#type: chaptered

[toomanytookas]

This universe feels very lived-in in such a gorgeous way and I love getting the opportunity to visit!

The way you've woven the lore and presence of magic is so much fun—from the vibe of the shop to Aunt Margot and her jingle jangle and PERCY to the way they take their tea and heal an injury. Every time I came across an aspect of it, I would get this little zing of delight because it feels very familiar and nostalgic in the way that it perfectly captures the vibe of the like... 90s modern magic type setting and yet is uniquely of this story.

Ezra's cat mannerisms are such a delight and the way you infuse his thoughts with elements of it along with his humanity is so wonderful. I adore how it contributes not only the the levity of some of his more snarky actions, but also to how he acts out his anguish.

You've established the yearn so, so well and I love how full of affection and trust and respect their relationship is even as it sort of compounds upon Ezra's guilt about of the type of love he wishes he could have...

My favourite section:

You treated him more like a pet than a servant. From the very beginning, you let him sleep in your bed, drifting off to sleep as you stroked his belly. Sometimes he thought you were the one purring. You talked to him.  Not just about magic but you shared your entire life with him. No witch had trusted him, called him a friend in all the time since he’d been cursed, not until you. 

Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 1

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: T (evenual E) MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old cursed witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), slow burn, yearning, soft!Ezra, probably anachronistic witchy stuff, love triangle (quadrangle?), reader is a millennial but otherwise not described, Ezra is a cat, he won't be forever, this isnt a beastiality thing, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 3.1k

a/n: This one is for all my Thackary Binx girlies. I've had some version of this story in my brain for years now. I'm very excited slash nervous to be sharing it with you!

Thank you @moonlitbirdie and @lowlights for the beta and help with witchy stuff. Thanks @tinytinymenace for suggesting the title and @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre for listening to me ramble about this.

🐈‍⬛

Connor’s mouth is on you before you can get your key in the door. He’s lucky he’s a good kisser because he spent most of your date talking about his music. You’re lucky you don’t have a guitar because you’re pretty sure he’d serenade you. 

“Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he says after you press him back. 

You laugh, triumph blossoming in your chest.

“At least control yourself until we get inside,” you tease. 

You hold his hand as you let yourself in. It’s quiet and dark now save the little reading lamp beside the faded, floral sofa. You’re relieved, maybe nobody’s home. 

“Cool place,” Connor says wandering in behind you. 

He’s taking in the details of your little apartment— a small kitchen tiled in green and an equally cozy living room. The attic ceilings slant with the roofline. There are pressed flowers and astrological charts on the walls, their frames outlined by the vines of overgrown philodendron. You pull him into another kiss so his eyes don’t linger too long on the books on your shelves, before he wonders why the spice rack is full of jars of belladonna and blackthorn instead of garlic and cinnamon. 

He squeezes your hips and your hands lace through his hair. Connor might not be the one but that’s not what you’re looking for. He’s exactly the kind of guy you won’t feel guilty about ghosting. Until then, he’ll be a good lay. 

He’s got his hand up your shirt when you hear your bedroom door squeak on its hinges. Out saunters Ezra, stretching out his long, black body like he’s just woken up. He was probably dozing on his favorite spot in the bay window.

“Hi, Ez,” you say, stepping out of Connor’s arms. Your cheeks heat, feeling like you’ve been caught doing something obscene.

Ezra brushes against your shins, a move that’s more territorial than it is affectionate. 

“Did we wake you?” you ask, scritching him on the white patch between his ears. 

“This your cat?” Connor asks. 

To call Ezra your cat as if you owned him doesn’t feel right. Even calling him a cat seems inaccurate. Ezra’s been your familiar since you were 18, passed down through generations of your family, but he was once a witch in his own right before being cursed to live in this form for 1000 years. 

“That’s Ezra,” you say, sidestepping the question entirely. 

 “Ez, this is Connor.”

“Hi, kitty. Pss pss pss,” Connor tries, crouching down to offer a hand for Ezra to sniff. 

Ezra does no such thing. He merely looks at him disdainfully, then his golden eyes shift to you with a look that says you’ve got to be kidding me. 

“Want a drink?” you ask, pulling Connor’s attention away. 

“Yeah,” he says. He takes off his jacket making himself at home. 

Ezra never approves of any of your dates and he isn’t shy about letting them know it, scratching up their jeans and hiding wallets under the couch. Once he left a hairball in a pair of new sneakers. As much as it drives you insane, you can’t be angry with him. It’s his job to not only be a companion and do your bidding but also to protect you. Now it feels like you’re bringing dates home to your older brother. Your older brother by a few centuries. He was turned sometime before the country existed. 

As you pour two glasses of wine, Connor slips his hands around your waist and his lips graze your neck. You’re already working up incantations for passion, whispering the words to yourself as he kisses down to your shoulder. The one good thing about being a witch is you can mask even the worst sex with a little bit of magic. Not that you have low expectations for Connor. There’s a promising bulge where you grind your ass back into him.

A crash rouses you from your reverie. 

“Ez!” you bark. 

Ezra has swatted Connor’s phone to the floor. He sits on the counter with a mild defiance on his feline face. 

“That’s ok,” Connor says, retrieving it and turning it over. “He didn’t mean it. Right bud?”

You’re not sure that cats can roll their eyes but Ezra does whatever the equivalent is before turning away with his tail raised to give Connor a full view of his asshole. He hops gracefully to the floor and retreats back into the other room. 

“Sorry. He doesn’t really like…people,” you say. 

“That’s ok. As long as you like me,” he says, pulling you back into his body. 

You laugh at him before you let him kiss you.  

—

“Should we go to the bedroom?” you ask. 

You’re straddling Connor’s lap on the sofa. The strap of your black, lace bra dangles off of your shoulder. 

“Huh?” he replies, as if he’s been roused from a trance. “Yeah.”

You chuckle to yourself. His lips are kiss swollen and eyes dazed. There’s a reason why witches are known to be seductive. Mortals can’t resist the magic.

You slide off of his lap and guide him up towards your room. 

Ezra’s sleeping on your pillow, curled into a soft little ball. 

“Wait here,” you tell Connor, depositing him on the edge of your bed. “Let me just—“ 

You scoop Ezra up and he lets out a yowl in displeasure. You take him to the living room, set him on the back of the couch and he blinks up at you, groggy and annoyed. 

“Exiled once again,” he complains, his human voice a silky southern drawl. 

“Just for a couple of hours. Can you stay out here?” you ask, your voice hushed. 

“Have I not suffered enough?”

“Youre right. It’s so terrible.” You roll your eyes.  “I make you sleep on the couch instead of the bed.”

“Two hundred and fifty three years in this feline form—“ he goes on. 

“Keep your voice down,” you hiss. 

“ —And the true curse is listening to you fornicate with a cavalcade of dim witted mortals,” he goes on.

“Did you say something?” Connor asks. 

You whip your head around to find him standing in your doorway.

“Not to you, hun,” you say. With a flick of your finger, he turns on his heel and goes back inside. You’ll have to cast another spell to rid him of any magical memories.

“I live here, too, little mage,” Ezra says. 

“Well, when you start paying rent, we’ll get a two bedroom,” you quip. 

“That little jest never gets old,” he grumbles. 

He leaps down from the couch and heads to the entryway. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, keeping your words as quiet as you can. 

“Leaving you to your debauchery,” Ezra says over his shoulder and he disappears through the flap in the bottom of the front door. 

—

In the morning, you wake up alone. 

Of course, you got rid of Connor as soon as you were sated. He asked to see you again to which you have a noncommittal answer. 

You’d expected Ezra to return, though. He might complain about being kicked out of bed but he knows nobody stays the night. 

“I only sleep with one man and that’s you,” you joke all the time. 

Each night you rest your chin on the top of his head, his warm body pressed back into your chest. It’s hard for you to fall asleep without Ezra purring beside you.

You linger for a while after getting dressed, sitting in the bay window and watching the leaves begin to fall. The apartment feels so empty without Ezra in it. It’s too quiet. That damned cat has two centuries worth of stories and you’ve heard them all ten times. You’re constantly begging him to shut up. Right now, you feel oddly lonely. 

Eventually you decide that waiting around for him is silly. You’ve got to get to work. Fortunately, you only need to venture down the back stairs and you’re there. Your apartment is in the attic of The Arcane Page. 

You let yourself in and you’re immediately hit by the smell of leather bound books, old paper, and the drying herbs Aunt Margot has hanging from the ceiling. The shop is packed so tightly with rows of bookshelves and oddities, it’s almost impossible to tell that this used to be a proper house. What had once been confined to the front rooms grew to take over the kitchen and sun porch, up the stairs to the bedrooms until the whole thing functioned as the store. 

The old Victorian is just off the main street that’s filled with quaint cafes, gift shops, and antique stores. It attracts all sorts— wannabe spiritual types looking for selenite wands, academics in search of rare books, and old ladies drawn in by the lush garden out front. Witches, too. The basement is full of spell books and strange ingredients, off limits to mortals. 

You hear aunt Margot’s jewelry before she comes into sight, Her gold earrings tinkling, bracelets jangling.

“Morning, dear,” she says, without glancing in your direction. She knows you’re coming before you arrive and not just because she can hear you on the back stairs.

She’s behind the counter in one of her regular linen dresses, dark hair streaked with silver falling around her shoulders. She pours from her porcelain tea pot.  

“Has Ez come down here?” you ask, glancing around the bookshelves to all of his favorite hiding spots. 

“No?” she says. She pushes one of the cups your way. Delicate and decorated with spell work, the scent of assam wafts up to your nostrils. “Percy, have you seen your friend Ezra?”

A little white mouse appears on the counter, paws clutching one of Margot’s rings. He scrunches up his pink nose at the suggestion he’s a friend of Ezra. Margot’s familiar has never gotten along with him. Despite the fact that one of them is a demon and the other is a cursed witch, the old cat versus mouse thing is somehow universal. Ezra’s threatened to eat Percival a hundred times, sometimes leaving dead chipmunks and mice at the threshold of the bookstore just to amuse himself. 

Percy shakes his head haughtily and then wraps his body around Margot’s steaming teacup. 

“He’s mad at me,” you sigh. 

“How come?” she asks, an eyebrow arched curiously. 

“I had company last night.” You put the cup to your lips as soon as the words leave you. 

“Let me guess. Another mortal.” Margot rolls her dark-lined eyes. She leans on the counter and sips her tea. 

You just shrug. 

“Then I don’t blame him,” she says. 

“It’s not the ‘50s. I can date a mortal. Didn’t you read Harry Potter?” you ask, knowing it’ll get a rise out of her. 

“You millennial witches and Harry fucking Potter. 

A mortal—“

“Killed my great great great great grandmother. I know,” you say. As if you haven’t had that fact drummed into you since you were old enough to walk. You decide not to mention how hypocritical it is that Margot dislikes mortals when she’ll happily take their money. It’s not worth it. The two of you have had this argument a hundred times. 

“I like mortals. They’re uncomplicated,” you tell her. 

“Uncomplicated? They’re boring.” She sets down her tea cup. “Have you ever been with another witch?”

Your cheeks heat at the question. Not because she’s your aunt. You’d tell her just about anything and, considering the fact that she raised you, she knows pretty much all there is about you. You’ve had plenty of sex but you’ve never done it with a witch, a fact that makes you feel like a virgin all over again. It’s not for lack of trying. There’s just not a whole lot of hot, single witches in your area. And while you’ve talked about going somewhere where the witches are in excess— Salem, New Orleans, Portland— you’ve always found some reason to stay in the Catskills screwing mortals. 

Luckily, you don’t have to answer Aunt Margot’s question because Percy squeaks and she says, “I know but she won’t.” Then she turns her attention to you and translates, “Percy says you ought to just summon Ezra.”

You frown at him. You could. A simple spell would compel Ezra to return to you but you can never bring yourself to cast it. Maybe if he were just an ordinary familiar, not a witch with his own desires, you might feel more comfortable using magic on him like that, but he has so little of his own. The least you can give him is the freedom to be alone if that’s what he wants. 

“You spoil him,” she tells you. Sometimes you’re not sure if Margot can read your thoughts or if she just knows you well. “He’s your familiar not your roommate.”

You finish your tea and put the cup down on its saucer. 

“You know what? I’m going to shelve some books downstairs,” you say. 

“Oh would you look at that,” Margot says, peering into your empty cup with amusement on her lips. “Maybe there is a witch in your future after all.”

She holds the teacup out for you to see the wet leaves have formed a clump in the shape of a heart. 

—

Ezra’s limping by the time he returns home. The sun has already begun to dip below the trees, painting the sky autumnal shades of purple and orange. Though he resents the idea he’s turned into a house cat, he’d much rather spend the night on the couch than have to do another in the damn woods. No matter how much it hurts. 

“Where the hell have you been?” you ask when he slips back through the cat door. 

You’re immediately kneeling beside him, concern cutting your pretty features. Shame settles between his shoulders. As your familiar, he has no right to disappear for an entire day. He almost wishes you’d punish him— dunk him in an ice bath or beat him with a hair brush like some of his old masters had— but he knows you won’t. You’re too good to him. That’s where he went wrong and fell in love with you. 

It happened slowly. You treated him more like a pet than a servant. From the very beginning, you let him sleep in your bed, drifting off to sleep as you stroked his belly. Sometimes he thought you were the one purring. You talked to him.  Not just about magic but you shared your entire life with him. No witch had trusted him, called him a friend in all the time since he’d been cursed, not until you. 

As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized this was more than just affection. You were beautiful and bold. And he couldn’t do anything about it. 

You’re off limits in every way. In human years, you’re not young but you’re practically a child compared to his 300 years. The bond between witch and familiar is sacred, a line even a witch as forward thinking as you would never dare to cross. And, of course, there’s the little matter of his being a cat. 

“I was getting really worried,” you say. 

“You requested solitude,” he responds. 

You sigh and pick him up, setting him on the counter. 

“You hurt your leg,” you tutt, taking his paw in your hand so you can examine his injury. 

He spent the night prowling the forest, anything to save himself the agony of hearing you with that mortal. In this self pity, he’d picked a fight with one of the feral tomcats that lives in the old graveyard. 

“This is why I don’t like it when you stay out all night,” you chide as you disappear into the bathroom. “Those cats are vicious.”

You return with a small jar of healing ointment you brewed specially for him.  

“I’ve walked this earth a cat longer than those mangey beasts. Longer than I was human,” he says. 

You begin by cleaning the cut, his fur now matted with blood and leaves. Your touch isn’t unfamiliar to Ezra yet he still wonders what it would be like to feel your skin, the softness of your cheek and plush thigh without a layer of fur in between. To hold your hand with one of his own. 

“I’m sorry I kicked you out last night. You’re right. You live here too. And I know you don’t like mortals,” you say, as you clean his wound. 

He’s let you believe that that’s why he’s so petulant when you bring your suitors around. Mortals have never been his cup of tea but he absolutely despises the ones that you bed, humans that have no business being with any witch let alone one like you. 

“They’re below you. You deserve a proper witch,” Ezra says. 

That’s a far more painful reality. Even if he were in the running, which he never will be, There are thousands of witches more worthy of you. One day you’ll find one and Ezra will watch you fall in love. With someone else. He’ll stay the same just as he has all these years, and be your loyal familiar even as you inevitably share less with him. He’ll watch you age and fade. Eventually, he’ll lose you entirely. Perhaps you’ll have a daughter that will take him on as her familiar but he can’t imagine caring for any other witch half as much as he loves you. 

“Come on. You act like you never seduced a mortal,” you say. 

The peppermint oil of the ointment tingles on his tender leg. 

“There was an art to such things in my time. One had to concert more effort than opening an app,” Ezra says. 

You smirk as you finish bandaging him. 

“I got you something. To make up for it,” you say when you’re finished. 

You glance towards the coffee table, a cheeky smile playing on your lips. Ezra follows your gaze to find a tray of take out sashimi waiting there. His stomach growls. Perhaps he is a house cat. He’d forgotten to catch himself dinner.

You bring him over and lift the plastic lid off of the container and Ezra sniffs at the glistening fish. It smells glorious.  

He wishes he deserved you. You know what he is, what he did to be convicted of such a harsh curse and yet you care for him like no other witch has. 

He swallows down the lump in his throat. 

“Is this tuna belly?” he asks. 

“Your favorite.”  

“I suppose I could find it in my heart to forgive you,” Ezra says though you’ve done nothing wrong. 

You scoop him off of the table, cradling him like a baby. 

“Easy on the wound, little mage,” he complains but secretly his heart swells. 

You laugh and kiss the white patch on his brow. 

“I love you, Ez.”

🐈‍⬛

Part 2

I'd love to hear from you! Don't be shy!

[psycho-pills]

A Second Life for Strays! ฅ (•˕ •マ.ᐟ sylus x reader fanfic // prev // next

౨ৎ⭑˚ RATING; 18+ (mdni)

౨ৎ⭑˚ PAIRING; sylus x afab!reader (not the mc)

౨ৎ⭑˚ SYNOPSIS; you are a soldier reincarnated into the world of love and deepspace, except you're not the mc. she still exists. despite looking exactly like her, you don’t act or sound the same. and to make things stranger, cats follow you everywhere.

౨ৎ⭑˚ GENRE/WARNING; angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, (mutual?) pining, eventual fluff, eventual romance, eventual smut, cursing, graphic descriptions of violence, blood, mental breakdowns, ptsd, death, isekai, reincarnation, cats/cat puns, mc is named serenophe to avoid confusion/reader is not mc

౨ৎ⭑˚ AUTHOR'S NOTE; a gentle reminder: this is written in third-person limited with she/her pronouns. only the prologue is written in second-person. i use the terms [name] [surname] instead of (y/n) (y/ln) because it's easier for me to write. also, i know this idea is kinda weird and outlandish, but i love cats and love and deepspace, so why not combine the two? ;v;

౨ৎ⭑˚ LINKS; ao3 // masterpost

ch. one — a cat-astrophic realization! ౨ৎ⭑˚ word count; 3.9k

Where… She thinks. Where am I?

Her eyes flutter open before immediately squinting from the fluorescent lights above. The constant beeping of the patient monitor spikes in sound as her heartbeat increases. Instinctively, her hand reaches to shield her eyes, only to stop short with a sharp tug. A flash of pain shoots up her arm, drawing her attention to the thin IV tube embedded in her skin. She grits her teeth and lowers her hand, squinting through the blinding lights.

Gradually, her vision adjusts. One eye peeks open, the other still closed in protest. She slowly sweeps over the room. As her surroundings come into focus, her heart rate steadies.

The hospital room is bathed in morning light that filters through the large windows. As [Name] glances toward the windows, long shadows cross the room. Outside, there's a breathtaking view of the bustling, futuristic city below. The overall view of the world is serene, completely unlike the storm of confusion in [Name]'s mind.

The room is comfortably sized. Modern yet contemporary furniture and pale grey walls accommodate the small space. Sleek medical equipment lines the side of the room, but there's a sense of luxury present. Crisp linen sheets, plush chairs, and a vase of fresh flowers on a side table. It's more like a boutique hotel than a hospital room. 

A soft beige blanket covers her body, and the scent of jasmine whiffs up her nose. An unoccupied recliner sits in the corner near the windows, perhaps meant for a visitor; however, the room is isolated. The medical equipment strap to her arm and chest drones on. The rhythmic beeping indicated the steady tracking of her vitals. A small monitor occasionally blinks, recording her heartbeat and oxygen levels.

As she begins to stir, her body drags her down. Everything feels heavy. Her limbs, her eyelids, even her thoughts. There's an overwhelming sense of disorientation like she's floating between worlds. Memories stir, hazy at first, but slowly they sharpen. One after the other, they trickle back—chaos, pain, death. 

Her death.

Her body feels sore, but her head feels worse. She remembers the battlefield. She remembers succumbing to her bullet wound. The sensation of death still lingers like a cold shadow. Yet now, with her eyes fully adjusted, she takes in the pristine hospital room, and it becomes apparent that something is wrong.

I'm alive. 

The thought feels impossible. Absurd, even. And yet here she is—breathing, heart pounding—fully conscious. It was like she finally woke up from a long, deep coma.

With more awareness, she takes in the room. Across from her bed is a small, flat-screen television, turned off, reflecting the room's dusky mood. Besides it, a small door leads to what she assumes is an adjoining bathroom. Everything about the room is carefully designed to be soothing, sterile, and impersonal. However, it's oddly welcoming in a way she can't quite grasp.

Her body protests as she fumbles to sit up, mindful of the tubes and wires attached to her arm and chest. As she adjusts herself, she catches a glimpse of her reflection on the dark, glassy screen of the television. With some effort, she leans forward to take in her appearance better.

Instantly, [Name]'s breath catches in her throat. She pauses. Her reflection stares back at her, but something is off. Her face is hers, but it's not. All of her features are the same. Hair, eyes, mouth, nose… However, everything is just sharper now. Clearer. Her skin smoother, and her hair fuller. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear she looks almost identical to the female lead of her favorite otome game. 

But that can't be right. Can it?

A chill runs down her spine, and her eyes dart downward to her chest. Panic flares in her gut as she remembers the battlefield, the bullet wound that should have taken her life. Slowly, as if afraid of what she'll find, she hooks a finger under the collar of her hospital gown and pulls it away from her body, expecting to see a scar, a wound, anything.

There's nothing. Her skin is smooth, unmarked. No bullet wound, no scar, no evidence that she has ever been injured at all. Her heart stutters in her chest, and the panic she's been trying to suppress starts to rise like a wave, threatening to swallow her whole.

"What the hell is going on?" She croaks.

Her throat feels dry and scratchy, like it hasn't been used in days. A rough cough forces its way up and makes her wince. She tries to settle her breathing, but it's no use. The confusion, the fear—it's smothering her.

Just as she's about to lose herself to the spiraling thoughts, the door to her room clicks open. She jerks her head toward the sound. A man steps in, tall and composed, his black hair framing his face in sharp, elegant lines. His demeanor's cool but professional. There is a slight air of authority that immediately draws her attention.

She blinks, and her stomach drops.

There's no way.

Her eyes widen in disbelief as she stares at him. It can't be. It can't be. But there's no mistaking the man standing before her, his confident stride, the careful way he carries himself. His gaze idles before settling back on his notes. She knows that face, that presence. She can practically hear her heart pound louder as the impossible claws at her.

She glances at the name tag pinned to his coat, just to be sure. Zayne. It's there, clear as day. The doctor with a cold exterior and a reputation for being emotionally untouchable. Yet beneath it all, there's a hidden tenderness. He was one of them: a character she had admired, the one whose storyline was as complex and fascinating as the others.

Her mind reels. Oh, my Gods. This can't be real. 

She blinks several times, expecting his face to change into something else, but nothing happens. He's still there, as composed and meticulous as ever. The exact character she once admired behind a screen now stands right before her.

The disbelief overtakes her. It's suffocating and all-encompassing. How can this be happening? She died—she remembers dying—and yet, she woke up here. Her body tenses. Her muscles tighten as the pieces of her situation fall into place, and realization sinks its teeth into her.

She can't breathe. It's impossible. All of this, everything around her, feels like a nightmare. A twisted dream she can't wake up from. There's no way, there's no way she's been reincarnated. And not just anywhere. In the world of Love and Deepspace, the very game she escaped into for fun is her new reality now.

"You're awake," Zayne says calmly, but verging on something more unreadable. Confusion? Suspicion? He takes a step closer, his gaze lingering on her face longer than a doctor's should. [Name] can tell he's trying to remain composed. However, his eyes hold hesitance, like he's looking at something he can't believe.

Slowly, as if worried she might vanish if he speaks too quickly, he continues, "I'm Dr. Zayne, and you will be under my care for the foreseeable future." His voice is smooth, but his words are cautious.

"And you must be Miss…" He pauses and glances down at the file. His eyes squint as if the name doesn't match what he was expecting. "…[Name] [Surname]."

She swallows, almost choosing silence, but her raspy voice escapes anyway.

"Yes?"

The word barely sounds confident. She's frozen under his gaze, trapped in disbelief. Zayne's sharp eyes roam her face, drifting down to her upper body. It's not the casual assessment of a doctor checking on a patient. No, this look—it's familiar. It's the same gaze she used to see when playing the game, the moments when his character's cold exterior would briefly soften during some of his bonds and memoria. Her stomach churns with anxiety.

What. The. Fuck.

Zayne pushes his glasses up, and his professional mask slips back on. He steps closer to the bed, his expression shifting, but she can sense the tension beneath it. 

"I'm just checking for any signs of concussion or physical injuries," he says. However, it sounds more like he's reassuring himself than her. 

He leans in, and his eyes dart over her face. He scans her features for any signs of bruises or swelling. "Given your condition when you were brought in, we need to monitor for potential head trauma."

[Name] stays silent as he gently lifts the edge of her gown at her shoulder. His fingers brush her skin as he places the cold metal of the stethoscope against her chest. His touch is light and purely professional, but she can't help but feel a rising discomfort. 

Zayne may act like this is routine, but she can see the tension in his posture and how his gaze keeps finding her face. He's trying to hide it, but she can tell—he's scrutinizing her for more than physical injuries. It's like he's trying to fit together puzzle pieces from different boxes.

The metal is cold and harsh. She inhales deeply without him even asking. Then she exhales, and the stethoscope leaves her chest not a moment sooner. He scribbles something down in his notes. Almost hesitantly. 

"Everything seems to be in order. There doesn't appear to be any visible scarring or physical trauma," Zayne mutters. A bit too neutral. As he steps back, his eyes idle on her a beat longer than necessary. "Regardless, we'll run a few more tests to be sure."

She gives a slow nod, observing how his jaw tenses as he adjusts the equipment by her bedside. He's trying to play it cool, but the cracks are there. Something is bothering him, and she knows exactly what it is.

He recognizes her face.

She looks too much like the heroine of the game, the one who's the center of this world's story. [Name] isn't supposed to be here. She isn't the main character of the game. She's something else—an anomaly.

Zayne frowns when he catches her staring at him. He quickly returns to his task, clearing his throat like it can shake off his weariness. "If you're feeling any discomfort, let me know. We'll have the results of your tests soon." He says calmly, but his eyes still carry that hint of confusion.

As he jots more notes on her chart, her mind spirals. This is far more than she expected, far more surreal, terrifying, and overwhelming. She never anticipated finding herself in this situation, least of all being reincarnated into her favorite otome game. But here she is, alive in a world she once thought was fiction. 

Zayne looks at her again, his lips parting like he's about to speak. His face is composed; however, there's a shadow of skepticism beneath. Yet before he can get a word out, the buzz of his pager cuts through the moment. Instantly, the room's atmosphere shifts and his posture straightens.

The hospital's overhead speaker crackles to life, the receptionist's voice urgent: "Code Blue. Code Blue. Paging all medical personnel to surgical room two, please."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he hesitates. Zayne gives her one last look, like he's trying to commit her to memory. When the voice over the intercom repeats the emergency, he finally breaks away. His eyes tear from her face with visible reluctance. 

"Please excuse me," he says with urgency as he prepares to leave. "If you need anything, Nurse Yvonne is down the hall." 

Without waiting for her response, he sharply turns and exits the room. His footsteps fade down the hall, leaving her alone with her racing thoughts. In his absence, the room feels eerily still, like the air is holding its breath. Then, the silence starts to eat away at her. The impossible truth digs into her, and something inside snaps.

In one swift motion, she throws the sheets away from her lower body. [Name] swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands—albeit too quickly. Her legs, frail from disuse, buckle beneath her. She stumbles, catching herself on the IV pole.

The cold metal anchors her as she settles down. Her muscles are weak, but determination propels her forward. [Name] drags the IV stand along as she shuffles toward the attached bathroom. Her steps awkward and sluggish.

Reaching the door, she kicks it open with the bare heel of her foot, too focused on her next task to bother with formalities. She lumbers inside, not even closing the door behind her. The thirst clawing at her throat is unbearable, a raw itch that she can no longer ignore. Like a starved animal, she ducks under the sink. She twists the faucet open and lets the crisp, refreshing water pour into her mouth. The liquid soothes her parched throat, the cool sensation spreading through her body as she gulps down as much as possible.

When finally sated, [Name] wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and turns off the faucet. However, just as she's about to leave the bathroom, her eyes catch something in the corner of the mirror—her own reflection. She freezes, seeing her face a lot clearer in the bathroom mirror than with the television's blackened screen. 

Slowly, she leans closer, her hospital gown brushing against the wet edge of the sink. Her breath catches in her throat as she studies herself. "It’s me," she whispers. "But… Different."

Her fingers rise to touch her face, to trace the contours of her facial features. [Name] turns her face left, then right, her brow furrowing. Despite the striking resemblance to the game's protagonist, there's something off—something that makes it evident that she's different. Something subtle but undeniable. She's not the protagonist, but she's dangerously close. It's like she's staring at a near-perfect replica with slight imperfections that make it clear she's an outsider.

A thought jolts her back to the present. Actually, she thinks, why did Zayne call me by my real name? If I look this much like the protagonist, shouldn't he have called me—

Her mind goes blank. She tries to recall the heroine's name, the one who should be at the center of this world, but… nothing. She can't remember. Her forehead creases as she struggles to dig the name out of her memory. Yet the name remains out of reach, like a forgotten word on the tip of her tongue. [Name]'s mind is foggy; that part of her knowledge yet to recover from her reincarnation. 

The blankness gnaws at her, but she pushes it aside. She can't focus on that right now. Her mind races to piece together what little information she has. Considering Zayne's reaction, he knew she wasn't her despite how closely she resembled the protagonist. That may be why he called [Name] by her real name instead. Yet this realization only poses more questions. How does he know her name? And, more importantly, who had brought her to the hospital? Zayne's words implied that someone dumped her here, but why?

Her thoughts swirl as she steps out of the bathroom, a little steadier now. [Name] is exhausted, mentally and physically, and all she wants is to make sense of this unfathomable situation. She heads back to bed, ready to collapse. But just as she's about to sit down, she stops dead in her tracks.

A plump tuxedo cat is lounging on the sheets. Its round face stares at her with a manner that borders on playful mischief. Its green eyes gleam with amusement at her shock. The sight is so unexpected that she blinks several times in a row.

"Um," she stammers, gesturing the cat away from the bed. "Can you move?"

The absurdity of talking to a cat doesn't even faze her anymore. After everything she's been through, who will judge her? She's all alone in this strange, new reality.

"Sure," the cat replies. High-pitched and child-like.

Her heart skips a beat. The cat just spoke. 

Like everything's normal, the plump creature hops off the bed and waddles to the counter. [Name] stills. Her mind struggles to catch up with the sheer insanity in front of her. She can only watch as the cat leaps onto the counter and grabs a clear plastic bag hidden in the sink with his mouth. The cat drags the bag out, dropping it unceremoniously with a dull thud. The contents of the bag spill out in front of her—her military uniform, stiff with dried blood around the breast pocket. The sight of the uniform jolts her, the memories of the battlefield flooding back too quickly for comfort.

"Change," the cat orders, his tone matter-of-fact. "We're leaving."

Her mind stalls. She doesn't move. She doesn't breathe. All she can do is stare in utter disbelief. It takes a moment before her body reacts at all. When it finally does, she starts laughing. It's loud and hysterical, almost tipping on sobs. She's dreaming. She has to be. It's the only logical explanation for everything. 

"I've officially lost it," she gasps between fits of maddened laughter, clutching her sides as tears sting her eyes. Suddenly, the room feels uncanny, like she's trapped in some B-rated horror movie. She crawls onto the bed with shaky hands, diving under the sheets and wrapping herself in darkness.

She shuts her eyes tightly, curling into herself and willing everything to disappear. A soft chant escapes her lips. Fragile. Desperate. "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up."

The silence that follows is almost palpable. Heavy. The only sound is the soft patter of paws on the tiled floor, growing louder as they approach. Suddenly, she feels the bed dip next to her head. The cat's weight presses into the pillow. Before she can react, the tuxedo cat tugs at the edge of the blanket, pulling it back just enough to reveal her face.

"Stop playing around, Human," the cat says impatiently. "We gotta scram before they find you."

Her eyes snap open, her heart hammering in her chest. The weight of reality—or whatever this is—crashes down on her like a tidal wave, leaving her breathless. 

"Who?" [Name] croaks out, barely above a whisper. "Who's coming to get me?"

The cat lets out a huff, a sound that might have been a purr if it wasn't laced with annoyance. "Do you really want to find out?" His tone is sarcastic like the answer should be obvious.

[Name] shakes her head slowly, her body unable to process the fear and confusion fast enough. She barely understands what’s happening, but something deep inside warns her that whoever—or whatever—is coming for her won’t be friendly. Sensing her resignation, the cat sits back on his haunches, his green eyes glinting with satisfaction.

"Good," the cat says with a slight nod. "The name's Spots, by the way. Not that you bothered to ask."

Another silence settles between them, until [Name] realizes Spots is waiting for her to get up. She stills for a moment, weighing her options. 

She could stay here, close her eyes, and hope this dream fades into nothingness. Maybe everything is just a product of her exhausted mind. A hallucination caused by trauma and stress. Maybe, if she holds on long enough, she’ll wake up in the real world, back to the life she knows. However, something tells her this doesn’t end with a simple waking.

The next best solution is that she could believe what’s happening. As impossible and terrifying as it seems, she could trust the cat—or at least trust that he knows more than she does. [Name] could just ignore the absurdity of a talking cat and follow him, because the alternative is facing whoever is coming for her alone. Zayne might return, but even that possibility feels unsettling. There’s too much confusion between them, and she doesn’t know if she could handle his reaction if he discovers what she’s beginning to accept: that she doesn’t belong here.

But Spots knows. He knows something about her situation. He knows what’s coming. And right now, that makes him the only source of guidance she has.

A frustrated heave escapes her as she finalizes her decision.

"Fuck it," she mutters.

Against her better judgment, [Name] slides out of bed, her legs no longer shaky as she drags the IV pole with her. She crouches down to pick up her clothes and combat boots. She glances back at Spots. He's swinging his tail lazily, eyes closed, a Cheshire grin permanent on his fluffy face.

Like ripping off a bandage, [Name] grits her teeth as she yanks the IV tube from her arm. The sharp sting makes her wince, but she pushes through the pain. She's quick to regain her composure. Without hesitation, she slips out of her hospital gown and into her military uniform. The fabric is stiff with dried blood, a cruel memento of her death.

But as she dresses, a disturbing thought begins to nag at her. If this is a dream, then… will she wake up back on the battlefield? Back in the grassy outskirts, far from the perishing city, fighting some meaningless war? Did she really want to go back to that? Can she even go back to that?

Her hand instinctively drifts to her heart, to the spot where the bullet pierced her. Her fingers brush over the dried blood. The hole in her uniform is the only proof of her last moments. She sighs and shakes her head, trying to dispel the unwanted thoughts. No. The mere thought of waking up back there—back in the war—terrifies her more than this new reality ever could.

Moving to the sink, she grabs a paper towel and runs it under cold water. Carefully, she dabs at the bloodstain, trying to clean it, but the water only spreads the mess. A frown tugs at her lips as she realizes her mistake. Spots hop down from the bed, noticing her frustration, and he is far too impatient to wait. He strolls over to her and stretches his paws against her leg, nudging her to pick him up.

Taking the hint, [Name] heaves and scoops the plump tuxedo cat into her arms, holding him close to her chest. Conveniently, Spots’ round body covers the bloodstain on her uniform.

"Ready?" Spots ask.

He gestures toward the closed door with his head, his green eyes narrowing to urge her forward.

Reluctantly, she nods and moves toward the exit of her hospital room. Her hand wraps around the cold doorknob, but then she hesitates. Frozen with uncertainty. Afraid of the unknown guaranteed outside this small, contained room. Her fingers still on the knob as she takes a shallow breath.

"Human," Spots purrs. It's a soothing rumble against her heart. "It's okay. Whatever happens, you have me now. You're not alone in this."

[Name] presses her lips into a tight line, reassured by the cat’s comforting words. Something about his presence, about his gentle confidence, calms her. It doesn’t make sense, but she doesn’t care to question it. Right now, she craves stability, no matter how strange the source. 

Without another word, she pulls the door open and peeks her head out. She scans the hallway. The sterile, quiet corridor stretches out in both directions. Unbeknownst to her, that first step beyond the door will set a chain reaction of events into motion, incidents and experiences that will shift the story she once knew, casting her into a role she never imagined playing.

"Here goes nothing," she whispers, stepping into the unknown.

ao3 // masterpost // prev // next

[sorryfucker]

my butchlander hyperfixation is still alive and well, so much so that i’ve SOMEHOW written a seven chapter fic about them

you can read the first chapter (a prologue, really) of “salvation’s paradox” here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62099287/chapters/158828605

[readingcherik]

I think I’ve seen this love before. by mapofyourstars

Mourning the loss of his wife and daughter while holding himself together for his three other children, Erik finds happiness in an unexpected friendship with another mutant father. This is how Erik Lehnsherr chases his newfound joy and falls in love all over again.

[yanderu-deredere]

swallow.

★ you don't know what the hell you drank last night but whatever it was, you needed to stay away from it forever. and you needed to get out of here. even if last night was the most perfect night in the world.

a/n: here's that next part that i promised ya'll and it's full of lore and i really enjoyed it a lot! it's definitely something and i hope you guys enjoy it! the next and last part will be out tomorrow so hope you guys are excited for that

like always, heed the warnings and hope you like it! not as smutty as the usual content! might actually be a bit sad...

part one (bite.) ★ part two ★ (chew.) ★ extras (bite and chew.) ★ extras (taste) ★ part three ★ (here) ★ part four (digest.)

pairing: poly werewolves x male reader word count: 2544

warning: bottom reader with male parts and pronoun, no explicit sexual stuff but allusions to what happened in the previous chapter

It felt like you woke up slowly and then all at once; you were vaguely aware of the things around you like the blanket over you, the body against you, the clothes on you, and then, suddenly, it hit you like a truck.

You bolted upright, heart palpitating in your chest, your eyes wide and your breaths coming in short soft spirts.

Then, you were looking behind you, still panicked, hoping everything last night was some sort of fever dream.

Beside you, on the couch, was Leonard, his fluffy hair a messy nest this early in the morning. His glasses were off, probably tucked safely away somewhere. He was yawning and rubbing at his eyes, looking at you all dazed and confused.

Oh, no.

"Wh-Wh-- Leo." You stuttered out before cupping your forehead, your head feeling like it was spinning "Please, tell me, last night--"

"You didn't fuck me within an inch of my life? No can do." Leonard didn't even give it to you slow and soft.

You let out a sound like a dying cat.

"What, don't tell me I was wrong about you." Leonard crossed his arms, looking angry at the fact that you were looking a little anxious "You said you were into guys."

"I'm into guys!" You snapped a little, your panic rising to something you couldn't control "I just-- I have a girlfriend! I hadn't even broken up with her yet! I cheated on her!"

Leonard looked a bit off-put by how you spoke to him; understandable seeing as your tone wasn't exactly friendly.

You wanted to apologise because it wasn't entirely his fault. It took two to cheat and, though he pushed you, you were the one that ended up caving eventually.

Before you could apologise, however, he just huffed and threw a pillow into your lap "Oh yeah, stellar girlfriend you have there! She hasn't even messaged you about where you are and she left you at the bonfire!"

You stopped for a second, confused, your anger dissipating as a nauseating feeling appeared in your stomach "How do you know that?"

Leonard seemed to realise that he made a mistake because his anger dissipated immediately too, replaced with an embarrassed expression "I-I--"

"I'm sorry he went through your phone."

Your head snapped back and you looked to see it was Mel with a tray in his hand. Behind him and to the side was Isamu with a similar tray in his hands too.

"Mel! L-Look, I-I didn't mean to!" Leonard snapped, turning his body away from you "I was just charging your phone and it turned on! There weren't any notifications so I looked through it and checked!"

"What kind of a pathetic girlfriend doesn't even text her boyfriend after he's been gone an entire night?" He continued, shaking his head, his tone absolutely disgusted.

"We wouldn't treat you like that." Leonard added, that disgust made way for a more sheepish expression as he finally glanced at you, hoping you would pick up what he was putting down.

You could, if you wanted to and, honestly, a part of you did. But you were scared to. So, instead, your eyes flickered to Mel, hoping he'd help you out.

Mel was just sternly looking at Leonard.

"Here, we made breakfast." Mel pushed the coffee table close with his shin before placing the trays down, Isamu placing his tray down right after.

Then, Isamu sat on the floor while Mel sat on the other side of you, the two of them looking at you expectantly, like they were excited for you to praise them.

The two trays contained four plates of waffles, each with butter. There was also a little thing for maple syrup and honey as well as a glass of orange and apple juice for each of you.

Then, if that wasn't enough, there were some eggs on the plates too and some bacon. It was a whole buffet, just for you. The cheater. The person who was going to leave them and go crawling back to your girlfriend.

You immediately felt bad "This is too much--"

"It's not too much! Especially after last night!" Isamu quickly interrupted you as he sat beside you, small smile on his face.

You felt your heart break a little bit in your chest but you knew you had to nip this in the bud or else you'd just end up leading them all on.

"I'm sorry, but last night-- I was drunk, and it was a mistake--"

"A mistake!" Leonard stood, his expression aghast like you'd just told him you murdered his parents "It wasn't a mistake! How could you-- Why would you--"

Mel held up a hand and Leonard immediately shut up but you could see that there were tears in his eyes that he was desperately holding back.

"I can see that there's some communication issues going on, okay, so let me just clear the air." Mel sighed, his hand still up like, if he put it down, Leonard would immediately pounce "He didn't mean it was a mistake like that, Leo, you know that."

"He just feels really guilty about cheating with his girlfriend, right?" Mel turned to you, that polite smile on his face not exactly reaching his eyes "If you didn't have a girlfriend right now, you would stay with us, wouldn't you?"

You gulped, your mouth suddenly feeling a little dry. You took a second to think about it. In all honesty? You nodded, cheeks feeling suddenly a little hot.

"You all are really great and I had a great time. It was really fun talking with you guys and drinking with you guys and the-- uhmmm--" Your voice cracked as you got even more flustered "The sex was really great, I swear!"

Mel grinned, that brightness finally reaching his eyes. He reached over and clapped a hand on the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin "Our darling here is just loyal to a fault, is all. Can we really blame him for that?"

Darling. You flushed even hotter at the nickname.

Like all the hot air was taken out of him, Leonard deflated, his shoulders sagging as he sighed "Whatever. Your girlfriend doesn't deserve it."

"You're right, Leo." Mel's hand on your neck fell and he used it to grab something. You realised it was your phone because he plopped it in your lap. "That's why he's going to break up with her right now."

You felt like ice water was dumped all over you.

"D-Du-Dump her? Right now?" You stuttered out as you looked to Mel, eyes wide and shaking fingers slowly taking hold of your phone.

You could see Isamu looking at you hopefully and Leonard smirking victoriously at you from the corners of your eye but all you could do was stare at Mel.

There was that polite smile again, the one that he used to cover up something much darker. It showed in his eyes; it was something predatorial, something that made you feel like a pinned insect, something that made you feel like you were in danger.

"I-I can't just break up with her." Your brain worked to find excuse after excuse, your instincts screaming at you to get out and run "I-I'd at least like to break up with her in person. She deserves that much."

Then, for some reason, you broke his gaze and looked down at your lap. When Mel sighed, you knew it had been a mistake to look away.

Instead of replying, Mel cupped your chin, his thumb and forefinger digging into your cheek a little bit. He tilted your head up so you were looking at him again and that polite smile that you were so wary of was gone.

Instead, it was replaced with that dark look he had that night, when he had Isamu in his lap. You felt less like an insect and more like a small rabbit surrounded by a bunch of wolves.

A bunch of hungry rabid wolves that wanted nothing but to chase you.

"You know we can't do that." Mel let the words out slowly, like he was speaking to an idiot or, perhaps, like it was hard for him to say "We can't let you leave for right now, darling."

"Wh-Why not?" You felt a zing of fear crawl up your spine as you tried to pull your face away from his hand. Instead of really succeeding, his grip on you just got harder.

"You have to understand that we just want what's best for you, darling. You understand that, don't you?" Mel spoke softly, soothingly, but the words weren't effective when he looked at you like that.

Like he could eat you without regret.

But, still, you tried your hardest to remember him yesterday, the way he took care of you and housed you. So, you nodded.

When you did, he let go of your chin and pulled you in by your waist, perching you on his lap.

As soon as he did that, Leonard and Isamu crowded close, the expressions on their faces akin to ravenous wolves.

It was like a trigger had been pulled and now there was something to how they were acting. You didn't understand it very well but you felt both scared and safe trapped in between all three of them.

"Why don't I explain while Sam and Leo feed you, hmmm, puppy?" Mel nosed behind your ear, his breath warm and causing your ears to turn hot.

You didn't think you had any say in it but you nodded for show anyway.

Mel looked thankful for that at least.

You thought that, when he said feed you, he meant like with a fork or something, However, Isamu and Leonard took turns ripping bite sized pieces off of the waffles and soaking them in syrup to feed you. With their hands.

You accepted them, even going so far as to lick their fingers feebly, since you felt like you didn't have much of a choice. And it seemed to placate all three of them too.

They didn't look as wolfish as before, that was for sure.

"You might not believe me but please keep your mind open." Mel sighed as if he'd had this conversation one too many times before "You see, the reason we can't let you leave is because... we're werewolves."

You stiffened in his lap. And not in the fun way.

Now, your previous wolfish comparisons felt like jokes.

Leonard snickered at your reaction, obviously amused before stuffing another piece of a waffle accompanied by a small piece of bacon into your mouth.

Mel was less amused and pressed a kiss to your temple "I know it's-- It's not exactly easy to believe. But, it's true. We're werewolves and you're our mate."

"It's why you can't leave. We won't be able to control ourselves if you try to leave." Mel continued to explain, his hand flexing around your waist as if just the thought of it made him angry or scared or something.

"It's worse for Leo. He's not had that much training." Mel hesitantly let go of your waist to run a hand through Leonard's blonde fluffy hair "His parents paraded him around in a circus. It took him a long time to find us. He hasn't had much time to learn control."

"So, what, the wolf--"

"No, not the wolf. Us." Mel immediately dismissed that thought "I know, the media promotes this idea that the wolf and the human are separate but it's not-- we're not two separate beings in one brain. We're werewolves. We're one thing."

"It's just that, when we shift, it's like being inebriated, you know? We can't control ourselves." Mel sighed, pressing his cheek against your temple "It becomes all instinct to try and help our shifted bodies to survive."

You had enough of this. You know you you said you'd keep your mind open but this was ridiculous.

Still, you supposed you owed them for housing you for a night and for, you know, hopefully eventually leading you out of the forest.

So, you gave them the benefit of your doubt "Can I see?"

It was their turn to stiffen and stare at you with shock.

"What, you seriously didn't think you'd tell me about werewolves and I wouldn't ask to see?" You huffed, crossing your arms and looking at them like they were the crazy ones.

Mel nodded like 'yeah, that made sense' but, when he looked to Isamu, the man shrunk back and shook his head like Mel was volunteering him for the War or something.

"N-No way! No way! I-I can't! I can't!" Isamu stuttered out, the panic obvious in his voice "I can't control it, not around him!"

"Well, Leonard definitely can't... You have better control--" Mel moved his hand to cup the back of Isamu's neck but Isamu moved away, shocking both you and Mel.

Leonard looked like you pissed in his cereal "That's not true! I could totally control myself!"

Mel shook his head, sigh ragged "No, you're going to end up hurting someone--"

You turned in Mel's lap and looked up at him "Why don't you do it?"

Isamu and Leonard audibly gasped and Mel looked at you like you'd suggested he cut off his dick or something. The grimace on his face would've been hilarious if it weren't for the fact that it was confusing.

"I'm-- It's not the same for me. I'm not like Sam and Leo." Mel tried to pull you back against him but you resisted, obviously displeased. "Darling, I don't want you to see me like that."

When they all looked at you like you were the crazy one, you just let out a loud noise of frustration "You get why I'm angry, right? You're telling me all of this unbelievable stuff and then, when I ask you to prove it, you won't!"

"You just keep making up excuses why you can't prove it! How can I believe you then?" You finally fought your way out of Mel's grasp, your phone in your hand as you stood, your face hot but this time with anger.

You were tired of being left to their whims! You were tired of letting them decide everything. You were tired of being scared of Mel, of being intimidated by how beefy and sexy they were.

"I'm sorry, but I just-- I think you're crazy!" You screamed, stomping your foot as a show that you were putting your foot down.

Mel looked at you sadly, like you were about to make the worst mistake of your life "Please, darling, don't."

Part of you felt like you were. The part of you that enjoyed them doting on you, that enjoyed their attention and their affection, that enjoyed the fantasy they offered you, wanted to believe them.

But the other part of you overtook that. The other part of you knew that these three were just crazy and you needed to wake up from this weird dream.

"If you won't help me find my way out of the forest, I'll just find my way out! Fucking keep playing this weird freak fantasy of yours for all I care." You stomped to the door "I need to get to my girlfriend."

Freak. Fantasy. Girlfriend.

Oh, no.

[watmalik]

Fic rec: YOU. YES, YHUGH! READ THIS NOW.

There are a lot of words in the English language, but not enough to describe how much I fucking love this ongoing poolverine series. Please send the author their flowers. Kudo the shit out of them and comment!

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Completed Chaptered AO3 Fics (5) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four

A Different Man (ao3) - RhenNuggs

Summary: Dan is struggling to find love, but it is easier said than done when all he has is a long list of horrible exes. He doesn’t know if he will ever find love. That is, until he gets invited to an unexpected party that may forever change the course of his life.

A Game of Life (ao3) - Koolhotsweetloveberries

Summary: Daniel Howell, an honorable member of the King's Knighthood, does not expect much from his time at court. All changes when the court jester, Philip Lester, enters.

Babylon (ao3) - ottertrashpalace

Summary: Just a little story about two boys realizing that they can make their own rules, and even if it's hard, they are worth it.

because we are fools (ao3) - queerofcups

Summary: He realizes it calmly at first, and then suddenly with more clarity. He’s in love with Phil.

But he absolutely cannot be in love with Phil.

Brick by Brick (ao3) - auroraphilealis (peachrayne), embarrassing_myself

Summary: No one said having an unmated Alpha and an unmated Omega living under the same roof was going to be easy, but add in a mess of feelings and desire, and things go from bad to worse. When Phil Lester asked his best friend, Dan Howell, to move in with him, he thought he could ignore his feelings and refrain from submitting, but with an oblivious Dan scenting him every other day, he decides he has to put a stop to it. Jealousy and misunderstandings collide to throw their lives into chaos, forcing both men to reconsider their relationship. Will they ever get their happy ending, or will prevalent sexism force them apart?

Burning Bibles (ao3) - cherryheartz

Summary: phil lester loved curly headed boys with tattoos on their arms and a joint made with torn bible pages between their soft lips.

and dan howell was exactly that.

Butterfly (ao3) - A_Million_Regrets

Summary: Phil Lester, a lonely writer, finds a dying boy with beautiful black wings on a cold, rainy night in a dingy alleyway. He recognizes the boy as one of the winged men hated by human society. They are considered to be wild, ferocious beasts, but Phil's sympathy forces him to help the boy.

What happens when the boy, considered to be a wild beast, gets too attached and follows him home with an innocent, dimpled smile?

Catch You on the Flipside (ao3) - Amorist (dead_on_the_inside)

Summary: Dan is holding himself together by the seams after running away from a religious cult. He has to ask himself why he keeps going, but deep down, he knows the answer already. It's the same answer it was long before his parents packed up and moved him to a thinly-veiled conversion camp in America—Phil.

Or, my excuse to write self-indulgent angst, because sometimes we need that.

Coffee by Chappell Roan (ao3) - danswideslit

Summary: someone on tumblr mentioned needing a dnp fic with the narrative from coffee and I felt inspired because I love that song a whole lot

Come along (ao3) - ottertrashpalace

Summary: In medieval England, a young knight rides north, sent to serve at the court of the quiet young Duke of Lancaster.

Deeper (ao3) - Scuddleduck

Summary: Inspired by the idea of "Pass Around Party Bottom Dan."

Don’t be scared (ao3) - danisnot3131

Summary: Before agreeing to go on Tour for Interactive Introvers, Dan is hit with the realization that he’s been in love with Phil for years.

I Fell For You (ao3) - TheWolfWithinMe

Summary: Dan's meant to be a good little Angel. Doing what Heaven wants. Following orders. Being the soldier they created.

But then he answers a prayer. From a certain blue-eyed boy so desperate for forgiveness that he's willing to die for it.

A fic about betrayal, freedom, friendship, love and that it's not 'where you're from' that matters but 'who you are.'

I try to picture me without you but I can't (ao3) - solarpower21

Summary: After Dan's tragic death, Phil starts having a bunch of strange dreams where he is still alive. But are they really just dreams?

Or: Phil's soul consciousness can't cope with Dan's death, so he starts hopping between different universes, trying to look for him.

Let Me Be Your Call Boy (ao3) - auroraphilealis (peachrayne), embarrassing_myself

Summary: After coming out as gay to his friends on his birthday, the last thing Dan is expecting is to be gifted a call boy as a present, let alone one that’s been paid for for the entire night. Allowing Phil to show him the ropes is his first mistake, paying him to come back every week is his second, and using him to convince his parents he really is gay is his third. As a successful lawyer, the money isn’t the problem - falling in love is.

life happens, coffee helps (and so do you) (ao3) - halfofacrackedbluesky

Summary: Dan makes friends with the barista at the local coffee shop.

Like a Bowl of Oranges (ao3) - cloej88

Summary: Dan has built a solid career for himself as a ghostwriter. He safely hides behind other people’s words, crafting their tales and pocketing the cash without any threat of notoriety. But lately he has been working on a book of his own, itching for a change.

Phil is an indie filmmaker who happened into some huge breaks over the last few years. He wants to use his influence to uplift queer stories for the screen, so he puts out an open call for story submissions. At his agent’s behest, Dan submits his story.

The writer!Dan and director!Phil friends/co-workers to lovers AU that we never knew we needed.

Live Incidentally (ao3) - yikesola

Summary: At thirty-two, Phil’s fine with this lot in life— manager for Printzoid, a flat he rents on his own in a relatively nice part of London, friends he sees at least twice a month for board game nights, an ex-fiancé he’s trying damn hard to get over, and a brother who means well even if Martyn doesn’t understand why Phil insists there’s a distinction between their father’s artwork being creative and Martyn’s music being creative and Phil’s novelty t-shirts being... not-creative.

A fic about adulthood and opening up.

Monochrome (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: When you build your life out of fear that your mental illness could worsen, it leaves little room for excitement. Luckily, Dan has found a space online where he feels comfortable.

My Sanctuary, You're Holy to Me (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Sister Daniel isn't very good at being a nun, but she's stuck living in a convent because she's got no other plans. The church needs a new priest for Sunday mass, and the responsibility falls on her to meet him for the first time. Will he see through her false devotion?

Sister Daniel/Father Philip convent au (Sister Daniel's origin story)

names of collision in the dark (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: Of enemy kingdoms, Prince Dan and Prince Phil meet one fateful night, leading to a surprising friendship that evolves into something more. As the looming threat of a major battle grows stronger, both princes grapple with their roles and the burdens of leadership, all while their growing bond forces them to confront their own kingdoms’ expectations and the possibility of peace in the chaos.

(aka the dan and phil royal au fic they wrote for the gaming channel but taken seriously)

Nothing Like a Storybook (ao3) - Merrydith

Summary: University Of Manchester, 2009

Dan Howell is an aloof loner and Phil Lester a well-known weirdo. In theory they are worlds apart, but a chance post-party meeting under the Manchester moonlight sends their lives spiraling and soon they find they have a lot more in common than they thought.

Origins of the Phass Inflation Post (Dan and Phil in Greece) (ao3) - EverythingIsAsItWas

Summary: Dan and Phil rarely take vacations just for themselves, vacations in which they make no content, do not work, and simply enjoy each other's company. Going to Greece feels like the perfect opportunity for this, but Phil also thinks it's the perfect opportunity for a video... and Dan likes being a little shit.

Ready Player Two (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: Their paths diverge for a time.

some killer queen you are (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Dan’s enjoyed taking a break from YouTube, but for some reason, he still feels like something is missing. Determined to fill the creative void in his life, he decides to try out something new: drag.

Someday (ao3) - philsdrill

Summary: “Everyone had a link with their soulmates, some could hear some of their partners thoughts, some had a tattoo that would appear with their partners name; for me, I knew when they got sick.” For a while Phil has thought that his soulmate might have an eating disorder and doesn’t expect to meet him in the restaurant where he works.

taking the veil (ao3) - buskingalbatross

Summary: Twenty-two year old YouTuber Phillippa Lester accompanies her Dad on his trip to fulfill a commission to create a piece of art for a family friend who is living a monastic life in an abbey in the south of England. Angry at her parents and lacking other plans, eighteen-year old Dan Howell tags along with her grandma on an annual, summertime trip of her own: a two week secluded religious retreat at the same abbey.

The Phat (ao3) - gaydreaming

Summary: When Dan and Phil find an abandoned cat on a late-night walk to Dominos, Dan insists that they aren't going to keep him. After all, they know nothing about taking care of a pet. Dan will have the self control to put his foot down when faced with both Phil's big eyes and the cat's, right? ...Right?

Time is on our side (ao3) - Mysticallykai

Summary: In 2010, AmazingPhil decided to make a video trying to time travel. He ends up meeting his boyfriend Dan in the year 2023 as well as himself, and he has a lot of questions.

voice on the wind (ao3) - CapriciousCrab

Summary: A life-changing injury leaves a desperate musician looking for a miracle. He finds it in the company of a Fae muse, but at what cost?

what, like it's hard? (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: title, obviously, from legally blonde

You are Not Sleeping on The Goddamn Floor (ao3) - pepelovesme

Summary: Dan and Phil's 2009 meeting reimagined. Dan is curious, they talk sexuality. Smut ensues.

[nearingdawn]

Crow: The legend of the Creekside killer

You can read it here 👉 Crow: The legend of the Creekside killer

This story is a collaboration between me and Max, with the moodboard and featured illustrations made by Thundermasters. It’s also loosely inspired by Ana’s lovely art and concepts, of course.

While this is a more wholesome take and Ian and Anthony are neither killers nor psychopaths in this version, they still start off as deeply broken and depressed individuals —so please be mindful of the heavy angst and tags.

[moonsunarchive]

where'd you learn that?

Author: renniewren

Rating: explicit

Setting: college/university

Wordcount: 126,252

Summary:

Prince Park Jimin is flunking his math class. Royally. And since failing means not graduating on time and embarrassing his family (again), Jimin is driven to seek the help of his sworn enemy: STEM genius-slash-recluse, Jeon Jungkook. To his surprise, Jungkook offers to tutor Jimin, but he wants one thing in return—Min Yoongi. And to better his chances, the inexperienced Jungkook wants Jimin to guide him in all things dating and intimacy. Desperate, Jimin agrees. But their deal (and the idea of delivering Jungkook to someone else) gets tricky when Jimin realizes a jarring truth: Jungkook isn’t all that bad. Not at sex, or flirting. Or at being naturally charming. …or at making Jimin fall head over heels for him. It’s kind of a problem.

Comment: PERFECT. Sweet, funny, perfectly paced, with characters to die for.

[ateezlibrary]

what it takes. (chapter 1/?)

summary: following your mother's passing, the king scrambles to retain power in the kingdom of goseon by ensuring that you are arranged a suitor and wed within a week's time. little does he know, your heart belongs to another that is considered unworthy. how will you navigate a broken heart, an immense loss, and a newfound … friendship, is it?

members: wooyoungxreade, with mentions of past yunhoxreader

word count: 2,030

genre: ateez royalty/fantasy au, angst, unrequited love, forbidden love, unexpected enemies to lovers

notes: also cross-posted on ao3 (babysnooby). kicking off with the prologue of a chaptered fic! will be more wooyoung-centric as we go, but an angsty yunho moment. :-(

prologue.

“Your Highness, which of the fabrics are you most drawn to?”

“Hm—?” You raise your nose from the book nestled between your fingertips, pages tattered and turned at the edges. Handmaidens bustled around you, hurriedly scurrying from one end of the grand hall to the next as they joined the palace staff in arranging the decorations for the next day.

Your eyes gloss over the decadent draping that slides down slick marble walls, the florals being hauled in bucket after bucket to crawl the pillars alongside vines. It was a beautiful sight, more than you could have ever dreamed for your wedding to be.

“Your Highness?” the handmaiden repeats gingerly, nudging both fabrics in her hands towards you in emphasis.

You look between the soft sage and the ivory, barely registering the colors before gesturing to her left hand.

“The ivory,” you reply simply, setting aside your book with a sigh before feigning a smile. “I think it would look lovely in the afternoon sun.”

As she returns to her duties, you glide across the polished marble floors to the far end of the hall where late afternoon sun billowed through grand windows. Lavender and gold trail behind you, the fabrics coming to a halt far beyond your ankles in a long trail of silk. In the gardens below, you chuckle at the young stable boys running through hedge mazes with gleeful threats of catching one another.

A handmaiden runs after them, losing her own footing in the maze and tumbling into a nearby shrub. The sight makes you burst into a fit of laughter, the first that’s left you since you’d found out about … well, about the arrangement.

* * *

“You asked to see me, Father?” you call as you enter the throne room, royal guards posted at each end of its perimeter.

The elder man sits in his gilded throne, fingers clasped around the velvet and oak arms as he peers down at you. An equally opulent crown sits atop his head, the gems embedded in the center nearly blinding you in the morning sun as you shuffle down the rugs at the center of the room.

“Hello, my dear,” he chirps back, though there is a noticeable weariness in his voice that slows your pace. “Thank you for joining me.” You come to a stop at his throne’s feet, a customary curtsy following soon after. You look at him with bright eyes, failing to understand why his mirror yours with an immense dread.

“What’s wrong?” you ask immediately, wasting no time in calling upon his iffy demeanor.

“I—Why must something be wrong for me to call you?” he stammers, tripping over his words.

“Because you never summon me to the throne room unless someone is dead. Or dying,” you add, crossing arms over your chest with an arched brow.

“I—” The king pauses, choosing his next words carefully as his voice lowers. His gaze shifts to the men stationed around the room, a silent order for them to leave you two in privacy as they shut the grand oak doors behind them.

“My dear, I have a grave favor to ask of you.” You nod once, ignoring the quickening of your heart in anticipation.

“Do you love this kingdom?”

“Of course I do,” you answer nearly instantly, furrowing your brows in confusion.

“And you understand that with loving a kingdom comes a great sense of responsibility towards your kingdom.”

“Of course I do,” you repeat.

“I am not getting younger,” your father begins, sinking into the velvet of his chair with a weary sigh. “And after your mother’s death, I fear for this kingdom’s lack of an heir.”

You glower but remain silent. The Kingdom of Goseon held a longstanding patriarchal tradition and refused you a claim to the monarchy without a rightful husband. You fought tooth and nail against the custom, even before your mother’s passing, to no avail. It took years of accepting the defeat and a great deal of mental preparation, yet the expectation still hit you like deadweight.

“I wish to have you wed in a week’s time.”

“A week?” you scoff, anger pricking beneath your skin. “I’ve spent longer time deciding what to wear to balls than I am to choose a husband.”

“No matter,” he replies coolly. “That’s why I’ve taken the liberty alongside the royal council to choose a suitor for you.”

“You must be joking.” Your father was a stickler for tradition, but allowed you even the most limited freedom.

At least, until now.

“This is a duty to your country,” the king orders. “Goseon requires a strong lineage to advance into the next century with the type of power we have in these lands. I cannot wait longer.”

“Is that all I am to you?” Your voice is barely a whisper, yet it still cracks as you look up to your father with tear-brimmed eyes. “A vessel to bear your next heir?”

“I cannot fight tradition. And I cannot let our people suffer.”

“Yet, you can let me suffer.” The king calls your name with a sigh before you cut him off, turning away from him and heading for the doors at the far end.

“I will do what it takes for our people. Not for you, but for our people.” * * * Seven hours.

From the pocket watch that dangled off of the string of pearls nestled at your waist, you could tell it had been seven hours since the life-altering conversation with your father. With your king.

Seven hours since you had escaped to the neighboring woods at the edge of the palace grounds, your horse neatly tied to a tall pine tree as your sobs dissolved into the forest air. You watched as the sun slowly crept towards the lands in the west, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you sobbed and sinked further into the soil.

“My love.”

You gasp at the familiar voice, grappling with the fabrics settled around you as you ran into your lover’s arms. His familiar scent of cypress and sandalwood envelop you as you sob into his chest, his grip tightening around your waist.

“You received my note,” you sob in between gasps of air. His hand creeps to the small of your back, rubbing in soft, gentle circles. “Yunho, I am so sorry.”

You pull away just enough to meet his gaze. Though his features were unusually rigid, you could see the heartbreak in his eyes as he looked down at you in silence. The tailored fabrics of his noble robes whipped behind him in the wind, intertwining ever-so-often with the lavender of your gowns.

“You did absolutely nothing wrong,” he replies softly, the weight of defeat injecting his tone. “You are doing what this kingdom needs. You are going to be a remarkable queen.”

“But who am I, if not with you?” you sob, burying your face into his chest once more.

His warmth continued to cloak you as you sunk back onto the earth, his long legs folding as he found a seat beside you. For just over a year, you’d found solace in Yunho. He was one of your mother’s closest royal guards, young but remarkable enough to protect the kingdom’s most precious jewel. After her passing, Yunho’s duties had transitioned from the queen to safeguarding the princess.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, months turned to nearly a year. What began as customary oversight of your every move turned into a confidante for escapades to the kitchen at night, a secret-keeper for your trips to the neighboring woods and bubbling brooks. Yunho was strict, unwavering in his duties to the crown and his sworn oath to protect you.

All it took was one night of too much mulled wine and confinement to your chambers after a heated argument with your father for your confessions to Yunho to spill over. Ever the gentleman, he still ensured you made it to bed safely and had plenty of water and dried fruit the next morning to nurse your headache. But, something shifted that day.

Yunho became more forward in his time with you. The occasional compliment, the sheepish glances when he was at attention in the throne room beside your father for court sessions.

“Have you ever been in love?” he’d asked one day, his question out of genuine curiosity.

“I don’t think so,” you’d confessed, mulling over the question intently. “You may be the closest thing I’ve ever had to someone I truly love that isn’t my family.”

“But you have so many friends, so many allies,” Yunho had remarked, pointing out your royal crowd from neighboring kingdoms and the like.

“They are wonderful,” you’d remarked. “But they are not here when I am crying myself to sleep. They are not here when I am running through these forests, free to breathe in fresh air and feel the earth between my toes. They are not here to—” You’d stopped yourself, your cheeks flushed before continuing with your suggestion.

“To…?” Yunho had teased, closing in on you against the bark of a towering cypress tree with a gentle laugh. Your cheeks grew rosier, your gaze meeting the ground before he lifted your chin with a finger. “Tell me, princess.”

And now, in the same forest he’d held you and kissed you and danced with you, he was nursing your heartbreak. For you, for him.

“I am so sorry,” you wail, the sound carrying through the forest as the sun continued to creep below the earth. Yunho sighed, his hands unmoving from around your waist as he pressed a gentle kiss to your hair.

“It’s not your fault I was not born noble enough,” he scolds softly, a painful smile gracing his lips as he brushes a thumb across your cheeks to wipe the tears that cascaded down your face. “Else, these may have been tears of joy.”

“I am so sorry,” you whisper, unsure of what else to say to convey the absolute gut-wrenching pain that settled in your core. You look up at Yunho, his own eyes glittering with tears that refused to fall. He gives you another smile that sends you into another fit of sobbing, knowing that he was struggling to stay strong to console you.

“I wish it could have been you.”

“Hey, look at me,” he chides, pressing a palm to your cheek. “It will always be you. In this lifetime and the next. No matter who is beside you when you ascend that throne. I am sworn to protect you. Love just happened to become a part of the deal that I was unaware of.”

You shake your head silently, blinking through the tears settled at your waterline.

“I am sure that whoever is expected to be our next king, will be an incredible gentleman that will make you feel like the luckiest woman in the world. Only, he won’t have to hide it from the world.” Yunho presses a despondent kiss to your lips, cradling your face between his hands.

The warmth that thrums against your veins pushes you further into his embrace. You wrap your arms around the neck of the man you love, the man that saved you from solitude. His hands tighten at your waist, fabric cinched between his fingertips as he brings you closer to him. It’s not a moment later that he pulls himself away, sorrow dripping from his words as he looks down at your obvious dejection.

“We should return.”

* * *

“Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

Your eyes bore into Yunho’s beside the wedding party seated at the front of the attendees. He was dressed in emerald and gold, the kingdom’s colors, in the finest royal guard garb. His dark hair swept just above his brow, his eyes darkened as they met yours in utter defeat.

You barely register any of the guests and the man standing beside you at the front of the hall.

Looking at Yunho, you utter a final, “I will.”

[paillard]

Let's say the fic is 14k+ (maybe a max of 20k, maybe less). Which would you prefer reading? One big story uninterrupted, or that same story broken up into bite size pieces?

[toomanytookas]

This chapter is such an interesting exploration of guilt and punishment and notions of justice, and I really love how it all interplays with Ezra's feelings and his relationship with his little mage.

The contrast of the witchy joy of their night and his sense of loss and missing out is so beautifully illustrated through the narration of not only his thoughts but the way that she sees him and thinks about how he has been punished. It's so interesting to hear her reflections on what it means for her to be playing a role in that punishment and to have that power over him, even if the way she treats him is centred in her viewing him as human first and foremost and therefore deserving of dignity and respect. I'm so in love with her stance on things and the fact that her love for Ezra exists alongside her understanding of how he came to be in this situation.

They care so, so much for each other and it really truly comes through in how they are both processing what happened and the reasons why they each are feeling such a chasm between them at the moment.

I love the flashes we get of their history, too. Their spot by the stream (not a river, fuck rivers lol). This in particular was just so gorgeously achy:

You’ve got a big heart, little mage,” he said.  You choke up at the memory, unsure if Ezra would ever think that again. You certainly wouldn’t say it about yourself today. 

Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 2

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: T (evenual E) MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old cursed witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), alcohol, jealousy, angst, slow burn, yearning, probably anachronistic witchy stuff, love triangle (quadrangle?), Ezra is a cat, he won't be forever, this isnt a beastiality thing, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 3.4k

a/n: Thank you to everyone that read part 1!! I'm so pleased that you're enjoying it so far! I really would've liked to let this part simmer a little longer but I'm holding myself to this publishing schedule. It's time to yeet this into the world. I'd love to know what you think. Your comments and reblogs give me so much joy!

Thank you @lowlights for the beta and help with witchy stuff. Thank you @moonlitbirdie @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre for listening to me bitch about this and supporting me always.

“Don’t you look nice,” Aunt Margot says. 

You’re putting the finishing touches on your make up in the Page’s office. Usually you’d go back upstairs but you don’t feel like hearing it from Ezra.  

“Thanks. I have a date,” you say, packing your mascara in your purse. 

“Oh,” she replies, not hiding her disappointment in the slightest. 

You hadn’t intended to see Connor again but when he texted you, you couldn’t think of a good reason not to. He invited you to his place to check out his vinyl collection which sounds like an insufferable version of Netflix and Chill but you have no plans to listen to a single record. You just want to fuck in his bed and avoid any drama with Ezra. 

“Well I hope you’ll put as much effort in for the equinox,” she says. She flips the sign in the door from open to closed then snaps her fingers to turn off the overhead lights. 

You and Margot host the coven for the equinox each year which already means extra preparations in addition to work at the bookshop. 

“Why would I do that?” you ask. You don’t wear make up for moon rituals, don’t wear much of anything at all. 

“Esme is bringing River,” she says with a casual shrug. 

“No” you groan. 

“He’s visiting from Ireland,” she tells you. 

The last time you saw Esme’s grandson you were both in high school. River was built like a string bean, his upper lip dusted with the saddest mustache— if you could even call it that. He reeked of some badly brewed potion that was supposed to attract lovers. You still gagged when you smelled licorice root. 

“Good for him,” you say. “Please do not set me up with River.”

“I’m not a matchmaker, dear. I’m just trying to expand your sexual horizons,” Margot replies. 

Suddenly, Connor’s vinyls don’t sound so bad after all. 

—

Ezra pads through crystals and altar bells. Everything’s been laid out on Aunt Margot’s paisley scarves— scrying bowls and athame blades and jars of rain water all waiting to be charged by the moon of the autumn equinox. 

It’s just after midnight and the witches of your coven are gathered in a small clearing far enough into the woods that stray mortals won’t stumble upon them. The air smells fresh and cold like mountain spring water. A bonfire crackles, layered with herbs and pine needles. 

The waning moon feels heavy and close like it might just fall out of the sky and nick Ezra’s ear. It makes him feel uneasy. Then again, it’s hard to enjoy these rituals when he can’t participate the way he once did. 

Ezra watches you offer mulled wine to Esme and River, steaming cups scented with cinnamon balanced on an antique silver tray. You look beautiful in your simple white dress. It glows in the moonlight and he can see your body silhouetted beneath the fabric of its long skirt by the fire. 

He’s never cared much for Esme but, then again, he doesn’t have many kind words for any of the Elders even if the ones that cursed him are long dead. Even if he deserved that curse. She wears her long hair coiled on top of her head, a jade hair pin perched in its nest the same way her familiar, a tired old owl, watches from the branch of one of the trees. 

Ezra’s attention isn’t with Esme tonight. He’s keeping a close eye on her grandson. 

“He totally sucks. Please don’t leave me alone with him,” you’d implored. 

Ezra would be wary of him whether or not you’d asked. River is nothing like how you’ve remembered him to Ezra. He must’ve done a lot of growing up since your last encounter. Tall and lean with thick waves of auburn hair. He’s the kind of witch that even Ezra would have taken to bed when he was human. 

He sees the way River looks at you, watches him turn the charm on as he smiles. River’s eyes travel down your body and Ezra knows exactly what he sees. Waves of hot jealousy consume Ezra from nose to tail. For a moment, he worries he’ll get another thousand years added on to his sentence. 

After some small talk, Esme wanders away and that's Ezra’s cue. He slinks up between you and River, rubbing up against your legs to let you know he’s ready to bail you out. 

River swallows his drink with a chuckle. 

“That tastes just how I remember it. Me and Moss used to sneak glasses of Ariadne’s mulled wine when we were thirteen,” he explains. 

“Me too. Although I’m pretty sure Margot knew,” you say with a laugh. 

“Little mage, you asked me to fetch you when the oils were ready,” Ezra says. 

“Oh,” you say, throwing a self conscious smile at River. “I’ll go in a minute, Ez.”

“Margot could use your assistance,” Ezra adds. 

“Why don’t you go help her and I’ll be there soon,” you suggest.

Ezra can’t help but glare up at River. 

“Would that I had opposable thumbs,” he responds. 

You laugh. River doesn’t. You crouch down and glide your hand down Ezra’s spine.

“It’s okay, Ez. I’m good,” you tell him and you wink at him.

His blood turns molten as you turn back to River and continue your conversation. He wants to hiss and claw at him, draw blood. It feels like you’re slipping through his fingers not that he ever held a claim. Not that he even has fingers anymore. He’s completely powerless, standing at your feet like the dumb animal he is.

Rather than watch you moony over River, Ezra turns away and slinks off to the edge of the gathering to sulk. The fire’s warmth doesn’t quite reach and he presses back his ears to stave off autumn’s chill. He can’t run off into the woods the way he’d like to, not without raising questions from the other witches, make you look like you can’t control your familiar.

He can’t stop his eyes from wandering back to you. Your head thrown back in laughter, your hand on River’s forearm. Each moment of your joy is like a knife in his heart.

Ezra’s eventually relegated to the circle where the familiars commiserate. River’s is a jet black bird named Rhea who turns her beak up at him. He’s not one of them, not really. He was human himself with a familiar of his own but that’s not the only reason why they scorn him. They all know that he’s the worst kind of witch. 

There are many reasons why a witch might be turned into a cat but there’s only one crime that was punished with 1000 years— murder. And not just any murder. Ezra desecrated the life of another witch and, no matter how loyally he serves you, he’ll always have that stain. 

The rituals are done, the chanting. The embers from the fire float up through the trees towards the fat moon. Then the dancing begins. It’s erratic and joyful, Ezra can remember the ecstasy of it in his bones. Esme lets down her white hair and one by one the witches disrobe. 

He hears your laughter as you spin, shoulders shrugging with the pulse of the magic that swirls around the bonfire. 

He knows he shouldn’t look at you like that. Not you. Not here. You’re not putting on a show, you’re doing your magic. But the way your body moves against the glow of the fire is its own enchantment. He could worship you like the moon. 

The spell is broken just as quickly. River’s right beside you, bare skin radiant, muscles rippling with his own rhythm. His fingers tangle with yours and Ezra feels acid in his throat. 

The whole night becomes an assault on his senses. The sound of chanting rises, the old words frantic and savage. Amber and patchouli mix with the woodsmoke to choke him. Grotesque shadows fall over the faces of the witches like a carnival of horrors. And then there’s you— incandescent and naked and whispering something in River’s ear that has him grinning. Ezra’s hair stands on end.

“Come dance with me!” you giggle as you leave the circle of merriment. Your teeth are stained purple, drunk on wine and magic. 

“I’m quite content here,” Ezra lies. 

“Are you having fun?” You ask but you don’t wait for his answer. “River is…wow. He did not look like that when we were kids.”

You pick Ezra up and whirl around in a circle. He smells the incense of your skin, the alcohol on your breath. 

“You’re going to get your wish. I’m finally going to fuck a proper witch!” you say. 

You toss Ezra in the air and catch him. The bile has come so far up his throat it’s an absolutely nauseating sensation. 

“Enough!” Ezra hisses. He swats at you with his claws bared. 

You yelp and drop him. Before he even hits the ground, he feels it— a searing hot pain that makes his back arch. You’re defending yourself with your powers like a reflex. He lets out a yowl and just as quickly it passes.

Ezra staggers and looks up to find you with tears in your eyes. He’s never seen you looking so hurt, betrayed. Your jaw quivers. Ezra landed on his feet but he feels upside down. He’s realizing what he’s just done, that he tried to hurt you because he’s pathetic. Jealous. 

“Ez,” you say, your voice strangled. 

Like a coward, he takes off, ignoring you as you call after him. 

—

It’s the sound of the cat flap that wakes you sometime after sunrise. You’re sprawled out on your bed, head aching, eyes swollen. You’re still wearing your white dress, you threw it on before going after Ezra but it was no use. He was as black as the shadows in the forest and had slipped away under some bushes.

You abandoned the equinox celebration and went home in hopes he’d be there. You waited. Alone with your guilt and anxiety. 

I’m sorry. Please come home. You were never very good at telepathy but you tried to reach out to him with your thoughts. 

The sound that he made echoed through your mind as you paced the floor. Strangled, terrified. You tried to stop yourself from picturing him out there in the dark shaking with pain. 

You hadn’t meant to hurt him. It was involuntary. As soon as his claw grazed your skin, your powers flared. Maybe if you hadn’t been drunk you could’ve controlled it. It happened so quickly you still can’t be sure of how strong it hit him. 

Even if it was just a momentary shock, you saw just how much damage that moment did. His hair standing on end, his tail rod straight. But what really crushed you was the look in his eye. 

Suddenly you were just as horrible as every other witch that he’d served. You’d used your powers to punish him, to harm him. Every promise you’d ever made to him had broken in that instant. 

You see Ezra’s slim form dart to your doorway. In a flash, he slips under the bed and your heart sinks into your ankles. 

“Ez,” you say, your voice ragged from the night’s festivities. 

He doesn’t answer. You press your eyes shut and swallow hard then crawl to the edge of your mattress. Your stomach lurches as you look over the edge. On top of everything else there’s a hangover churning in your gut. You guess you deserve that, too. 

“Ezra, are you ok?” you ask. Whatever words of atonement you pieced together before you cried yourself to sleep have dissolved. 

He’s in the furthest corner beneath the bed, tucked against the wall with his tail wrapped tight around his body. You think you might burst into tears again seeing him cowering away from you. 

“I hope I didn’t make you fret,” he says. 

You want to scoop him into your arms and hold him as tight as you can but it feels like you’ve lost that privilege. 

“I’m so sorry, Ez,” you say, climbing down to the floor. “I shouldn’t have done that. I'm sick over it.”

“You were well within your rights. You’re my master and I struck you,” he says. “I’m the one that should beg forgiveness.”

To hear him call you his master makes you feel even worse than before. There’s no amount of tuna belly that will make this right.

“No. It was my fault. And I promise I’ll never use my powers on you again. Ever,” you say. 

His gold eyes shift away. 

“Keep your apologies,” he says. “And I see I’ve kept you from your new paramour. Another act to add to my contrition.” 

“I don’t care about that.” If you hadn’t been so caught up in the prospect of taking River to bed, none of this would’ve happened. 

“Nonsense, little mage. You’re a witch. Be with other witches,” Ezra says.  

–

River’s in the bookshop when you arrive, standing opposite Aunt Margot. When you couldn’t convince Ezra to come out from under the bed, you decided to give him space. Maybe you could distract yourself re-alphabetizing the cookbooks. You were hoping for some quiet but you’re confronted by the very attractive witch you’d been flirting shamelessly with the night before.

You know you look a mess, your face still feels puffy. River, on the other hand, looks like the definition of a sight for sore eyes. Freshly showered and dressed in a well pressed shirt that’s rolled up to the elbows, the sun is streaming in the front window outlining his still-damp hair like he’s Prince Charming himself.

“There you are!” Margot calls. 

You smooth your hand across your top nervously as she appraises you. You threw on a more than slightly wrinkled shirt that was languishing on the floor of your bedroom, too preoccupied to put together a real outfit.

“Looks like we had too much of Ariadne’s little potion,” she says. 

“I have a tonic that’s great for that,” River says with a smile. “But coffee’s faster.” 

He hands you a steaming paper cup from the cafe down the street. He and Margot have their own perched on the counter. You take a sip and are surprised to find that it’s your regular order.

”Are you clairvoyant, too?” You ask.

River blushes. “Nah. Margot told me how you take your coffee,” he chuckles.

It's so thoughtful and you’re not feeling very deserving. You swallow down a lump in your throat.

“I wanted to go foraging around here but I really need a local,” he says. 

“That sounds fun,” you say half heartedly in an attempt to demure. You’re not really up for a good time but it feels like a real asshole move to turn River down considering he brought you coffee after you ditched him at the bonfire. Margot is beaming at the register.

“Doesn’t it?” she asks. “Why don’t I get you a basket?”

—

River carries the basket now overflowing with mushrooms and wild herbs. You’re deep in the woods, branches crunching beneath your shoes. Nature’s sounds echo around you, starlings and chipmunks, the constant whoosh of the breeze through the turning leaves. 

This path is overgrown but you know it well. You spent your childhood getting lost in these woods. They have their own magic. 

Your guilt overshadows the date. If it is a date. River seems to think it is if the way the back of his hand keeps brushing against yours is any sign. It’s hard to enjoy it especially when your mind keeps drifting off. He doesn’t seem to notice that you’re only half-listening as he tells you just how mystical the vibes are at Stonehenge. 

You stop at a stream, sitting on a fallen tree that’s overgrown with moss. It’s one of your favorite spots. The water sparkles where the sunlight spills though the branches, peacefully trickling over rocks. You pick up one of the smooth stones and trace its wet surface with your thumb. 

You’ve sat in this very spot before feeling just as shitty. Heartbroken then, too, trying to figure out if you could call it a break up when you hadn’t actually been anything official. She hadn’t wanted anything complicated and you swore your feelings wouldn’t get involved. Unfortunately they had their own plans.

Ezra found you there, sulking by the stream, wondering if anyone would think you were worth breaking their own rules for. 

It struck you how quiet he was. There were no anecdotes about what the witch scene was like in 1924 or tips for mouse hunting, indoor versus outdoor. He just padded into the water and nudged a little stone towards your feet. It was just big enough to fit in your palm and it was cool against your skin as you held it there. 

“A thing of beauty,” he said and he head butted your shins affectionately. 

It was. Round from years, maybe decades under the water’s friction. A dull gray cut through the middle by a wedge of some crystalline mineral like shards of broken glass. You recall exactly what it looks like because it still sits on your night stand. Each time you see it you’re reminded of how Ezra slumped down beside you, his warm body weight like a cozy blanket, a faint purr reverberating through him. 

“You’ve got a big heart, little mage,” he said. 

You choke up at the memory, unsure if Ezra would ever think that again. You certainly wouldn’t say it about yourself today. 

“Either you’re really hungover or something’s bothering you,” River says gently. 

You laugh tearfully and he rubs a circle on your back. You try to shake your head but River doesn’t give it up, looking at you with a soft concern.

“I really fucked things up with Ezra last night,” you admit. Telling him what a cruel witch you are might be a huge turn off but the feeling of his palm through your shirt makes you feel at ease.

“Ezra?” he asks.

“My familiar,” you remind him.

“Oh.”

“He scratched me and —”

“He hurt you?” he asks, face painted with righteous indignation. 

“No. He barely got me. I totally overreacted,” you say. “I used my powers on him. It was just a reflex, you know? But…I just feel awful.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he tells you with a relieved chuckle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

If that’s true then why do you hate yourself?

“If Rhea was out of line I’d do the same,” he goes on.

You wince at the thought.

“You’d hurt her?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I’ve never had to. She knows who’s boss.”

You’ve always considered Ezra a partner. Of course, there are plenty of witches that think of their familiars as nothing more than servants. It’s an old school way of seeing it. You hadn’t expected River to use words that remind you of the way your grandmother used to talk.

“Maybe it’s different,” you say, trying to give him the opportunity to walk it back. Ezra’s not like Rhea. Maybe you’d feel the same way River does if your familiar hadn’t once been as human as you are. Still, it doesn’t feel right.

“You’re a funny little witch,” he says with a grin.

“What does that mean?” you ask. 

“Crying over your familiar. It’s sweet.” He says it as if it’s a compliment but the condescension makes you frown in disgust.

“If you want to make it up to him, why don’t you find him a lady cat that can make him feel good,” he adds with a laugh.

“Is that what you’re into?” you ask with venom.

“What? That was a joke,” River says.

“I don’t think it’s funny. You know, just because Ezra’s a familiar, it doesn’t mean he should be treated like shit. And he’s not a cat. He’s a human,” you tell him.

“He’s a witch killer,” River spits back. “So I’m sorry if I don’t have a lot of sympathy for him.”

Your stomach turns. It’s the truth. Ezra’s served as a familiar in your family for centuries, his history has never been hidden from you and he’s never shied away from it.

But his punishment has never made sense to you. A thousand years, so many lifetimes, watching his friends and family die as he toiled in servitude for witches as backwards as River. It’s cruel, that’s why the Elders changed the laws years ago. And yet Ezra’s remained a cat, a familiar, disdained. 

Suddenly, the anger you’ve been tormenting yourself with turns outwards and you think your powers could set fire to the dry leaves at your feet. It’s all so unfair. The Elders turned him and witches like River scorn him and none of them feel a lick of shame. The back of your neck heats with a protective rage.

“He’s my friend,” you choke. “And you’re a fucking asshole.”

And you leave River speechless in the middle of the woods.  

🐈‍⬛

Part 3

Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs appreciated! My inbox is always open.

[psycho-pills]

A Second Life for Strays! ฅ (•˕ •マ.ᐟ sylus x reader fanfic // next

౨ৎ⭑˚ RATING; 18+ (minors do not interact)

౨ৎ⭑˚ PAIRING; sylus x afab!reader (not the mc)

౨ৎ⭑˚ SYNOPSIS; you are a soldier reincarnated into the world of love and deepspace, except you’re not the mc. she still exists. despite looking exactly like her, you don’t sound or act the same. and to make things stranger, cats follow you everywhere.

౨ৎ⭑˚ GENRE/WARNING; angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, (mutual?) pining, eventual fluff, eventual romance, eventual smut, cursing, graphic descriptions of violence, blood, mental breakdowns, ptsd, death, isekai, reincarnation, cats/cat puns, mc is named serenophe to avoid confusion/reader is not mc

౨ৎ⭑˚ AUTHOR'S NOTE; this is written in third-person limited with she/her pronouns. only the prologue is written in second-person. i use the terms [name] [surname] instead of (y/n) (y/ln) because it's easier for me to write. also, this chapter is basically the synopsis but fleshed out. you can skip the prologue and go to the first chapter, and you won't miss much. anyway, please take all of this into consideration before continuing. besides that, enjoy. uwu

౨ৎ⭑˚ LINKS; ao3 // masterpost // story inspo

prologue — eight lives later! ౨ৎ⭑˚ word count; >1k

You died.

You feel the impact before you hear the gunshot. A sharp, searing pain tears through your chest like fire spreading through your body. The chaos of modern warfare surrounds you—vibrating explosions, the rumbling of rifles, and the constant murmur of drones. You’re one of thousands. A faceless statistic in a war of shifting fronts and political ambitions. Merely a soldier sent to fight for a cause you barely understand. After your death, your country will replace you ten times over and then ten times more. Each body a cog in an unfeeling machine.

The moment feels weird, as if it has been pulled from the pages of a dream, except you know—you know—this is the end. You lie dying on a grassy field, far from the main warzone. It hasn’t been the ‘enemy’ that caused you to run across the open streets. It wasn’t the orders barking through your earpiece or the desperate cries of your comrades. 

No. It was a cat.

Your final act of rebellion was focused solely on rescuing the tiny bit of humanity left in the desecrated city. In a world that has taken so much from you, perhaps it was time to give this small creature the chance you never got. The kitten is small, dirty, and terrified. Its tiny frame trembles as it meows helplessly in the chaos. Artillery pounds the earth, drones buzz like mechanical insects, and gunfire split echoes in your ears. With rapid shots tearing through the streets and your radio spitting orders to regroup, your legs move on instinct. You dart past the ruins of cars, decaying walls, and flying shrapnel. Like a drug, adrenaline pumps through your veins as you scoop up the cat and cradle it in your arms.

As you dash through the ruined landscape, you feel hands grasping at your feet. Soldiers, either too wounded or mindfucked, cry out for salvation that you can’t offer. You run past them, their voices heavy on your soul. But you keep running—towards the outskirts, where the fighting isn’t as intense—where there’s a chance the kitten can escape the horrors of humankind. However, just as you think you’ve made it, you feel it—the bullet tearing through your body.

Your knees buckle as the force sends you crashing, the kitten still cradled in your arms. The world around you spins. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, faster and faster, as the warmth of your blood soaks into your uniform and spreads across the grass beneath you. You gasp for air, but it won’t come. The pain in your chest is unbearable, burning with every shallow breath.

You try to move, try to keep going, but your body is failing you. Rolling onto your back, your eyes gaze upon the strikingly blue sky. It’s strangely devoid of clouds and fighter jets. By now, the gunfire and explosions are faint. A vague memory, even. It’s like the war itself is retreating from you. Yet, you can still hear it. Bated screams in the distance, clashing with the rustling of leaves and the soft meows of the kitten.

The last feeling—the last sensation of kindness you feel before drifting off to an eternal slumber is the soft brush of fur nudging your tear-strained cheek. Then, just before everything goes dark, you hear it—a voice, delicate and clear.

“Thank you,” the kitten says—or does it? Perhaps it’s a hallucination brought on by your fading consciousness. But no, you feel sure, if only for that single instant.

Then, there’s nothing. Your final breath leaves you with the warmth of the cat’s nuzzle lingering on your cheek. You died.

Or so you thought.

When your eyes open again, you aren’t greeted with the battlefield. Your body isn’t lying on the cold, blood-stained grass. You’re in a hospital bed. It's clean. Sterile. The sharp beeping of monitors replaces the din of war, and the scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils. You blink, disoriented, and that’s when you see him. A man—tall, composed, and black-haired. He holds a file in one hand and a pen in the other as he stands at your bedside. His name tag glistens in the fluorescent light. Zayne. When he notices you stirring alive, his face dances between surprise and something else. Something hard to decipher.

“You’re awake.” Zayne glances at your file. He squints to confirm your identity. “I’m Dr. Zayne, and you’ll be under my care for the foreseeable future,” he finishes.

The room around you is strange yet familiar. You try to make sense of it—the stark white walls, the quiet thrum of machines, the feathery sensation of your body. You were on the battlefield. You had died. And yet, you’re still here. Alive. In some new reality where the boundaries of love and deepspace collide.

ao3 // masterpost // next

[rjthirsty]

Chapter Eleven (Deceit and Decay)

Words: 3.5k

Tags: Self-Harm, Angst, Abduction

A/N: You can find my previous chapters on my masterlist, or on ao3. For a complete set of tags, please visit ao3.

What if Belle didn't fall in love with the Conqueror Beast? What if his last hope abandoned him, simply because she didn't know he existed? Would his black heart break and crack, or grow as hard as stone? An AU where Chevalier is crowned for Rhodolite, Gilbert lost his last shred of humanity, and MC (Dahlia) is thrust into a nightmare world where deceit and decay are everyday occurrences.

Rhodolite had not been idle during the last five days, though to say that a plan was underway to secure Dahlia’s safe return would also be oversimplifying a very complex set of decisions that may prove to ultimately be fruitless. King Chevalier had his kingdom to consider, and the actions of waging a war for a woman of common birth leading to Obsidian to overtake Rhodolite was likely a future that Gilbert had hoped would come to pass. And that was only one possible outcome. There were countless others that Chevalier could see, and finding the one that Gilbert had predicted would be difficult.

They had been entered into a game of chess without their consent, and now Chevalier had to keep his pieces from eagerly sacrificing themselves. His brothers didn’t have the foresight he did, and most of them could be hasty in their actions. They were more than pawns, they were worthy to carry their royal titles and all of them had something they excelled in. But they were all still far too emotional with a lack of concern for their own wellbeing and what their actions could ultimately lead to for the kingdom they were born to protect.

After the Obsidian Prince departed, his brothers inserted themselves immediately. First it was Clavis who refused to work until Chev confirmed Gilbert was responsible. Informing him did nothing to ease Clavis’ tumultuous emotions and he was the first that Chev had to warn from doing anything rash. He also barely functioned for the rest of the day, neglecting his work in lieu of spreading the information to his other brothers.

And thus, the parade of concerned princes who approached King Chevalier at every hour began. Most were still managing themselves and their designated tasks, but some were more constantly buzzing around as if Chev wasn’t attempting to find a way to bring Dahlia home himself. He hadn’t forgotten her. He wouldn’t give up on her. It was simply pointless to rush into something of this nature, especially with his duty to prolong the life of his kingdom resting on his shoulders.

There were also other issues that needed to be addressed before he could bring Dahlia back. Prince Gilbert had left Chevalier a crucial piece of information referencing ‘gifts’ that he had left for Chev’s coronation. Chev was certain it was meant to be an obstacle to prevent a swift recovery of Dahlia, and while he hated to admit it, it was going to prove to be a hefty project to clean up. If Prince Gilbert was involved, it likely had to do with weaponry, and if it was meant to cause discourse, it would be provided to the Anti-Monarchy Faction - a group that had assembled after Bloodstained Rose Day but hadn’t gained much traction until the last few years.

Most of the citizens that participated in the faction despised royalty, and Chevalier most of all. Clavis often set up ‘parties’ where they would gather and air their grievances, it also proved beneficial to keep an eye on the group in order to prevent them from becoming a problem to the crown. Clavis was all too happy to allow those with a grudge against Chevalier to network and hone their edge aimed at Chev’s throat. As long as Clavis didn’t personally provide support or involve himself in any misguided attacks, he was allowed to do as he pleased. Chev saw his worth even if Clavis did not.

Arranging an event took time, however, and there was no way to hurry that time along. Clavis had set it up, as ordered, but the party wouldn’t be held for another week. In the meantime, Chevalier had the Domestic Affairs Faction scoping out illegal sales and attempting to pinpoint Anti-Monarchy meeting places and warehouses. They were effectively down two members as Yves was not ideal for this sort of work, and Licht was under Yves care, forced into taking a leave of absence. Nokto had his hands full trying to identify smuggling lines from Obsidian, and Clavis was barely maintaining the Foreign Affairs Faction.

On the fourth day of Dahlia’s absence, King Chevalier met with a foreigner who operated a bookstore in Rhodolite. Mr. Akatsuki had no blood relation to Dahlia, however, he had functioned as a father figure to Dahlia since she was a young child. Dahlia’s disappearance wasn’t something that needed to be made public, but it had been brought to Chevalier’s attention several times that Dahlia’s family should be made aware. And so, a summons was sent, and Mr. Akatsuki, who had experience with royalty, princes, and Chevalier many, many years ago, arrived to be given the news.

It went about as well as expected when one is informed their adopted child has been abducted and everyone knew of the culprit but no one was able to do anything about it. In other words, it was a very tiresome meeting. Even with Clavis and Leon in attendance, there was very little anyone could say to assure Mr. Akatsuki that Dahlia would be brought home swiftly. She was not the highest priority at the moment for Rhodolite, and even if she were, Chevalier’s hands were currently tied by the lack of proof more than anything.

While Gilbert had given Chevalier enough to conclude that Dahlia was in Obsidian, he had not expressly stated it. Furthermore, Gilbert’s position as a prince of a neighboring country would offer significant protections for something as small as abduction of a commoner, even if she had been training to be a court minister. She offered no value as a political hostage, either. No one but those who care for her would care that she had been abducted.

Mr. Akatsuki leveled some insults about how useless Rhodolite’s palace full of princes was, driving the dagger deeper in the hearts of all three men and cracking the divide wider between Chevalier and his brothers. They already thought of Chev as heartless, and his steadfastness in handling things above board did nothing to lessen his cold character. Chevalier didn’t refute. He would not be shaken by words, having experienced harsher ones in his past. He could allow others their outbursts and insults and he would continue as he saw best… for Rhodolite.

Their guest stormed out of the meeting, yelling that he would collect his daughter himself. Clavis and Leon traded a look, and Chev understood what the both of them were considering. He knew it would be best to caution with another warning. He knew neither of them were a match for Gilbert’s intellect and strategic planning. He knew that even if both of them crossed into Obsidian, neither would return with Dahlia, and it was likely neither would return at all. He knew what was best. He knew what choice he’d make. But he hesitated.

He missed her.

If his life was so affected by her absence, surely his brothers with more human hearts were fighting something much harder than he was.

“Clavis,” Chev’s words were a rope that twisted around Clavis, tying him in place. “You are required for your gathering.” With that, Clavis was bound and tethered from any other foolish action.

With a faint hope that Leon would manage something impossible, Chevalier kept his eyes on Clavis, purposefully ignoring Leon’s hard stare as his brother tried to puzzle out Chev’s actions. It seemed like Leon was considering his own next move. Of all times for Leon to finally think things through and not act rashly, this was not the moment Chevalier expected nor wanted it to happen. Perhaps Leon was waiting to be shackled as well, for he waited much longer than necessary before he quickly followed after their retreating guest.

Chevalier knew he would live to regret this. This is what happens to kings in love.

Leon caught up to Mr. Akatsuki before he had left the palace proper. Jogging to get in front of the older man, Leon held up his hands placatingly. “Would you hang on for a minute? Give me just a little more of your time. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

The man from Ruby narrowed his eyes at Leon. “Spit it out. But you have two minutes before I walk out of here.”

Leon gave his best charismatic grin. “I won’t need two minutes. Allow me to go with you.”

Mr. Akatsuki remained silent, crossing his arms over his chest but allowing Leon his two minutes (or less, as he claimed). Leon had at least expected him to refute or deny him outright, however, it seemed that he was going to wait to cast his decision.

“Not as a prince of Rhodolite. You know I love your daughter, right? Dahlia means more to me than anything, even my title. I would do anything to protect her– and I was willing to fight everyone inside the palace the night she was taken from me– from us.” Leon swallowed hard, fighting the anger, frustration, and pain that came with this confession. But he knew that in order to convince Mr. Akatsuki, he needed to be honest. He had to lay his feelings bare.

“I get it– not to the same degree. I didn’t raise her. I have only spent a year by her side. But, please, if there’s even a chance I can get her back, I want to take it. I want to bring her home. I want to keep her safe.” Leon paused, waiting for some sort of sign from Mr. Akatsuki. The elder man pursed his lips and frowned, eyeing Leon.

“Will you take me with you? That's all I’m asking.” He kept his amber eyes locked on Mr. Akatsuki, showing his determination and his sincerity.

“You’ll need a change of clothes,” Mr. Akatsuki stated pointedly before he looked away towards the grand entrance, the main gate, and beyond to where Obsidian laid far, far away. “Dress for colder weather. Bring enough for a few weeks. Come to my shop before sunrise tomorrow.”

Leon clapped a heavy hand on Mr. Akatsuki’s shoulder, wanting to hug the man he had only met a handful of times, but restraining himself. “Thank you.” He met Mr. Akatsuki’s eyes once again to show how meaningful his approval was to him, then jogged off through the palace to set about gathering enough clothes for his trip.

He knew he couldn’t tell anyone he was leaving or else he’d be facing other obstacles outside of Chevalier. Sariel would surely find some way to tie him down, and Jin might just lock him in a cell to keep him from making a stupid mistake - like attempting to rescue his girlfriend from a foreign nation. Yves would tell everyone, and Licht would beg to come with him. It was a little ridiculous that Chevalier was the one who allowed him the opportunity to pursue his own choice. It really wasn’t like him.

Finishing his work for the rest of the day like nothing was wrong was easy enough. Leon felt no shame in his choice, and despite knowing he was lying to Jin and would be saddling everything with him come tomorrow, it wasn’t the first time he had kept things from his brothers and it wasn’t likely going to be the last.

The sun set on Rhodolite in blazing reds and oranges. The stars appeared in the sky, shining brightly, only dwarfed by the silver moon.

Clavis sat in his room on the sofa he slept on clutching at his chest. He hadn’t felt like this since he was a young child. It hadn’t hurt this badly since that day so many years ago when it rained and he began to hate the smell of wet roses. He hadn’t tinkered or created anything in days. He hadn’t dug a pitfall or planted any traps since before Chev’s coronation. Instead he sat in the darkness of his cluttered room, barely able to drag himself through the motions of his work. Even Chevalier had been giving him less errands to run. He was truly worthless, Clavis thought to himself.

Jin drank alone in the large sitting room. Drinking with company was always better than none, but company sounded like it’d be more trouble than it was worth tonight. Glass after glass, he tipped the liquor back, trying to rid himself of the worry that held fast to his thoughts. He was more perceptive than most people, he saw how his brothers were all hiding their dark thoughts of Dahlia being gone and never returning. Knowing she was in Obsidian did nothing to rid them of anxieties, because there was no way to easily retrieve her. His reach wasn’t that far. Not even Sariel could manage that.

Licht dragged the knife across his skin. The familiar burn of his flesh slicing and blood rushing to the wound seemed to be the only sensation he could feel beyond the numbness. He kept a blank face as he watched the dark red seep from inside him to fill the void he had made. The pain was nothing. Inconsequential. Perhaps he’d cut deeper tonight. Perhaps he’d add a new scar on top of old ones lined up in their rows. What did it matter anyways? No one would care if he took care of himself any longer.

Chevalier sat in the wooden chair positioned on one side of the chess board that decorated his room. None of the pieces had been moved, and there was no partner for Chev to play against. However, that didn’t stop him from moving pieces in his head. As he ran through strategies and tactics of every book he had ever read, he fought himself in a battle of wits on the chess board in his mind. He purposely busied himself so as to not put a stop to Leon’s misguided rescue attempt. If he gave himself enough time to reconsider his negligence in caging Leon, he knew he’d succumb to the logic and reasonable decision to keep him in Rhodolite.

Nokto stared into the darkness of the night, leaning against the window in his room. The roses several stories below were colored so dark, it looked like they had all been painted black. The dark circles under his eyes mirrored the deep shade of the flowers. He hadn’t been sleeping well. He never slept well without someone next to him. It had only been four days since she was taken, but those four days continued to stretch from evening to morning to another sleepless night to putting on another mask for the day. How was the world colored so plainly without her here?

Before the sun had risen, when the staff was waking to start their morning shifts, Leon discretely left the castle full of lonely beasts to meet with a foreigner who owned a bookstore. He walked the whole way on foot, not wanting to leave a palace horse as evidence for Sariel or Jin to find where he had gone. When he arrived at the bookstore that Dahlia had once worked at, he found a small but sturdy covered wagon hitched and Mr. Akatsuki had already loaded books and other supplies into it.

“You’re one of those that shows up right when you ought to and not a moment sooner.” Mr. Akatsuki eyed Leon and glanced at the thinning shadows on the horizon.

“That’s what a hero does, and Dahlia believes I’m one.” Leon grinned, tossing his clothing into the wagon and hopping onboard.

“Wouldn’t have hurt to get out of here before first light. It’s a long trip to Obsidian Castle.” The older man climbed onto the driver’s bench, collecting the reins for the harnessed horses.

“And you’ve got a way through, right? We’re not going to have to sneak across the border, are we? I don’t think this wagon will make it if we did.” Leon chuckled, ribbing the old man who seemed perpetually grumpy.

“I’ve got a way. You’re my apprentice, understand? Training to pick up the store once I give up traveling. You look young enough to pass for it.” Mr. Akatsuki gave the signal to the horses and the wagon began its bumpy journey through the streets of Rhodolite’s capital.

“Does that mean I call you Master?”

Mr. Akatsuki huffed, cutting a glance to Leon. “Mr. Akatsuki.”

“Alright, Mr. Akatsuki it is.” Leon watched Mr. Akatsuki for several minutes in silence, trying to come up with something to express his gratitude for allowing him to come along. But every time he grasped for a word or a sentiment that might come close, it didn’t feel like enough. There were no words to say how much this meant to him. So he said the only thing that he could manage, a sincere and firm “Thank you.”

It was several hours after the sun had taken its spot in the sky, slowly traversing over Rhodolite Castle when Jin poked his head inside the Foreign Affairs office. He had been running throughout the palace in search of Leon, unable to find the head of the Domestic Affairs Faction. Meanwhile, he was also picking up the slack for every other member who was missing, and now Leon hadn’t shown.

Clavis was sitting at the single desk, head down as if reading paperwork, but he sat there staring at the same page for far longer than would have been needed. Jin’s eyebrows knitted together and he frowned, watching Clavis who hadn’t even heard him come in. In an attempt to make himself known, he rapped loudly on the door he had already opened, startling Clavis from his inner thoughts.

“Hey, Clavis, is everyone else out?” Jin shoved his hands in his pockets and lazily strolled into the empty office.

“Oh, you know how it is. We’re not much for working together. Nokto is probably still sleeping, and Chev is handling kingly duties.” Clavis smiled the same smile he always had.

“And Luke?” Jin asked as he peeked out a window, attempting to keep the conversation casual.

“Who can say? Ahaha. He has never volunteered to show up to work.” Clavis shuffled the papers on his desk, the dark circles under his eyes giving away how many restless nights he had been experiencing.

“He’s still not interested in being a prince, it’s gotta be hard for him.” Jin agreed, circling back towards the door from the far end of the room. “Speaking of hard work, have you seen Leon? I’m swamped in Domestic Affairs all by myself. With Yves and Licht out of commission, it’s just me and Leon.”

Clavis paused in his organizing of his paperwork and looked up at Jin. Something about the way his smile fell and his eyes blinked wide for a moment didn’t sit right with Jin. Clavis slapped his mask back on and was smiling like he always did, his hands folding together on top of his desk. “Ah, I see. Of course he wouldn’t have told you. Chev all but gave him permission to force his way into Obsidian and gallantly bring our dear Dahlia back.”

“That’s not funny, Clavis.” Jin stopped moving, his feet frozen to the floor.

“I’m not laughing.” Clavis clenched his hands together tighter, squeezing his own emotions down, his white knuckles safely hidden under his gloves. “And I’m not lying.”

Jin sprang into a run and darted out of the room. He had to find Chevalier to verify where Leon had gone– No, he had to find Sariel to stop Leon from crossing the border. Shit. This was bad. This was really, really bad.

[readingcherik]

But for you I'd leave it all by Pangea

Ten years ago Erik left the Xavier household and never looked back once despite the feelings he's always harbored for his childhood friend and Lord Xavier's only son, Charles. Independent and alone, Erik has built up his own jewelry shop that has garnered success and great prestige throughout the city. When the papers announce Charles' engagement, Erik isn't surprised to receive the commission to design the wedding rings even if it means seeing Charles again after years of avoiding him. But with Charles back in his life, Erik now has to come to terms with all of his old feelings returning in full force just in time to watch Charles be married off to someone else and be forever out of Erik's reach.