but behind closed doors, he’s always wanting to be close to you.

[scout-is-missing]

「 ✦ sweet dreams of holly and ribbon ✦ 」 ⤷ summary: Deadpool visits Miguel on Christmas eve ⤷ word count: 2,989 ☆ ⤷ content warning: grieving, fluff ⤷ pairing: Fem!Deadpool reader x Miguel ⤷ A/N: Me posting a Christmas fic during new year's? It's more likely than you think! ↳ Masterlist ☆ Rules ☆ Prompt Lists ☆ AO3

[01]

As it turns out, actions have consequences.

Miguel knows this truth intimately. His entire existence is shaped by a series of bad decisions—most regretful, all irreversible, and the ensuing consequences that come back to haunt him later. He’s older, now, not much wiser, and yet, somewhere beneath the rubble of regret, he still hopes, absurdly, for a break.

True to her word, Deadpool continues to visit him.

It’s not unpleasant, most of the time. She arrives unannounced, making an over-the-top show of bypassing his security updates, “by skill alone,” she insists. He pretends to be irritated by her antics, her innuendo-laden quips, and the terrible puns that he’s sure she rehearses nightly in front of her mirror. And she’s gone just as quickly as she appears, flashing a grin and sashaying out the door, searching for another hapless victim or a greener pastures to poison.

Like a hurricane, leaving chaos in her wake.

A force of nature, unstoppable and unpredictable.

Miguel tells himself he’s sturdy enough to weather her storms.

It occurs to him, though, that Deadpool’s presence is partially his fault.

Vampires, he’s heard, can only enter a household if invited, before being able to come and go as they please. Not that he thinks Deadpool is a vampire (though, honestly, with her, who knows?), but the principle feels the same: By allowing her in, tolerating her mischief and offering even the barest hint of a welcome, he’s given the merc a permanent free pass into his life, handing her permission to disrupt it as she pleases.

Now, she’s everywhere.

Popping up during Miguel’s rare patrols to fling terrible jokes and snacks his way or sprawling across his office floor to colour disturbing doodles while he works, which she proudly dubs “masterpieces of modern art.” At first, he assumed Deadpool’s only sporadic appearances meant she was moving on, her chaotic energy drawn to new, more interesting prey. But then he realized her visits always happened between her jobs. 

When she wasn’t busy with her brand of mercenary madness, she found her way back to him.

She was around often enough that her absence felt like a tangible weight on the days she didn’t come.

He calls it Stockholm syndrome. Lyla, adjusting her heart-shaped glasses, cheerfully, helpfully informs him that Stockholm syndrome isn’t real.

He clings to the term anyway.

Things don’t really get easier, even with (or despite) Deadpool’s more frequent visits. They ease Miguel’s loneliness, sure, but it doesn’t heal his wounds and make the ache in his chest disappear like magic. 

Grief doesn’t fade.  It burrows under the skin, a wound that festers no matter how many bandages you wrap it in, a constant ache that lingers, no matter how much time passes. 

Day by day, he copes. 

Miguel returns home a little more often. His kitchen countertops remain dusty, but his office slowly recovers from the worst of his depression-fueled chaos.

Abandoned projects are shoved into corners, ignored but not forgotten. He learns to grow around the gaping hole in his heart, even when it threatens to swallow him whole.

His office shows faint signs of life. Baby steps, Lyla calls them.

(He doesn’t let her judge the nights he spends rewatching home videos. The ones where a version of himself, happier and whole, laughs as Gabriella runs barefoot through his living room on Christmas morning, slipping over wrapping paper when he attempts to show him a new trick she had learned. )

The holidays bring with them a specific ache. An emptiness that swallows the progress he’s made. Christmas was supposed to be a time for joy, for family, for moments that Miguel never got to have. He never saw Gabriella’s face light up at the sight of her presents or heard her complain about itchy sweaters. He had so little time with her, and what he has now are scraps of a life that doesn’t exist anymore.

It’s Christmas Eve, and he’s buried in work.

The others are long gone, celebrating with the loved ones they’re fortunate enough to have. It leaves the Spider Society’s headquarters eerily quiet, for once. Even Peter’s off playing family man.

Miguel’s only company is the dull glow of his screens, filling his vision, different responsibilities all competing for his attention as he multitasks. To his right, there’s raw data to analyse for his day job, to his left are the files of potential spider-people to recruit into his growing collective. Centre stage, a home video playing on loop. 

Deadpool’s entrance is startlingly subdued this time. She slips in so quietly, she might as well have strolled through the front door with a welcome mat under her arm. For someone so loud and larger-than-life, it’s easy to forget that she’s also disturbingly good at her job, stealth, included when it suits her.

Miguel notices her leaning casually against the desk behind him, the crooked angle of her Santa hat adding an odd whimsy to her usual leather-clad figure. Her gaze lingers, unapologetically, shamelessly, on his broad shoulders before flicking to the home video looping on his screen. She doesn’t comment, though the tension in her posture suggests she’s actively fighting the impulse. Instead, the merc picks up an empty takeout container, inspects it with a grimace, and shakes it like it might suddenly produce something edible.

Miguel doesn’t turn to look at her. He doesn’t have to. He knows she’s there, waiting for him to react, to acknowledge her presence. But he waits. Waits for her to say something cutting or inappropriate, for her to pry into the life he keeps locked behind layers of stone and silence. To tease him for falling apart again—or worse, to pity him.

He braces for the inevitable.

But she doesn’t do any of that.

“Your taste in takeout is abysmal!” she says instead, her voice dripping with mock disapproval. The corner of his mouth twitches despite himself  “Where’s the spice? The thrill? The flavour, Miguelito?” 

She drops the container back onto the desk with an exaggerated sigh, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

When she glances back at him, her mask doesn’t hide the sharpness in her gaze, like she’s peeling back the layers he keeps so carefully guarded. Like she’s trying to assemble all the little broken pieces of him into something she can understand. Something whole. Trying to understand the whole story based solely on the little glimpses he allowed her to see.

“Better bland than expired.”

She doesn’t take the bait, which is unusual for her. He eyes the screens in front of him, already getting overwhelmed by all the responsibilities he needs to return to. He can already feel a headache starting to form, and he knows, that Deadpool’s presence will only serve to make matters worse.

But somehow, despite himself, he didn’t tell her to leave. He did tell her to do as she pleased, after all, he knew, deep down, it wasn’t something he could ever take back.

Like a vampire, Miguel’s mind supplies. In his weakest moment, he’d let her in. He hadn’t even tried to stop her, too tired, too resigned, and too drawn in by the light she carried with her. He’d bared his neck, and she’d sunk her teeth in. Her presence became a mark he couldn’t erase, a tether he couldn’t sever. 

He’d let her in, foolishly, willingly, and now she was everywhere.

Deadpool steps closer, her presence as loud as her voice is soft.

“I always thought you’d go big for the holidays,” she says, a thread of wistfulness threading through her usual bravado. “Big feast, tamales, flan, the works. Maybe even some singing. You have a deep, dramatic voice. I bet you’d kill at carols.”

Miguel snorts, barely glancing her way. “I don’t sing.”

“Not yet,” she quips, lightning-quick, her tone regaining its usual teasing edge. “Give me time.”

His lips twitch, but the moment flickers and dies as his eyes return to the screen. With a flick of his wrist, he minimizes the video of Gabriella. He doesn’t need her catching sight of it, doesn’t need her insight slicing him open when he’s already frayed at the edges.

She leans in closer, hands on her hips, and inspects his workspace with the exaggerated scrutiny of someone who knows it’ll get under his skin. He doesn’t miss the flash of her eyes: sharp, always searching, as though she’s piecing together a puzzle he didn’t even realize he was giving her.

“You know...” she murmurs, her voice deceptively soft, “I always figured you’d be good at this kind of thing. Cooking, hosting. You give off big, ‘don’t get in my kitchen’ energy.” She waves vaguely at the mess of his desk. “I figured, at least once a year, you’d make some grand feast. Surprise the whole Spider Society. Show everyone you’re not just an emotionally constipated vampire.”

Miguel doesn’t rise to the bait. Not immediately. But her words linger, brushing against memories he tries to bury. Family dinners he’ll never have again. Voices that won’t ever echo through his halls. He minimizes another screen, obscuring data reports and his daughter’s ghost alike.

“I came here with expectations, man!” The woman adds, leaning back against the desk now, her head cocked and her posture lazy, though her eyes gleam with something sharper. “You’re supposed to be brooding, not boring.”

She’s joking, but her voice lands flat against the weight of his silence. When he doesn’t respond, she sighs, her theatrics dialled up to mask her displeasure.

“Come on, Spidey. Even big, scary, emotionally stunted vampire-dudes need to unwind sometimes.” She gestures dramatically, like she’s pitching a rom-com. “You know what you need? To find yourself stranded in a small town in the middle of nowhere during the holidays. Maybe meet a single mom and her precocious kid who teaches you the true meaning of Christmas. Hallmark loves that stuff, and I could definitely pull a few strings—”

Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose, his frustration evident even in the smallest motion. “I’m not a vampire. And I don’t need to unwind.”

The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him, though, and she caught it. She always did.

"Of course not. You're Miguel O'Hara. A man with the emotional depth of a teaspoon—"

"Can you get to the point?" he interrupted, glaring at her.

Deadpool pushed off the desk and started pacing dramatically, arms spread wide. "The point, dear Miguel, is that it's the holidays, and while I'm not exactly what you'd call 'festive'— I mean, unless you count stringing someone up in Christmas lights as festive. I thought you might appreciate a little...cheer."

Miguel snorted, leaning back in his chair. 

"Breaking into my office to annoy me is your idea of holiday cheer?"

"Well, duh.” She stopped mid-step, turning on her heel with a grin that Miguel could hear even through her mask. "And, because I’m such a benevolent holiday spirit, I even brought a gift!"

With a flourish, she whipped out a brightly wrapped package from one of her hammerspace pockets. It hit the desk with a muffled thunk, the sheer volume of tape on the underside suggesting that the wrapping process had been nothing short of a battle. A crooked red bow perched on top, that at the very least, suggested a genuine effort. The wrapping paper, of course, was adorned with her unmistakable logo, turning the whole thing into a self-promoting eyesore.

Miguel eyed the package with the wariness of a man who had been burned one too many times—literally, in some cases. He could never quite tell when Deadpool was being genuine, and the twinkle in her voice only heightened his suspicion.

"If this explodes—"

"Relax, it's not a bomb." Deadpool crosses her chest solemnly. He can tell by the way her mask moves that she’s trying hard to keep a smile off her face. "Swear on my questionable moral compass."

Miguel hesitated before picking the package up, his talons grazing the edges of the poorly wrapped package to cut through the layers of excessive tape and garish paper, revealing...a scarf. It was lumpy, uneven in all the wrong places, and unmistakably handmade. The navy and red stitches, his signature colours, he notices, are woven with more enthusiasm than skill.

His gaze caught on the uneven blobs of red yarn near the middle. Blobs of red yarn created a pattern that vaguely resembled his mask—an earnest effort, even if imperfect. As chaotic as the woman who made it.

"I made it myself!" she declared, her voice bubbling with pride. That much is obvious, but Miguel is kind enough not to voice the thought. Her gloved hands clapped together, and she leaned forward just enough to invade his space, her masked face tilted as if daring him to be unimpressed by her efforts.

He stared at the scarf for a long moment, then shifted his eyes to her. Then back at the mask, then back at her. The hardened lines of his face softened, a flicker of something tender breaking through his usual cold expression.  

"...Why?"

Her bravado faltered, just for a second, before she recovered with a playful shrug. 

“Because you’re always brooding up here, and I figured you could use something warm. Not just, you know, emotionally—but literally. It’s freezing in this place!”

Miguel turned the scarf over in his hands, his thumb brushing the uneven stitches. He could feel the effort in every imperfection, the way each loop of yarn reflected intense trial and error, intense persistence on her part for a gift she didn’t have any obligation to give him. It was ridiculous, clumsy, and...incredibly thoughtful.

“You realize I have enhanced thermoregulation,” he said quietly, his fingers lingering on the rough yarn. “I don’t get cold.”

She let out an exaggerated groan, throwing her hands in the air. Half frustrated at him for breaking the delicate, sweet moment they had built, and undeniably charmed by… By how weird and nerdy he could be. Of course, he’d say something like this.

“Wow, buzzkill. Do you always have to ruin the moment, or is that just a holiday special?” Despite her words, her voice was warm, almost affectionate. “Just take the stupid scarf, okay? Humour me for once.”

Miguel didn’t respond right away, his fingers lingering on the uneven loops of red yarn, tracing the clumsy pattern that tried so earnestly to copy the sharp, angular shapes of his mask. There was something disarming about the imperfections, something that softened the edges of his thoughts. Slowly, he wrapped the scarf around his neck, the knitted scarf bunching awkwardly against his collar. It wasn’t comfortable, not in the traditional sense, but it radiated a warmth that had nothing to do with the yarn and everything to do with her.

Deadpool stepped back, her arms crossed, but the usual sharpness of her posture had melted into something softer. Her head tilted slightly, her masked face angled as if she were waiting for something. Not thanks—She knew him better than that. 

Something deeper, quieter.

"...It’s not bad,” Miguel murmured at last, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. Barely there, but real.

Her laugh came softer this time, stripped of its usual bravado. It lingered in the air between them, warm and genuine. “High praise from you, Spidey. Careful, or I might start thinking you like me.”

Before he could respond, she stepped closer, closing the space between them in a way that made his breath hitch. Deadpool’s gloved fingers brushed the edge of the scarf, adjusting it with care as she tugged it into place so it would sit just right. The touch was light, fleeting, but deliberate—lingering longer in its meaning than its physicality.

"You should wear red more often," she murmured, her voice softer now, almost contemplative. “Brings out your eyes.”

Her words hung in the air, heavier than her usual quips, settling in the small space between them like a secret shared too closely. She didn’t step back right away. Her presence, unyielding and grounding, wrapped around him as surely as the scarf she’d so carefully fixed. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that kind of weight until she was standing there, filling the empty spaces he usually drowned in.

For a moment, it was as though time itself paused, the sharp edges of his grief and guilt dulled by the unexpected softness of her gesture. Her gaze, hidden beneath the mask, felt unspoken but palpable— something uncharacteristically vulnerable, like she wasn’t sure if she’d stepped too far or not far enough.

Then the moment broke, so quick and fragile he might as well have imagined it. She patted the hero’s chest twice, the motion forcefully casual but hurried, as though trying to shake off the intimacy of the moment.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Webs,” Deadpool said, slipping back into her familiar mask of faux cheerfulness, trying to inject levity back into their conversation. “I just wanted an excuse to touch all this prime real estate. Who could resist?”

Miguel raised a brow, smirking faintly despite himself. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love it,” she shot back with a grin in her voice, but there was something just a little off about it—something a little too forced. Her actions had the faintest edge of hesitance, her usual confidence tempered by something closer to uncertainty.

Before he could parse it, she was already retreating, slipping back into the flurry of movement and action that defined her. A whirlwind in and out of his space, gone just as quickly as she’d arrived. Her absence left the air around him feeling quieter. Much, much emptier.

Miguel let out a quiet sigh, his fingers brushing the edge of the scarf again. Lumpy, uneven, and utterly ridiculous. But it was also, without question, the warmest thing he’d worn in years.

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Bucky just wants to get some dinner, but this kid is annoying him! Meet-cute one shot

Author: @pumpkabitch

[trixstriforce]

botw was a good story about coping w/ tragedy, the dangers of expectations and pedestals, and how to live after disaster

totk could have been such a good story about generational trauma, coming to terms w/ grief, and how to really on others after a life time of being alone but it just...wasnt. it had so much potential to build on the themes of botw and give a good thematic close to zelda and link's archs and it set all that up but just...did not

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Dark Forest (Part 9)

The stick lies where she had dropped it, just a little bit beyond where the firelight reaches. 

They aren’t back yet. 

They had promised her that they would be back. 

What if they got lost? What if they can’t find their way back? At least they have each other. She is alone. Alone and shivering with this fever that she can’t seem to fight. She aches and cramps all over but mostly in her abdomen. She bunches up and holds her knees to her chest. But this only makes the nausea worse so she rolls onto her back and looks at where the place where stars should be. The place that she is hesitant to call a sky. It is more of a black slate than a sky, she never sees anything in it; not the stars, not the moon, only a few clouds now and then when the thing that is not quite a sky sees fit to drop gloom into the forest. The real sky always returns come morning but it refuse to look down upon and witness the atrocities that occur here more often than not. 

Icy is alone. 

But never in the way that she wants to be. 

She knows that it is there. She can see the twinkle of those shoes in the near distance.

It peeks at her from between the trees.

And yet it doesn’t attack. 

It is playing with her. 

She takes a deep breath, as deep as her labored lungs will allow and she holds it. Holds it until she sees the creature’s head turn. But winning a stare off is hardly grounds for feeling victorious. She knows that she only won because it let her. It has lost interest. But she hasn’t, she doesn’t take her eyes off of it. 

She probably should.

What sense is there in watching it creep closer and closer if she can do nothing about it?

She will only be watching her grim fate approach.

It bothers her how much this feeling reminds her of the dream and what she has just read—if she didn’t know any better she would say that it was acting out the words on the page as if it were a script. A script that it has followed many, many times before.

She does know better. And she knows that it is less of a script and more of a habit, an evolutionary instinct bestowed upon it—the need to hunt and kill. For what purpose, she cannot guess; or maybe she already has guessed and she just can’t remember her own theories and discoveries. 

Pages 357 and 358.

If she makes it through the night she will make a point of trying to decipher the text on those pages. She can’t imagine that she had placed her journal pages where she had at random. 

But why can’t she remember putting them there?

She swallows harder still; what if they are stuck in some sort of loop? Doomed to relieve this over and over again? What if the forest has no end and they can only go in circles? It would make sense—the three of them have only ever been in this forest. They’ve never seen anything beyond it. There might not be anything beyond it.

So how did they get here? 

And why?

Were the three of them born into this forest just for the trees’ entertainment? Is that their purpose in life—to suffer? 

There is a tightness in Icy’s throat and a burning behind her eyes that has nothing to do with the creature that is now only three rows of trees away. Why her? Why them? 

She has no home to wish for but she does wish that she had home that she could wish that she could go back to. 

Two rows. 

Icy looks at her fire. It is burning lower, on the verge of dying out completely and she hasn’t the time to build up a new one. She hasn’t the skills either. It had taken her from the very moment that Darcy and Stormy left to nighttime to get this first one going. And she is nearly as afraid of the flames as she is the creature. She worries that they will melt her if she gets too close. But the flames are the only thing that sort of keep the creatures away.

One row.

Icy decides to turn her back on the creature. She doesn’t want to see what it looks like just before the kill.

She feels its breaths on her upturned cheek.

She squeezes her eyes shut and clenches her teeth, body tense and rigid. One of its three fingers trails up from her hand to her shoulder and then tickles her neck. She squeezes her eyes that much tighter. She hears it crouch down and she can now smell the breaths that fall hotly upon her ear. It is quite a dreadful smell—something like that which the Polluting Pine gave off but less woodsy and more meaty. 

It turns her over, from her side to her back. She doesn’t open her eyes. Her cheeks are wet with tears. She should at least try to fend it off. She had enough fight in her when it came to slugging Stormy in the face. But Stormy won’t kill her for doing so. 

Stormy isn’t as strong as she is. 

A new kind of dread intermingles what that which she had already felt; some strange fear of herself. Of the kind of person that she is; a bad child. Damaged. And it can only be her fault because no one has raised her. 

She swallows hard and opens her eyes. 

The creature looms over her it dawns upon her that it is wearing a shoe that looks like exactly Stormy’s but Stormy has both of her shoes.

[connanro]

🍓🌵🍬🔪🦷🏜️

(writers truth or dare ask game)

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?

oh, man. so technically the first fanfic i wrote (not completed) was when i was maybe eleven and REALLY into andrew lang's fairytale collection, but due to not understanding Tropes and Themes i was mad about how there was no good middle child representation (in fairy tales the genus 'middle child' seems to be innately evil lmao) so i started re-writing one of my favourites to be about a middle child. but i didn't start publishing fanfic (star wars at first) until a dear friend encouraged me when i was sixteen or so!

🌵 ⇢ share the link to a playlist you love

☀anacrusis☀

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

uhhhh i don't know how unpopular this is but i'm fully convinced that bruce wayne is asexual. i think sex is something he does because it's expected of him, not because he has any interest in it. i also think he doesn't actually sleep around much because like, have you SEEN that man's schedule? you think he has TIME for it? no way! i think he just pays a bunch of different people to say he slept with them tbh.

🔪 ⇢ what’s the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

german-polish interwar relations? girl i went to the LIBRARY for that. only for all of the research to be contained to like, three paragraphs in one chapter. c'est la vie.

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

not related to writing, but find three things everyday that you're grateful for/that make you happy. it trains you to look for beauty in the world even when life otherwise is terrible. my mother had me start doing that when i was a teenager and it literally changed my life.

🏜️ ⇢ what’s your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

ones that tell me their favourite line or what made them Feel Something!!! also any comment. i do not get many so they are all precious to me :)

thanks for the ask!!!

[mxlecter]

i can excuse adding people to the beer but i draw the line at adding come

[campingwiththecharmings]

live footage of me reading this^^

Cosmic - Poe Dameron

Episode 2: This Island Earth previous

Cosmic Masterlist | Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Happy Poevember!

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Summary: Clearing away wreckage, explaining explaining, Poe learns about bathrooms and tries to cook

Content/Notes: This chapter gets us from crash landing to domesticity. No warnings except food and injury

Word Count: 2.5k

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"You're saying you're from..." Your eyes widened as you pointed up at the sky. It would certainly explain his advanced and strange looking jet.

Your expression of shock was mirrored on Poe's face. "Hey, this is news to me too. I've never been out of our galaxy. I didn't even know I could...not in an X-wing anyway."

"X-wing?" Your eyes followed his to the wreckage.

"My starfighter."

You swallow hard, not sure how to feel. The 'I'm not from around here' explanation certainly seemed to make the most sense. Poe didn't appear to be a man who'd lost his mind. Even if he was, how else could you explain the...X-wing?

"Where's the nearest space station? Where could I go for repairs?"

You must have stared at him for a full minute, but seeing that he was seriously asking, you shrugged hopelessly. "We don't have those. No space stations. They launched a space shuttle earlier this year. I think it's kept in Florida. But it's nothing like this," you tried to explain. "We don't have anything like your..."

"Starfighter," he supplied. "No starfighters? No space stations? How do you go off world?" He asked earnestly. "The shuttles? Will they take me to the closest space station?"

So you spent the next half hour explaining to Poe that the people of Earth never actually left Earth. Sure, there had been a couple of trips up to Earth's moon, but no other planets. You also explained how space travel was rare and expensive, and entirely uncommon. There were no humans or sentient species to your awareness on neighboring planets in the solar system. Nor did Earth humans possess the capabilities, at this point, to explore the vastness of the Milky Way galaxy.

Poe remarked that your little planet seemed to be an island unto itself.

He asked endless questions about ships, which you called airplanes and jets - about how none of them, to your knowledge had hyperdrives or sublight engines or ion engines. Whatever those were.

"I honestly don't know much about that stuff," you admitted sheepishly. "Only what I see in the movies."

One of Poe's thick eyebrows lifted curiously. "Movies?"

"Um, yeah, like television shows, but longer." You waved your hands in front of you. "On a big screen. You know, people act in them and tell stories. Pretend stories, for entertainment."

"Ohhh, like holos," he nodded. "We have those. Sort of."

On and on the two of you went, speaking quite technically about space travel. It blew your mind to think that Poe could really be from another world, another galaxy even. You also talked about whether or not he was human. He assured you that he was, although he let you know that his galaxy was full of sentient life of all kinds - human and otherwise. Beings like Wookiees, Twi'leks, Rodians, Hutts and Ewoks and Ithorians - who apparently had four throats.

Poe asked how long before the sun would rise, suggesting that you try to haul away some of the wreckage before that time. You decided to take your truck over to get your tractor. Using all the tools at your disposal, including hay bailing equipment, you hauled away as much wreckage as possible and put it in one of your old, spare buildings. Even with the machinery, it was exhausting work, especially for Poe, who continued limping.

And you didn't finish by sunup, nor even by mid-morning. You could only pray that someone wouldn't come poking around asking questions. Thankfully, the smoke seemed to have cleared after whatever Poe did to quickly put the fire out.

With some strategic tarps and hay, you tried to cover the remaining wreckage until you could work some more under the cover of darkness.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"Do you have a fresher somewhere?"

Dirt from the night’s labor and soot from the fiery crash covered the sharp angles of Poe’s face. His lips, full and plush were split and parched with thirst. Dark curls, wild and untamed, fell carelessly over his forehead. With eyes the color of tilled soil after rain and a gaze that fixed on to you with a silent plea, he looked at you like a lost boy.

Seeing the confusion on your face, Poe tried to explain. "Uh, to clean up? To wash, with water?"

"Oh, yeah, of course, let me show you. Follow me." You led him up the stairs to the bathroom, wishing there was a shower for him on the first floor, so he wouldn't have to use stairs with his sore leg.

Just then, an orange streak darted down the stairs, giving Poe a start. "What was that?" He breathlessly questioned, more curious than actually frightened.

"That was my cat, Cheddar. I have two more out in the barn, but Cheddar thinks he lives in the house." You waved your hand dramatically. "Welcome to my crazy farm. Do you have cats in your galaxy?"

He smiled, looking past you for a glance at the small creature. "Loth cats, yeah."

"Do you have any pets?" You inquired, leading him into the bathroom.

"No animals. Just...my droid. BB-8."

"Droid?"

"Like an android."

"Like a robot?"

Poe explained to you a little about his spunky, round droid, so full of intelligence and personality. A sadness lingered in his eyes when he spoke of the little thing.

"I hope you'll tell me more about him," you said, pulling back the shower curtain. "But I'll let you get cleaned up first." You gave him a quick tutorial on how to work the faucet.

Easing back around him in the small room, while attempting not to violate his personal space, you grabbed a towel and washcloth from the cabinet. "Here you go. I can get you some clothes. They were my father's. Probably a little big, but..." Quickly scurrying away, you gathered some faded navy sweatpants, a gray t-shirt and your dad's old, knit cardigan. No men's underwear. Oh well. Perhaps a trip to the store was in order.

Poe was waiting in the bathroom doorway when you returned. "Sorry, this is all I have."

"Thank you so much for helping me." His eyes flickered down the shape of your body briefly. "You must be exhausted."

"Hey, I'm not the one who crash landed," you chuckled.

Scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he sheepishly smiled. "Yeah, not my best work. I'm a good pilot, I swear."

"Uh-huh, sure," you teased. "My field would beg to differ."

Reaching out for you arm, he squeezed gently, but his touch did not linger. "I'm sorry. I'll help you fix it, if I can."

"It's okay, Poe," you gently returned. Now that you were getting a good look in the daylight, he was really handsome. It was more than just the cut of his jaw, his dark, delicious curls and his soulful brown eyes. There seemed to be an inner goodness and sincerity that was magnetic.

Clearing your throat, you took a step back. "I have to go take care of my animals, but when I come back, I can make you something to eat,"

"Oh...I can help you. I didn't realize - "

"No, it's all right," you assured him. "I'll introduce you later. You clean up. I mean, you did survive a fiery crash, right? Besides, you're hurt." You nodded to his leg.

He shrugged. "I'll live."

After your chores, you found Poe dressed in your father's clothes, which looked rather adorable on him since your dad was just over six feet tall and Poe was definitely shorter than that. He looked as if he'd leaned over and fallen asleep immediately over the arm of the couch.

Cheddar had curled up to his side in the most affectionate display you'd ever seen from your fussy feline.

Although you were starving and exhausted, you decided to hit the shower yourself. Maybe you could shirk some of your farm responsibilities for the day, after a shower, a warm meal and a good nap.

It didn't happen in that order. After your shower, you got dressed and passed out on your bed.

You awoke to the smell of food. Chicken, specifically. Bolting out of bed, you scurried down to find Poe cooking some chicken legs on a skewer over an open flame on your gas stove eye, with Cheddar circling his legs affectionately.

"Hey, I hope this okay. I found some...it said chicken legs in your cooling chamber. And I thought I would cook it on your stove. I didn't realize it was a gasser. I wasn't sure what pan to use because I don't want to burn anything, so I just did this."

"I am so sorry," you chuckled, feeling your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you scooped up Cheddar for a quick snuggle. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. Was this little guy bothering you?"

"Not at all." Poe had woken up with the strange feline curled up on his lap. As he petted the soft creature, he had felt it purr and noticed how short its ears were compared to a loth cat.

Depositing Cheddar onto the floor, you quickly reached for a pan so Poe wouldn't have to continue holding and turning the meat.

"Is this okay to eat? It's just meat, right?"

"Yeah, it's all right." You smiled at him, feeling something tug at your heart at how strange this all must seem to him. It was certainly bizarre to you. "I can make some vegetables to go with the chicken and some rice," you offered. "Does that sound okay?"

"Yeah, thanks." Poe stepped aside, watching carefully as you took command of the kitchen, his mind reeling with a thousand worries and curiosities. "Would it be okay if you describe to me what you're doing?" He softly asked, moving beside you tentatively. "That way, I can learn the names of things, and how they work."

So that's what you did, sparing no detail as you used a knife and a cutting board to chop potatoes and carrots. On and on you went, describing the boiling of rice and the toasting of dinner rolls. Most of it seemed to be pretty universal, but you were able to teach one another a few words here and there.

"Do you drink caf?" He questioned as you set the table while the food finished cooking.

"Um, caf, like caffeine? Coffee? Dark brown, made of grounds, from beans? Looks like dirt?"

"That's the one," he grinned.

"Absolutely Want some?"

"Please."

That word sent a shiver through your body, but you brushed it off.

As the two of you enjoyed your lunch, you apologized again for falling asleep and leaving Poe on his own.

"Please, you have no idea what your help means to me," he told you, rather seriously. "I could've landed anywhere. On any world. Or...this Russia, you were talking about. I could be in prison somewhere, or spinning out in space. But I landed here. Believe me, I've had it a lot worse."

"Is it really so bad, where you're from? With the First Order?" You asked him.

Setting down his fork, he swallowed his bite of food. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before resting both forearms on the table's edge and folding his hands together. "Sometimes it feels like every time I get in my X-wing, it's life or death. It's been kind of non-stop really."

"That sounds exhausting," you softly replied. "And scary. You must be very brave to stand up against them."

"I try to be," he answered, eyes meeting yours. "That's why I have to get back. There has to be someone I can talk to in your government. Do you have a senate, or a leader? A chancellor? I have to see what I can do about my ship."

Realizing what a dire situation he might be in, you sighed heavily. "Poe, it's not that simple."

"Why isn't it? If we just explain to them, like I did to you - "

"No one is going to understand, or even believe you," came your emphatic reply. "They'll probably do a hundred experiments on you because they'll think you're an alien, or that..." You trailed off, trying not to upset him.

"They'll think what? That I'm crazy?"

Your eyes dropped to your plate.

"Is that what you think, Trix? You think I'm crazy?"

"Of course not."

Pushing back from the table, Poe stood, pacing away and back a few times, despite his slight limp. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. None of it makes sense."

You could see the stress rolling off him. He was certainly handling the situation better than you would be, in his shoes.

But you didn't know this man. You weren't sure if he needed time alone, or some way to blow off steam or a hug or something to punch. So you decided to tell him what your father used to tell you.

"Let's just take it one day at a time, okay?"

He stopped pacing to listen to you.

"We worked so hard off clearing your ship away, and we probably need to go back tonight. We need to get it cleaned up and stored, somehow, no matter how long it takes."

He nodded, giving you that lost boy, puppy-eyed face again, so you kept talking.

"We need a cover story for why you're here - where you came from. The ship, we can hopefully hide. If the government saw you crash land, they would probably already be here, but just in case, we need a better explanation than the fact that you quite literally fell out of the sky."

"Right. Good idea."

"And you need a place to stay. Some clothes and personal things."

Standing up from the table, you reached for your plate to start clearing the dishes while you talked. "I have a spare bedroom. Two actually, but one is pretty small and up by the attic. It was my room when I was a teenager. Anyway, um...I could use a little help around here, once your leg heals. You could take the spare room, if you want, and work for room and board. I don't really have any spare cash."

"You would let me stay here, past today?" Poe sincerely questioned, dark eyes wide and hopeful.

"I don't see why not. I mean, where else will you go?"

His shoulders sagged in relief as he heavily sighed. "Thank you. That means so much to me."

"You're welcome," you softly returned.

"Can I ask you something?" He went on, easing toward you.

You shifted from foot to foot, feeling the need to set down the dish you were carrying as his gaze locked on you. "Mm-hmm."

"Are you always this nice to complete strangers who crash into your field?"

"No one's ever crashed..." You trailed off, realizing he was only teasing. "Well, it's like I said. You fell right out of the sky. And I'm not one to turn down free help."

He laughed then, but it was hollow and tired and worried. The merriment in it would not reach his eyes. "I promise you I'm not crazy. I really am from another galaxy."

Laying your hand on his arm, you squeezed gently. "Poe. I believe you."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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[bonetrix-arts]

Y’all should go read Averse. For him :)

[haunting-hari]

☺️☺️☺️cough cough FRIENDS cough

pleasant dream: exist together

//WOOO YEAHHHH GHOSTBOYS WOO YEAH FRIENDSHIP

Maru, Rick Blades, and Hideaway were.. Playing some sort of game. As was Vio and Trix. Hari was sat on the floor, simply.. watching.

The ambience of conversation rung in the bright room.

He was happy. This was nice. Hari wasn't talking to anyone at the moment, but.. It was nice. Just being in a room with his friends. They respected his easily depleted social battery, and just being in a room with those who cared for him made him smile.

Even better so, Maru was enjoying herself. That was good. He deserves the company!

He heard Vio groan- apparently he lost- and Trix giggling a bit at his expense. Hari turned. They were play-arguing. They were smiling. They were laughing.

He could get used to this. He could get used to these two.

[chaoticentitywrites]

The Truth is Worse Than the Lie, Chap 2

Hullo, it's me again, I'm alive! Sorry this chapter took so long, been busy. One of the buildings where I work caught on fire a few days ago, so now half of its gone. No one was hurt, though, and I don't have to clean it now! Yay! Anyways, this chapter is really short, and ngl its mostly talking. I tried to make it do the emphasis thing, but I don't think it worked, so if anyone knows how to make it work, tell me your secrets. Please let me know if I should add any trigger warnings, or if there are any spelling mistakes. Any and all constructive criticism is welcome, and if you guys have questions, let me know! Enjoy, :::D

Chapter 2

Mr. Annoying Stupid Idiot

It took them about five minutes to get to the lake from where they were. After they got there, they decided to split up, Keefe and Fitz went left, while Tam and Dex went right.

          The first few minutes were silent while they kept an eye out for Rachel Elizabeth Dare, but eventually, Keefe broke the silence.

          “Hey look, a goose!” he pointed out, “those things are terrifying. Did I tell you about the time I got chased by one?”

          Fitz looked at it him, “you got chased by one of them? Why?”

          Keefe shrugged, “I think my charming good looks and fabulous hair angered it. I was just walking by one and it went after me! I think it chased me, like, the entire length of Foxfire before I jumped into a tree to escape it.”

          “Did that work?” Fitz asked.

          “Oh, no. Turns out the little terrors can fly,” Keefe said.

          Fitz laughed, “so, you got your ass kicked by a bird, that’s what your saying?”

          “What?” Keefe scoffed, “no, no. I totally won that fight. Seriously, stay away from them though, I think that one’s eying you with its eyes.”

          “What else would it be eyeing me with? It’s beak?” Fitz asked, still laughing.

          “You know what I meant!” Keefe said, laughing along with him.

          The two kept laughing until they couldn’t breathe. Fitz tried to catch his breath, but he couldn’t. He had stopped laughing at this point. He couldn’t breathe, and by the looks of it, neither could Keefe. Fitz looked around, and finally spotted what he assumed was the source of the problem. Two people in Neverseen cloaks stood a few feet away, one with his hands outstretched, like he was about to grab something with them.

          It was Trix.

          “So, you’ve finally noticed us!” One spoke, in a teasing voice, “nice to see you again, boys. It’s been a while. Taking a trip to the Forbidden Cities? Chasing some geese?”

          Fitz couldn’t breathe. Thankfully, everyone had been trained to hold their breath, but this was different. It was like any, and all air was getting sucked from his lungs, and from around him. From the fact that Trix was here, he guessed that was pretty accurate to what was happening.

          He pushed Keefe behind him, making sure there was a buffer between him and the Neverseen.

          “Oh, relax, little Vacker,” the same one said, “we aren’t here for you or Keefe. Although now that we know you’re here, we might have to expand the parameters of our mission. Actually, you might be able to help us with our little mission! You see, we’re looking for your brother. And Ruy, but that’s more of a side quest at the moment.”

          Fitz concentrated on Keefe’s thoughts, which was a little hard considering his lack of air making his brain feel fuzzy.

          Any ideas on how to get out of this?  Fitz asked.

          I can’t breathe

          I can’t either

Dex and Tam. Get help

          I can’t concentrate enough

          Imparter

“Hmmm, I suppose your lack of air makes it a bit hard for you to talk at the moment? I imagine its hard to concentrate on anyone’s thoughts as well.”

          Fitz nodded at Keefe, reaching for his imparter. Unfortunately, the Neverseen member noticed.

          “Ooh, an Imparter! Can’t have you calling for help, actually.” The man snapped his fingers, and the Imparter disappeared from his hand into the Neverseen members. “Trix, would you be a dear and let these two breathe for a moment? I would like for them to be able to give us any information they have.”

          Trix lowered his arms, and air rushed into Fitz’ lungs.

          “We don’t have any information on Alvar.” He lied, catching his breath, “but if you have any, I’d love to hear it.”

          “Oh, no. It doesn’t work that way! You give me information, then I take the both of you to Gisela, and you die, and Keefe does… whatever it is Gisela wants him to do, and we find our two defectors! Speaking of our two defectors, I don’t quite believe the fact that you don’t know anything about your dear old brother. I don’t really like wasting time, so you might as well tell me!”

          “He’s not my brother,” Fitz said before he could stop himself, finally catching his breath enough to find Dex’s mind.

          We’ve run into two Neverseen members. Trix and someone else. Could use a bit of help. Fitz thought.

          On our way.Came the reply.

          “Oh?” said the Neverseen member. “Well, that’s an interesting development.”

          “Who are you?” Keefe asked.

          “Oh me?” the man asked, “no one important, just some random guy, no need to worry about me! Although, I suppose you might want to call me something. I’m not very picky, so go ahead! Give me a name.”

          “How about Stupid?” Keefe suggested.

          “Nah,” Fitz said, “he looks more like an Idiot to me. Perhaps Stupid Idiot is a fair compromise?”

          Keefe nodded, “ah yes, I do agree, Fitz. So, Mr. Stupid Idiot, why are you looking for Alvar? I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

          “Oh, well.” Mr. Stupid Idiot said, “I was hoping for something a bit more mysterious. Trix, I don’t suppose you have any suggestions?”

          “Nope. I think Stupid Idiot suits you just fine. Or maybe, Annoying Stupid Idiot, on the account that you don’t shut up.” Trix replied.

          “None of you are any help,” Mr. Annoying Stupid Idiot said, right before Dex came out of the shadows and sucker punched him in the stomach, Tam right behind him.

          “Run!” Tam yelled, kicking Trix in the knee, “we need to get Keefe away from them!”

          “Couldn’t agree more, Tam!” Fitz yelled, grabbing Keefe, and running.

          Dex and Tam quickly caught up with them, but unfortunately, Trix was still awake, and that meant he could take their air away.

          And once again, Fitz couldn’t breathe. This time though, Fitz remembered his Pathfinder, and pulled it out, raising it to the sky. Now that the four of them were together, they could escape.

          He did, however, forget the fact that Mr. Annoying Stupid Idiot was a Conjurer, and as soon as he pulled it out, it was gone.

          “Ooooh, fun! I wonder where this goes!” Mr. Annoying Stupid Idiot was getting more annoying by the second.

          Fitz saw Dex reaching for something and decided to make sure Mr. Annoying Stupid Idiot was focused on someone other than him. He pulled out a throwing star, aiming for Trix. It quickly disappeared from his hand.

          Then a flash of light came from where Dex was, a Melder in his hand, pointed at Trix. He went down immediately, thrashing on the ground, and they could breathe again.

          “Oh, dear,” Mr. Annoying Stupid Idiot said, turning toward Dex, “that won’t do.”

          Dex shot the Melder again, just as Mr. Annoying Stupid Idiot snapped his fingers. This time, he missed. The Melder appeared in Mr. Annoying Stupid Idiot’s hand, and he walked over to Trix, conjuring a different Pathfinder. He leaned over him, then turned looking straight at Dex.

          “Well, that’s interesting,” he said, raising the pathfinder, “Until we meet again! Oh, by the way, I thought of a name! Call me Mania.”

          As the two disappeared into light, the four boys looked at each other.

          “Well,” Keefe said, “I vote for continuing to call him Mr. Annoying Stupid Idiot.”

          “Are you guys okay?” Tam asked, looking at Keefe and Fitz.

          “Other than not being able to breathe for a bit, yeah, I’m okay.” Keefe replied, “are you okay?”

          “Yeah, we’re okay,” Tam said, nudging Dex a bit, “right?”

          Dex nodded, staring at the spot where Trix was a few seconds ago. He turned back to them and looked at Fitz. “I don’t suppose anyone gave you an extra Pathfinder?”

          Fitz shook his head, “they took our Imparter too. Don’t suppose we have an extra one of those?” The other three shook their heads, and Fitz sighed. “Probably should’ve thought of that before leaving. Good job grabbing a Melder though, Dex. That came in handy.”

          Dex nodded, once again staring at the spot Trix was last.

          “Anyone else hungry?” Keefe asked.

          Fitz stared at him.

          “What? We just encountered a stressful situation, and now I’m hungry. Is that a bad thing?”

          “Rachel Elizabeth Dare is known to visit a café near here,” Dex chimed in, “they serve food there.”

          Tam rolled his eyes, “okay, let’s go get His Majesty of Terrible Hair Land some food so we don’t have to hear about it.”

          “Oi!” Keefe said, “I have great hair!”

          Dex smiled, and started walking, gesturing for the others to follow.

          It turned out by “near here”, Dex meant “about a thirty-minute walk away from here”, and that walk was spent listening to Tam and Keefe argue about hair again, so it felt even longer. But eventually, they reached a quant little café tucked in between two stores. There were chairs and tables outside, surrounded by flowers of all kinds, some bird feeders, and fountains. A few cats sat on the chairs, basking in the sun. The sign out front read, “Hestia’s Café”.

          The four walked in and were immediately met with the smells of human food, and Fitz had to admit, it didn’t smell bad. He spotted muffins, croissants, cupcakes, and many other pastries. The smells of food mixed with even more flowers inside, on tables and windowsills, hanging from the walls, they were everywhere.

          There was a counter a few feet in front of the door, where two people could be seen helping customers, and to the left, a few booths. To the right, some tables matching the ones outside. There was a window with a wooden bar and chairs so that one could eat while looking outside. To the right and behind the counter was a fireplace surrounded by comfortable looking armchairs, a shelf of books beside the fireplace. There looked to be a door leading to a bathroom to the left of it.

          A few people were in the café, sitting at booths or tables. Dex and Keefe went to get food and drinks, since Keefe was the hungry one and Dex had the money, while Tam and Fitz went and sat down at a table. The chairs were surprisingly comfortable. The two sat and talked for a bit, mainly about how long they should stay there, and how they could contact Mr. Forkle or Sophie.

          Dex and Keefe sat at the table after a few minutes, Dex carrying the drinks and Keefe carrying plates of food. They ended up trying everything, and Keefe and Fitz ended up switching drinks, while Dex and Tam kept stealing whichever drink the other had.

          Fitz ended up drinking a frozen hot chocolate, which tasted a bit like Cinnacreme, but colder, and not as sweet.

          And so, they stayed, mission momentarily forgotten, talking about random things. Until the door opened, the bell on the door ringing, and Rachel Elizabeth Dare walked in, accompanied by two boys.

[gontagokuhara]

my child is turning 5 and starting kindergarten today everyone please say congratulations. and also happy birthday kokichi

the first chapter of my danganronpa/percy jackson au is up! im super happy w how it turned out and im so excited to get this thing up and running! if you’d be so kind as to give it a read, i’d be very grateful!

😳 reblogs > likes 😳

[trixstriforce]

apparently? there was game data for if link KILLED the dragons in botw?!?! where they originally gonna let link just like what fight them? were they originally bosses or something like how the gleoks are??? how fucked would that have been if the idea was added back in totk given the light dragon’s...everything

[elsa-fogen]

AU Icy designs

I got carried away (as usual) and made an AU out of someone's post

about the AU i tlked in the Trix Cult btw, here's my post (it's kinda long)

Maybe i'll write a fic or draw a comic, i came up with the beginning (it's shared with one other AU that ends up in Icy's (and possibly other Trix's) death... but nevermind that, i was thinking of a possible rewrite and giving the Trix justice that would still end up with "the good always wins" theme going on on winx... also nevermind, i just came up with a plot for "season 8" and by that i mean the thing with bringing back dead characters and revealing Icy's "backstory", but if it was actually good or something, maybe i'll expand this AU as well...)

[randomimaginesideas]

In the end we're all alone (Valtor x reader) One shot

Summary;  You are Bloom’s sister, despite not being the keeper of the dragon flame, you are a strong fairy with passion in your heart. But fire is all consuming, and can leave ugly scars in one’s mind. But when you come across a person who knows just how to add fuel to the fire, can you resist or do you destroy everything you love?

A/N; Remember when I said that I would post a one-shot a couple of weeks ago in that same week. Well, it’s a bit later but it’s here.

Somebody asked me if they could request a Valtor x reader, and I said yes. I liked the idea, and that’s where this fic came from. To keep the surprise on what will happen in this one shot I made a brief summary. 

Trigger warnings; Manipulative Valtor, slight stalking, jealousy, open ending

Most people would be overjoyed when it turns out that one of their lost sisters returns to you after so many years. And don’t get me wrong, at first I was overjoyed. The day Faragonda had called me to her office, and announced that Bloom had returned to Magix. She had been hiding on Earth. Or rather, she had grown up there, unaware of the power she held, and the history of her family. Our family, and we are the only two left of Domino. 

Bloom was a few minutes older than me, making her the keeper of the dragon flame. Our big sister Daphne had saved us both when Domino was attacked. The difference being that she had sent me to Faragonda, knowing that the Ancestral Witches probably wouldn’t come after me since I held no real power. At least no power like the dragon flame. To hide Bloom from the witches she had sent Bloom to earth, a magic-less place. Faragonda sent me to live with a family on Solaria, knowing the family would take good care of me. My adoptive parents were kind and gentle people, who raised me as if I were their own, and told me, along with Faragonda, the truth about my heritage. And then it was time for me to go to Alfea, where a few days later I discovered my sister was alive. 

And like I mentioned, at first I was overjoyed not being the sole survivor of Domino, and Bloom was a nice girl, who accepted me for who I was. We lived comfortably, she had her own friends, the Winx club, and I had my own. But things started to go downhill very quickly. I am not a jealous person by nature, but when your sister becomes the center of attention, the most important person in the whole magic dimension thoughts will get the better of you. Because in the end, I was just the fairy of fire, nowhere near powerful enough to compete with Bloom. Everything took a turn for the worst when Bloom and I had to duel in a battle, to test our strength. She was able to easily take me out, her dragon flame consuming my own. It was until after the battle, and she had received all the compliments she had gotten that she bothered to ask if I was alright. 

I started hanging out with Bloom and her friends more, losing touch with my own. I just wanted to have with Bloom did, a close friend group who stood by each other no matter what, and maybe show that I was strong, like she was. The winx accepted me easily as I was Bloom’s sister, and a sister of Bloom was a friend of theirs. But maybe it was the fact that I wanted to be accepted, that I didn’t notice the distance there still was between the rest of the winx and me. That they weren’t really my friends. 

But even though I was jealous, she was still my sister. So when she was kidnapped by Lord Darkar I didn’t hesitate to offer the winx my help to save her. During the fight the Trix had been able to beat me, not without a fight, but even with my Charmix they had been able to defeat me. I had been separated from the winx, and saw my chance to flee from the Trix who decided they had more important things to attend to. That’s when I stumbled through Darkar’s library. The books screamed dark magic, but they also screamed power. The moment I had picked up a book I felt the power surge through me, promising everything that I was and could be. I admit, I was weak. The promise of becoming stronger, of being worthy of my sister made the decision for me. With a spell I had learned when I was younger, I transported multiple books to a box in my dorm room, which only I got open with a spell. It’s where I kept my most prized possessions.

The winx, and mostly Sky, managed to save Bloom from Darkars hold. That night, I snuck into the woods outside of Alphea with a book in hand, and tried out my first dark spell. It felt wrong, my body felt wrong, as if it was pushing me to stop trying, but I was determined, and when the spell finally worked the impact it had on the trees surrounding me was far greater than any other spell I had. And that was when the first seed had been planted in my brain. I could do this, I could become stronger than I was now. And so I practiced. 

***

It didn’t take long for another villain to rise up, and claim power over the magic dimension. This time it was a man by the name of Valtor, a powerful sorcerer, set on becoming stronger and taking over the magic dimension. He had escaped the omega dimension together with the Trix, and had taken over Andros. The Winx had made this elaborate plan to go to Andros and face Valtor, leaving Stella behind to create a diversion at the school. I came along, as Layla had always been one of the nicer Winx to me, and I didn’t want the same thing to happen to Andros, as it had with Domino. 

After traveling to Andros, fighting the enslaved mermaids, and finding out the Trix had escaped the omega dimension as well, I found myself holding my sister as the platform raised from the ground. Icy had attacked her in the back, the rest of the winx immediately started fighting her, but I flew after my sister as I watched her hit the water and I dived in after her. Water dripped down the columns of the ruined castle, as I assumed it had been just that, and from the edge a man appeared.

I had to admit that at first glance the man was a beautiful sight. He was tall, a lot taller than I was even in my heels. His long golden hair looked sleek and well kept, and he had this dangerous aura around him, tempting just like the books in the Dark Phoenix library had. Everything about the man screamed at me that I should run away, that he was dangerous, but another part, the same part that had made me pick up the Dark books, wanted to talk to the man, find out more about him. But his predatory gaze on my sister told me I had to hold him back. 

My eyes glanced in the direction of the winx, who were too caught up in battle to watch me, or Bloom. “Dark fire.” I whispered as I held out my hand in Valtor’s direction, as to not draw attention to the dark spell I just cast. A smirk came on the man’s face as he easily held out his hand and caught the fire ball, with purple flames, in his hand and extinguished it. “Nice trick, but I can do better.” Was all he said before he held out his hand again, and the same fireball came back at me, knocking me in the chest and off the platform. 

Musa was the one to get me out of the water, and was able to cover my eyes just in time as a bright light came from the platform my sister and Valtor had just been standing on. When the light faded we all flew down to the platform. I was glad to see my sister was safe and sound, even though I was jealous sometimes. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, but Layla was a different case. Valtor hadn’t only taken her planet from her, but her eyesight as well. 

***

Valtor watched, arms folded together, as he stood in front of his scrying orb. Inside he could see the image of the little fire fairy. It wasn’t the redhead who held the dragon flame, although he kept a close eye on her as well. No, tonight the object of his interests was Bloom’s younger sister. 

Valtor couldn’t say for certain if she was part of their so-called Winx club. He had only seen her once, and now as he looked into the orb he could see a distance between the girls. Standing off to the side of the room, leaning against a table, while the others were gathered in the middle of the room, lying on the couch in their pajamas. “We’ll find a way to get your eyesight back, Aisha. And we won’t rest until you will.”

“What are you looking at?” Icy’s voice caught Valtor’s attention, glancing over his shoulders to see the Trix walk in. They’d just gotten back from a mission he’d send them on to Andros to cause trouble, to let them give their new powers a try. Before Valtor could answer Darcy had made her way towards the scrying orb. “What do you want with her?” She asked, curious as to why the orb would be following the spare domino princess as she walked towards her room.

Valtor could see the remaining two sisters also look into his orb. “Yeah, is one domino princess not enough for you?” Stormy commented, which earned her a glare from Valtor, but also from her sisters. 

“Not that it is any of your business, but this little fairy caught my attention the last time we fought.” Valtor waved his hand over the orb, and in it came the memory he had of standing on that platform, the fireball infused with dark magic - indicated from the purple glow coming from the flames-  coming towards him. “A fairy using dark magic?” Icy asked skeptically, as walked closer to the orb. The memory fading, and going back to present time where the fire fairy had made her way towards her bedroom, and towards a chest on the foot of her bed. 

The four of them watched as the fire fairy opened the chest with a spell and proceeded to grab a few books out of it. She placed them all around her, and then grabbed a notebook she also had in the chest. It was clear that she was translating some of the ancient books, or writing down the spells so she wouldn’t have to transfer the whole book with her. “Huh, don’t those books look familiar to you, sisters?” Darcy commented as she glanced at the rest of the Trix. Valtor briefly looked up from the orb, before returning his gaze back to it.

“Yeah, you think this little fairy is a little thief as well as just an overall nuisance?” Icy replied. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Valtor let the orb some in closer, to see the contents of the books more clearly. He knew that the Trix had worked for Darkar before him, and that the temple had been destroyed. He also knew that the Winx were the reason Darkar had died. He hadn’t expected a fairy to take some of the spell books the Dark Phoenix had in possession. Spells he could very well use himself, if only to make sure nobody else had them. It did explain how the fairy was able to cast the spell she did. Valtor felt himself getting deep in thought as the Trix continued their conversation.

“I’ve never seen a fairy use dark magic with her own free will.”

“Desperate sounds more like it.”

“What, are you surprised? You know how much she wants to be like Bloom. Now she’s even turning to dark magic like Bloom did.”

Valtor’s head snapped up, looking directly at Stormy. “What did you say?” Stormy felt herself getting nervous under Valtor’s piercing gaze. Not sure if the look Valtor was giving her was because he was angry, or curious. She sometimes found his emotions difficult to read. 

“Uhm, she’s turning to dark magic like Bloom did.” If Valtor was surprised by that fact his face didn’t show it. “When?” Was all he asked.

The Trix continued to explain about how Darker had captured Bloom by using one of his henchmen to infiltrate Alfea. And how Darkar casted something he called ‘enchanted darkness’ over Bloom's heart, resulting in her switching sides. They mentioned how much stronger she was then compared to her now, and that the Winx only managed to get her back to her normal self because of; “ugh…friendship and love.”

As Valtor heard the story he watched the second living domino princess, as she was alone in her room, making notes of the spellworks while the Winx were still where they had been previously, all together. “Something tells me that won’t be a problem here.”

***

A couple days had passed since that day on Andros when I’d seen Valtor. Aisha had even gotten her Enchantix and eyesight back all in the span of a few days. Luckily all in time for the party that would be happening on Eraklyon. Even as a child I had been invited to attend some of the more high end parties, seeing as I was still a princess of Domino. The invite was more of a formality, as there was no Domino more I would have been representing. But now Bloom also got invited to these types of parties. Me and Stella had helped Bloom the first time she had to attend one of these types of celebrations, and how the proceedings would go.

Bloom knew that I would still get an invite to the party, and I suppose it was kind of her to invite me along when Sky dropped by to bring the winx their personal invitations. But I couldn’t help but feel the small sting that act caused me. Did Bloom really think that I wouldn’t go to the party if she didn’t ask me to tag along? Or did she assume I wouldn’t get one because she was the keeper of the dragon flame? 

I tried not to let my mind get the better of me regarding the situation. Bloom had a lot of things on her mind, perhaps she had forgotten that the two of them would have gotten an invitation regardless.

To keep my mind off the situation I had brought my notebook with me towards the forest surrounding Alfea. I had spent the last couple of days in the woods during nightfall. One of the new spells I’d learned let me sneak back into Alfea without Griselda noticing, so I had more time to study. Every time I returned from the woods I felt stronger, and I was sure that the next time Bloom and I were put together to duel in class I would win despite her having the power of the dragon flame.

I ended up in the open meadow a bit farther from the school grounds where I had been practicing almost every night. I pulled my notebook from the bag I had been carrying with me, and made it float in the air, pages open and on eyesight. Rereading the spell, and studying the drawings of the hand movements that I had made earlier, I focused on a nearby tree. “Withering fire.” Black smoke shot from my hands reaching the tree. As the smoke consumed the tree I could see the leaves turning brown, and the tree bark shriveling and falling off the tree.

“Impressive.”  Startled, I turned around, my hand still raised in the direction the face had come from. I found Valtor leaning against a tree, his arms crossed casually in front of him. “Valtor.” I said, keeping my hand raised. “You remembered my name. Impressive.” He replied nonchalantly, pushing himself away from the tree and sauntering towards me

“What do you want? The winx aren’t here so you’re out of luck.” I retorted, earning a chuckle from Valtor. His head tilted slightly to the side, as if in pity. “Is that what you assume of everyone? That they come to you for the Winx? No, my dear. I’m here for you actually.” I just looked at him skeptically, waiting for the Trix to arrive any minute and attack me. “Your little trick the other day caught my attention. It’s not often a fairy throws dark magic at your face.” 

“There is more where that came from.” I answered, proud that my voice didn’t betray the fear I was feeling. Because just as he had remembered she had thrown dark magic around I remembered how well he had been able to reduce her spell to nothing. “How hostile, and here I thought you fairies were all about love and peace.” He countered right back. I couldn't help the humorless laugh that escaped my mouth. “As you’ve perhaps noticed I’m not like most fairies.”

Valtor’s expression darked, a predatory smile coming onto his face. Goosebumps started on my skin as he looked at me like that. As if I was the prey who had walked right into his trap, and he had me cornered, just the way he had wanted too. “Funny you should mention that because it is exactly the reason why I am here.”

Valtor snapped his fingers, and feet started to get heavier like my muscles and bones were turning into stone, keeping me locked in place. “Hey, what are you,-” Valtor disappeared in front of me, and before I knew it I could feel his presence behind me but with my feet locked to the ground I couldn’t turn around. One of his gloved hands reached for my hair and pushed it over one shoulder so it was out of the way as he leaned closer and whispered into my ear.

“You impress me. A powerful fairy like you I could use by my side. Imagine all the things you would be capable of doing. You think you learn from those books you keep locked in your room, but I will show you what real power is like.” Along with the goosebumps a shiver ran down her spine. How did he know she kept those books in her room? Had he been spying on her? And if he knew this about her, what else did he know? Not about her but about the winx as well.

And I hated to admit it that his offer was tempting. She had seen the power Valtor was capable off and the possibility of him teaching her was very tempting. But I also knew that it wouldn’t last. The good would always win from the bad. And as long as she remained on the good side, she could dip her toe in the bad, even if just for a few dark spells. But if she would betray the wink, she would close that door forever. She would never fit in with them, and she would lose her sister all over again.

“No. No, you don’t mean that. You just want to use me like you use everybody else. And the moment you’re gone I will tell Miss Faragonda and the Winx you were here and they will get you.” Valtor laughed as he stepped away from behind her and into her view again, still laughing. “And what will you tell them you were doing out here? The truth? That you are secretly a user of dark magic, the magic that is currently destroying most of their home planets. I think you keep forgetting that the winx’s are Bloom’s friends, not yours. To them you are just an extra, a charity case to keep around.”

I flinched at this words, but I tried not to let them get to me. “They will see that I was just trying to protect myself, protect them.” I tried to reason, but Valtor just shook his head. “You keep telling yourself that. My offer still stands, but I think it’s time for you to figure out what you really want.” And with that he disappeared again, and the spell on my legs disappeared.

I sank through my knees, tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. Figure out what you really want he’d said.

“I just don’t want to be alone anymore.” I whispered crying into the dark.