#well at least MOST of them not all of them… erm

[ilguna]

☼ safer with you pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; Finnick doesn't want you to join his alliance, forcing you to face the jungle alone, unaware of just how dangerous it can be. it doesn't help the careers are following you, and you can hear them.

warnings; swearing, weapon use, hallucinations, erm urine talk (you'll see what I mean), talk of killing, death mention (cannons)

wc; 4.8k

notes; so in part 1 i say that it's the second day of the games, but re-reading it, it made no sense so. i have decided that pt1 took place in day one of the arena and this fic will take place in day two because that makes the most sense lol. sorry for the inconsistencies.

part one

--

When you got reaped for the Quarter Quell about a week ago, you knew it would be hard coming back into the arena. You knew that memories you’ve spent years trying to drown would come flooding back, since there would be nothing to hold them at bay anymore. You knew you’d have to do things that would take forever to scrub from your consciousness again, if you even could this time. 

The only slightly comforting thought that came with it was the fact that you weren’t going to be alone. Not only would the victors around you be experiencing the same thing, but you would have at least one ally that you could count on to get you through the Games.

Well, it turns out that wasn’t the case at all.

You never thought you’d actually end up coming in alone, especially when it seemed like you had multiple possible alliances. The Careers wouldn’t have been so bad, if Brutus didn’t hate your guts so much. As soon as he got reaped, you had a feeling there would be an issue trying to ally yourself with them, which is why you made a couple low effort attempts to join them. 

Each time you were met with excuses on why they didn’t want you. First, it was because you were friends with Finnick. And when you told them that Finnick had barely talked to you the entire trip, it turned into the fact that you weren’t strong enough. After you scored a ten, you tried again and got met with the fact that they had already decided that they didn’t want any children with them.

Which was only frustrating because you’re not that much younger than Gloss and Cashmere, but you let it go for the sake of keeping the peace while you could. In the meantime, you kept trying to chip away at Finnick, hoping he’d eventually change his mind, too. 

He made it impossible, too. 

The only real conversation you had with him about an alliance was before the Tribute Parade, where you tried to suggest the two of you take over the arena, dominating it so you could make it home alive. He was extremely disinterested in that idea, flat out refusing to entertain it.

All bets were off after that. He wouldn’t talk to you about alliances. Every time you tried, he shut you down within the first couple of minutes, reminding you that his mind had been made up. If he wanted to be your ally, then he would’ve made a move already.

The final conversation you had about it was the night of the interviews. Right before you were going to be brought on stage, he pulled you aside to tell you that he was not going to back down from what he said. You were not invited into his alliance, and you never crossed their minds for a minute. You needed to let it go.

You hoped he was bluffing, which is why you spent so much time trying to find him in the arena yesterday, but he held his ground and made you leave.

You thought that at the very least, if you couldn’t have the Careers, or even Finnick, you’d be able to make friends out of the District Six morphlings, or Cecelia and Woof, or even Beetee and Wiress. But even they had their reasons why they couldn’t.

At every corner you turned, you were met with another wall closing in. No one wanted anything to do with you. Either because they couldn’t trust you due to your natural alliance to the Careers—a load of shit—or because they had their own thing going on that they couldn’t include you in because there were already too many people.

It’s left you on your own.

Which doesn’t bother you completely, you spent your last Games traveling the desert by yourself, searching for shelter that didn’t exist besides the Cornucopia. You know you can survive on your own, it’s the fact that you have to. That despite the many friendships you’ve tried to forge, not one of them wanted you. 

It’s a very lonely feeling that you have to battle alongside the paranoia. In all honesty, it made for a long and difficult night. Since there’s no one to watch over you, you couldn’t sleep because of the creeping feeling that someone could be nearby. And each time that feeling subsided, you were woken up by the arena in some way.

The lightning storm in the middle of the night was the first time you were jolted awake. You thought it wouldn’t last long, but when you realized that it wasn’t stopping, you were on edge. Not being able to hear the rustling of the jungle around you was off-putting. Anyone could sneak up on you if they wanted to.

You thought you were in the clear when the lightning finally stopped. The drowsiness began to win over, and then there was a cannon. And there would continue to be a cannon about every hour, every time you were about to sleep. After the third one, you gave up trying.

You’ve been up for a few hours now, sitting in the jungle, watching the moon sink into the trees on one side, while the sun rises on the other. It’s pretty early in the day, you’d say it can’t be any later than nine, judging by where the sun is. 

It’s slowly starting to get warmer in the arena as the morning goes on. It didn’t feel like the heat let off any last night, but it must’ve. If it’s going to be as hot as it was yesterday, you should probably get a move on. If you’re not dehydrated already, you will be by noon.

You’ve been sweating buckets, skin sticking to skin because of the humidity.

If it weren’t for the noises in the trees, you would’ve been traveling through the jungle an hour ago. You can barely hear it now, but before it was a low growling sound, as if there was an animal protecting its kill from another predator. 

For a while, you were afraid that you were the one being warned to back off, but every time you went to take a look around, you couldn’t find anything camouflaged in the greenery. Whatever it is, you figure it’s gone away now, to a safer place to eat what it’s caught.

A quiet sigh leaves you, you really don’t want to leave the shade, but you don’t have much of a choice. You pick your sword out of the grass and prop it up against the tree you were trying to sleep behind, before pulling yourself to your feet. 

You grab your sword, and then begin to wander down through the jungle toward the beach. Yesterday, when you were in the Cornucopia for the bloodbath, you weren’t able to grab anything besides a sword. You were hoping you’d be able to dig around in the boxes for a minute, but more districts know how to swim than you originally thought. 

No one’s going to be there now, since the center island is on display for everyone to see. The Careers usually like to use it as their homebase, but with twelve different ways to get in and out, it’d be too difficult to defend. All it would take is a decently-sized alliance to rush in from separate spokes, and the Careers would be gone in the blink of an eye.

So, they’ve got to be in the jungle somewhere, hunting down tributes. You’ll even bet that’s what they were doing last night, stumbling across sleepy victors and eliminating them without an ounce of hesitation. Three of your own, gone in the span of a few hours. You wonder if they even feel guilt. 

You don’t think you’ll actually be able to bring yourself to kill anyone in here, not even if they were threatening your life. All you’d be able to think about is the amount of memories you’ve made with the people in here, good or bad. Regardless if they’ve treated you terribly in recent years, or given you the best times of your life.

If any of them—Cashmere, Gloss or Brutus—end up winning, you don’t know how they’ll be able to live with themselves. Yes, they could come out with more fame and fortune than they’d ever need, but they’d never be able to escape the haunting feeling that they made a mistake killing all those people they once knew. 

And you know that you were thinking about dominating the arena with Finnick literally less than a week ago, but killing those around you never crossed your mind. You were more interested in the idea of resource guarding, especially the water source that the Gamemakers were going to provide.

Although, since traversing through the jungle, you’ve come to the conclusion that there is no main water source here. Well, besides the center lake, which doesn’t really count because it’s saltwater. And turning saltwater into drinking water is a long and tiring process that you have very little experience doing. 

That’s why you’re going to the Cornucopia. They have to have a sealed bottle of water or some sort of agent for making water drinkable hidden in one of those boxes. If you do find something like iodine, then it means there’s a pond or stream you just have to find. If not, then the Gamemakers have made the same grave mistake they made the last time you were in the arena.

You were in a desert, loose orange sand swirling the air occasionally due to a weak breeze. A blazing white sun beating down on you, no shade available as far as the eye could see. Besides the Cornucopia, of course, which had been taken over by the Careers, and they were refusing to step out of it.

You wandered for two and a half days through the sand, around the prickly cacti with the pretty pink flowers in bloom. You went as far as your legs could carry you, sweat soaking your shirt, your scalp wet to the touch. Your lips were dry and cracked, coated in tiny sand particles. 

You were delirious, dizzy, walking yourself in circles, mumbling nonsense. You eventually stopped to pee behind a cactus, not worried about decency because you knew the Capitol would cut away to give you some privacy, when you remembered what you were told by the experts in the Training Center.

In a lesson on purifying water and what to do if you couldn’t find any, it was strongly advised for you to avoid drinking your own urine in a desperate situation. Something about salt and how it could make the situation worse, but you really couldn’t wait any longer. You needed something to drink to wet your mouth and to get the tough feeling out of your throat.

As soon as that yellow bottle touched your lips, you were met with your first ever sponsor gift. Which was, of course, a giant jug of clean water. It was cold, condensation had begun to run down the side of the plastic as soon as it touched the ground. You knew you had to make it last, but you couldn’t help the first few gulps.

The main thing you’re grateful for is the fact that you never actually had to drink your own urine. The Gamemakers had come to their senses just in time to save you from doing that on live television. Either way, don’t be fooled, it’s not something you’re proud of almost doing.

It wasn’t until later, during your final interview in the Capitol with Caesar Flickerman, were you told that the original plan for the desert was to withhold water. It was an experiment to see how the tributes would react when they found out and how long it would take them to die. 

When the Gamemakers saw you on that screen, about to drink liquid that came out of your body, they cracked. They couldn’t let the Capitol citizens see it happen because it was too gross for them. Not the fact that it was inhumane and it shouldn’t have been the plan in the first place.

The only real good thing that came out of that whole situation was the fact that the Gamemakers made sure a water source was in every arena moving forward. The distance to travel to it didn’t really matter to them, as long as the tributes would have someplace to fill up their canteens, or whatever.

This is why you’re hopeful they have a stream of water somewhere, and it isn’t just the center lake.

Fortunately, it’s relatively easy to travel back down the slope of the jungle, then it is to hike it up. All you have to do is keep an eye on the ground and watch for any deceiving roots that appear like they’re not sticking out. Which is far and few between.

You like that it’s fairly quiet out here, it’s usually hard to find any sort of peace when you’re in an arena. The chirping of the birds and insects are so familiar and calming, that it would be impossible to miss the sound of the branch that just snapped behind you.

You hesitate on your next step, torn between coming to a complete stop to peer over your shoulder or running for your life. It could just be an animal in the jungle, so running would be a gross overreaction. On the same hand, it could be someone, anyone.

You raise your sword in front of you, tilting it to the side to use the reflection to see what it is that made the noise. This is a move you learned recently from a tribute who comes from one of the outskirt districts. You believe it was a boy from Nine, and instead of a sword, he had a scythe, or something along those lines. All you know is that it had a bigger blade.

Your heart leaps in your chest at the sight of Gloss attempting to creep up on you, entirely way too close for comfort. In a moment of fight or flight, your instincts choose the former, swinging the sword with a wide arc, gaining momentum to hit Gloss hard. He catches your weapon with his own, the sound of metal on metal clanging together fills the air.

That’s all it takes for the birds and insects in the trees to go silent.

You flip your blade flat against his, allowing you to place your free hand on your sword so you can shove him back to get him off of you. You try to be quick, slicing downward at his shins, but he’s prepared for this, blocking you.

If Gloss is going to predict every move you make, then you’re going to be in trouble trying to fight him off. Especially since you’ve never had the opportunity to watch him fight someone else without being interrupted. In the Training Center, he’d get sidetracked by Cashmere, or you’d get pulled away by one of the many training experts to polish off your experience.

It would be wiser to run than to engage in a fight. The problem that comes with this is he’s going to follow you, there’s no question about it. You could try to lose him in the jungle and escape to the beach, but he’ll find your tracks eventually. And this doesn’t even take Cashmere and Brutus into consideration. 

“What’s wrong?” Gloss asks, a smile hinting at the corners of his lips. “Haven’t had to fight anyone just yet?”

“Nope.” You tell him, slowly backing away, being careful as to where you place your foot. “I’m sure you have, though.” 

He makes a face, tilting his head while shrugging his shoulders. As if that’s a given and didn’t need to be spoken aloud. “You know how it is.”

You shake your head at him, lips pursed. “I don’t. I don’t feel the need to seek out friends and kill them.”

“What about if they come at you with a weapon?” Gloss asks. “It’s self defense.”

“You’re the one following me.” You raise your eyebrows.

“Only recently. We saw you coming down the hill and thought you might be able to lead us to Katniss.” 

“You’re shit out of luck. I’m not in an alliance with them.”

Gloss gives you a tight lipped smile. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth.” You take another step back.

Gloss raises his sword, you make a stab at him, forcing him to jerk back. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Cashmere’s platinum blonde hair in the sun. She’s coming out from behind a tree, moving to join Gloss.

Where’s Brutus?

A creeping feeling spreads through your body. You spin around, paranoid he’s behind you, and find that your intuition is right. He’s less than five feet away, another minute and you’d be dead.

You can’t fight all three of them.

You don’t bother turning around to give a final jab to Gloss. Instead, you start running toward Brutus, sword raised in the air to bring down at him. He’s forced to decide whether or not he can take the hit, and just before you swing, he jerks out of the way.

The sword lowers to your side as you barrel down the jungle slope, heading for the beach. If you’re going to fight them, it’s going to be on a level playing field where the sand slows all four of you down. Otherwise, you might as well just lay down and let them kill you. 

The jungle seems to change as you go. It’s not really noticeable at first, since the trees and ferns turn into a blurry mess of brown and green. But then there’s mixes of dark grey and white that make your pace slow.

You turn to look over your shoulder, finding your Career friends are still coming your way, carelessly trampling through the spongy dirt. You watch as Gloss’s foot gets caught in a root, and in return, a flurry of arrows come raining down on them.

You watch as they duck in different directions, getting stuck with several arrows in their arms, legs and backs. As they take a moment to pull them out of their bodies, you eye the trees above, curious on where they had come from. They’re going to think it was Katniss, but there’s no way she can shoot twenty arrows at the same time.

You turn around, going back to running, trying to lose them while you can. You keep a careful eye on the ground, afraid of what other possibilities the jungle holds. All he did was trip over a root from one of the many trees, could it really have triggered an attack like that?

You don’t want to find out. 

It seems like Gloss, Cashmere and Brutus don’t want to either. They’re much more cautious now, but they’re still moving quicker than you are. Your efforts pay off, though, because you spot several areas of the ground where it’s too flat and looks a little too jungle-y. 

Which sounds insane in your head, but when you stab at the area as you pass, the ground falls in to reveal pointed wood spikes at the bottom of a ten foot hole. You can feel your stomach drop, feet slowing even more. 

You don’t remember all of this last night. It was a regular jungle when you were heading to the top. You tripped over several roots last night and never received a reaction like Gloss did. And there was nothing wrong with the ground, either.

The beach can’t be that much further, all you have to do is make it to the sand and then everything will be fine again. Well, that is until you get attacked by the Careers, but you can’t afford to worry about them until then. You need to keep heading forward.

As you continue, you try to take light steps, tiptoeing around the roots, stabbing at the ground, keeping an eye on the trees. It helps that they trigger several of the traps behind you, slowing them down, giving you more time to plan out your steps.

But all it takes is one misstep on your part for you to fall victim to the hidden terrors of this part of the jungle. You stomp on a rock, thinking nothing of it, until you feel a sharp pain on the back of your left arm. You stumble a step or two, instantly feeling lightheaded.

You reach over, hand securing around the foreign object, pulling it out of your body. You hold it in front of you, staring down at your hand that seems to elongate and shrink, making it hard for you to see what it is that punctured you. You squint, rolling it over in your hand, watching it multiply.

Something is wrong here.

You bring it closer to your face, accidentally bumping it into your nose. Reality seems to straighten after that, allowing you enough time to see that it’s a dart, and the needle is coated in a dark purple substance. You wipe it with your finger, raising it to your nose to smell.

It hits your nose with a sting, your face puckers as you jerk your head back. You know that smell. It’s tracker jacker venom. It’s so potent and sour. It’s one of those smells you can’t forget about, like the smell of a rotting body.

You look up, the jungle’s color has become more vibrant—alive. You shoot a look over your shoulder to find that Cashmere, Gloss and Brutus are still running at you, their bodies changing shapes, the ground moving as if there’s water beneath. The sight makes you nauseous, you swallow back the vomit and throw the dart in their direction.

When you go back to running for your life, it’s near impossible to keep alert. Either you watch the ground and avoid the traps, or you observe the jungle and find animals peeking out behind trees, snarling at you. 

You’re not sure how long this goes on for, where you trigger traps and narrowly avoid the consequence or end up getting stabbed by an arrow. All you know is that at some point, Cashmere gets caught in a net and she gets strung up in the air. It forces Gloss and Brutus to quit chasing after you to help her down.

You go as far as your legs will carry you, before the venom in your system becomes too much to bear. You lay down in a small patch of dirt that you come across, perfect hidden behind a tree and covered by long fern leaves. You tuck your sword beneath the plants, but keep it in arms reach in case you need to use it.

The word has begun to spin, the scenery around you changing into one more familiar, like the desert you escaped a couple years ago. You close your eyes, squeezing them shut, hoping that the venom will exit your system quickly.

When you wake, the jungle looks just the same as it did before you slipped into the hallucinations. The skin on your cheeks feel sensitive and raw, and your mouth is drier than it had been this morning. You sit up, taking a moment to gather yourself before you get to your feet.

Your legs feel like jelly, you use a tree to hold yourself upright. When they feel more solidified, you shuffle your way out from behind the tree, and find yourself just a couple of steps away from the beach.

You let out a sigh of relief, more than ready to leave the jungle for the time being, even if that means you’ll be put out in the open. You stop in the sand, squinting through the brightness of the sun to see where you are and figure out what time it is.

It looks like you’re on the left side of the Cornucopia, somewhat behind it. You can’t see the mouth from where you are, so if you still want to go there, you’d need to travel through the treeline of the jungle to get there. Or you could take the gamble and wander up. 

At this point, you don’t really care if anyone’s there. 

It’s late afternoon, you can tell by the sun in the sky. If you’re taking bets, you’d say that no one would be stupid enough to be at the Cornucopia right now. Maybe at night, but not in broad daylight, unless there’s a group there.

Which should leave you worried about the Careers, but it’s been hours since you saw them in the jungle. You’re not sure if they made it out alive, and you honestly don’t really care, either. You do know that they were injured because of the traps, so you’d say they won’t make another big move for a while unless it’s urgent.

You step out of the jungle fully, heading for the nearest spoke that’ll lead straight to the center island where the Cornucopia is. You’ll take your chances, just this once. You need water, and if you’re not going to get sponsored, then you need to find it yourself.

You’re not even halfway there when a face appears around the side of the Cornucopia, just briefly surveying the area. You come to a stop where you are on the rock, watching as the person decides to come out to see who you are. 

You can tell who it is almost immediately. How could you miss him? His sun kissed skin, the bronze hair, the silver trident in his hand. It’s Finnick, of course. And because of the conversation you had yesterday, you already know that he’s going to turn you away.

“I need water.” You tell him, not waiting for him to speak first. “If you have a problem with that, then you can leave.”

“There’s no water here.” He tells you, shaking his head. “We’ve been through the boxes.”

“I would like to look for myself.” You continue forward.

“You can’t come over here, (Y/n).”

“I can. If that makes you and your allies uncomfortable, then there’s eleven different directions for you all to go.” Your eyes are locked with his. “I need supplies. You’ve had your time here, now it’s my turn.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t. And I don’t care to find out anymore.” You stop in front of him. “You can’t turn me away, I won’t let it happen. So, you need to figure your shit out quickly.”

Finnick has his lips pressed together, looking over your face. “What happened to you?”

“Exactly what I told you, yesterday.” You say slowly. “They found me, Finnick. And if it weren’t for a net in the jungle, I’d be dead.”

“Who found you?”

“Who do you think?” You snap. 

The two of you stand in a tense silence for a minute, thinking about the different ways you can handle this. Finnick must not think you’re worth the fight, though, because he backs away.

“Just keep quiet and follow my lead.” Finnick looks at the Cornucopia. “Like I said, the alliance is—”

“I don’t want to be part of your playdate.” You cut him off. “I’m over it. I’ll take care of myself.”

He doesn’t like that response, you can tell by the way he sighs. “You’re going to change your mind when you get around the corner.”

“We’ll see.” You wave him off.

Finnick leads the way, “No need to panic, it’s just (Y/n).” He warns.

You step around the Cornucopia, eyes searching the group that he’s managed to gather. Your face twists at the sight of the odd combination of Katniss, Peeta, Beetee and Johanna.

Johanna makes a retching sound, “What is she doing here?”

“Water.” You tell her plainly.

“Well, you’re not going to find any.” She says, head bobbing.

“We’ll see.”

There’s a moment of silence as you walk into the Cornucopia, flipping lids open, digging through boxes. You find one protein bar at the bottom of a box, and rip the wrapper open with your teeth, eating it as you continue.

“What’s that welt on the back of your arm?” Finnick asks.

“Dart.” You murmur. “Tracker jacker venom.”

A couple more minutes pass before someone clears their throat. “I can get you water.” You turn to see who it is, and it’s Katniss. She holds up a metal object that’s tied to her belt with a vine. “It’s a spile.”

You stand up. “How?”

“The trees. We just have to find a good one that’ll give us a steady stream.”

You look over at Finnick, he’s nodding his head.

“What do you want in return?” You ask.

Katniss lets the spile fall. “Nothing.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

[okaysonny]

so we all know that lookism more about action and fighting and we only have little romance in the webtoon… Do you think that ptj should add more romance in it? as of now we only have 4-5(??) canon ships (warrenxsally, miraxzach, sinuxyeonhui, vivixxiaolung, etc) personally i think i would like to see goo,vinjin and jake with a love interest that’s just for me tho, 😵‍💫😵‍💫what’s your opinion on this (sorry if i sound lanky i don’t know english that much)

Glad u asked. I'll be taking this opportunity to YAP. *hands you an essay*

do i think ptj should add more romance? yes! 😄

do i want him to be the one writing it? 😧 no

jk! (kind of) it's just clear romance isn't his forte. and that's fine! i actually don't think any of the canon ships are bad...aside from one 😑 i just don't feel strongly about them. YES I WILL BE ELABORATING

warren x sally: i don't care about this ship, because i don't care about these characters! cute, but...warren is a plain jane and sally's character got dumbed down after hostel arc imo

zack x mira: awww the first lookism pairing 😄 the library + cinema hang out in the beginning was so adorable ^_^ but 500+ chapters and they're still not official like alr...

also we don't see much of mira's character outside of fuelling zack's development. she went through a lot with the cult and the school camping arc...but we don't really see how she felt? so erm

sinu x yeonhui: honestly, no strong complaints. like that's parents! i would've liked to see how sinu started liking her, but that's if i'm really nitpicking

vivi x xiaolung: 😑 i was mad as HELL when they got a happy ending. even if we take away her diddy parties, he was literally brainwashed + fought to the death to become her guard?? xiaolung worships vivi because he doesn't know anything else! he doesn't know a normal life! so this is already problematic to begin with

and why the fawkkk was jake like "nooo xiaolung you'll make her cry 😠" like why would jake gaf?? 🤣😭 oh that made me cringe SO BAD! and howww is he saying all that as they're falling off a building i'm crying...i headcanon he just said this so xiaolung would make the fall softer in those 2 seconds so he wouldn't die

bracing myself for a moment where big deal has no strength and xiaolung pulls up and says to the enemy "don't get it twisted...we're not friends, but i have something to repay him for" ptj i'm familiar with your game.

+ mitsuki x ryuhei: looks like it'll become a thing but i HOPE NOT! they're both trash but at least ryuhei is likeable...my pookie deserves better :/

okay sorryyy back to the actual question.

yes i do want romance because it's cute + a change of pace is always good 😄

ptj defo has more romance lined up, just not for the moment.

if i'm thinking of the character closest to getting romance rn...i'm saying eli 🫡 rn he's just chilling with his fruits and is healing because he has that forgiveness from heather's mom

+ i think he just craves love and affection in general </3 ALSO...eli being the one to say he's worried about crystal at the start of busan arc was 🤨 definitely intentional when you remember his crush on her. make of that what you will...

men who i think are getting romance way down the line:

daniel - well...pretty obvious! it's zoe or no one. ptj only uses jay x daniel for queerbaiting ❤️

vasco - still has that thing with leon lee.

jake - ptj can show the contrast between him and gapryong in relation to women. anddd development where he doesn't feel tied to only being #1 + starts to forgive himself for his actions and yada yada. jake getting romance will also give funny scenes of jerry/big deal doing the absolute most + minseon meeting her.

and jake just exudes bf material! everyone wants to see it. ptj knows everyone wants to see it. i think it'll happen 😄

jake is a very big character though. do you make a female character to be his love interest or unexpectedly pair him with an existing one? but i think there's only 2 girls i can see him with. maybe 3 but the last option is very bad.

btw i'm not 100% against making new women and eventually pairing them up with the guys. but i just know ptj will do this in a way that's very CRINGE and OBVIOUS

johan - wheather with lua or someone else. this ship would piss me off less if lua wasn't banished to the sewers of all places 😭🤣

anddd johan is also healing + chilling in school. so he's in a better place for all that too. plus cute scenes of her meeting his mom/him asking her for girl advice like c'mon

hudson - i just have a feeling ❤️

and that's...really it imo. too much of anything is never good. not everyone needs a love interest! 😅 will ptj do their love lives justice? i have little faith, but we shall see...

and since you mentioned them anon, i'll give my opinion:

vin jin - he just has too much self growth to do. this the same guy who said he hits girls when they're ugly 🤯 it could happen, but it should happen after he redeems himself by apologising to duke + trying to be a better person.

and yeahhh you could have a love interest help him realise all that but 🙄 it's way better + more impactful if his redemption is from his own efforts.

goo - i just can't really see it sorry 😭 but we don't know much about goo, so maybe i'll change my mind after seeing his arc + actual goal in the story.

the only thing is figuring out where/when to put romance in lookism when you have that massive genre shift. i know ptj is stressedddd

[porcelainvino]

oh my god i’m going to meet chris colfer wtf 😭

[asfdhgsdkjhgb]

guys i need to be dancing at a house party tipsy with someone im attracted to so bad btw. ive never been to a house party in real life (though id quite like to at least once) but i really have been desperately needing that specific (probably awful for me) sensory and social environment so bad lately

[hershelwidget]

BEHOLDE. MASKS PEOPLE IN THEIR GLORY

That format up there is Name - Pronouns - Exact Division - Broader Magical Term - Species

Silly silly shenanigans! They are one of the trios ever I love their friendship so much

frankly I am obsessed

Woahhhh

and. lastly

I love how Rosemary and Charley actually have wings and fly accordingly but Philliam is naturally a floating disembodied skull. And the best part is that’s NOT what Charley is surprised about

I am going to be working on their official ref sheets complete with colours soon!! Might even throw in a photo of the actual irl mask on the sheet :0

Please expect more of these sillies!!

[i-starcreamed]

Hi!, can I get some headcanons of transformers one character being jealous and the reader teases them.

D-16, Orion, Sentinel, Badassatron, and elita.

TF-ONE X READER

I tried to make this silly I'm feeling silly...enjoy

Post includes all of above :3

D-16

Tries to act unaffected by it, but doesn’t make a huge deal

Usually

He’s usually nice about it

Let’s say a bot is being really friendly with you, they’re making you laugh and everything. D sees from the distance, then comes up to you. Placing a servo against the small of your back-frame. “Heyy what’s so funny? I want to hear too :)”

He’s forcing a smile so bad.

He’s harmless, man, he trusts you completely

If another bot is for real flirting with you though, he's going to be so passive-aggressive

It’s more like he wants ur attention lol

If you teased him about it he’s going to deny it so hard

"What? No, no no.. I’m not jealous..pfft"

If you’re extra sweet maybe he’ll admit it

NOO y/n.. I’m funnier than them anyway.. I’m cooler too..

Orion

Don’t get jealous often either

He trusts you, he’s trustful of most bots

He gets jealous when you don't give him enough attention too

You’ll be talking to someone and he’ll just be in the background like,

“I’m..Y/N? Hey I..y/n? Uhm..I'm..right here..”

He’s so awkward, he doesn’t want to be rude to either of you but he’s lonely!!

If you tease him about looking sad when you’re not looking at him all the time, he’ll softly scoff.

"Well...yeah. They were flirting with you.."

sad puppy eyes

"Orion..they were asking me about Sentinels speech yesterday.."

"Oh...sorry."

eughhh

Sentinel

Oh boy

It’s a mix of irritation and jealousy

Why are you looking at someone else! When you can be looking at him!

He might be an attention seeker. He’ll just say things to catch your attention.

“Hey sweetspark, come look at my new paint job!” He calls you over as you're busy talking to someone else, he looks exactly the same btw

If you teased him I feel like he’ll take it way too seriously

“Jealous? What is there to be jealous of?? I’m literally Sentinel??”

But then his insecurity starts

“Wait…do you like talking to them more?”

evil sad puppy eyes

He'll only be content if you feed him compliments. Also erm..never talk to that bot again

#toxic

If he can’t demote the bot he was jealous of, he’ll try to one-up them, otherwise they are FIRED

After he gets over it he’ll be extra affectionate. You also get affectionate when you tease him so maybe it’s not so bad after all

insert makeout session

B-127

Badassatron

He’s definitely a bit attention and touch-starved after being stuck in low levels for who knows how many years

It’s only logical that he’s glued to your side for the rest of your life

If he’s jealous it’s very obvious. He tries to do something to get your attention or awkwardly stands there

Hey y/n look at this! - Does a backflip and falls

Tease him about it and he gets flustered

"Whattt? No, I’m not jealous!" He lets out a cocky laugh

“Ok maybe a little..”

Kiss his faceplate all over and he’s yours

He's definitely the least harmful

If he's jealous about a bot he particularly dislikes or they're flirting with you out and about, he might be more passive-aggressive about it

"Hey don't mean to intrude or anything, but uh, I'm kinda busy with my PARTNER. And by PARTNER I mean we're together. Yeah, uh huh! So, if you don't mind, my PARTNER and I are going to ignore you now. Since we're y'know..busy being together."

Elita

She’s smug about her jealousy, but only you could tell

“No, I’m not jealous. What makes you think that?”

Meanwhile, she’s giving the nastiest glare to the other bot.

“You really need to stop bringing their hopes up. Did you hear the way they were flirting with you?”

“Elita...they were just thanking me."

“Don’t even look at them actually"

If you tease her, she either denies it or is very proud

Like yeah she got a little jealous, she has such an amazing partner and anyone in their right mind would see that too.

Or no..she's definitely not jealous. She's just speaking her mind

[vxlentinescookies]

Ajax listen,,,,listen to me Ajax-

Self Aware AU, where the cookies come to the player's/reader's world. Pick whichever characters you wanna include, I just need to see this 🙏

→ ❛Part of your world❜

→ Characters ; Longan Dragon Cookie, Burning Spice Cookie, Shadow Milk Cookie, Timekeeper Cookie & Millennial Tree Cookie → Quote ; ❛❛If someone came to you and told you “One day you’ll have those who you love the most in the palm of your hand”, well… you never thought that’d become true, nor that it’d be a metaphor…❜❜ → Genre ; Headcanons/Drabble → A/N ; This took me a whole ass night to make and 2500+ words to finish, I hope you like it /lh

Longan Dragon Cookie

“How quaint… to believe someone like you lives in such a… small place”

Having Longan Dragon in your home was… curious to say the least. Not something you expected, yet here you were, with a dragon looking at you as they squatted in your bedroom.

Longan would be hypercritical of the place you lived, noting things like “This looks cheap” or “Its far too small”

Despite that, Longan would be quite intrigued in your life, wanting to see how you worked or what you did, they’d follow you around when not sitting in your living room and meditating.

Nevertheless, they’re there for a reason, they’re with you for a reason, and they’ll make that reason known very, very soon.

It’d take Longan a few months, but eventually, they would come to sit by your side at the table, not sitting down on a chair but instead, sitting down by your side quite literally. They’d stare at you for long moments before finally leaning their head on your shoulder, the weight catching you off guard as you looked at them. 

“... I’ll make sure you live like you deserve one of these days” They’d say, and in that moment, you understood why there had been so many disappearances of delinquents and robbers nearby…

If you’re wondering what they’d do in your world, then…

One of the few favorite activities of Longan was to read, so much so, that you had to request books from the library more often than not, but with the way Longan was reading them… It had just been a few months, and yet this dragon had consumed almost all of your local library’s books.  So, when they finished reading most of your books, they’d chose to write them. And they’d write about what they saw, about everything they had seen around them, everything they had seen in this new world, and in some sense, it was intriguing to see how a dragon explored the new world they were in, the little things that werent intriguing to you were greatly important to them, in a way that got you even more intrigued by how they saw you.

“... You want to know how I see you?” They’d ask.

You knew fully well that you shouldnt expect much, after all, this was Longan Dragon we were talking about, they werent a kind dragon, they saw cookies as lesser beings, and humans now by extensions, but as you asked them that question, they’d only smile and pat your head softly.

“You’re the reason Im here… Of course I would think highly of you”

A genuine smile, it made your heart flutter as they spoke, a hand going to cup your chin in it.

“You’re interesting, perhaps, one of the most interesting things I’ve seen in this world.”

Besides writing, they’d follow you around and take note of everything you’d do… And by night, they’d curl by your side, taking most of the bed as they allow you to take rest in their chest, as they allow you to take rest in their breaths while their hands thread on your hair.

Burning Spice Cookie

“How intriguing…! Never would I have expected your home to be so… so… erm…”

Another one who seems to heavily judge your house, but also, another one who appears in your home kneeling because it is so small compared to him.

Either way, he gets eased into the ambient quite easily, his search for entertainment leading him to see through everything and all the world has to offer.

Until he… gets bored, again, because your world isnt as different from his (and in some sense, it is… actually… more boring than his old world…)

So, he moves to the next thing closest to him for entertainment!

“Little one, come here” 

He’d call forward to you once, looking at you with dark yet fiery eyes and an everlasting smile, though you knew this once it hid something, after all, despite him coming to your world for x or y reason, it involved you, it always involved you…

“Entertain me” Would be his words once you approached him, his smile becoming only more cryptic as you lifted an eyebrow at his voice. Entertain, him? In what sense or way would you be able to entertain someone akin to a god? 

Seeming to sense your doubt, Burning Spice would only come and hold you from your shirt, lifting you up before staring at you and then…

“Hahahah, you should’ve looked at your face, you really are an interesting one!”

If you’re wondering what he’d do in your world, then…

Besides seeking something for entertainment, Burning spice is in some sense able to somewhat pass through the crowd, and by that I mean he can somewhat pass as just a very tall human. Nonetheless, between choosing to hit the gym and sending you pictures, he’ll also follow you around, finding even the most monotonous tasks fairly entertaining if it has you in it. Its a weird combo, being outside with a dude in a hoodie and sweat pants following you around while doing groceries, or being in the metro and getting a fairly nice picture of him flexing for you. Burning spice is a menace…

“Aye, welcome home! I took care of some pesky people while you were gone… It was fun hearing their screams…”

…in far more ways than one.

Either way, you two also share a bed, its not like you have a choice with how clingy he can become when sleeping, pulling you in his arms in a heated hug (in the sense that he literally irradiates heat) while snoring loudly, you’ve gotten complaints from neighbors (if you live in an apartment), but somehow… they’ve… they’ve quieted down recently… However, when you ask Burning Spice, he just laughs it off.

Shadow Milk Cookie

“Woowee, what do we have here, sweetheart?”

Not as judgemental of your home, no, for once someone isnt as focused on where you live but…

He is focused on you, looking at you up and down, before hitting his head on the roof of your room, ouch!

He spends most of the days following you around though, using his magic to stay hidden from most people, so much that people may find you crazy for seeing you talk to… nothing!

Either way, much like the others, he’s there for a reason…

“Why Im here?”

You asked Shadow Milk once, after a good few months, what the jester had come to do in your own home. In fact, it perplexed you so much that when you asked him, the feeling seemed to be shared. It was… intriguing to say the least, but he’d only smile before clasping his hands together and saying in a song-esque tune.

“Becuase you’re sooooooooooo interesting, darlin! Just look at you, how could I NOT come here with you?”

Truth to be told, he saw you as who you really were, in some sense he saw you as someone who didnt fall for lies easily, he saw you as someone who saw beyond that and you were… interesting. You were a shot in the dark, and he just had, to have you near.

“You’re so silly, darlin, sososososo silly” He’d add in, patting your head softly as you only smiled and blushed slightly, even while knowing his smile and gaze hid a million of thoughts, and a million of even more ideas.

If you’re wondering what he’d do in your world, then…

When not reading around in your home, or following you to the library to read some books, he’d be looking over your shoulder, reading every single note, watching every single thing you do, it makes him curious, how someone so quaint has him wrapped around your finger. And yet, he cant help but smile at the idea of being just like that, wrapped around your finger in a sweet loving embrace.

He’d be the most romantic of the bunch, the one that makes it the most prominent that he’s there with you because he likes you, he dosent even hide it fully despite his jester-esque persona, he just cant hide it! So, when you ask him about what he was doing one day in the balcony of your apartment, he’d only turn and smile softly.

“Why, I'm recreating one of your world’s theatre plays!” He’d say, and you make a mental note to go to the theatre more often… “And you’ve come just in time, silly (y/n)! I need someone to play dearest Juliet!”

You add that it is a tragic love story, and he only brushes it off, adding in that “actors are actors, sweetheart, now come in and act!” so you do, and you have a fun time doing a monologue to a bunch of people who stay and watch, before claps fill the air.

And when time comes to bed, he’ll be the first to curl up in your bed, curl like a cat who welcomes you into his arms so sweetly, you feel the scent of milk, lactonic as it is, and for once you feel safe.

Timekeeper Cookie

“Well, look what we have here!”

To find Timekeeper in your home means to have done something either right or wrong. In your case, its right.

They’re very much curious about everything from the things you do on a daily basis to your home and how electronics work.

Still, and much like some others in this list, they become quickly bored about it, choosing to focus on you as main form of entertainment

Still, you can expect certain shenanigans to ensue.

It was late at night when it happened, just as you were playing when a portal opened and dragged you inside of it. You were scared shitless that much is true but, when you saw the person who dragged you in, you simply could sigh in slight annoyance.

“What? Cant I drag my favorite person in for some fun?” They’d say with that ever present smile, Timekeeper chuckling as she smiled widely at you, before noticing… “Oh, right, it is night where you’re from, guess I took you out at the wrong time!”

You huffed and yawned, before sitting up and looking at your phone… Right, it didnt exactly work when in time rifts, but then again that raised the question, why did they bring you here to begin with? As if being presented with the question loud and clear, they’d clear her throat and speak yet again.

“I simply wanted to see you, nothing wrong with that now?” They’d say quite mischievously, picking you up and bringing you into her lap “Go on, lets- Hm?”

You’d fall asleep into her arms as soon as she picked you up, your calm quiet face being shown to her as you were held in her arms. Well, guess fun had to wait.

If you’re wondering what they’d do in your world, then…

Much like the others, they also enjoy reading, however, they focus on reading about engineering and mechanics, more so about the mechanics of your world to see if they’re any different from the ones of her world. To say there isnt much difference is but an understatement, there was a hefty amount of difference counting the technology from the TBD was far more advanced, but, even then, you’d be able to get the timekeeper intrigued by the nature of your world.

“Tell me more about your world, c’mon!” They’d ask one day, floating from a time rift as you cooked dinner. 

Unlike the others Timekeeper wasnt keen on staying in one place, still finding comfort in being inside time rifts most of the time, though they still visited you more often than not, more often than other places. Seeing them you’d ask her what she wanted to know, to which she’d hum before saying.

“Anything, I dont really find it entertaining seeing it myself—Explain your world to me yourself, doll!”

So when night comes after a long day chatting, it is you who clings to her softly, as she watches you sleep cozily by her side. She smiles and pats your head, because as much as she’d prefer to fade into a time rift, she knows she cant let you go so easily, no. Not when you finally showed her happiness.

“Interesting, this place is… quite interesting…”

Seeing someone as tall as Millennial Tree in your home is but a piece of the whole puzzle. You are dumbfounded but in some sense, seeing them kneel to greet you is almost laughable.

He’s big, very tall and a gentle giant overall, and it shows when he holds your hand and tells you that your world is interesting to him.

He’s just as curious as everyone else, looking at everything, looking at everyone, he’s curious about you, curious about your world, yet he knows it’d be dangerous to leave on his own.

So, you take him to the forest, planing on leaving him go but…

“I dont want to leave you alone…”

He’d speak with conviction, looking at you as your eyes widened and your face dropped. Just what you feared would happen. He’d hold your hands together, looking at you with some concern before smiling softly, kissing both of your palms.

“I came here for a reason, that much I know, and I know that reason is within you… Allow me to stay by your side, and I’ll do everything in my power to make it worth it.”

You have no power in you to say no, to turn down his offer after his gentle and sweet words, that day you realized that perhaps he did come to your world for a reason, a world so clad in evil and pain…

If you’re wondering what he’d do in your world, then…

When not travelling nor reading, he’s at home with you, cooking or revisiting each place he has gone to to help. He’s become… a sort of Messiah, you cant help it, become public enemy no.1 to some, and a savior to others, it truly depended on who you were asking. Your gaze would follow his as he trailed on a book you both were reading before he’d lean and kiss your forehead, things were… easy, happy with him there… You felt much happier.

“Is something the matter, sapling?” He’d ask, his gentleness carrying over to his voice as he hummed at your words saying it was nothing, but he knew better, still, he wouldnt push. “Are you perhaps tired?”

You pouted slightly before nodding, yes, you were quite tired, but you didnt want to admit to it. Still, he’d nod before moving the book to the side and lifting you into his arms. He’d carry you to your shared bedroom, careful on his way there before setting you on the bed with him, cozily, softly, carrying you to him as he pressed his lips on your forehead and your body to his.

“Sleep well, sunshine” He’d say, brushing hairs off your face before speaking again “Thank you for accepting me into your world…”

Honestly, how could you not at this point? With that thought in your head… You fell asleep.

[vixzwrites]

slytherin boys: pet names for you

authors note: heavily inspired by them slytherin boys react tiktoks i keep seeing everywhere. readers gender isnt specified.

possible tw: over working yourself (idk), mention of weed/being stoned, bullying possibly if you squint, drinking

Draco Malfoy;

- darling

- i feel like he'd use it in a slightly mocking tone before you guys became offical but after it would the most common pet name he used

"you should leave harry and his friends alone!" Draco wasnt known as the nicest boy in hogwarts, which didnt suprise you after seeing his relentless behaviour to the so called 'chosen one'. "oh yeah, darling?" he quipped back. God he was insufferable.

"darling? you here?" Your boyfriend had just got back from quidditch practice. You could tell he was exhausted the way he stumbled into his dorm already taking his uniform off and slumping it into the washing basket. He worked really hard but you knew best how he could over work himself. When he saw you his face softened. You outstretched your arms allowing him to enter them. "i'm going to take a shower first." At least he was taking care of himself.

Mattheo Riddle;

- bro is such a princess/prince man

- it obviously comes with the princess/prince treatment ig

- similiar to Draco he would tease you with it before dating but after seeing you blush and stutter, why would he ever stop using it?

You had came late to Snape's lesson, which was your first mistake; struggling to find your seat was the second. "sir, there aren't any seats left." Snape glared over at you clearly bothered by your disruption. "well miss/mr (l/n) if you had not arrived late to my lesson, there may have been a seat left for you." and with that he resumed his original task. "there's a seat next to me, princess/prince." Turning your head to meet the one and only Dark Lord's son, only to see him nodding towards the empty seat next to him and his fave plastered with a big smirk. "o-oh, erm... thank you" Did he just call you princess/prince?

It was if your own knees had betrayed you giving out underneath you and causing you to collapse onto the common room couch. You were exhausted all the exams and revision had really taking it out of you, not to mention quidditch practice in the early hours of the morning. "Hey, Princess/Prince." The sound of his voice was comforting and caused you to snuggle into his side. "You okay?" before Mattheo could get a reply, you had already drifted off.

Theodore Nott;

- angel (i couldnt decide between theo and enzo)

- he wouldn't use this to tease you at all he would use it more when he's feeling soft lol

Someone's arms sneak around your waist and pull you close to their chest. Startled, you spin on your heels ready to bitch slap this boy into next week. When you're met with the handsome face of your boyfriend, that idea goes out the window. He pulls you furthur into him and rests his head in your neck. "Hello, Angel. Have you missed me?" You whine causing Theo to chuckle into your neck.

Lorenzo Berkshire;

- sweetheart

- enzo is just a soft boy being raised by women he knows how to treat them right too

The night of the yule ball was finally happening. Lorenzo had made it his mission to get you as his date and when it had finally happened, it was safe to say the boy couldnt be happier. He was on his way to collect you from your dorm. Knocking on the door, he could hear you on the other side before the door opened revealing you in your ball attire. "wow you look- you look amazing. No not amazing, you look stunning, sweetheart." You giggled at his antics. "give me a spin?" You spun showing off the outfit, pansy had helped you chose.

Blaise Zabini;

- babe

- i feel like blaise is very whiny lol and he would definitely drag out the 'e' on babe espeacially when hes stoned (i need to write a fic aboutstoned blaise hes stuck in my head)

Common room parties were common, if you excuse the pun. You had been to many through out your years in slytherin and enjoyed the laughter and fun you had. Right now though , your in need of another drink. Your boyfriend had other plans though and was determind to keep you by his side. He smelt strong of weed and alcohol, he wasn't doing much to cover up the fact he was most definately drunk and stoned. Wriggling out of his grasp, you get up to find another drink. "babeeeee! where you goin?" His words were slurred and his senstences were missing words. He will just have to deal with out you for 2 minutes, you were sure he could manage that.

Tom Riddle;

- lets be honest he'd definitely call you something degrading in and out of the bedroom

- but since we're all delulu he calls you my love

- its a rare occasion as he isn't big on pet names but he does use them

"what are you doing?" Startled by the sudden stern voice, you jump. "i was just seeing if you had a spare tie i could borrow?" You felt shy under his eyes. "oh my love, i didnt mean to scare you." He reached a hand out to you so you could take it and lead you over to his bedside draw. He pulled a tie out for you. "now lets see of i can make it up to you for scaring you."

(sorry that its so short idrk how to write for tom without making him look like a complete dick)

idk if i did this correctly but im pretty sure you can request now and id love to hear other peoples ideas. you can request anything (smut, fluff, angst, comfort etc.) for a drabble headcannon, fic etc. so pls doooo.

[ronwestbreeze]

NONBELIEVER | viktor

summary: you would think two zaunites would come together and change the world. but perhaps fate had other plans for the two...

word count: 5.7k

warning: no use of y/n, angst and ambiguous endings???

author's note: so act 3 really messed me up lol but enjoy some angsty viktor because why not? the gif is from this set!!

ACT I: MOB

Like Viktor, you lived and breathed the Undercity just not in the same way.

Your face used to be what artists would paint, even for a revolutionary.

But now it was stained with blood of your own. Beaten out of you mercilessly until cool shackles were clamped onto your hands and steel bars shielded you from the world. You have been in prison for some time now. Months, maybe a year? These days you’ve lost count. The only way you could tell how much time had passed was the growth of your hair. That was the price of being a revolutionary. That was the price of taking risks no one else would. Now you tasted blood and smelled old pipes. That was life in Stillwater Hold.

How you got here was the same story as any other inmate. You had planned to destroy a part of Piltover to make a point. To show that the people of the Undercity would not rest or become the ants under their boots. Most of your comrades had escaped from Enforcers, others were killed in the explosion, and then there was you. It was a sacrifice so that your comrades could have time to escape. And you’ve long accepted your fate.

That is until a certain professor decided to mess with fate.

After being forced out of your cell to meet this Professor Heimer—something, you weren’t really sure about. All you knew was that these Enforcers really liked to manhandle you especially roughly and took pleasure in seeing the black eye and blood on your teeth. That you were used to.

“Oh dear, could we please get her a towel at least?” The professor chided with a shake of his head. “Goodness, at least have her be presentable!”

Eventually, you got the rag, albeit it was thrown at you. After spitting on one of the Enforcer’s shoes, you wiped the blood and dirt from your face as the professor began speaking.

“Well, you certainly live up to your name. The Rebel Moon, is it? You may or may not have heard of me, but I am Professor Cecil. B. Heimerdinger and I are here as a Piltover Academy representative!”

A beat of silence went by. You realized then he was waiting for a response. You rolled your shoulder back and rubbed your aching jaw. “What are you meeting with me for?”

Professor Heimerdinger cleared his throat awkwardly, “Well….it seems you’ve left yourself a bit of a…reputation. I specifically admire your work on the bridge a year ago—marvelous work!” Sarcasm. You didn’t quite appreciate the condescension either. Seeing the unimpressed expression on your face, he quickly continued, “What I mean to get at is that we found some of your…erm, blueprints and I was surprised to see that most of them had been handwritten yourself, is that right?”

One of the Enforcers placed down a file filled with your old blueprints. They were mostly a copy of the Piltover Bridge, others were for weapons that your previous comrades built off of your drawings. Then there were the private drawings. The ones filled with naïve dreams of rebuilding the Undercity, changing it to a place where it was safe for everyone.

You snatched the files and hid those drawings in the file earning a quick yank from one of the Enforcers holding your chain. But after a subtle look from the professor, the chain loosened, and you frowned, anger boiling in your blood. “Where did you get this?”

Heimerdinger raised his hands, “I come in good faith, child, that I can promise.”

“I don’t particularly care about your promises—”

“Oh yes, very true,” The professor tapped the table thoughtfully. “But I do think you will like the proposition I have for you.”

Apparently, you had the potential talent of being an architect. One of the best in your generation it seemed—which somehow, he got from just looking at your old blueprints. And now he was convinced that you should join his Academy and that this was the perfect opportunity for you to change your life. To start over. To—

“Become one of you people?” You frowned and pushed the file away from you. “I’ll take my chances in here.”

 Heimerdinger, of course, was quite the persistent man.  “Imagine what you could do with your talents, Miss Moon. You’re still so young, you don’t have to waste your life behind bars. You can start anew!”

“I’m not wasting away in here.” You say simply, your shoulders are heavy and your face still sore. Carefully and slowly, you leaned back in the chair you were sitting in,  trying not to put too much stress on your recently dislocated arm. “That’s the thing with you Upsiders. You all don’t know anything about what it is to fight. And what it is to sacrifice just so your people can see the light of day. I don’t need your handouts. I’m doing just fine here. It’s where I belong.”

At that, he frowned. “I’m afraid I disagree with you, Miss Moon.” He pushed the file back toward you. “You have the chance to create something beautiful for your city, for your people. You have the chance to help them live. You have the chance to be something greater.”

Greater. You weren’t great. It was either great or nothing.

Somehow, Heimerdinger managed to strike a deal and get you out of Stillwater despite your rejection. For some reason, he was so determined to make you into something that you weren’t. And you were determined to fail. You were determined to prove him wrong. Even if he tried to impress you with the new uniform, the scenery, and the architect of Piltover—just to inspire you—you would not break.

If anything, seeing all this luxury only made you angrier. Even if they preached about you now being free with new chances, there were still shackles clamped on your wrists, imprinting themselves like a tattoo. To remind you that even if you’ve gotten this chance, there is always a chance for you to go back. And they wouldn’t hesitate to send you back once you mess up. Which was what you were counting on.

But it seemed that Heimerdinger was a lot more astute than you expected. The professor had you in his study during the day to work and look over some blueprints for new housing at the Academy. It left you with very little time to plan something reckless that would have you sent back to prison. Which, you guessed, was what Heimerdinger wanted. So, you entertained him and worked on the stupid blueprints, redesigning everything as fast as you could so you could get done faster and have more time on your hands.

Of course, that plan went quickly out the window when there came more demands for blueprints. Leaving you swapped and buried deep in work you didn’t even want. And yet, admittingly, it was a nice distraction. There was a small part of you—the child you—that enjoyed some of this. You would never admit that to Heimerdinger and yet you couldn’t put the pencil down. Eventually, you began receiving so many different requests for different projects that Heimerdinger got you a lab over your own, so all your stuff didn’t get overcrowded in his study.

Requests were filled with more designs or redesign for specific buildings they were hoping to update to catch up to the times—and then there were a few that had you designing weapons. The more you worked, the more of a reputation you began to build in the Academy. The new Undercity kid. Rebel Moon. Hephaestus. It was all ridiculous.

That’s when another fellow Undercity student finally found you.

“I fear those papers would catch on fire the more you glare at it.”

It was an accented voice that stirred you out of your spinning thoughts. You definitely had been glaring at the blueprints of a recent request for an apartment just a few walks from campus. You briefly glanced over your shoulder toward the man—he seemed a little bit older than you, walked with a cane, intrigued amber eyes, and a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.

“If you’re here for a request then just leave it over there with the rest.” You murmured before turning your attention back to the blueprints after pointing toward a desk in the corner stacked with many more requests.

There was a short breath before he spoke, “Ah, no, I actually already sent a request just a few weeks ago…I’m impressed by your work, the professor has a knack for spotting talent.”

You didn’t respond as you kept staring at the blueprints, twirling the pen in your hand, feeling the weight of the shackle around your wrist.

You heard him clear his throat, “So, you are from the Undercity?”

“What’s it to you?” You grunt before outlining.

“Well, truthfully, I didn’t expect the Academy to accept another one.”

At that, you swirl around in your seat and sized the man up carefully. He was pale, slightly hunched to hide his true height, neatly combed dark hair, and he had very fine cheekbones. “Another one? What, too many Zaunites in your perfect little school?”

“I would’ve thought they had enough once I joined.” He gave a knowing smile that made you pause and narrow your eyes.

“…You’re…from the Undercity?”

He moved toward you; the click of his cane echoed in the quiet room and offered his hand to you. “I’m Viktor. I’ve heard a lot of great things about you, Miss Moon.”

You stared at his hand for a moment, tilting your head, “Great things? That doesn’t sound right.”

Viktor chuckled, still holding his hand out. “Eh, some people might have a few opinions about you. Unfortunately, it made me all the keener to meet you in person.”

“Am I what you expected then?” You asked as you eventually shook his hand, your shackles clinking a bit.

With a small smile, he squeezed your hand, “No. Not at all.”

Your brow twitched as you studied him. He was delicate-looking. But his hand was a bit larger yet slender. They were calloused, just like yours yet warm compared to your coldness. It was then you realized that your hand was still in his and you pulled it away and turned back to your work.

“My name’s not ‘Miss Moon’ by the way.” You grunt as you refocus.

There was another soft chuckle and a click of his cane before he was gone. You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder and stare at the doorway, a little bit too intrigued.

After that, you didn’t stop seeing Viktor. At least twice every week you’d get a request for him to polish some designs for his work. Sometimes he’d send his assistant, Sky, and sometimes he’d come in person himself.  At first, you weren’t entirely sure about him. But the fact that he was from the Undercity along with his assistant was slightly comforting. At least you weren’t alone here. Still, it was odd. Foreign.

“Have you ever gone out to see the finished product of your work?” Viktor asked you one day, deciding to linger even after delivering yet another request for something to do with a Hexcore.

“No.”

“Why?”

You frown and glance toward him. He was looking over some of your finished blueprints with a strange look accompanied by a smile. “I’m just not interested.”

Viktor blinked and met your eyes with a small frown. You didn’t say much more—truthfully there wasn’t much more to be said about it.

“Well, it’s one of the most beautiful designs I’ve ever seen. If that’s any consolation.”

You felt something in your chest at his words. Perhaps some of you did want to see the finished products of your design. And yet you were always rooted in this lab. In the dark under one lamp, barely seen by other students. Hephaestus.

Viktor tapped your workbench thoughtfully and hummed, “I’ll leave you to it, Miss Moon.”

You rolled your eyes, “That’s not my name.”

He laughed and left your lab.

On another day he came into your lab in quite a hurry. He left his requests as usual before rushing out. Only he left a ring behind. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you glanced at the ring on the floor and toward your workbench before sighing. After grabbing the ring, you pushed up from your stool and left your lab. This was the first time you’ve walked around campus or went anywhere besides your lab or Heimerdinger’s study.

You asked around for Viktor’s lab until you stopped on a bridge, spotting something quite familiar.

It was the newly remodeled dorms. They glistened like gold in the sun. Build just like how you imagined them in your head. Just like how you outlined it on paper. Only in your dreams could you imagine what they would look like. But seeing it….It was real. And it was beautiful. And it came from your mind.

“Ah, Miss Moon, odd seeing you here!” Viktor approached you quite smugly from across the bridge. He glanced toward the dorms and gave a grin, “They just got done with it last week. What do you think, hmm?”

You narrow your eyes, “You scheming little eel.”

Viktor blinked almost too innocently, “I haven’t a clue what you mean—ah, I was looking for that.”

He gestured toward the ring in your hand. You gave it back to him while your eyes couldn’t help but draw back to the dorms. There was a tightness in your chest and a small ache behind your eyes.

“Glorious, isn’t it?” Viktor asked, his voice gentle as always.

You snapped out of your reserved awe and cleared your throat. “They did okay, I guess.”

With that, you darted back to your lab, the dorms imprinting themselves in your mind.

It became a routine at some point. Viktor began visiting your lab a little more often. At first, you didn’t notice this. But some days he’d come back to your lab a second time that day just to linger and see what else you were working on. At first, you thought you found it annoying. But as the days carried on and turned into weeks, you began to begrudgingly look forward to his visits.

“At least make yourself useful. Look over my work and see if there’s anything I missed.” You tried grunting when he leaned a little closer than usual to look at the blueprint you were working on.

“Hmm, I can try.” Viktor hummed as he flicked his eyes over the finished prints. “But they’re all probably perfect as usual.”

“Don’t you have some work to get to?”

“Not particularly, no.”

For some reason, he started leaving shit in your lab. Which would lead to you having to go and find him and return his stuff. Stuff like a screwdriver or some paperwork. Today it was a journal as you trudged through the campus and finally found his lab.

“Vik, I understand you’re a busy man, but you can’t keep leaving your shit in my area.” You huffed, throwing his journal onto his workbench, breaking him from his focus.

“Oh, Miss Moon,” He looked genuinely surprised to see you. “I wasn’t expecting you…”

“Yeah, right, so you didn’t leave this in my lab on purpose? You just happen to leave it there for me to find and bring to you?” You hummed, tilting your head as you got a good look at what he’s been working on—something a lot longer than what you’ve been doing. The Hexcore was what he called it. You didn’t understand it yourself—or cared much to learn about it. But you did notice some of your designs were used for his work.

“Mmm, you make me sound like a calculating stalker.” Viktor hummed as he got to his feet, joining your side. So, close his arm brushed against yours.

“Are you?” You quipped dryly while studying the Hexcore.

His slender fingers gently brush along your elbow. “I wouldn’t call myself a stalker, no. Are you interested?”

You glanced at him and realized he was talking about the Hexcore. “No. Just give me the why.”

Viktor hummed once more and leaned against the table, his fingers still brushing gently along your elbow. “For our home.” At that, you felt a tightness within your chest, your features falling slightly. Viktor, who had become very astute with your expression, gently grabbed your arm and squeezed it. “What’s with that face?”

You remember your life before the Academy. You remember your determination to prove Heimerdinger wrong. “Sometimes…I feel as if I’ve gotten too comfortable…too used to all of this….”

In the end, it was always your people above everything else. A revolutionary never dies, that was the simple truth.

“I think I’ve gotten too comfortable too.” Viktor frowned softly, tilting his head a bit to get a better look at your eyes when you averted your gaze. “And it’s all your fault, Miss Moon.”

You rolled your eyes only for him to lean forward and capture your lips with his. A lick of fire had been rekindled within you, breathing life into your soul, into your body. When he brought his hand to the back of your neck, when he practically cradled your face and brought you closer so he could deepen the kiss, when he touched you so gently as he always did, it was as if for a moment that heavy weight on your shoulders had been lifted. Leaving you weightless for even just a moment. That bit of relief was a breath of fresh oxygen in your lungs.

The heat from his lips moved from your mouth and down to your jaw and to the crook of your neck. Your back was pressed against the workbench as he practically clung and draped himself over you. And you let him. Even when he desperately wanted to feel you and kiss you all over, he was gentle. He always was.

The days didn’t change much except for whenever he was free, he’d head straight for your lab. Whether on a break or in a hurry, he’d always stop by and pepper your face with quiet kisses and touches before leaving for his lab. It was routine. You were getting comfortable. Comfortable in his warmth. In his gentle hold.

“Just stay,” Viktor murmured against your jaw as you examined some of his work with the Hexcore. “Your presence is better than that tea Jayce always makes.”

“I can’t, Heimerdinger wants to meet with me soon, and I got a bunch more new requests on my desk.” You hummed while looking through Viktor’s partner, Jayce’s, notes. “I think that Jayce guy requested some designs for a hammer of some kind—that’s been taking up most of my time as of lately so I can’t necessarily—”

“I know, I know,” Viktor rested his chin on your shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment as he slumped against you.

His health had gotten worse, which was something you and everyone else noticed. It did worry you how much he was working lately without much sleep, but you quickly learned how much of a stubborn man he was—especially when it came to his work.

“What do you think Heimerdinger wants to meet with you about?” He voiced your constant question out loud.

“Don’t know.” You murmured, trying not to think too much about it—or his health right now. “Won’t know until I get there. Probably wants to send me back to Stillwater.”

At that, he pinched your waist, “Don’t joke like that.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“Losing you is not funny to me.”

You placed Jayce’s scribbles down and wrapped your arms carefully around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder with a soft hum. He instantly relaxed in into your hold, but of course, you could tell his mind was still half Hexcore and half you at the moment. “Be sure to get some rest, okay?”

As usual, he gave a half-assed noise of slight agreement.

ACT II: REBEL MOON

It wasn’t long before Jayce Talis became the Man of Progress and Viktor became buried in his work. And then you were promoted. The lead architect of a very important project for Piltover. No longer the Rebel Moon but Hephaestus, Piltover’s future.

But.

But.

Everyone saw you as the kid saved from the Undercity and made a new. Everyone saw you as the future of their city. You were part of the progress of tomorrow. And you kept chasing Viktor, trying to keep up with his mind but he—he had become so work driven—so ambitious on the Hexcore dream that he had forgotten everything else.

You were angry. Angry at Piltover. Angry at what you’ve become. Angry at Viktor. This wasn’t the life you had chosen. All of this was envisioned for you. This wasn’t for you. You had nearly gotten so swept up in all the glamour and success that you had nearly forgotten—

No. You would never forget your people.

So, when your lab went up in smoke when you destroyed the project that you had been assigned to as lead architect, when the Enforcers tackled you to the ground and arrested you on the spot, when one of them grinned as if they’d been waiting—waiting for you to finally mess up, you knew right then that you would never be what Heimerdinger, what Viktor, or what anyone saw for you. You were a Zaunite after all. And a revolutionary. A rebel. Always.

It wasn’t long before you were placed back in Stillwater Hold. In the same cell. With the same shackles. You didn’t even get to tell Viktor goodbye. Would he have even realized it? Or perhaps, it was better off to leave him to his Hexcore dream. Perhaps, that was best. Yes.

But your mind was no longer settled with just staying in a cell and living out your sentence. One thing Piltover did give back to you was your fighting spirit. Rekindled your fire. And breathed life into your dead soul. And so, you weren’t quiet in the cell. You made noise. Cried out for war until the rest of the prisoners joined you. It wasn’t long before a riot broke out. The prisoners overpowered the guards, and you led them to escape.

The streets of Zaun were screaming for the Rebel Moon once more. Even now more so than ever when rumors began flying around about a rocket hitting Piltover, resulting in a few councilmembers’ deaths. Your thoughts wandered to Viktor, you wondered if he was okay, if he hadn’t killed himself working so hard. But your focus went back to your people. To the escaped prisoners as you all went into hiding underground. They followed you. Their chosen leader. You had no wish to be a leader, but you did want to be free and help your people.

ACT III: NONBELIEVER

Hiding in the Underground for months began to wear everyone down, even you—their supposed fearless leader. The sickness in the Undercity knew no bounds. Many of your people were getting sicker and dying as the days passed. You did your very best trying to supply and care for them—but you could only do so much.

That’s when you started hearing strange rumors about some healer in the Undercity. A herald or whatever that meant. At first, you didn’t think much of these rumors while being so focused on caring for your people.

Soon, sightings of strange people began appearing. Shouting about the Herald and how he could save their people. You were…wary of this. It almost seemed too good to be true. And you hadn’t seen these strange people yourself, so you thought it was all fake, stories made up to give the people false hope.

You came back from the small local market with more food than you could scrape up. Somehow, you’d have to figure out how to make it last throughout the month. But there were so many people. So many people are coming for refuge, and so many people in need of help.

“Are you the Rebel Moon?”

At the voice, you stop and glance over your shoulder, only to find no one there. Had you imagined it? Were you too wary after months of people coming to you and seeking refuge? The name Rebel Moon became a beacon of hope as much as it was for the name Jinx or that Herald.

Deciding it was just exhaustion messing with your head, you turn to continue forward, only to gasp and stop when you nearly ran into someone standing directly in front of you.

And they had appeared out of nowhere. It was a man that you didn’t know. His face void of any emotion except for a simple smile on his face, strange crystal-like fixtures embedded into his skin, while wearing white fabric far too clean to have come from the Undercity.

“You are Miss Moon, yes?” The man asked.

You stiffened. No one had called you that in a while. No one except… “Whose asking?”

The smile remained on the man’s face, “The Herald has been searching for you, Miss Moon. And he would like to speak with you.”

You gripped the basket of fruit and near stale bread in your hand and gritted your teeth, “I’m not interested, thanks.”

Just as you nudged past the man to continue down the crowded street, he spoke again. Only this time it wasn’t his voice coming from his mouth.

“You’re a hard woman to track, Miss Moon.”

It was like the air had been stolen from you as you whirled around to stare wide-eyed at the man with Viktor’s voice. The basket fell from your grasp, but the man was quick to catch it—somehow so fast—as he handed it back to you. “V-Vik?”

He nodded and slowly blinked, “I feared I wouldn’t see you again. You disappeared so suddenly, almost as if you weren’t there to begin with.” The man’s hand came up to gently brush his fingers along your jaw sending a sharp shiver down your spine. “Almost as if you never existed.”

You flinched almost and stepped back. Thoughts swirled within your mind as you tried to reel from the man speaking in Viktor’s voice. “What…what is this? How are you doing this?”

“I don’t want you to be frightened of me.” He instead said, taking another step forward but didn’t reach out to touch you again. “I only want to help you. I can save those people from that sickness.” You opened your mouth, ready to ask how he knew but stopped yourself which allowed him to continue, his voice gentle. “Only if you let me.”

“You’re the Herald.” It was mostly confirmation for yourself as you let the words slip out.

The man smiled softly, “I wish to see you again, Miss Moon. There is so much I wish to show you. But I will come to you first.”

Before you could ask what, he meant by that, the man’s voice returned, and Viktor’s voice was gone. “The Herald will come tomorrow, Miss Moon.”

And with that, watched this vessel of a man walk away. Leaving you feeling as if you were in some type of nightmare. No, alternate reality. It must’ve been some hallucination. Yes. That had to be it.

Only when the next day came, one of the children at your camp came running to you about the Herald being here, did you know right then and there that this was not a hallucination.

You watched as he entered your camp with those lifeless people that followed him.  Viktor had changed. Covered in indigo metallic skin, his hair slightly longer, his posture straighter yet still relying on a cane—or staff in this case.

Viktor’s eyes found yours almost instantly as if they were magnetically drawn to you. It looked like him.

“Miss Moon.” He hummed as he drew closer, staring at you with the same gentleness despite the distance in his expression.

It sounded like him.

You led him to the tent he would be staying in, watching the lifeless people tend to your people with baskets of fresh fruit and food. Viktor called your name in his accented voice, drawing your attention back to him, finding him already staring at you with an intense expression.

Even in this form, Viktor’s body couldn’t help but be pulled toward you. He let the staff rest while his hands slowly came up to trace and feel this human skin. Distantly he was all too aware of it. How he still reacted to you. With the remnants of Sky lingering in his mind, his thoughts had always wandered back to you. The image of your divine being. If he could still dream, it would’ve only been you he would’ve seen.

There was a strong pull that led him to you. Perhaps sensations of desperation. Even as he leaned his forehead against yours, feeling the little warmth coming from your body against his metallic yet pallid skin—he still wished to mold himself to you. To never stop touching you. To never let you slip from his fingers again

And then there was that look on your face. The furrow in your brow running heavy with exhaustion—you hadn’t slept. At that realization, his hand gently squeezed the side of your neck absently.

“You’re so quiet.” Viktor hummed finally, quietly for only you and him to hear in the stillness of the tent. His thumb traced your cheekbone. “You’re always keeping your thoughts from me.”

You tilted your head, trying to stir yourself out from the haze of his touch. “Are those…those people….are they the ones you ‘saved’?”

“Yet, so honest.” There was a hint of a smile on his face as he selfishly pulled your hand against his chest, keeping it there, selfishly. “Yes. They’re healed. No more…senseless pain. I can offer your people this peace. And you can come to stay at our new home. I think…you’d like it. You need peace.” He rubbed his thumb under your eye, making your shoulders grow heavier. “And rest.”

You couldn’t come up with a response. His lips linger on your mouth, and your jaw, and your neck. His fingers thread through your hair which had grown longer since the last time he had seen you. Gentle traces, cool breath fanning along your skin, his arms wrapping around your weathered and scarred form. Even your fingers traced his new skin. Refamiliarizing yourself with him.

But.

But.

It wasn’t him.

Even when his lips pressed gently yet hastily against yours, his body clinging to your human flesh, it still felt like a stranger. Familiar yet unfamiliar.

Confliction warred at your mind as you watched him move through the camp, your people looking at him as if he were a savior. As if the gods had sent him when it was only magic and remnants of the Hexcore embedded into his body. Your eyes couldn’t stop falling onto the lifeless people he ‘saved’. The ones that followed him without much thought. Would your people look like this? Void of themselves? No breath. No heartbeat?

But then you wanted Viktor. You wanted to go to this peaceful land he had created for himself and these people. You wanted to be with him. To be wrapped in his gentle embrace once more. To hear his voice whisper gently into your ear, easing the exhaustion from your muscles.

But.

But.

But.

Viktor reached out toward a boy. Sparks danced along his fingertips. The boy stared in awe. It was instant, your reaction.

Your hand grasped his wrist, stopping him. Viktor’s gaze met yours in an instant. You didn’t know what your face looked like, but it made Viktor falter.

Viktor saw your face and absolute dread filled him. A sense of it at least. It made his body go slack in your grasp—surrendering to you instantly. The glassiness of your gaze and that expression. He had never seen such a thing on your face. Fear. Desperation. Hurt. Sorrow. Grief.

He’d lost you. No. No. He’d…He’d get you back. He couldn’t let you go again…he couldn’t let…

What was this strange feeling in his chest?

You pulled him away from the boy and Viktor allowed himself to follow you. Gazes unwavering. But you forced the words out of your mouth. “This isn’t what I want for these people. This…this isn’t saving them…”

He couldn’t let you slip from his fingers.

You couldn’t let him take your people’s humanity.

He needed to keep you. To keep his humanity.

“Revolutions never rest.” Was your whisper as you released his wrist.

He called your name, but you forced yourself to turn your back on him.

“Show him out.” You murmur to one of the stronger men in your camp. You couldn’t turn back. You couldn’t look him in his eyes. If you did….

Then this conflict would disappear in an instant.

Viktor and his followers left without much problem. Maybe that hurts too.

The yearning for Viktor never left you and yet it wasn’t your job to bring him back. This Hexcore…all of it was beyond you. Maybe all of it wasn’t meant to be for you. Maybe…Maybe he wasn’t meant to be yours….

Days later you had heard the Herald had changed.

Days later the Herald was gone from this world.

Days later your exhaustion and grief wore on your shoulders.

Days later you’re trudging through the Undercity, more baskets filled with fruit in your arms.

Days later, you find a blue shard on the ground, somewhere near where Viktor’s utopia had been.

You picked it up from the ground, a remnant of what remained of Viktor and his work. You saw the manmade tents that were now abandoned, the builds similar to your past designs of what you wanted for the Undercity.

Silent tears fell from your cheeks as you gripped the shard. And you clutched the shard so tight in your hand that you could’ve sworn you felt a soft hum from it. Or maybe you were imagining things. Maybe you were too exhausted. Maybe you really did need rest.

And then.

You heard that accented voice.

“Miss Moon.”

Your breath hitched as the shard suddenly began to glow.

And Viktor’s voice came from it.

“May I show you something?”

And then. There was a bright blue flash.

@sadderall-xr @renn-pumkin-head @aise-30 @callingstars

[luckyartdrawer]

100 FOLLOWERS MILESTONE!!! MER AU!!!

Y'all chose the MER AU to celebrate, and so say hello to some fishy boys! They are all quite happy to see you, though some seem to show it more than others!

Cookie cutter shark Sun can't wait to take a bite- I mean- erm- rather a hug out of you! Either way he's quite excited!

Threadfin Eclipse would rather all eyes be on him, but he would settle for just yours! His colors shifts in every way, he's hoping your eyes won't stray!

Jellyfish Moon doesn't mean to be so imposing -- towards you anyways. He just wants to see you and everyone happens to be in the way!

This is technically a PT 1 to the celebration, as we have a Royal AU to roll out the red carpet for as well due to a tie in the poll!

PT 2 is made!

vvv Sketch/line art and yapping below!!! vvv

Sketch/Line art

Hehehe I just had to share. I am so proud of how the lines came out. Sketch cleaned up as lineart method my beloved.

Uagh I keep looking back and seeing so many things I could do. I might update the images secretly one day, but for now I think I need to let it be free in the world before I just never finish lol

Welcome to my yap sesh! Thank you all for being here, I hope the wait was worth it! <3 I am very proud of this and spent soooo so long rendering it. (What was i thinking doing 3 characters end my suffering /J)

Here's some random factoids about these sillies!

Sun: Born in the depths. He is a dime of dozen of cookie cutter sharks, all of them insistent of taking chunks out of anything and anyone they can find. Sun at least has some restraint when it comes to mers he likes, but he always wants just one nibble! Sun tends to warm up fast to mers that give him a speck of attention and care. Cookie cutter shark mers are known to link up with mates as soon as possible, but Sun insists that he hasn't found the perfect fit yet. No one is tasty enough for it! Everyone needs to compliment the other! Sun is the fastest of the 3, relying solely on his speed and jumping out of hiding spots to catch prey. His sharp claws pierces easily and the long webbing between his fingers makes it really easy to ensnare prey in his grasp!

Moon: Born in the depths. Jellyfish mers are rather uncommon, being known as a mostly solitary species. Unlike their animal counterparts, Jellyfish mer go alone after maturing, not even inclined to search for a mate, though they can if they so desire. They live the longest of any mer species. Their transparent bodies keep their form hidden from prey as their bioluminescence lures them in. Moon is the slowest of the 3, but it does not matter to him. To hunt, he floats in a comfortable spot, amping up his bioluminescence and fanning out his ribbons to attract prey. If a victim gets within his vicinity, his ribbons will quickly wrap and tangle around them, sending painful stings and intense damage to the prey. While effective, there are times the mer will sit in one spot for days having not attracted any food. He can hunt directly like other mers, but he'd have to rely on his transparency over speed in order to get close enough to catch them, his melded fingers make it even harder to grasp prey directly.

Eclipse: Isn't actually born a deep sea mer but spent most of his life in the depths after finding out how delicious specific creatures are and how much attention his looks get him. His skin and scales are iridescent and he loves to flaunt them when he can. Eclipse tends to be very carefree, though also the most gentle when interacting with other mers. He is inclined to view anyone as a potential friend or more due to being omnivorous, though no many has caught his full, dedicated attention. He's not territorial, not competitive, and doesn't care where he goes as he can eat just about anything. Hunting wise he is the most tactical, using his colors and thick ribbons to lure and confuse prey. He isn't the fastest nor the slowest, but his long hands increase his likelihood of catching prey he otherwise would have been a little too slow to grasp.

Yeah i.... I ended up having a lot of fun coming up with these guys

Especially moon, those of you who know KNOW, but man... my moon bias is so strong.

I even have this cute expression idea where he can control how his cap looks and uses it for his own protection. When sometimes when sleeping or defensive, he will tuck in his tail, arms, and sometimes his ribbons within the cap and then, like a string bag, it closes off his entire body from the world. He's in his own cap bubble!!! When embarrassed or trying to physically interact with someone without fear of hurting them, he'll tuck in his ribbons and scrunch his cap around his head. He'll look a bit silly, and you can't touch his face, but you can hug him safely and play with the soft round cap that now encases his head. (His tail/neck ribbons have no stinging abilities, they're just glowy for lure purposes!) his coloration is mostly inspired by the Man-O-War but his species is more fantasy then based off only that like the other two are with their respective fish, so that's why I just call him simply a Jellyfish for now :3

Sorry about that... I still love all 3 of these goobas and have ideas for them though! Maybe one day I'll get a fic going for them, not saying anytime soon because I have TOO MANY to work on rn, but just know they are swimming in my head.

So many ideas, so little time......

Once again THANK YOU ALL!!! It is so lovely to see y'all here despite my whacky upload schedules. I always tell myself I should make more simple things sometimes just so I can get the ideas out faster, but then my hands always do something else smh. Hope you all find this art and my future works quite delectable! <333

[achromatophoric]

Divina: Yoko! What the actual shit?!

Yoko: Babe, it’s not what it looks like!

Divina: Oh really? Cause it looks AND sounds like you’re listening to a recording your best friend blowing out her girlfriend’s back.

Indeed, the vampire sits on her bed with her laptop open and playing what can only be Wednesday’s seemingly indecipherable cries of ecstasy.

Yoko: 😬

Divina: 😠

Divina: *icily* Well?

Yoko: *blurts out* COOKIES! I think. Maybe brownies?

Divina:

Divina: What?

Yoko: Shit. Look, babe, lemme explain. Addams isn’t moaning.

Laptop: *filthy moan*

Divina: 😒

Yoko: *winces* Okay, she IS moaning, but she isn’t just moaning. If you listen carefully—THERE!

Laptop: *gibberish*

Divina: 🤨

Divina: So Wednesday doesn’t make sense when she’s getting railed. Bravo, Enid. Not helping your case, though.

Yoko: I thought the same! But she’s actually speaking in Old Latin—at least this time she is.

Divina: What?

Yoko: Oh, last time it was Sumerian. And the time before that—

Divina: No, I mean what, as in what the fuck?

Yoko: Right. Uh. So long story short, I’ve been recording their erm… their sessions—

Divina: 😡

Yoko: —so I could translate what Wednesday was saying! See? Totally not pervy.

Divina: 😐

Divina: 😤

Divina: *through gritted teeth* Yoko, I swear by the Seven Seas, I am about five seconds from—

Yoko: Recipes! Babe, she’s reciting fucking RECIPES.

Divina: 🤨

Divina: Recipes for what? Disasters?

Yoko: Nope. Recipes for the most mind blowing, absurdly tasty-as-fuck pastries that will ever bless your mouth.

Divina: *incredulous stare*

Divina: You’re telling me that Wednesday Arsenic-is-a-Seasoning Addams recites entire goddamn recipes in dead languages—

Divina: —recipes for ludicrously delicious baked goods, whenever Enid bangs the grumpy out of her?

Yoko: *hopeful* Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.

Divina: 🤦

Yoko: Babe? Do you need an ibuprofen? That vein is—

Divina: Give me a cookie.

Yoko: Er, what?

Divina: *holds out a hand* Or a brownie. Muffin. Whatever the fuck you made from one of these supposed recipes. If one isn’t in my hand in ten seconds…

Yoko: 😲

Yoko: *scrambles to her desk, rummages, and return with something*

Yoko: Here! Try this! Made this one yesterday.

Divina: *takes the…* Churro. This is just a churro.

Yoko: Trust, babe. I promise you, it’ll all make sense. Just try it.

Divina: *eyes the churro*

Divina: *takes a bite*

Divina: *chews*

Yoko: So whatcha think?

Divina:

Divina: *filthy moan*

Yoko: *relieved fist pump*

Divina: Holy… Holy fucking shit. I think my tongue just came. What the actual fucking fuck?

Yoko: So am I off the hook?

Divina: Off the hook? Babe, imma need more like this, stat. Does she do this every time?

Yoko: Just about. Toughest part is the actual translating.

Divina: I’ll get Bianca’s help.

Yoko: You think she’d be interested?

Divina: Are you kidding me? She once kneecapped me at swim camp over the last cupcake.

Yoko: Yikes. Okay, so wanna help me translate the rest of this one?

Divina: Sure. Do I just try writing the phonetics for this part?

Laptop: *slurred post-orgasm gibberish*

Yoko: *quickly stops the recording* Oh fuck no. NEVER the shit after she comes.

Divina: Why is that? Are those recipes not-so-great?

Yoko: Less recipe, more ritual. I only tried one and that summoned The Bone Gorger.

Divina: 🫢

Divina: How… how’d you get rid of them?

Yoko: Churro.

Divina:

Divina: *wipes away drool* Yeah, that checks out.

[milksnake-tea]

✩ CHAPTER SUMMARY : The spar between you and Sunday goes in an unexpected direction - well, at least for Sunday. Life as a Hunter has taught you to almost always expect unexpected directions.

✩ SERIES SYNOPSIS : Following the catastrophe of the Charmony Festival, rather than in one of Penacony's hospitals or prisons, Sunday awakens right in the base of one of the most notorious criminals in the galaxies. With nowhere else to go, he's left to follow you, the Stellaron Hunters' medic, in his attempts to become accustomed to his new life.

✩ WORD COUNT : 6.5k

✩ TAGLIST : @felibrary, @vxnuslogy, @https-mika, @greyrain23, @red-ninja15, @arienic , @immahuman , @sund4ykisser , @mysteriaqueen , @kiopanxp , @isa-l0v3r , @hesper-houkai-kat , @gamekillera , @nayukiyukihira , @randomidk-123 , @universetrash , @forevernyeong , @thedepartedcryptid , @heyhazelnut101 , @1000-leaves , @lowkeyren , @zhayur , @jellofishuu , @kascar-chronicle , @azaleaflowerr , @neigee , @fallintothechasm , @veritusratio , @astolary , @xphantasmagoriax , @semi-orangeapple , @ezra1yn , @xynthevoid , @apinu , @crysangria , @shenwi , @louchive , @mave-in , @mutiachan , @meerpea , @fxngtasy , @emiken-070907 , @tragedy-of-commons , @boothills-usbport , @mikashisus , @lunaegrl , @cakechase , @keirenny , @romyoia , @bunnihunnii , @insomniac-hours ( TAGLIST IS CLOSED )

✩ ADDITIONAL NOTES : hey bitches. guess who's back. FUN FACT THIS BROKE THE IMG LIMIT FOR POSTS ON TUMBLR BYE I HAVE NO IDEA IF ITS GOING TO HOLD UP ON WATTPAD (probably not. sniffles) BUT OMLLLL I REALLY YAPPED TOO MUCH W THE CHATS.... ALSO !! CHAT MSG ICON FOR SUNDAY CREDIT GOES TO THE LOVELY BUNNYCARROT ON TWT. ALSO KNOWN AS MY REASON FOR LIVING. also howre we feeling abt sunday release. IK I WAS GONE THAT ENTIRE TIME HE WAS DRIP MARKETED AND EVERYTHING BUT IN MY DEFENSE. i had to rewrite the sparring scene like 5 different times and the chat msgs like 3 times. so. erm. yeah ALSO ILL GET TO THE ALT TEXTS TMRW I SWEAR ITS JUST MIDNIGHT RN AND IM SCARED (of my mom) AND TIRED

ADDITIONALLY, I'VE HIRED BETA READERS !!! SAY HELLO TO GWEN AKA @tragedy-of-commons , VICTORIA AKA @theother-victoria , VISARA AKA @rainswept , AND MHIE AKA @iceunhie. GO CHECK THEM OUT THEY WRITE TOO and more consistently too sneezes BUT YEAH THEY'RE GOING TO BE MY VICTIMS I MEAN TEAM TO WHICH I YAP AND HAVE THEM EDIT MY SHIT <333 LOVE YALL

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In and out.

Inhale through the nose.

Hold.

Exhale through the mouth.

Again.

Sunday closes his eyes and breathes. He adjusts his grip on his rapier, making sure that his grip is firm and that its tip points away from him. Alone in the training room, the silence is more than enough for him to think, and force away the voices the best he can.

He reaches, he calls, and he tunes into the very roots that govern the universe. The Imaginary Tree is life and reality itself. It illuminates, it breathes, and it grows. It curls around his fingers, and it gives. Life flows into his veins, strings of pure energy lying right beneath his fingertips, and he pulls.

Imaginary manifests in melodies and staffs, guided by his rapier and weaving into a somber song. He lifts his hand, drawing the sheets and forming the beginnings of a symphony.

His brow furrows.

Even now, with years of practice and honing his technique, there's something pulling at his chest, a strain on his halo that tells him that this is wrong. Even if the Tree accepts his call and responds in turn, he can never fully accept its embrace. It is suffocating, its hold, and it is oppressing.

It swallows him as though it were the Voracity, engulfing him in its jaws and consuming him, draining him of all that he is. It forces itself upon him - it eats away at him, and his breath is almost taken, almost snuffed, save for the small sliver of mercy that keeps him alive. It dominates the once carefully balanced conversation, and it commands him, trust me, accept me, join me, become me.

And Sunday has never been one to like being commanded.

A pleasant conversation morphs into a spiteful argument, a battle for the upper hand, venom dripping from each of their tongues as each tries to take control. As Sunday struggles against the roots, the orchestra becomes strained, the tempo becoming faster and faster, and all of the strings crescendo until it's loud, far too loud.

The strain in his mind transfers to the physical realm, and the staffs so carefully penned by his sword flicker and waver while his halo begins to glow in the effort to keep it all under control. His brow furrows and his movements become frenzied, frantic, until the Tree rebels yet again, and he's had enough.

Frustration flares and he brings down his hand and cuts off his connection with the Tree, tearing through the melody and ending the performance there. But then he realizes what he's done, and shame floods out his annoyance.

A sigh leaves him.

Losing his composure... how unbecoming of him. He forces himself to pay attention to his breath, and the hand that isn't holding the rapier curls into his palms, the familiar prick grounding him.

He should know better than to be so easily moved. He inhales deeply, raising his gaze to the ceiling, and exhales.

There we go.

If the orchestra won't obey, he will command them. They are forged from his very blood and tied to his veins. They are him, in a sense, and he will not stand for a civil war.

He raises his sword once more, and to the orchestra, he speaks - Again.

And this time, he leaves no room for argument.

His rapier is a guide and a scripture as Imaginary drips from it once again. With the orchestra in toe, he begins to move.

Combat to him is not unlike a dance, in which the participants are himself, his opponent, and his sword. He has learned the hard way that brute strength, as much as it would be useful, is not his forte (spending one's life asleep does wonders to their physical state), and so he must rely on precision and observation to gain the upper hand.

He steps, swiftly and with purpose, and the Tree is his partner. Wisps and streaks rise from where his feet had once touched the ground, and with every stab at a fictitious enemy, the Tree strikes with him in the form of diamond stars and sound waves. Sweat beads at the back of his neck and his hand trembles with the strain of keeping the Tree under control, but he stands firm nevertheless.

But then he hears a squeak - an awfully familiar squeak, belonging to a companion he hasn't seen since the fall - a companion that only appears on two conditions: if they are called upon, or if he is in danger.

And he didn't call upon anyone.

There's a tingle on the back of his neck, and he swerves and narrowly avoids a stab towards his eyes. His Echoes rush to his defense, swarming his assailant and driving them back in a storm of gold lights.

He hears his attacker splutter with surprised laughter as the Echoes bat at their face angrily, some even ramming into their sides with their heads or tugging at their clothes with what little strength they have. It takes him a second before he realizes just who his companions are attacking.

"Enough," he commands. The symphony dissolves as his rapier lowers and his other hand raises to placate the swarm. Immediately the Echoes retreat to his side, keeping their nonexistent eyes on the person before him, to which he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Was that really necessary?"

You bat away at one last belligerent Echo that was particularly keen on head-butting your cheek (it does absolutely no damage) before turning to him with that smile of yours.

"Just testing your reflexes, princess."

In your hand is the sword that nearly stole his sight. A thin taper of obsidian steel, it lies loosely in your grip. Veins of neon blood ran through its blade, its color far too bright for Sunday's liking.

But the hue seemed paler than from when you briefly fought with Blade; it isn't as acidic nor as blinding as back then, but it still unnerves him nevertheless.

You throw his Echoes a brief glance with a chuckle. "I've yet to see those before. Are they new?"

"No." Sunday shakes his head. He pets one with his finger to calm it down, as the majority were still baring their metaphorical teeth towards you. "For as long as I can remember, these little ones have been by my side. They're... rather protective."

"I can tell," you hum a laugh. Taking a step forward, you test your luck with the strange creatures. Many back away defensively as you approach, although one or two linger curiously. "Aw, aren't you the cutest?"

Sunday sighs as you pinch one of the Echoes. The doll unleashes a flurry of squeaks as you toy with it, stretching and squishing it like a stuffed animal while its siblings squeak furiously and swarm you again.

Reaching into the crowd, his arm parts the figurative sea and grabs you by the scruff of your neck. With a tug and a pointed look, he pulls you out of the mob's fury.

"Please refrain from teasing them, doctor," Sunday reprimands softly. "I'm afraid they can only take so much before they become overwhelmed with anger."

"How terrifying," you reply cheekily, shrugging off his grip. "But that's a tough request. Just look at them; can you really blame me?"

To further prove your point, you reach out and scratch a nearby Echo under where its chin should be, your smile widening as it struggles to decide between squeaking in indignation and purring in content. Eventually, however, it gives in and leans into your touch, vibrating happily as you scratch it.

After a few minutes of this, Sunday clears his throat. Last time he checked, you were here to spar, not play with his familiars, even if the sight was admittedly endearing.

You spare him a glance, he returns it with a pointed look and raised brows. Thankfully, you get the message and release the Echo without any objections.

Sunday glances to the Echo as it returns dazedly to his side. Raising his hand, he allows it to hover just above his palm.

A silent conversation unfolds between the two of them, with Sunday raising a brow and the Echo assuring him that it was fine - even if he can sense its content, it never hurts to make sure. His halo glows momentarily, before he lowers his hand and dismisses his familiars.

"Are you satisfied now?" he asks in mild amusement, turning back to you.

"Mhm," you hum with a smile, eyes still lingering on the spot where the Echo used to be. "How about you? Ready?"

Imaginary sparks on his rapier, but Sunday pays it little mind. "As ready as I can be, I suppose. But shouldn't you warm up?"

You shake your head. "It isn't necessary. You'll see when on your first mission: You have to be ready to fight at any time and place. Warming up is a luxury reserved for beginners and athletes."

And then, as if to prove your point, Sunday sees you move before a flash of black cuts through his vision, and only by instinct is Sunday able to dodge. Only this time, you don't stop with just one strike, no, it's one after the other and Sunday curses internally and meets you with his rapier.

If Blade is a raging torrent, then you are a lightning storm. You move with the speed and viciousness of a viper, never staying in one place for too long and focusing the majority of your power into swift, seemingly never-ending stabs. It's methodical and almost surgical, the way you jab and twist and cut away at him with terrifying precision, but it's a dance Sunday can get behind.

Strike, shift, dodge, parry, strike again.

It's a rhythm that Sunday eventually falls into once the initial shock ebbs away into an afterthought. He grits his teeth and pushes through, his feet never setting on the ground for more than a second before he's forced to jump aside once more.

And for a moment, his gaze locks with yours, and a brief smile slips onto his lips as he finally finds his figurative footing. Slowly, the dance turns into his favor, and he begins to push back, daring to strike back and attempt at hitting you - but you are too quick, too experienced, and like Blade, he is unsuccessful.

But he's keeping up, surprisingly, and that is enough for him. For now.

At least, that's what he thought.

Once you see that he's acclimated, you switch up the tempo. What was once a waltz morphs into a violent tango. You duck under his arm and jab and then-

He hears a pop. And for a second, there is nothing.

But then comes fire. It burns and stings and eats away at his flesh, and he feels it travel from his extremities all the way to his abdomen, circling, concentrating, enveloping that specific spot.

Sunday gasps and lurches back, hand already clutching his wound before he registers what has happened. He looks down, expecting the worst - he expects blood warming his hand, he expects flesh and ripped skin, he expects a gruesome scene.

But when he tentatively removes his hand, breath rattling his chest, there is almost nothing. There is blood, yes, but not much - only the slightest bit beading at the miniscule incision you've made in his stomach.

He furrows his brows, his mind running at impossible speeds to comprehend what had just happened. First is shock, then there is bewilderment, and then betrayal and then anger and then bewilderment again.

There is not a single hint of remorse on your face. No, your face is an undisturbed lake, already poised to strike again - and you do. This time you scrape his shoulder - but Sunday doesn't let you hit a third time.

The gold of his eyes gleams, and the next time he swings, Imaginary coats his blade and a slash of sound fires. With the shock from being stabbed still lingering, the attacks aren't as strong as he'd like, but they are enough to fend you off until he's recovered.

At least, that was the plan.

Just when he thinks the fire is over, lightning strikes. His body seizes up and he doubles over, coughing hideously into his already sullied hand. His rapier dematerializes. The glow snaps away from his halo and his eyes and his powers are deemed null. Every nerve is set alight, frenzied and panicked, as the rest of his body locks into stone.

"Wha-" Sunday clamps his mouth shut, appalled by his own voice. It slurs and sounds as if it'd been passed through a filter, nothing like what he is meant to sound like.

If you have an answer, he doesn't hear it. But he sees you, he sees your lips moving, and then it's your shoes scrunching up against the floor, and then it's your sword, and he realizes-

Panic seizes him, and then dark violet floods his vision, tinged by hints of the sun but bespeckled by the stars. He can't see, he won't see, his mind racing too fast to process whatever his eyes are telling him. His heart pounds in his ears, and all he can hear is the sound of his own breath.

It's quiet - too quiet.

Is he dying? It seems so. But he doesn't want to die, he can't die, not without the dream, not without that paradise, not without seeing Robin one last time.

And with that thought, the paralysis breaks. Sunday gasps as strength surges into him and he regains control of his body, and he nearly topples over as his knees almost give in from under him. But he manages to catch himself in time and avoids yet another humiliation.

He clutches at his chest, catching his breath. His body still quivers, and yet, he can stand just fine. The venom's sting begins to subside - although not completely, but enough strength has returned so that he can push it to the back of his mind.

But most importantly, he's alive. His hand, the one that isn't dirtied, trails up from his chest to his throat, feeling at where the edge of your sword should've cut. But there is nothing to be found. His skin is intact, with no sign of blade or cut.

"Wow, you've been holding out on me. I'm almost offended."

Sunday flinches at the sound of your voice and he whirls, only to not find you anywhere. His brows furrow in confusion, before you speak again-

"Up here, princess."

Sunday turns, and immediately his mind blanks. He blinks. Then he rubs his eyes. Then he blinks again.

"What in the world...?" he mutters.

At least you seem to be as confused as he is, although fond pride graces your smile despite it all. But that's not the confusing part - or at least, it isn't the most confusing part.

You hang upside-down from the ceiling, dark, vivid indigo thorns binding your feet together and your arms to your side. Your damned sword is still in your hand, but with the vines wrapping around you, you can't make any use of it.

"You tell me," you quip back, shaking your body slightly so that you can swing around like a punching bag. Sunday leans back to avoid you smacking into him. "I mean, they're yours, aren't they?"

What? Sunday shakes his head. "That can't be right. I've never even seen these before. Are you sure you didn't accidentally self-sabotage?"

Your face falls flat into a deadpan. "If I were that sloppy, I wouldn't be here anymore. These vines are yours."

"No," Sunday insists. "My abilities lie solely in the Imaginary, never Quantum. I've never..."

But he has,Sunday suddenly remembers, trailing off. You raise a brow.

"You do know that people aren't confined to one single element, right?" With a flick of your wrist, your sword slashes through the vines, the shreds of Quantum falling to the ground. You land on your feet and catch the handle of your sword in one fluid motion. "Take me for example. When using my sword, I'm of the Physical element. But any other time, I'm of Quantum."

You bend down and pick up a stray vine from the ground. It flickers and warps in your hold, a new constellation shining in its branches whenever you move.

"Webs's got something similar going on - She's both Lightning and Fire," you say idly as you come up to him. "So I'm not sure what you're worried about."

"That's not the issue," Sunday sighs. He steps back when you offer him that stray vine. "I have always been Imaginary. That other element- No, those powers, I have avoided using them for a reason."

As much as he wants to tear his gaze away from those vines, he can't. They glimmer back at him, inviting but patient.

No.

"So you have seen these before." Twirling the vine around your finger, you raise a brow at him. "They're pretty decent, especially to have caught me off guard. Why don't you use them more?"

Sunday sighs.

"They originate from the Harmony. And, well," he breathes an awkward laugh that doesn't quite meet his eyes, "my relationship with Xipe isn't the greatest as of right now. It wouldn't be wise to call upon THEIR blessing. Not unless I want to provoke the wrath of an Aeon."

It isn't the complete truth, but it is enough to get the message across.

And besides, he thinks, Xipe is... weak. Strong for the many, but weak for the few. If Sunday wants to survive in the kind of environment that the Hunters call their norm, he can't rely on such a Path.

No matter how right it feels.

And yet, despite that thought, there's that little nagging voice in the back of his mind. The memories of his earlier practice resurface briefly in his mind.

"If that's what you want," you hum. You let the vine fall from your wrist and dissipate into flickers of light. "But if you ever need help with controlling those things-"

His clipped tone comes out harsher than he intends. "No. You've helped me enough."

But you hardly react. "Suit yourself."

Sunday blinks. He straightens, expecting something more, but all you do is start playing around with your sword, presumably readying yourself for another round.

"Aren't you going to attempt to persuade me otherwise?" he can't help but question.

You snort, flipping your sword into the air. "You're not a child; I'm not going to make your decisions for you."

Catching the dark handle as it falls, you point your blade at him once more, and Sunday instinctively takes upon a defensive stance, rapier poised to protect.

"But, if you want advice," you say, "there's a saying we often go by: 'When you have the chance to make a choice, make one you know you won't regret.'"

Sunday stills.

A choice?

His mind flashes back to the script Elio had given him.

At 22:38:10 system time, the reigning kingdom of Alfeasa-VIII will fall. [Name] will dispense multiple gas bombs at the banquet. They will give you one gas mask to give to a person of your choosing. Whoever you choose will become the next ruler of Alfeasa-VIII. I trust that you will choose wisely.

Always with the choices, it seems - ironic, considering that he never had much of a choice when it came to joining the Hunters. His options were them and the IPC - it didn't take a genius to see which was the safe option.

But... No, that wasn't fair. Up until Elio had spoken to him, he had been completely willing to lay his head beneath the guillotine, to atone for his sins and to accept his punishment.

He had chosen this path.

And Elio had chosen him.

And soon, he must choose a fate for an entire planet.

That's why he is here, after all.

He doesn't need a weak Path such as Harmony - he won't need it. He refuses to.

And with that, his mind is set.

Seeing how he straightens, tosses aside his dirtied glove for a clean one, and brandishes his rapier towards you once more, you smile approvingly.

"Ready for another round?"

You needn't ask. A step, a lunge, and a swing of his wrist, and the dance begins once again.

—

Unfortunately, you never did stop with the stabbing (something about him just "having to get used to it", which he isn't happy about). His entire body is littered with the smallest of scratches, cuts, and punctures from where you've nicked him, and he's pretty sure that half of what runs in his veins is venom instead of blood.

Movement spurs in the corner of his vision. Kicking off of a nearby exercise machine, you leap into the air and bring your sword down upon him in a one-handed strike, but unlike before, Sunday is ready for it.

He jumps out of the way and summons his Echoes at the same time. With their support, strength returns to him, and the Imaginary tree's whispers fear his ears once more. The orchestra sings, and their tune shoots out in sharp flickering missiles towards your landing figure.

But you are quick on your feet and easily maneuver around the projectiles, slipping and swerving like an otter does through water as they shattered around you. The veins of your sword glow, and so does the outline of your form.

His Echoes squeak in warning and he just barely manages to tilt his head in just the right direction before he hears the wall crack behind him.

With a start, he realizes that you'd thrown your sword. Blood beads at his cheek at where it had grazed him. But that's the least of his problems. You're still running at him, after all.

You jump and aim a kick towards his head. Sunday's wings unfold rapidly and he winces as pain slams his joints, but he manages to propel himself out of the way so that you hit the wall instead. Without so much as missing a beat, you grab and wrench out your sword and kick off the wall towards him.

Obsidian meets silver in a fierce clash. Sunday grunts as you press forward, having to use both of his hands to keep his rapier steady against your attack. Rapiers were never meant for blocking, but you leave him little choice.

The standstill persists for a short while, and Sunday realizes you're waiting - waiting for more of that godforsaken poison to kick in. And just as that thought passes through his mind, lightning attacks again, and he jolts, tasting iron.

And that is enough for you to quickly change the tune of the dance.

Maintaining full eye contact, your blade slips from the clash and throws him off balance. Instead it comes up from under, and its handle scrapes against his palm just enough so that you can once again knock his rapier out of his hands and off clattering against the floor. There is a cold sensation against his chin, and Sunday realizes that it's your sword.

He sighs, raising his hands in yet another defeat. With a hum, you step back, and with you goes your sword.

"That makes five now," you hum, fishing out a vial of concerningly colored liquid and tossing it to him. Sunday sighs as he catches it.

"I can hardly call this fair," he mutters, unscrewing the vial and downing it like a shot of vodka. The antidote burns similarly to the alcohol, but rather than being bitter it is sweet like fruit tea - which he appreciates; alcohol was never his favorite beverage, and will never be. "You know, most would call using poison dishonorable."

"Good thing I'm not most people. Wanted criminal, remember?"

Sunday rolls his eyes as the cuts and aftershocks from the poison ebb away. You will never stop bringing that up, will you?

Before he can retort, both of your phones ping. At first, you elect to ignore it, pushing it to the side in favor of opening your mouth to speak. But then it pings again, and again, and again until you get the point and let out a frustrated groan.

"I swear, if it's Elio telling us to buy ink again," you mutter, fishing out your phone. Your brows raise. "Nope, it's worse."

"Who is it?" Sunday asks, grimacing as he flexes one of his hindwings. He must've opened them too quickly back then and pulled something in the process.

"Webs," you reply, already typing out a response. Your sword dematerializes and you walk off to sit down on a nearby bench against the wall. "Let's take a break - oh, and let me see your wing while we're at it."

Pausing, Sunday blinks at you. Was he being too obvious about it?

His phone vibrates in his pocket as he makes his way over to you. This time, however, the pings are more frequent and somehow, more heated, if that makes sense. You're probably arguing with Kafka, or... whatever the two of you do. You're fine enough on your own, and Kafka is... eerie, at best, but put you two in the same room, and Sunday wants nothing more than to bolt.

And to think he's going on a mission with the both of you in a week or two.

He sits down with the injured wing hanging limply towards you, already dreading his future. Almost instantaneously your hand is upon it. A gentle swipe of your thumb over where he's pulled a muscle or two, mending the fibers there, and the lazy yet methodical sifting through his feathers in search of other injuries, and Sunday instantly relaxes, a dull hum thrumming in his chest as he moves to get his phone.

But then, because apparently this universe wouldn't be happy if Sunday didn't suffer at least once every day, he catches sight of the hand he'd coughed into a while ago, and he freezes.

Technically speaking, he knows that his hand had been protected from the grime, and the only dirty thing is the glove sitting in his inventory. He has already replaced the sullied glove, there is nothing diseased on his person anymore.

But it doesn't stop his irrationality from suddenly pulling the already clean glove tight against his fingers.

It's not tight enough - yes, it is, Sunday, you can see the outline of your hands, you can feel it, it's tight enough, you're fine, nothing touched you- But what if it did? What if he coughed something out and it seeped through the glove and it touched his skin and now he's dirty and he should wash his hands- No, calm down, you are fine- but he doesn't know that, should he check? He should check.

Sunday nearly pulls up the wrist of his glove, until his thoughts assault him again- What are you doing, Sunday? Are you crazy? What if they see? You're dirty, you don't need to-

He pulls the glove back on so harshly it might've torn. But it doesn't - he makes sure of that, adjusting it yet again until the voices begin to quiet down enough for him to think properly.

"You okay over there?" you ask suddenly, glancing up from your phone. Sunday's mind starts running again, but Sunday himself appears to be calm.

"I'm fine," he assures, customer service voice resurfacing unconsciously. You raise a brow.

"If you say so," you say, clearly not convinced. Sunday prepares himself for an interrogation, but you return to your phone and drop your hand from his wing, evidently done with your treatment.

Sunday flaps his wing reflexively, pleased to find that the ache is no longer there. His phone vibrates in his hand, reminding him of why the two of you were sitting down and not sparring in the first place.

The second he opens the group chat, he's immediately assaulted with spam messages that make him regret opening it in the first place, and all thoughts of his gloves meld into the background noise of his mind.

Sunday lets out an exasperated sigh along with a shake of his head.

He can already feel his brain cells shriveling and withering away. Who was it that said that the Stellaron Hunters were a terrifying terrorist group, each capable of destroying entire empires with a mere pull of their finger?

Especially Kafka - she was the Hunter with the highest bounty and the most infamous out of all of them. Sunday had already long lost any expectations he had about you, but at least he still had some respect left for the quite frankly, creepy enigma that was Kafka.

Now, he isn't so sure.

Still, he can't deny the amused smile that was slowly creeping up upon his lips. He sneaks a look behind him, no longer feeling your hands on his wings, and he finds a similar grin on your face, a snort escaping you every so often as you play up this charade with Kafka.

A sharp pain smacks his shin. Sunday hisses and glares at you, to which you only smile at him from the corner of your eye.

"Hey, you're supposed to defend me," you chastised, shaking your head in mock disappointment. "Not give the local pyromaniac a reason to attack me."

Sunday rolls his eyes with a smile.

"I'll defend you when you replace this shirt," he says, tugging at the high-necked collar that hugs his form. At least, it did. Now it was littered with cuts and tears in the fabric, all done in by a certain medic. "I'm afraid I won't be able to make much use of it now."

"Hold on, pyromaniac's yelling at me." You quickly type out a few paragraphs in your defense.

Once you've (somewhat) escaped Firefly's wrath, you set the phone down and assess the damage you've done to Sunday's attire. Even if his wounds were now healed and the poison neutralized, fabric wasn't something you could heal.

You raise a brow. "How many of those did I get for you?"

"Five," Sunday answers automatically.

"And the old man has never torn up a single one? I find that hard to believe, considering how rough he can get."

Sunday cringes, his abdomen aching from the mere memory of all the times Blade has drop kicked him there. "To be honest, I'm just as surprised as you are."

You squint at that, before your phone pings again and you check it. Thankfully, it isn't another onslaught of messages from Firefly that you need to defend yourself from, and so you don't pay it much attention.

"I'll ask Webs to stitch it up for you," you say, patting him on the shoulder. "Unless you want me to head back to Euphrosyne and raid them of their entire stock."

Much to his horror, Sunday almost considers it. But then he comes to his senses and shakes his head. "That won't be necessary."

"Are you sure?" You prop your elbow on his shoulder, leaning into him. "It's doable, just give me ten minutes, a couple of bombs, and-"

Sunday pushes your face away with his finger, his ear wing coming up to act as a shield between you and his face. "We are not committing bioterrorism on an innocent planet."

"Who's we? Technically, it's only me, and that planet isn't exactly innocent, if you know what I mean-"

"[Name]."

You raise your hands in surrender as he narrows his eyes. "Alright, point taken. Oh, also, Webs's talking to you. Might want to answer before she starts calling you a homewrecker again."

"We can't have that," Sunday chuckles.

...What did he just get himself into? Sunday slowly turns to gauge your reaction, to which you only shrug, which isn't helpful at all.

"You'll be fine," you say. "Probably. Most likely. 50-50. Depends on the hour. Depends on how much she's had to drink."

He raises a brow. "How comforting," he says dryly.

You pat him deftly on the back before standing up and stretching. "It is what it is. We should go, though. Wouldn't want to keep the good lady waiting."

He moves to follow you, but before he can stand up, his hand comes to touch his throat, and he remembers the shirt, the shirt ruined by your hands.

Panic takes him by storm. He can't be seen like this. You are one thing - you've seen his wings at their worst, mangled and messy, but Kafka is another. Kafka is a higher up. Kafka is a senior. Kafka, in a way, is his boss outside of Elio.

And if she sees him like this, untidy and messy, he'd throw himself out into the cosmos and accept his death there.

But he doesn't have time to go into his room and grab a jacket, does he? Not if you're to head in at the same time, and he refuses to be late or have you wait outside his room while he changes into something more suitable. But what other choice does he have?

He begins to dig at his palms again, but this time, the pain fails to ground him. If anything, it makes his raging thoughts even worse as he thinks, thinks, and thinks of what he can do, what he could do- By THEM, this is why he always made sure everything was in order before he left the room. But you had to ruin-

His fingers dig harder at that thought. Irrational anger is swallowing him, and he tries to drive it down- It's a spar, Sunday.A spar with real swords, no less. He should've expected this. He knew what he was getting into- But for you to stab him? Wait, why is he still sitting down? Stand up, move, already, you idiot- Why did you have to ruin him like this?

He looks up, halo beginning to glow despite his rational telling him to step back and just breathe, only to get smacked in the face by a ball of thick fabric.

"Wha-" He sputters and takes a step back, indignance and pure, utter, bafflement replacing his anger at record speed. Catching the fabric as it falls down, Sunday's eyes widen as he realizes what it is.

"Are you done freaking out?" you ask dryly. Your sword has reappeared in your hand and there's tatters of cloth on the ground by your feet. "Put that on if you're so worried about looking decent."

Sunday turns the hoodie around apprehensively. It isn't the one you bought for him - it's too bright in color for that, and Sunday wasn't one to wear this color if he could help it. Not only that, but the fresh cut where the back is supposed to be is ragged, making it obvious that the hoodie wasn't tailored this way.

You didn't have to... His brows furrow. Why did you do this? For him, of all people- and what you said, before, did you notice yet again?

That won't do. He's never been this bad before. He needs to relearn what made him Sunday, Head of the Oak Family. He needs to relearn the art of performance, needs to remember how to push down weakness and cover it with expensive paint.

"Did you wash this?" he blurts out, tearing his gaze away from the hoodie. You snort.

"Just the fact that you asked me that tells me a lot about how you view me. What the hell. After I just cut it up for you, too?"

"I apologize. It's-" Sunday inhales, wondering how in the world he was going to word this without sounding paranoid. "It's a habit of mine."

You shake your head with a smile, crossing your arms. "Yes, I washed it. It's straight from the inventory, so don't worry, you won't catch anything."

"I didn't mean it like that-"

"I know," you chuckle, "no need to get all worked up. Now are you coming or what?"

Sunday hastens to throw the hoodie over his head, patting his hair into shape as he follows you out of the training room. With his body still admittedly warm from the sparring, it's uncomfortable and admittedly disgusting to have such a thick sweater over all of it, but he'd rather melt covered up as opposed to being exposed in such a disheveled manner.

"Are you sure about this?" he still asks as you step into the hallway. "With all this sweat-"

"I don't care, princess," you sigh. "You don't even have to return the thing. Mercy knows how many hoodies I've got in my wardrobe - letting go of one isn't an issue to me."

Sunday's hand comes to grasp at the neck of the hoodie, feeling the fabric. He looks away from you, his gaze falling to the constant motion of his feet.

"I appreciate it," he murmurs, wings coming up to cover some of his face. You hum.

"Don't mention it. That's what friends are for."

Sunday feels his cheeks warm slightly. His wings shift further up his face. "Friends... That is what we are, isn't it?"

"Yeah," you say as if it were obvious. "What else would we be?"

He shakes his head, his wings unfurling to reveal his soft smile. "No, this is enough. I was simply caught off guard, that's all."

You furrow your brows. "To be called a friend? That's... concerning."

"Don't look too far into it."

"I'll tell Elio to ring you up with a psychiatrist."

"Please don't," he sighs. You snicker.

"No promises."

The conversation fades into a comfortable silence after this, with the only sounds being the gentle pit-pat and tapping of your footsteps. Sunday spots a new graffiti on the wall that separates your door from Silver Wolf's. This one is of a raccoon, one that oddly looks similar to that one grey-haired Trailblazer with the baseball bat. Beside it is an Origami Bird that resembles Silver Wolf. As the two of you pass, a vividly orange flower snaps playfully at him, but unlike the one he's yet to replace, it doesn't seem hungry. It placates under your touch.

"I wasn't lying, by the way," you say suddenly. Sunday glances at you with a tilt of his head. "About what I said in the group chat. You're doing better than any of us expected."

"Thank you?" Sunday isn't sure whether to take it as an insult or a compliment. The corners of your eyes crinkle.

"I'm being serious. I'm surprised you were able to fight through my poison at all, even if it was a mild one. Any other person would've given up the second the paralysis hit. But you managed, somehow. So good on you."

Sunday stiffens. Not knowing what to say, he merely gives you a nod of appreciation. His footsteps slow slightly as you come up to Kafka's mahogany door so that he stands behind you. As you raise your hand to knock, he feels a slight prick at his wrist - and this time, it isn't of his own doing.

As subtle as he can, he risks a glance down at that hand.

The pointed edge of a thorny vine peeks out from under his sleeve, the dark purple taunting as it sways ever-so slightly.

<< previous || series masterlist || next chapter >>

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[circuitcircus]

in defense of kabumisu……..

addressing things I see people say about why kabru being shipped w mithrun is ‘bad’ or why their canon relationship ‘doesn’t mean anything’ while also clearing up misconceptions of the characters some fans have

listen it keeps popping up and I just gotta do this or my brain will melt (if you don’t see it around then god I wish that were me) there’s an age gap!- erm there’s also an age gap in farcille (ily), the most popular ship in the series...also chilchuck looks like a kid but a lot of fans recognize him as a dilf because of his relative age, so there should be no age gap discourse among adult characters because it feels so conditional tbh

kabru taking care of mithrun is racist!- marcille likes to take care of others as well. is that sexist, or just an aspect of her character?

kabru isn’t treated like a servant, waiting on mithrun hand and foot…I mean he gives mithrun a foot massage but no one told him to do all that lmfao

he's also not the only one to care for mithrun. pattadol is shown to worry for him and milsril was the one to start taking care mithrun in the first place after he…...y’know. speaking of which-

they probably met when kabru was a kid!- neither of them showed signs of recognizing each other the entire time mithrun was introduced nor when they were together. and im pretty sure KABRU of all people would show some kind of recognition if they'd met before. it's kabru!!! the people person!!! mr. "i-noted-down-50+-characters-in-this-dude's-backstory-for-fun-and-actually-enjoy-social-gatherings"

you would think some kind of memory would come back to him especially after hearing mithrun’s backstory if milsril had even told kabru about him as a kid. but nope. it’s just fan speculation unless there's a side comic suggesting otherwise that i haven't seen

mithrun doesn't care about kabru, his shapeshift double looked like shit!- it's obviously because of mithrun's (then) lack of desires that it looked like that, but they really grow on each other

i think it's safe to assume it'd look more like kabru after they spent so much time together (also laios can barely even remember kabru's name..also saw his face multiple times and didn’t recognize him when they talked for the first time)

mithrun is racist!- he’s actually the least likely character to be racist since he lost his desires and that includes a desire for superiority over others. he even calls his past self out on that part of himself. the other elves in that side comic were being just as racist to shorter lived races but just didn’t use ‘outdated slurs’

(unfortunately literally every main character in dunmeshi is at least a lil prejudiced, but I believe it’s worldbuilding and a sign of the times rather than a reason ryoko kui is giving to hate each character)

taking care of others is a pain in the ass!- saying this as a reason kabru and mithrun shouldn't be together is basically saying disabled people shouldn't be allowed to have romantic relationships because they're a "burden"...if someone is actually willing to put in the work, then let them be.

that's not even all of their relationship, mithrun is the fighter of their duo and kabru would've been killed by the shapeshifter or something if he'd fallen down the hole on his own since he sucks at fighting monsters. mithrun helps collect ingredients for cooking every time, too (barometz fruits and griffin egg). he pulls his weight and then some!! i feel like people forget that part of mithrun a lot somehow.

+senshi literally cooks for everyone all time. it's kind of an important aspect of the narrative.

+also, while it is a popular fan thing I see around that kabru handfeeds mithrun, he literally never does lol this is mithrun using his own hands to eat:

also here we have him washing his own body

just saying because people like to treat mithrun like a baby even though the narrative respects him as a capable adult who also has special needs because of an accident. he’s captain for a reason

kabru hates taking care of mithrun!- not exactly, he was initially surprised and put off but got used to it quickly. i’m sure he’s grateful for all the times mithrun saved him from a monster and teleported them out of danger as well

he even starts doing “unnecessary” things for mithrun’s comfort and safety like when mithrun pushes himself too hard fighting, even after his mission to take care of him was complete when the canaries came back

here is even kabru resting while mithrun keeps watch (mithrun let him sleep for 5 hours before waking him up from the nightmare earlier, too):

there's nothing more to their relationship!- they actually have had a very tight and consistent dynamic since they met and they incite the most change within each other by the end. kabru is the one who inspires mithrun to create new desires so he doesn't waste away, and mithrun is the first person we see kabru being genuine with and it leads him to be more honest with others by the end instead of tiptoeing around everyone all the time (that mask was also the reason some ppl initially disliked kabru…)

kabru’s relationship with mithrun is honestly so important for his character and vice versa, but it’s often disregarded because of one over exaggerated aspect of it (an aspect that isn’t even the first way they interact with each other) or because people want to just straight up ignore it for some reason 🥲🥲

kui dedicates many panels to them that don't particularly serve the narrative as a whole in order to demonstrate this and i think that's pretty significant

you're taking this too seriously!- as if i'm the first person in the world to be crazy about a ship or the characters 😭 i love analyzing text and it's upsetting to see them mischaracterized when kui lays out the characters so clearly and deliberately

also they end up touching each other like all the time and have the kind of canon validation most ppl can only dream of lol i feel so insane look at this:

and this is just when they're first getting to know each other cuz there's a fuckload more

kinda hard to explain how i don't actually need them to get married or whatever but i'd die on this hill for them and i enjoy their dynamic immensely

haha you thought you were reading ship discourse but it was actually a character analysis 🤪🤪🤪

also don’t somehow take this to mean I think anyone has to ship them, I just need everyone to understand these accusations kind of don’t make sense especially when they can also apply to other pairs or characters

bonus kabru just looking at mithrun:

[wtpyrofreak]

The "best thing to happen to Kinger's lower half" is not foreshadowing, but a hint to his past in the circus. Hear me out.

So we all remember "Kinger's Special Place" and how those Checkmates socks (Plus Kinger "wearing" one of them) caused a lot of fans to worry over the fate of our beloved chess piece?

Yeah. The more I think about it, the more I feel like we're viewing all this from the completely wrong angle. This isn't telling us what WILL happen to Kinger...

It's telling us what ALREADY happened to Kinger and WHY he's the way he is now.

Gangle's supposed "Near-abstraction" moment in EP 4 made me think back to Kinger's core memory with his abstracted wife. He couldn't recall the exact string of events that lead up to it, but that moment in the fort where she calmed down enough for him to caress her was forever ingrained into his mind.

Maybe it's because said moment was what saved him from immediately following Queenie into abstraction--

"Erm, eckshualeeeee, when Gangle snapped back from abstracting, she didn't go insane like Kinger. Theory debunked along with your Stupid sauce scandal idea."

Well, yeah. Because she was just starting to abstract before Pomni offered to switch shifts with her. Meanwhile, I think Kinger was already deep into abstracting before ending up in the pillow fort with Queenie.

This silly image of Keychain!Kinger wearing the Queenie sock? It represents HOW CLOSE he was to completely breaking. He still managed to snap back, the absolute chad, but having been so near the brink of no return, the mental damage was already done and couldn't be reversed (much like how you can't come back from fully abstracting).

That's why Kinger's mind is so scrambled/fragmented present day.

Upon this recontextualization, so many things start adding up (at least for me).

Both his and Abstracted!Queenie's behavior follow the same patterns. Erratic and unpredictable in the light. Lucid and calm in the dark. This can most likely be applied to anyone else who abstracted too.

He can't recall the events between after Queenie abstracting and before he ended up in the pillow fort because he was probably HARDCORE dissociating.

He was more paranoid and unstable than usual after the Gloinks took apart his fortress because they robbed him of his ANCHOR.

And of course, all this can further explain how Kinger has managed to last in the circus longer than anyone else. DOI\I'T FORGET. YOU'RE HERE FOREVER.

...Orrrrr maybe I'm just on extreme hopium + copium over my favorite character and the checkmates socks are just comfy socks and nothing more. I AM the same person who concocted the crack-ass "Spudsy's Signature Special Sauce Scandal" theory, after all. XP

We'll just have to wait and se

(EP 4 Gangle gifs ripped by @fleshgerm)

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Perhaps It's Time (Doctor Who)

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: You think you're finally ready to have your cherry popped.

CW: virgin!reader, sort of implied smut, discussions around sex

Doctor Who Tag List: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr @midnight--raine (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

It’s not necessarily something you’d thought about a whole lot. You just assumed like most other people that you’d be ready when you were ready. It wasn’t for lack of interest, either. You’d had partners before, but you were younger then, and while conceptually the idea of sex was appealing- when it got down to it, you just weren’t ready. 

But that was then and this was now. 

You’d been travelling with the Doctor for at least a year. Probably longer, if you really stopped to think about it. The two of you had gotten together sometime around month six or seven, and you hadn’t looked back since. 

The Doctor was the best partner you could ask for. He took you on plenty of dates, made sure you had tasty things to eat, gave you cuddles whenever he could, and was very respectful of all your wishes and boundaries. 

He’d never so much as laid a hand on your thigh with sexual intentions. And yes, while this was good at the beginning of your relationship, you were finding yourself growing more frustrated by the day with his lack of instigation. 

“Hey, uh, Doctor?” You ask him, surprising yourself as the words slip past your mouth. The being in question turned towards you, a stick of red liquorice hanging out of his mouth. He hummed as an invitation for you to go on. “How come you haven’t- uh, how come we haven’t… you know.” 

The Doctor’s brows furrow in confusion, and he removes the liquorice from his mouth, clearly resisting the urge to play with it. 

“Oh, erm- haven’t really thought about it,” he replies, making the short trip over to stand before you. “That’s not me saying I don’t want to. I want to. Oh yes, I want to.” This is the first time you’ve noticed that lustful gleam in his eye, the colour darkening just a shade as he looks you over hungrily. 

Your cheeks flush a shade darker. Just enough to be noticed. Your eyes are trained on his lips and the way he licks them as though he’s thinking about all the ways he could make you come undone with his mouth alone. Let’s be real, though, it wasn’t like you hadn’t been thinking about that since you got together either. 

“So why haven’t we?” You ask breathily. The Doctor crowds you up against the console of the TARDIS, getting as close as he can without making you uncomfortable (as if he ever could). He gives you enough room to move out and away if you need to. Always so considerate of your feelings, the Doctor was. 

“Well,” he replies, brushing a finger down your cheek softly. “Thought you weren’t ready. ‘Sides, I don’t mind waiting. I’m here for you, and you can take as long as you need to. I’m not going anywhere, am I?” 

The change in tone from dark and lustful to soft and caring almost gives you whiplash, but you also appreciate it. How could you ever fall for anyone else? Answer, you couldn’t. Maybe you’d never had your cherry popped because you were simply waiting for the Doctor.

“I think I’m ready,” you say, biting at your lip. The Doctor grins, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. He pulls away and kisses you hard on the mouth. His lips still taste of liquorice and you melt against him. 

“I- I don’t want to right now,” you add dazedly when he gives you space to breathe. You’re flushed from head to toe, heart swelling with happiness. “But I’m ready, I think. For when we want to.” And when you have the time. That prerequisite was also pretty important for something like this. 

“I don’t need it to be special, just- when it happens it happens.” 

The Doctor winked, sticking his red liquorice back into his mouth with a wide grin. 

“Sounds spontaneous. I like it.” 

You bet he does.

[ultravioletbrit]

“warn” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 562 words

“James Fleamont Potter!” Regulus bursts into James’ living room.

“What did I do?” James immediately stands up from the couch and is promptly smacked in the chest.

“You didn’t tell me what Barty did.” Regulus snaps.

“Erm…?” James looks at him very confused.

“He gave you the talk.”

“Er, Reg, I already know where babies come from, and we don’t really need to worry about—”

“Not that talk, you idiot. The… the shovel talk… or whatever it’s called.”   

“Oh yeah, he gave me that talk a few weeks ago.” James says simply.

“And why am I just finding out about it now?” James just sort of shrugs, he honestly doesn’t understand why Regulus is so upset. “James!” James gets smacked again but this time he catches Regulus’ wrist and pulls him into his chest.

“Reg, it’s fine. He just wanted to warn me not to hurt you. Which I never would, so it really wasn’t a big deal.” James wraps his arms around Regulus’ waist.

“He said he threatened you.” Regulus pouts.

“Well, yeah. It wouldn’t be much of a warning without a threat. But honestly, his was the least threatening of them all, so—”

Regulus pulls out of James’ arms. “What do you mean ‘of them all’? How many were there?”

“Erm… Three?… and a half?”

“A half?”

“Yeah, there’s Barty, and he just threatened to kill me, so that’s not too bad. Then there’s Sirius and he was a bit scarier, but only because he knows me so well, so he knows what would hurt me the most, and he was not afraid to threaten me with it. Then there’s Remus, but he was sort of half you, half Sirius. He cares about you, so he obviously doesn’t want me to hurt you. But if I did, then Sirius would have to follow through with his threats, so Remus would also have to deal with whatever Sirius-level drama comes after that, and that’s never fun. So, he threatened me half because of you, half because of Sirius. And then…” James feels a literal chill run down his spine. “Well… then there’s… erm… there’s Pandora, and she was truly terrifying.” James finishes with a shiver.

“Pan… Pandora?” Regulus asks and James nods. “Soft, sweet Pandora, whose best friend is a caterpillar, was the most terrifying?”

“Yes!!” James yelps. Regulus gives him an incredulous and slightly amused look. “Have you ever been threatened by Pandora!?” James asks.

“No.” Regulus chuckles.

“I do not recommend it. I had nightmares for a week!” James shivers again just at the thought.

“What did she say to you?”

“I will not repeat that!!” James shrieks. “I’d probably accidentally summon some horrible creature!”

Regulus laughs under his breath and walks over to wrap his arms around James’ neck. James instinctively wraps his around Regulus’ waist, pulling him as close as possible and takes a deep, steadying breath.

“I’m sorry they did that to you.” Regulus whispers.

“It’s really okay.” James whispers back. “I was sort of expecting it, and I would’ve been more surprised if they didn’t.” Regulus looks at him curiously. “You have a lot of people who love you, Reg. I knew they’d want to make sure I would never hurt you. And if I ever did, I’d deserve everything Pandora threatened, and more.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, but his cheeks also turn a lovely shade of pink. “You’re ridiculous.” He tells James, pulling him in for a kiss.