#white coat summit

[saintgoths]

☾༺♰༻☽ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛ☾༺♰༻☽

mdni very 18+ - he makes you dumb with his tongue.

daddy calling + over-stimulation.

simon 'ghost' riley.

Sometimes you’d think that Ghost would be doing it for himself with the way his lips lock around your pearl, he takes in the sweet extract that coated your heat, addictive, is what the both of you would think, you would repeatedly hump his face while his tongue lays flat and strokes your cunt while he feeds himself the ambrosia that would build up.

“D-daddy!” You cried out as you could feel his tongue push inside of you, frequently, you’d forget that he loved to fuck you with his tongue, aggressive and greedy he’d push his muscle up your cunt while you struggled to keep composure.

He’d have his arms locked around your body, trapping you from pulling away from him no matter how over-stimulated you were, you’d still find Ghost licking your cunt, his cold brown eyes staring up at you, dark with fervor as he’d watch you crack and cry disgracefully, face coated with tears as you’d rock your pussy against his face.

His moans vibrating through you commencing flicks of flinches as you could feel another round of climax push through you, but that’d never stop him, but cause him to pull you closer. He’d be so mean with the way he wouldn’t let you go, travelling his tongue back to your clit and petting it with a few roughness ere he returned to take care and clean the rest of your mess.

“That’s it baby doll,” he whispered, “continue cumming on my tongue,” he growled and as you were thrown into a fit with his few words, you had arched your back, eyes white as you could feel his tongue wither back into your cunt, massaging the area of your walls as you wept another climax.

“One more time for me baby doll,” he pleaded, eyes now drunk with appetite---as he whirled the tip of his tongue around your clit, proud of the clutter he had been able to push you in, you were a crying mess and he understood that the neighbours would sign another complaint with the debris of noise that originated from your home.

Your hands gripped into his hair, you had tried to keep yourself in balance, your lips trembling as you could barely remember where you had been not to mention, your own name.

As you had thrusted your hips against his face he had moaned, hard he could feel his cock gently peak with orgasm by the action of his face between his legs and as kickback, he had growled, how pathetic you were, holding onto his hair for dear life as he had eaten you, your sweet nectar layering against his face as he reached one hand into his boxers, gently stroking his thumb against the tip of his dick.

“Daddy,” you whimpered as you could feel another round of orgasm climb to its peak and as your juices had summit into his mouth, you had eventually dropped your arms to your side, a crying mess of over-stimulation. Your body flinching as he left one more peck between your legs fore he stood on his knees.

“Y’did so well baby doll,” he complimented just as he pulled you into his arms leaving a trail of kisses against your neck, calming you down.

POSITION REFERENCE ONE.

POSITION REFERENCE TWO.

why not give two position reference treats today? lol bye :)

when i reach 300 followers there'd be a special post containing more men.

♆

[lilac-5ky]

The Party (Satoru x Fem!Reader)

Plot: You decide to surprise your boyfriend on his birthday

Tags: Birthday fluff, Comedy, Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Shibuya incident?What Shibuya incident? (year is 2018), Established Relationship, Gojo Senpai, Satoru being the adorable menace everyone loves, SO. MANY. CHARACTERS. MAKING. APPEARANCES, feels like an actual jjk ep at this point, (fic deteriorates a bit over the latter part as my mental health does, writing until 6 am is exhausting, i know im late but spare me)

Word Count: Slightly under 9k.

A/N: Happy late Birthday, my love 💙💙💙

Masterlist | Requests | AO3

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost there—watch your step!” You warn, only to lose your footing a second later as you smash head first into your boyfriend’s back.

There is no way Satoru doesn’t know where the two of you are headed. Even with his technique supposedly turned off and your shaky hands concealing his curious eyes, all the things that make Jujutsu Tech into the place that raised generations of sorcerers (yours, included) continue to exist, bearing witness to his intentionally dumb guesses.

“Is it the beach? Are you taking me to see the ocean?” Satoru excites. “Aw, baby! You should have told me so; I would have brought my swimming trunks with! Although, I hafta say swimming in December is probably a bad idea, my nipples will freeze and fall right off. You wouldn’t want that, right?”

A sigh evades your lips, expelled as a little white cloud of frustration. On second thought, his mouth was what needed to be covered. Preferably stitched.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we aren’t going to the beach”—aw, shoot—“and your nipples get to live another day.” Your teeth chatter. Tiptoeing behind him with upstretched arms is already hard on its own. Doing so in the cold is purely exhausting.

You lose count of how many torii gates you cross, the joint click of your shoes switching to an uncoordinated thump as you go from traversing cobblestone paths to climbing an endless uphill of stairs, your stroll, again, feeling like part of a survival show. Curse Master Tengen. They might have only been responsible for the barriers, though in your scare, that doesn’t stop you from holding them accountable.

We are going to die.

Or more like you are going to die, considering Satoru’s already secured himself a life net in the form of your poor broken-to-be bones, and that’s the best case scenario you can hope for, the worst being having to repeat your ascension from the bottom step up.

“Then, are we visiting Himeji Castle?” Satoru continues, the frigid temperature not enough to crack his spirit. “Because I know the single best place for Tama Tsubaki. So fragrant, so elegant, so deliciously sweet! You haven’t been to Himeji before, have you? It’s also known for its excellent leather craftsmanship. Last time I went there, they had these insanely pretty wallets with—”

“N-no!” You yelp, voice as strained as if you’re walking on a tightrope. Shivering, “Wouldn’t you have noticed if I took you on a 4-hour road trip?”

“But time always moves so fast when I’m with you.” He coos in response, his tone serious when he asks, “Wanna take a break? Promise to keep my eyes closed till we reach the top. And after that too, if you want.”

Silky lashes map out the inside of your palms as they flutter against them, sweet little butterfly kisses that convince you to withdraw your hands. After all, you’d hate for his birthday to be stained with blood.

Not yours, at least.

“If you dare open them, I’ll kill you.”

“How scary!” Satoru captures your frozen hand and slips it in his coat’s pocket with far too great precision for someone with impaired vision. You don’t complain. Not even when he makes you bump into every single step on your way up, giggling to himself, until, as promised, you reach the summit and he lets go for you to assume your previous positions.

“I don’t”—pant—“miss”—pant—“walking this w-walk.” You muster in between labored breaths, palms on your knees as you crouch forward like an elderly lady with chronic back pain. “Wh-what are you smiling for?”

“Nooooooothing!” Satoru chirps, soft dimples carving hard into his milky complexion. “Just takes me back to the time when you still called me Gojo Senpai is all.”

Your youth comes playing in your head like an old cassette forced to rewind, bittersweet recollections sending you on a sudden trip down memory lane.

You met Satoru at the peak of spring and fell in love with him over the course of fall—a swirl of autumn leaves coloring the currently naked maple trees red. Muddy soles and uniforms soggy from the rain. Chasing after an umbrella you agreed to share and hopscotching across shallow puddles. Laughing louder than the pending storm.

But before that, bickering. So much bickering that continuously tested the patience of those around you, arguments over video games escorting you to morning assembly, and plans to catch new movie releases sealing your goodbyes.

The bitterness of Shoko’s cigarettes and the promise to never smoke again. Arcades and electronics in Akihabara. Karaoke and conveyor belt sushi in Shibuya. Getting a stranger to buy you your first beer and puking your guts outside a convenience store in Shinjuku. The promise to never drink again.

Moon-viewing festival. The unforgettable sight of him in a yukata, your heart multiplying itself into your eyes. Stolen glances and not-so-accidental nudges. Your first kiss tasting of melon soda, your second burning faster than the wick of his sparkler. Another kind of promise.

The giddiness of first love filters the film pink. Five-minute dates behind the old gym in flash forward. Late-night expeditions to each other’s dorms. Your loss of innocence overshadowed by the sudden loss of Haibara. Tears that threaten to spill out of the sequence. Suguru’s betrayal. The strength to move forward.

You’ve come a long way since the days you cheekily called him Gojo Senpai without a care in the world, and even though tragedy managed to forever sully them, standing here with him now makes it worth the pain. Given the chance, you’d do it all over again.

Rolling the cricks around your neck and shoulders, you walk up to Satoru, a tug at the lowest hanging tuft of hair signaling for him to meet your height. Knees bent. Eyes still closed. Lips still curled. Features so undeniably beautiful at 29 as they were at 17.

“Don’t move.” You mumble, smiling softly as you watch him pucker his lips in anticipation of a kiss. Instead, you fish out a pair of rectangular shades from inside your pocket and place them over the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s go before we get scolded for being late again.” Your hand steals his this time around, ushering him forward. A speckle of heat shooting from your fingers to your cheeks. “I trust you not to spoil your own surprise, Gojo Senpai.”

You are less than thirty steps away from your destination when, without a warning, the man behind you stops moving, forcing you to halt with him.

“What is it?” You ask, your body reeled closer to his from the bind of your fingers. “If you’re gonna ask whether I’m taking you to Laputa, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m still figuring out the coordinates.”

“That’s not it.” He huffs a chuckle against your knuckles, tenderly brushing them against his cheek. “But drop a pin when you do. Always wanted to take a nap in that fluffy flower bed. I’m sure it tastes fluffy too, just like whipped cream.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” You return, a yawn coaxed at the mention of napping. “So, what is it? Why did we stop?”

“I’m cold.”

“Well, so am I, but we really are close this time. If you just—”

“You should kiss me.” Satoru announces with solemnity better befitting a declaration of war. He realizes that himself, bringing his free hand to ruffle the hair on the back of his skull. Awkwardly. Ears tinged red. Cutely. “That would warm me up.”

“Is that your excuse?” You ask, chapped lips rubbing together. Your heartbeat felt in your throat. You shouldn’t be feeling like this. Not when you’ve known each other for the better part of your lives. It’s not normal. You don’t think you are.

“Nope.” He balances things out with a boyish smile that doesn’t make things any better for the lovesick teenage girl residing in your heart. She doesn’t know any better but to fawn over it. “My excuse is that we haven’t kissed here before. We’ve kissed there,” you follow his pointer, first to a bench made of stone and then to a blind spot behind some shrubs, “and there—many times there, heh, but not here. So we should kiss.” He reasons with a simplistic, nearly childish mindset. One you can’t quite argue against.

Until his spell breaks on you rather unceremoniously.

“I thought your eyes were closed!”

“Well, they were, but then I—hah, stop pullin’ like that—started missing your pretty face too much. Can’t deny me the simple joys in life, sweet cheeks.” He grins. “C’mon, just one kiss. Then we can meet with Yuji and the others. Promise I’ll act extra surprised!”

“Y-you knew?” Your eyes widen.

“I’ve known for about a week now? Heard you two talking on the phone, plus the kids asked to be put on cleaning duty when they usually leave everything to Megumi. Then a ton of chairs started to go missing, and—”

You barely bother listening to the rest, too caught up in your thoughts for Satoru’s detailed explanation of where it all went wrong to matter. Every year without exception—from your 16th birthday party-for-two in that tiny storage room you were accidentally locked in together to last year’s all-out murder mystery dinner party—he’s managed to sweep you off your feet, and yet you can’t throw him one party without it being spoiled.

You aren’t a planner. You know that. You know, but somehow you hoped this year would be different. That, twelve years after his insistence to spend his birthday in your company alone took root, (“Why would I want to spend this day with anyone other than you, angel? We have tons of fun together, don’t we? Just me and my special girl. Speaking of, any special requests for your birthday? I have some ideas myself, hehe~”) and one year after he stopped waiting for an apparition to show up and celebrate with him, he’d allow himself to bask in the appreciation of the living.

“Are you mad?”

The buzz of his voice quiets down, the paleness of a winter morning dawning beneath snowy lashes as he peers at you from above the rim of his sunglasses. Snowflakes of wonder stirring in his irises that contain them like two perfect snow globes, trapped in them, an ageless moment of the past.

“I’m relieved.” Satoru whispers, so faintly you almost miss it.

“Re…lieved?”

“You brought everyone here, right?” You nod. “Without blackmailing anyone?”

“Just Nanami.” You admit. “And Ijichi—Shoko promised to take him out for drinks if he came.”

“That’s good.” His lips pull into a smile warm enough to thaw your worries. “Honestly, I’m not the biggest fan of my own birthday.”

“I’ve noticed,” you interrupt. “You aren’t the only one perceptive here, Mister Six-Eyes.”

He gives you a funny look, creases forming over his brow as an imaginary zipper is drawn across the corners of his lips.

You unzip it. “Please continue, Great Gojo Senpai.”

His eyes light up. Satoru isn’t one for honorifics, yet hearing you address him as such makes the lovesick teenage boy in his heart shudder with excitement.

“You know what birthday I got the biggest haul for?” A shake of your head prompts him to continue. “Seventh.” Figures, you add. He nods. “Wanna know what they got me? A Hokusai painting. You know. One of those wavy ones.” Only he would ever refer to a Japanese classic that way. “But seven-year-old kids don’t care about dead people’s paintings or Shinto shrine visits. They want adventure, balloons, and luscious Gâteau au Chocolat. The new Street Fighter game, maybe.” His fingers snap together. “They want Laputa.”

You forget your hand is still in his until it’s given a light squeeze, Satoru nervously fiddling with your fingers while he mulls over what to say next.

“Bottom line is, birthdays with the clan suuuuuucked. And then, as I got older, I grew tall enough to outrun those stupid goons watching over me. So I’d run straight to Suguru’s house, drag him to the station, and from there, we’d go to that one pastry shop in Shinjuku and buy every cake on display. We’d eat till we both got sick—hah, you wouldn’t think his stomach was this sensitive with all those curses he gobbled up, right?—and then a few years later we met Shoko, and she’d put out her cigarette on my share.” He hisses like a distressed cat. “Then we met you”—another squeeze—“and those were the best birthdays of my life. Back when we were all together.”

“Satoru—”

“I didn’t think I could have that again.” He cuts you off. “But you said you got everyone together, and while some of us are no longer here, a lot are. This is good. You did well. I’m relieved, really. I’m happy.”

By the time Satoru finishes talking, you find yourself at a loss for words, blankly staring at his unaffected expression. It’s easy to forget how vulnerable he can be in those rare outbursts of sincerity; easy to forget that the one branded as the strongest is a person who cries and breaks too, and even easier to let yourself be deceived by that happy-go-lucky attitude. But as a smile begins to take shape upon your features, you can see where he’s coming from.

You are relieved.

“What are you smiling for?” Satoru asks in the same manner you did earlier.

“Nooooooothing!” You shamelessly steal his line. “Just thinking about the sorry look on your face when you realize there’s no chocolate cake.”

“You evil witch!” He proclaims, mouth hanging slack and forefinger pointing in accusation. “Next you’re gonna tell me you didn’t buy candles either!”

“Actually…”

You take hold of his finger before he can protest any further. Not that he wants to when both his hands are enveloped in the warmth of your smaller ones, childishly swinging by your sides. Back and forth. Up and down. Round and round. Arms overlapping as you both step closer, chuckling at a joke only your eyes seem to know.

“About that kiss.” You begin, laughing again at the small, exasperated mhm your boyfriend lets out, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the high neck of his sweater. “Are you still feeling cold?”

“So cold.” Satoru wiggles his shoulders as if he’s truly shivering. “Warm me up before the cold hand of death takes me away. Pleaseeeee.”

You aren’t one to deny him. Tiptoeing forward, you crane your neck so you can reach higher, while he bends his knees to shorten himself, meeting you halfway. Heavy breaths are shared as your noses brush together. The subtle notes of bergamot on his clothes blending with the wintry crisp in the atmosphere. Eagerness tugging at his bottom lip.

You might not be one to deny him, but you definitely are the type to tease him.

“Why don’t you do it? Why should I be the one to kiss you?”

“Wha—because I asked you!” Satoru quips.

“And?”

“And I have Senpai rights. Plus you didn’t pay boyfriend tax this morning, and come think of it, you didn’t wish me a Happy Birthday either!” He gasps like he only realized that just now. He builds his entire case around it. “Birthday Boy demands it. You have no choice but to give in or you’ll be cursed for your next seven birthdays!”

“But I thought you didn’t like your own birthday.”

“Baby!” Satoru finally breaks, his voice reduced to a high-pitched whine. “Even so, you can’t be mean to me on my own birthd—”

His lips are warmer than yours when you nullify the distance, conveying the softness and fruitiness of your stolen chapstick. A smirk is written on them, bitten away as you drag his hands closer to your body, foreheads bumping together and sunglasses nearly slipping from his nose. He giggles into your mouth, whispering how hot he finds it when you take the lead—moaning at the way your tongue presses against his, and disregarding the three sets of footsteps that enter the scene.

“Sensei!” A somewhat recognizable, albeit squeaky, voice calls out. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

“Way to ruin the surprise, Itadori!” Another, angrier, squeaky voice scolds.

“Idiot, you just said there was a surprise. And I told you both to go easy on the hellion.” The last of their group tries to deadpan, somehow sounding more ridiculous than his peers.

“Pft—F-Fushiguro!” Nobara and Yuji laugh in sync, too preoccupied with poking fun at their classmate to notice your form erasing itself from existence behind Satoru’s back as he turns around to face them.

“Yuji! Nobara! Megumiiiii!” His tone is colored with a falsetto when he addresses his favorite (target) student, prompting the duo to keep harassing him with countless pokes at his confetti-laced spikes.

Your plan to use poor Megumi’s torture as a decoy to flee the premises goes to waste as your hand is held out in the open, with Satoru showing you off to them like the big prize at the end of a wrestling match.

“Oh, future Mrs. Gojo Sensei!” Yuji is the first to acknowledge your presence; the effects of the gas are all but worn off as he timidly waves at you. “I didn’t know you were here! What brings you to school today?”

“That’s quite the title, Yuji. Told you to just—ugh!—call me by my first name.” You struggle to pull your wrist out of Satoru’s grasp. You lose. “Also, no need to keep playing charades. He knows.”

“You told him? Then what was all of this for?” Nobara comes forth, a pink balloon dramatically deflating in her hands.

“Actually, I figured it out myself! Aren’t you proud to have such a smart teach—”

“No!” Two out of three shout in unison. You almost do so yourself.

After their back and forth escalates into a full-blown debate on who’s more intelligent, Satoru or Megumi’s shikigami (the results to be announced on a future episode of Are You Smarter than a Toad?) and happy birthdays are wished, Yuji asks the one question you feared answering the most.

“Sensei? Miss Y/N? What were you doing out there in the cold?”

Their own curiosity beats Megumi and Nobara to the classroom as they stall their entrance, with Satoru being the first to hit the buzzer.

“You see, Yuji, when a man and a woman love each other very much, they—ahahouch! Love really does hurt! It hurts so badly!” He yelps as you stomp on his foot hard enough to cripple an average man.

“Don’t you dare use me as a test subject for the talk, Satoru!”

“What talk, darlin’?” He smiles coyly, not losing the chance to brag. “Oh, you mean the talk about how you fell victim to my charms and couldn’t wait till we were alone to kiss me? Guess I still got it, despite the extra candle on the cake.”

“Aww!”

“Eww!”

“Gross!”

The reactions vary.

“You’ll get another candle lit up in your memory if you keep spewing shit like this!” Your attempt to step on his shoe is countered by his technique.

“Hey, no cursing in front of my precious students!” Satoru chides. “We’re supposed to set an example for them, not taint their innocent souls!”

“Satoru!” With a tremendous roar, the door flies open, startling the three students to jump behind their teacher and you to follow suit.

Principle Yaga stands by the frame, his authoritative tone coursing through your body as it recalls every punishment he ever subjected you to. The soreness in your calves from running laps around school for being late. The dryness in your eyes after surviving one of his excruciating educational VHS tape sessions for being “cheeky” and the ache in your fingers from scrubbing the gym floors squeaky clean—courtesy of being caught sneaking back into the dorm with tousled hair in the dead of night.

You almost feel sorry for Satoru acting as the wavebreaker for the incoming tsunami, but then you remember how the majority of your crimes were incidentally committed in his name and wish him good luck. He deserves whatever earful he gets, possibly something along the lines of “Sixteen minutes late? Are you trying to break a world record?”

“You think Gojo Sensei will die?” Yuji whispers. “He’s at that age when a lot of celebrities die, right?”

“He’d better not! I didn’t bring any funeral wear with me.” Nobara answers back.

“Can’t you read the room?” Megumi rasps. “Plus, that’s the 27 Club you’re talking about. Gojo Sensei has outlived that.”

“Didn’t take you for a clubgoer, Fushiguro.” The two of them snicker, prompting Megumi to sigh as he again points out their idiocy.

“Principal Yaga!” Satoru bravely puts himself forward, your line of defense falling apart like a house of cards you’re made to support on your own. “Are you here to wish me a happy birthday? How thoughtful! Guess it’s true what they say: People mellow down with age.”

“Sixteen minutes late—”

The man’s mouth twitches furiously as an invisible countdown starts in all your heads, none of you expecting the situation to simmer down before it boils over.

“But I’ll let it slide this once. Happy birthday, Satoru. I’ve stopped hoping that the years bring you wisdom and fix your bad habits. It’s pointless; every year you turn more impudent than the year before,”—is that supposed to be a birthday wish or you getting kicks from throwing shade at me?—“but I wish they bring you happiness. I made this with you in mind. Hope it’s to your liking.”

You watch as Principal Yaga reveals a felt doll from behind his back, handing it to a repulsed Satoru, who makes no effort to conceal his personal feelings, let alone express gratitude.

“Huh? What’s that supposed to be?” He asks, shaking the doll so quickly you only catch a glimpse of its fluffy white tail and stitched black sunglasses—a cat?

“It’s you.” Its maker replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And he has a name. Satoru, say hello to Catoru.”

Four of you share a look among yourselves, too stunned to say a thing until Satoru and his doll counterpart face you, the latter being held up by the scruff of his neck. Just like an actual cat.

“Do I look like this?” Satoru asks, and you all go quiet, with three hands simultaneously nudging you to represent them. Traitors!

“I mean, there are times when you do act like a cat—kinda?” Your voice is pinched up, hands moving frantically to dispute your words as your boyfriend’s face turns sourer than umeboshi. “But you look ten times—no, a hundred times more handsome! I promise! If anything, you resemble a—uh, Turkish Angora? Those are super beautiful!”

“You’d better get along.” Yaga warns. “I designed Catoru with a sweet tooth like you.”

“I don’t want a little mochi thief in my house!”

Yaga marches back into class without waiting to hear Satoru’s concerns about the impending depletion of his secret mochi stash. The kids tail after him, leaving you to comfort Satoru with a gentle pat on his back. “Let’s go inside, mm?”

The atmosphere inside the classroom is significantly more promising than what Yuji showed you on FaceTime this morning. All desks are pulled to the side in a rough T formation, with the spread of food you spent two nights making carefully put in order, from platters full of golden-crusted corn dogs and crispy chicken fingers to dainty cupcakes decorated with Konpeito candy and colorful mochi of every filling you could think of. Inumaki serves bar, and you’re pleased to see people returning for seconds, with Yuji waving his hands while praising your popping candy cake poppers to his taciturn upperclassman.

Balloons hang near the ceiling—a flag garland dangling from one end of the blackboard to the other. A gigantic birthday message spans across the surface, with smaller wishes sprinkled in abundance, some consisting of mere congratulations and others expressed with heartfelt emotion. You can easily guess who wrote what based on handwriting alone; Megumi’s by far the tidiest.

You knew leaving the decorations to Nobara was a smart choice. She knows it too. She doesn’t waste the chance to boast to Maki about it, the older girl twirling a bouquet made of lollipops between her fingers while gazing at the drifting clouds outside the window.

Satoru was right. This is good. You have every reason to be proud, too.

In the far back of the room, the adults have struck up a conversation with Panda, who snaps a picture of your entrance. The two party poopers—Ijichi and Nanami—look up from their quiet exchange.

“Satoru! You came!” Principal Yaga’s pride and joy steps forward with open arms, a party hat pulled taut between his round ears. “Congratulations on your birthday,” says Panda, planting two identical party hats on your heads. “Let me take a picture of the two of you. Couldn’t get an angle from back there.”

Your shoulders get squeezed as Satoru smooshes your faces together, the pointy tip of his hat nearly taking your eye out when he tries to steal a kiss from your cheek. You squint—and snap!

“Hey, can you take another? I think I wasn’t looking straight.”

“No do-overs!” Satoru interferes before Panda can even open his mouth. “Don’t worry! Getting a bad picture of you is impossible when you look perfect at any given time. Right, Panda?”

His former student glances down at the camera, letting out the exact same sound your computer makes when a Windows program crashes, and then rushing to mask it with a hearty chortle.

“Of course, Satoru! You got very lucky; Y/N is as beautiful as she is kind-hearted.” He shows you a grin that’s mostly teeth. “You know, she worked really hard for this party. We barely did anything ourselves.”

Not true; you all did your part…

Your eye is endangered once more, with his lips finding their target this time around. “That’s my vanilla caramel drizzle cupcake muffin baumkuchen pie to ya!”

That’s half your macchiato and half your bakery order, you argue silently.

“Shame Yuta couldn’t make it.” Panda continues. “Heard he’s down with a cold, though he did send you his gift via Maki.” A fuzzy thumb points at the closet-turned-gift-depository, where various bags and packages are stacked into a pyramid. “Anyway. I’ll let the two of you mingle. Come over if ya want more pictures of you taken. Got lots of props too.”

Your eyes follow as he returns to his post, spotting Shoko experimenting with a pair of groucho glasses. Nanami shakes his head disapprovingly, leaning back into his chair while Ijichi’s stutter is visible from where you and Satoru stand.

You glance up at him, a default smile plastered on his lips. Unreadable to others, but painfully obvious to you. The face he’s searching for is not among those present.

“Everyone seems to be having fun.” Satoru points out.

“Y-yeah.” You croak.

“Can’t believe you got everything down. Class looks like it did back then. Even the wobbly pom-pom on the party hats.” He squeezes the one on your head. “That caught me off guard.”

“Well, it would’ve been a greater surprise if you didn’t eavesdrop on my private phone calls.”

“That ain’t on me, sweets.” He whisks your hand into his and drags you onward. “Not my fault I was born with heightened senses. Better get used to it; our kids will probably take after me in that aspect.”

You shrug his comment off, watching as Satoru stows the cat away in the closet and dramatically dusts his hands off. “Another great addition to the world’s creepiest collection.” He grumbles.

“But Catoru is the cutest so far!” You object.

He is about to answer when a sound akin to that of someone choking has you both turning toward the makeshift buffet where Ijichi is downing water straight from the jug, his sunken cheeks a scarlet shade of red.

“Shit! He must’ve discovered the jalapeno poppers.” You bite your lips into a straight line, feeling somewhat responsible.

“Nice job!”

“It wasn’t my intention!”

Your plea of innocence doesn’t resonate with Satoru, who gives you a thumbs up before forming a cone around his mouth and shouting at Ijichi—chuckling at the hurried way the man searches for an escape between chairs and people.

“Ijichi! Oi, Ijichi! I-ji-chi! Over here! Come wish me a happy birthday!” He waves his arms around like Tom Hanks in Cast Away, declaring—unlike Tom Hanks—that he’s coming to him instead.

“Don’t go around terrorizing people, ‘Toru.” Your voice has him stopping his march to peck your lips.

“Promise I’ll be a good boy. You’re free to punish me if I’m not.” He smirks, finger-gunning you all the while stepping backwards in slow motion.

“You never are!”

“Hmm, that’s only because I’m the best. And you’d better prepare a handsome reward for when we get home, ‘cause the best always wins.” A flirtatious wink makes you question how many people listened in on your exchange, praying that the answer is none.

You take advantage of Satoru’s absence to pay a visit to your old friends, mentally counting the days since the last time you all gathered up. It’s been way too long—the beer you’d promised to catch up over turned into a distant fantasy.

“Gonna get yourself nauseous if you keep staring at that whirlpool, Shoko Senpai.” You plop down on the closest vacant chair, the bored brunette humming without lifting her eyes from the lemonade swirling inside her cup.

“If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you.” She states, managing to sound both mesmerized and disinterested at the same time.

“And? Seen anything yet?” You lean closer.

She retires with a sigh, dark circles looming below her hazelnut eyes. “Nothing yet.”

“How about now?”

Pulling your trump card—aka one of those miniature vodka bottles you specifically brought with her in mind—from your pocket, you pour a generous amount into her drink, reminiscing about the time she accidentally spiked Satoru’s soda and had him swimming on the floor.

It takes one sip for Shoko to liven up, a sudden jolt of energy coursing through her veins as she reaches out for the bottle.

“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?”

You chuckle. “Big praise coming from someone who actually saves lives.”

“Big words coming from people who openly drink in front of underage students.” The man to your left observes, absentmindedly picking at the tentacles of the octopus sausage on his plate.

“Kento! You made it!” You tip from one side of your chair to the other, arms dangling empty as he dodges your hug. “Having fun?”

“Please stop acting like him. I know the years in his company have caused your twisted personalities to merge, but the world is already wretched enough with one Gojo Satoru around.” He munches on the “good part” of the dissected octopus, discarding the tentacles inside a carefully folded napkin.

“But to answer your question, whether I’d rather spend my Friday afternoon explaining to everyone I know that the man in the picture dancing inappropriately with half-naked models in Ibiza isn’t me but a look-alike or sitting here, chaperoning a bunch of kids and making sure no one kills themselves, then yes. It’s not as horrible as I expected. And you’re as good of a cook as I remembered.” He wipes his mouth. “But I’m still clocking out at 7 sharp.”

“Come on! I did what I had to do to get you here!” You giggle, experiencing a little of the same rush Satoru feels when he’s poking fun at Ijichi. Oh no. “I am glad you’re enjoying the food, at least!”

A sound viler than any curse’s wail pierces through your ears as a TV cart is dragged into the room. You recognize it as Yaga’s old torture device—those five-hour black and white tapes gleaming menacingly on the lower shelves, with an unknown machine piled atop the cassette player. You aren’t sure what its purpose is until Yuji connects a microphone to it.

“Everyone—ah, ah, ah! Can you hear me?” The boy dabs a palm against the microphone, sounding loud and clear across the room. “Fushiguro, can you hear me? Fushiguro—ah, ah, ah!” The last of his ah’s interrupted by Megumi’s calling him out in front of their live audience.

“Everyone, thank you for coming to Gojo Sensei’s birthday party! I’m Itadori Yuji, and I’m happy to have co-hosted this event with Miss Y/N.”

A couple of heads turn in your direction, Satoru’s among them. It’s easy to make out his silhouette when he dwarfs everyone around him—Principle Yaga on his side and an antsy Ijichi lurking behind them.

“I enrolled in this school a little over a semester ago by accident.” Yuji continues undeterred. “Back then, I didn’t know any more about curses than the next person. Not that I do now.” He scratches through his hair. “Honestly, it was a lot to stomach, especially the part where I get to share my body with another. I was told I’d be better off dead, and I did die once. I was supposed to be dead, but then Gojo sensei gave me a choice, and I’m here because of that choice. More than a helping hand, he’s been a guiding light to me, and on behalf of all of us, thank you, and Happy Birthday!”He bows. “I hope you have a good one!”

Yuji holds out the microphone for Satoru, the two of them sharing a high five with an affectionate pat seeing the boy off.

“Thank you, Yuji, for this wonderful speech!” Satoru grins, evidently moved by his student’s words. “Everyoooooooooooone! Give it up for the man of the hour, the one and only, the most incredibly handsome and magnificently strong sorcerer known as Gooooooooooojo Saaaaatoruuuu!” His body twists in a pirouette, peace signs and heart signs flying everywhere as he lands with a finger pointing at where the imaginary camera would be.

Unsurprisingly, no one is impressed. Cricket sounds almost audible.

“Wow, okay. Tough crowd, I guess.” His lips comically jerk to one side of his face, his tone turning nasal before switching back. “I won’t bore you with individual thanks and other useless formality crap.”

He smirks at the way your mouth rounds a silent gasp. Nanami notices too, posing a question you shrug off.

“To cut it short: first-years! You’ve all proved yourselves as worthy sorcerers and worthier humans. As a reward, I’m proud to announce your reward in the form of a—c’mon guys, drum your desks a little!—luxurious, one of a kind, ten outta ten, uniquely planned field trip by moi!”

“Is it Paris? Are you taking us to Paris?” Nobara dreams out loud.

“Sensei! How about Universal Studio? I saw them post their newest churrito flavor on their webpage.”

“Can I sit this one out?” A gloomy murmur begs.

“Great thinking, Yuji! Unfortunately, Nobara, we won’t be going overseas this time, but, Megumi, you’ll definitely want to reconsider once you hear our destination, which iiiiiis—excitement is free, everyone!—Parque Espana!” Satoru claps for his suggestion.

Three dejected faces say pass in unison, with only Megumi daring to complain about Satoru taking him and Tsumiki to the theme park every second Sunday when the two were younger. You remember that. Some times you’d tag along, and you’d all grab ice cream while staring at that humongous roller coaster the kids were too short to ride.

Undefeated, Satoru directs his attention to the second-year students, the three of them loitering by the chip bowl. His tone turning grave, “Second years, I’m honestly very disappointed in all of you. In our two years of knowing each other, you never thought to throw your favorite teacher a party for his birthday. You’re lucky I don’t have the authority to drop you a grade, but still. You fail!”

“Fish Flakes!” Inumaki expresses his supposed disagreement.

“Huh? You never even told us when your birthday was because you didn’t want us knowing your real age, you blindfolded idiot!”

“Maki, not now!” Panda anxiously gets in her way. “Cool it!”

“You should have figured it out yourselves.” Satoru toots. “Moving forward! I’d like to give my special thanks to the moon of my life, my sun, and my stars.”—you knew watching Game of Thrones with him was a very bad idea—“Y/N! Come here, sweetie. Don’t be shy; everyone knows how much we love each other.

It almost feels like you have the limelight shining on you, with every person eagerly awaiting your response. You gulp hard, whispering so that only Nanami can hear. “You were right. Please save me.”

“What is it, Buttercup? You already have my heart, but if there’s anything you’d like for me to do, then now is the moment to say it.” Satoru smiles sweetly, his voice dripping with honey.

“Actually, there is. Can you put me down?” You kick your legs around while he hoists you up in bridal style, your unjust abduction having occurred in the blink of an eye.

“Anything and everything for you!” He kisses the top of your head, holding you close to him even after letting your feet touch the ground. “Alright, that’d be all! I hope everyone gets to have the time of their lives. Now, let’s get this party started!” He throws the microphone up in the air.

Nothing happens.

“I said, let’s get this party star—whatever.” Satoru gives up half-way through raising his arm again. “Yuji, play something fun!”

“On it!” Yuji salutes him, and the two of you walk away from the blackboard.

A faint sigh echoes behind you, its relief cut short as Satoru grabs the microphone once more. “Ah, right. Ijichi, I’ll see you in my office on Monday. I’d wear a headband if I were you.”

“I’ve c-committed a mortal sin, G-Gojo!” Ijichi struggles to say, uncertain of the crime he’s being accused of, yet hopeful for Satoru’s forgiveness.

“You are such a menace!” You throw a playful punch to his chest once he sits you on his lap, away from the eyes of people gathering around the karaoke machine, and close to Nanami, who departs with a disgusted scoff.

“You love me for it.” Satoru’s lips press softly against yours, incapable of hiding his smile when you pull his face in for another kiss, the tight squish of his arms making sure you’re going nowhere.

“I do.” You affirm, rubbing your nose on his. “I love you.”

“How much?” His eyes crinkle fondly.

“Hmm, like, a lot?” You giggle, your fingers absently brushing through the trimmed hair on the back of his skull. “Enough to spend half a lifetime by your side and still find you the most incredible person in all of creation.”

“Wanna spend the other half too?” His breath on your cheek colors your skin red, your eyes momentarily lost between shades of blue.

“Come back with a ring, Shit-toru.”

“That’s not the way you talk to your future husband!”

“He’s here? With us? Right now?” You gasp, frantically looking around, until Satoru forces you to face him with a thumb on your chin, his other hand squeezing an innocent touch around your thigh.

“Satoru!”

“Scared your future husband will see us?” He throws his head back, laughing at your panicked state. “Don’t worry. I’ll fight him for you. And win. After all, I am the strongest.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, he did it! He said the line with only—”you glance at your phone—“six hours left before the day ends, what an amazing record!”

A shrill screech fired from the other side of the room interrupts your banter, the microphone turning into a lethal weapon in Panda’s massive palms. The students appear to have divided themselves into couples, fighting over who gets to go first until Inumaki takes the initiative with a rap song—or, more accurately, sings over a rap song, as the only words in his roster revolve around onigiri ingredients that are mentioned nowhere in the lyrics.

“Stop hogging the mic!” Maki attempts to steal it, backing away as the boy teases to unzip his collar. She knows better than to push her limits while unarmed.

Panda still gets in the middle. For precaution, you assume.

“Reminds you of something?” Satoru comments on your riveted attention. “They’re just like us. How we once were. Young and full of dreams.”

“Nah. You were always a horny bastard.” You slap the inappropriately placed hand away before you get up and sit where Nanami was previously stationed. Poking your tongue at his devastated expression.

Conversation between the two of you is kept to a minimum after a different tune begins blasting from the speakers—Yuji and Megumi take over the stage with Takada-Chan’s most recent success, one of them performing the vocals to perfection while the other merely mumbles yeah’s whenever the song calls for it. Next are Nobara and Maki, the two girls belting out to an anthem of empowerment that has the boys in the room gulping uncomfortably among themselves.

The mood shifts completely when Yaga pours his soul into an 80’s power ballad, his raspy voice transforming into the smoothest velvet, complemented by Panda’s harmonies. Even Satoru praises his old teacher, cheering him on from the bleachers with a makeshift napkin-banner.

You don’t realize your boyfriend’s gone until you see him with the microphone in hand, bending the cable as he makes quick gestures for the floor to empty, performing what is possibly the cheesiest, most romantic love song ever written, and ushering you to join him once he drops to his knees—quite literally at your feet.

You ruffle his hair and shove his goofy expression away. No matter how charming his singing voice may be, he’ll never get you to sing in public. Similar to how he’ll never catch you admitting how loudly your heart beats in your chest, despite the fact that it’s written all over your face.

God, you hate this man. So much that part of you wishes you’d spent his birthday like you did every other year—tangled in his sheets and kissing till you cannot breathe.

As soon as the karaoke session ends, Megumi and Yuji exit the room to bring in the cake, with Satoru jumping them for a thorough inspection. The dessert is inspired by one of his favorite confections. Handmade mochi bites are spread evenly between three layers of fluffy strawberry cake, the entire enterprise covered in fine red bean paste and topped with vanilla buttercream, strawberry cutouts, and, of course, more mochi in a light pink shade to recreate the world’s largest daifuku.

You lost count of how many failed attempts it took to create your own recipe from scratch, but the look on Satoru’s face is better than any payment you could possibly ask. He struggles to find a word that describes his feelings—phenomenal being the one he ends up using. Definitely better than chocolate cake. Perhaps even on par with the legendary Laputa.

Everyone gathers anew for the birthday boy to blow out his candles, awkwardness sweeping through the crowd as, one by one, you come to the conclusion that there is no available lighter.

you search through your pockets for a lighter, finding none. Shoko’s unhealthy (and supposedly cut) habit comes in clutch, with the brunette handing Yuji the keys to her office. The boy sprints outside at full speed, idle chatter put on pause as the TV starts playing on its own, the song selection window traded for a relic of the past.

“Is this even working?” A young Shoko taps the camera, tilting her body at a curious angle. Short skirt rolling up.

“Probably not. That shit’s ancient, but feel free to test it! Maybe try showing it something funnier, like your pant—”

Horny bastard. Right on the money.

“Cut it off, Satoru.” A voice makes both you and present-day Satoru shudder, its owner taking the camera from their friend’s hand to shoot footage around the gym. “Yaga Sensei told us to use this to document the Goodwill Event, not film amateur gravure.” The frame shakes once more. “Looks good to me.”

“Pft, what’s the point?” Satoru flicks a pebble at the camera. “So he can make a quick buck out of me destroying those brats? The outcome’s already decided. Now turn this thing off. I wanna lay under the sun without some junk in my face.”

The camera zooms in on him splaying his limbs on the grass, possibly near the track field, based on the slight hint of red inside the green.

“The only junk in your face is your face itself.” Shoko deadpans, making him chase after her while Suguru continues filming them until they turn into a pair of flickering dots.

“These two.”

The world is turned upside down as a close-up of his bang takes over the screen. Realizing that himself, he pulls the camera further away, cat-like irises shining like pure amber under the sunny sky. You’ve missed their warmth.

“Preparation for the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event, Day 1.” He declares, and the screen goes black in an instant, white noise reigning over the space.

Your hand seeks Satoru’s on its own, the faint sound of his name dangling from your parted lips, both your breaths catching in your throats. He’s left gawking at the screen, reciprocating your touch with shaky fingers that try to anchor him to you. It’s safe to say this was not part of your plan.

“Weird. Thought it’d be one of those old workout tapes.” Nobara reveals herself as the culprit behind the incident, ejecting the tape back into its box and later standing with her hands pinned to her waist. “Gojo Sensei, I recognize you and Ieri, but who was that third person in the video? Bangs Guy.”

Out of everyone in the room, she’s the only one to have absolutely no information on Suguru. Aside from the adults, the second-years were all present during last year’s attack, and Megumi knows whatever has slipped from Satoru during his stay at the Gojo clan’s compound.

Nobody rushes to respond; all of you tuned in on Satoru even though only Shoko, Yaga, and you are directly gazing at him, his face contorted with a pained grimace he tries hard to disguise.

“Geto Suguru was—”

“My best friend.” Satoru grins at Principal Yaga’s attempt to help him, grasping your hand more confidently as he confronts the girl. “Geto Suguru is my best friend.”

“Huh. Guess there’s hope for everyone.” No one’s left with any courage to laugh at Nobara’s poor attempt at a joke. “Where is he now—”

“Senseiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” A voice gains volume as the door bursts open, Yuji pouring into the classroom with the lighter held over his head like it’s the Olympic flame. “I g-got th-the—” He tries to breathe, ending up only saying, “Fire. Wish. What. Miss?”

“Yuji!” Satoru makes you follow him to the door. “You’re right on time! And no, you didn’t miss anything. Just stories of the past.”

“Stories?” Yuji wipes the sweat off his forehead. Still very much exasperated. “But I…like stories.”

“I know you do.” Satoru’s eyes settle on yours, the clamor in his eyes hushing for the first time in years. “But birthday wishes are meant for a future that’s yet to be written.”

“Thank you!”

Appreciation falls from your lips as a long-drawn yawn, every second you spend huddled under the kotatsu’s warmth begging to lull you to sleep. Today was a long day. So long, it feels as if it spanned an entire lifetime.

Satoru plops down beside you, the neckline of his sweatshirt diving low over his collarbones as he chugs his share of hot cocoa. Yours remains untouched while you switch between the same two movie options, incapable of picking one over the other.

“What do you have for me?” He asks, running his fingers over the ceramic rim. A melodic string instrument-like sound is induced.

“Okay so. Got the cult classic Sixteen Candles, which we’ve probably watched more times than Molly Ringwald had to practice her lines for the role, and I also have La Boum, in case you’re feeling more adventurous, and I don’t know. Frenchy, maybe.”

“Hmm, I mean. When you phrase it like that…”He acts as if he’s seriously contemplating his choice, only to snatch the remote from your hand and choose La Boum. He smiles slyly, curling near your chest. “It’s what you obviously wanted to watch. And I always choose, so.”

“Forfeiting your birthday boy rights?” You hum, tenderly combing through his freshly washed white strands. He smells just like his cake, you think. “Be careful. There are still nine minutes left before your birthday’s over, and you’re robbed of your rights for an entire year. Think you can make it?”

“Will you be with me during those horrid days?” His voice turns muffled.

“Always. Now, before the movie starts and you ruin the fun with your excessive blabbing, how about you reach under the kotatsu for your gift?” You suggest, chuckling as his head lifts up, cerulean eyes shining with unfeigned surprise.

“Angel! You shouldn’t have!” Satoru beams whole as he drags the heavy box out, shaking it in an attempt to feel out its contents.

“You know that doesn’t work with me. C’mon. I’ll pause for you.”

He wastes no time to untie the light silver bow that ties the box together, taking, however, his sweet time to review each and every object placed within. Carefully, he lays everything out on the table, small gasps evading him at a constant and maturing into a full-on shriek as he spots that one rare Digimon trading card you bust your gut trying to purchase via private online auctions.

“I—um. I know it doesn’t sound too good ‘cause I’m your girlfriend and I’m supposed to know everything about you and what you want, but I really had no idea what to get for your birthday. So I decided to get you a bit of everything from your favorite things. You can blame me for weaponizing nostalgia later.”

You clear your throat with a quick sip of cocoa. Licking your lips, “Anyway. It’s really no biggie as you can see. I just bought off some trading cards, ported a few of your old favorite games to a current generation console—yes, Street Fighter included—and made you this silly beaded charm with our initials for your phone, since they are back in fashion.

“I know it’s not much, and you could buy those things at any given time, but—time is something you cannot buy, right? Your childhood, your youth. The so-called best years of your life. I wanted you to have that back, even if just for a day.”

It’s been minutes, and Satoru remains quizzically silent, to the point where the array of kisses aimed at your neck comes as a true ambush. You’re knocked to the floor, giggling and flailing while he shows you his affection in every way possible, kissing you, praising you, hugging you—loving you.

“H-Happy Birthday, Toru.” You repel his face enough to say. “Y-you know, a thank you would be nice to hear!”

“As if you don’t know what I’m about to say.” Satoru grins, holding your palms to his mouth. Kissing them one by one, repeatedly, and slowly. Multiple times each. “You are my childhood. And my youth. And the best years of my life—they are all you. Everything we’ve been through, and everything we’ll live together.”

“How’s that for a thank you?” He chuckles, quickly breaking the tension with a final kiss on your nose. Perhaps the only part of you that’s not tinged red. “That being said…”

“You want to go for a quickie?” You sniffle against your will.

“See? You do know everything about me.” He reaches for the deck of cards with the swirly brown backside. “It’s time to duel!”

A/N: sorry for hastily written ending. had no time, oopsie!

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 02: Horizon

alisaie blue screens of death after tesleen kisses her. alisaie x tesleen, shadowbringers spoilers. written for ffxivwrites2024. rating: general. 2298 words. due to my wol's extended timeline, alisaie is a little older than her canonical age here. ao3 link

“Oh, Twelve damn it.”

The curse—and several others—slip easily from Alisaie’s mouth. It has been less than a quarter of a bell since she started her climb and already her body is aching. Her palms are scuffed by grit and a dull throb pulses in her ankle. No doubt she has twisted it—an embarrassment, to be sure. With her luck she might just lose her grip and fall off the stupid hill before she even reaches the summit. Alphinaud will never forgive her.

But she has already begun and there is no turning back now. Gritting her teeth, she closes her mind to the pain and continues her slow ascent. It’s not comfortable work. The wind is ferocious from this direction, chafing her cheeks raw and blowing sand into her eyes. Every breath she takes fills her lungs with dust, coating her tongue and mouth. Sweat drips down her spine, sticking her clothes to her back. Worst of all, the Light beats down upon her with its unnatural, unrelenting glare. She has had her fair share of Thanalan sun and Ala Mhigan haze, but this? Nothing compares to this.  

At least her hair is out of her face. It hangs limply down her back in its customary tail, the knot at the end already crusted with dust. It will need a good comb when she’s done here. Funny that she thought only this morning how nice it would be to let it down the way Tesleen wears hers. Pretty, but practical. Alisaie has always been practical. She hasn’t given much thought to pretty before.

“Oh, seven hells—”

She bites back a gasp even as she slips and an avalanche of pebbles slides out from beneath her feet. She clings to the side of the rocks, cursing her choices, her father’s disapproving voice in her ear, and hoists herself up one more ledge. And another. And another. Panting and with sweat plastered to her brow, she finally reaches her destination.

The curved rock that encloses the Inn at Journey’s End has no business having visitors on its summit. But she did—and the view is well worth the effort.

Humming quietly to herself, Alisaie sits precariously on a ledge and dangles her feet off the edge. Ahm Araeng stretches out before and behind her, its amber sands undulating in the scarlet haze. A great wave of white and grey obscures the horizon, the remnants of the Flood of Light towering higher than any peak. What must it have been like a hundred years ago, to see such a wave come surging across the desert, consuming all in its wake? When she was in Hingashi, she heard more than one terrifying tale of tsunamis roaring through the archipelago. She envisions it to have been somewhat like that, even though the tsunami in her mind itself is imagined.

She sighs, still breathless from her climb, and reaches for her water flask. With a quick twist, she releases the cap and tilts her head back, letting the cool water flow over her lips. The Flood of Light… Who knew so much harm could come from Light itself? Then again, just like water, a good thing in excess can be as dangerous as having it in scarcity. As with most things in life, balance is the key.

This world is out of balance. Stagnant. Corrupted. Stifled. Though its people have learned to move on, the earth itself is scarred and scorched and cannot heal. If only there was some enemy towards whom she could point her blade, then the heavens could turn and everything would be all right…

If only it were so easy.

“I would ask what you are doing all the way up here, but if truth be told, I’m a little afraid of the answer.”

Alisaie blinks, choking on her water as she is jolted out of her reverie. Coughing, she twists around to find Tesleen standing several fulms behind her, bright-eyed and smiling, her profile illuminated by the sky. “I…” She coughs against and lowers the flask. “I came up here to get some fresh air and to see the sights. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Of course not.” Tesleen smooths down her grey frock and joins her on the ledge. Somehow, she is free of dust and sand. “Do you think there is something wrong with that?”

She lets out a long sigh. “No, I suppose not.”

“You know, if you wanted to come up here, all you had to do was ask. The summit is easily reached by amaro or skyslipper.”

She hadn’t thought of that. “I know. But a challenge is good for me.”

Tesleen laughs, the graceful little trill cutting through the wind. She threads her fingers through her hair, winding and unwinding the long blonde strands, and looks out to the Flood of Light. “It’s worse from up here, isn’t it?” she says quietly. “From below, it’s so big it becomes part of the scenery. But from above, it’s…”

“It’s everything. Everywhere.”

“Aye.” She lets go of her hair, the strands now twisted into a little wavy curl pressing softly against her cheek. “There has been news from the Crystarium. Would you like to hear?”

Alisaie’s throat is raw. Stalling for time, she ducks her head and takes another sip of water.

If the news is from the Crystarium, then the news must be from the Exarch. And if the news is from the Exarch, then either something has happened to Alphinaud or one of the others or… or he has finally succeeded in his mission to bring Aureia to this world.

Her stomach drops, a flush of shame creeping across her cheeks. If it is true that he has succeeded, then she should be happy that a reunion is imminent. And yet the thought only fills her with dread. When last she saw Aureia, they were barely on speaking terms, their friendship hanging by a thread. Was it her fault, or Aureia’s? They had been so close, closer than friends, more like sisters, depending on each other and trusting one another unconditionally throughout their adventures in Othard and Ala Mhigo. And yet Aureia lied. She lied to all of them. She masked her origins for so long she could not live without the lie, even among those she loved.

The Warrior of Light, a former Garlean operative… It was not a truth easily acknowledged. It left the Alliance scrambling to save face, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn searching for answers. Urianger and Y’shtola seemed shaken. Lyse was furious. Alphinaud was absent and thus had no response. And Thancred, of course, accepted it without batting an eye and refused to do anything but stand by her side. But as for Alisaie…  

She felt something more than fury. Hatred? Disappointment? Betrayal? She doesn’t know. She said many things she wished she hadn’t that day. And in the year she has had to reflect on it, she is certain that she would have continued hating her friend—her best friend—had the Exarch not interfered and thrown them all into chaos by stealing Thancred away. She is not proud of it. She is not proud of the way the sting still lingers.

But it was only a matter of time before Aureia found her way here. Even if the Exarch stole the souls of the whole Alliance and every Scion to ever live to make it happen, she will be here, one way or another.

“Alisaie…?” Tesleen nudges her gently with her elbow. “There is no need to speak of this now, if you would rather not.”

Alisaie stuffs the flask away. “No, no. Please. Tell me.”

He dangling foot brushes Tesleen’s.

“The Crystal Exarch is sending someone to us. A new visitor, one he called a friend. She will be arriving anon, once she settles some matter in Kholusia.”

Settling matters… Kholusia… Alphinaud!

Alisaie smiles. So, it is Aureia, it has to be. She must have been informed of the whereabouts of Alphinaud and the others, and decided on who to seek out. Urianger is inaccessible on a good day thanks to Il Mheg’s peculiarities, Y’shtola vanished into the swamp and gods know where she is now, and Thancred is… about. And not easily tracked. Which leaves Alphinaud and herself. If she were Aureia, she would seek out Alphinaud first. Ensure he isn’t getting up to trouble before coming to see her.

She grins and makes a mental note to ask about him. Her twin is well—she would know if he wasn’t—but she won’t waste the opportunity.

“Oho! Is that a smile I see?” Tesleen asks, leaning in. She smells of the duskblooms she places in vases for her patients, and the stew she prepares at midday.     

Alisaie catches her eye and quickly rearranges her expression. “Of course not,” she says. “I never smile. I’m the image of indifference.”

“Ah. So that’s your stoic face.”

She grimaces. “It is not.”

“It is.”

She blows out a puff of air and crosses her arms over her chest. “By the Twelve, you don’t have to put it like that.”

Tesleen’s foot bumps hers again and they sit in silence, watching the sands sparkle in the Light. Thankfully the sky is clear and there have been no sin eater sightings of late. For a moment, it’s easy to pretend that this is an ordinary day, under an ordinary sun, just the two of them enjoying themselves and their time together. If they had brought a picnic, it would almost be perfect.

Almost.

“You say such strange things sometimes, Alisaie,” Tesleen says quietly. She has shifted closer in the passing minutes, her shoulder brushing against hers as she threads her fingers together in her lap.

“Like what?”

“The gods you swear by… I have never heard of them.”

Alisaie pauses. “How do you know they are gods?”

Tesleen shoots her a look. “I think anything that follows ‘by the’ may as well be a god, no?”

Alisaie scrunches her face and sticks out her leg, pointing her foot. “By my great shiny shoe, I don’t believe it!”

Tesleen’s lips twitch. “By the ant under this rock!’

“By the stone formation five fulms that way!”

“By the angry armadillos—”

“Ugh,” Alisaie says, wrinkling her nose. “I hate those things.”

Tesleen raises an eyebrow. “Armadillos?”

“Yes. Nasty, horrible creatures.”

“What has an armadillo ever done to you?”

“Nothing! Yet. I… simply do not like them.”

Tesleen pauses. Hesitantly, she raises a hand and brushes a lock of hair off Alisaie’s forehead. “Has anyone told you that you’re a peculiar girl?” she asks.

“Not recently. Or in memory. But I’m certain someone would say as much if you asked the right person. My brother Alphinaud is the un-peculiar one of the family. Me? I’m not so sure, but I—”

Tesleen presses a kiss to her lips.

Short and sweet, barely a hint of pressure, and yet somehow her stomach is in knots and her heart is fluttering. Heat flushes her cheeks and her head spins, as if she has shot up into the Light-corrupted air and is soaring through the sky. She wants to be anywhere but here, and nowhere but here. What will the others say? What will Alphinaud think of her wasting time on herself like this when she should be helping others?

She knows what he would say. He would be insufferably happy for her. She shouldn’t try so hard and take time for herself, find a hobby. Like he does. He’s an artist, for Twelve’s sake. Art is his hobby. Just as hers can, apparently, be kissing Tesleen—

Gods, her mind has stopped completely, hasn’t it?

Tesleen draws away. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “If I… if I was too forward, I do apologize. You are my dearest friend, and I would hate for a misunderstanding on my part to come between us—”

Alisaie blinks. “No!” she shouts. “Oh—ah—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I meant… Please don’t apologize. Don’t apologize…” She sucks her lower lip and catches Tesleen’s eye. Her hair glistens in the Light, fanning around her shoulders like strands of gold. Carefully, tentatively, she reaches out and presses a hand to her cheek. “What I mean to say is that I would hear no apologies from you. Not for something like that.”

Tesleen’s brown eyes widen. “Then…?” She lets out a long, shaky breath. “I admit, I have been thinking of you as… well, not just my dearest friend, but a little more than my dearest friend. Is that all right?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. Fear, perhaps, of losing something before it began. We all deserve happiness wherever we can find it, with whatever time we have left.”

Alisaie trembles, the sensation strange to her. Though her mind is still dazed and trying to make sense of the turn this conversation has taken, something about it feels right. Regardless of how little sense the world sometimes makes, she has always trusted her gut. Her instincts have rarely led her astray.

And so, despite the corrupted Light above, despite the Flood frozen on the horizon beyond, she twines her fingers with Tesleen’s and kisses her again. “We are going to have all the time in the world,” she says fiercely, her heart hammering joyfully in her chest. “I promise you that.”

She has made many promises before. Promises to her grandfather, to her parents, to her brother, to her friends. To the Scions, to the Alliance. She has sworn on them, staked her life on them, risked everything to keep them.

Of all the promises she has made, she has never been more certain in one than this one.

[chaoticforever]

Save Me From Myself | Scott Summers x Male! Reader

Summary: You need someone to save you from the dangers of yourself, and a certain man does — and so much more.

Please...

...Just come back to me.

You felt someone shake you, and you jerked awake with a start while panting slightly. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes before opening them, blinking two times, and gazing around the area where you had unintentionally fallen asleep at.

There was not much conversation going on at the bar you were in. Aside from the handful of people here, it was unusually empty tonight. The only occupants were a bartender — who is drying glasses — a couple counting their money at a table, a drunk man sprawled out on the couch, and a few others. The older man behind the bar is the one who had woke you up.

When the man asked if everything was fine, you assured him that you were fine.

Your gaze drifted to the window. The sky was overcast; cloudy. Light snow drifted around in the sky and occasionally flew to earth, bathing trees and the ground in a white coating as the sun hid behind a fluffy blanket of clouds. It's likely that you'll be leaving before it gets too dark.

Footsteps can be heard coming inside the bar while the TV in the background switches on, and someone sits in one of the seats near you, ordering a beer. You glanced at the individual and recognized that it was the same man who had been engaged in the previous caged wrestling battle. The guy whose quick victory over the other wrestler left you in amazement.

The Wolverine.

Since you first saw him compete in that caged wrestling contest, he piqued you for reasons that you can't quite put your finger on. He — seemed so mysterious.

It's like—

The Wolverine suddenly peered over at you and raised an eyebrow at you, which made your thoughts suddenly come to a screeching halt. Fuck. You came to the realization that you have been gazing at him the entire time and inwardly sighed. Idiot. You tore your eyes away from his and shifted your focus to the television.

There was a newscast discussing the approaching summit of world leaders in New York, where different topics like the mutant phenomena would be discussed.

Mutants.

Human beings born with what is known as the X-Gene, which usually expresses itself in the form of superhuman powers that manifest at puberty — or periods of heightened emotional or physical stress. As the next stage of human evolution —they are often feared by the human race.

Unfortunately, you're one of the dreaded mutants that individuals fear. You were completely shocked to realize you were one, and their initial manifestation made you feel terrified and distraught. This is why you have been looking for a place to get away from others and be protected.

When you heard additional footsteps enter the pub, you turned to see a man — the same wrestler the Wolverine had fought — approach him and demand his money, claiming that no man can take a beating like that without leaving a mark. He emerged from the fight unscathed? Does this indicate that Wolverine is a...

With a shake of the head, you dismissed that thought and continued to watch the interaction between the two men.

You watched how Wolverine refused to back down, even threatening the other guy. The bald man appeared to give up before pulling out a knife and attacking.

"Look out!" You screamed out of instinct.

Within seconds, Wolverine leaped from his chair and pushed the bald wrestler into the wall. He unleashed a pair of his metal claws toward him, their pointed tips almost touching the man's trachea.

Everyone in the room, including yourself, gasped in surprise at the realization that he is a mutant just like you are. A person who's the first mutant you've ever met.

The barman approaches Wolverine from behind, pressing the barrel of a shotgun against the mutant's skull as he orders him to leave. Nevertheless, Wolverine is not frightened by the barman and sliced the shotgun in half with his sharp claws. Wolverine glanced around at everyone in the bar — including you — before putting his claws away and leaving the building.

In a flash, you snatched up your duffel bags and suitcase before following the other mutant. Since he's a mutant too, he should be able to understand your situation and provide assistance, right?

That's what you concluded, and it's why you're hiding in Wolverine's truck's trailer as he pulls away. You were not sure how you will explain your predicament to him and why you are cowering in the back of his truck, but you'll figure it out and hope when you explain your reason, he'll help.

Guess you'll have to give your reasons shortly because when you adjusted your position, the truck came to a halt. You must've made too much noise in doing so. After hearing the truck's door open, you fervently hoped he would not look inside the trailer, but he did and yanked the thing covering your body off of you.

His lips moved. "What are you doing?"

"I sincerely apologize." Your smile was a little sheepish when you addressed the man. "It's just — I just needed a ride and figured you would be able to assist me."

"Leave right now." As he was waiting for you to exit the truck, he scooped up your luggage and dumped it on the ground.

You followed the older man's orders and stepped out of his truck, but you secretly hoped he wouldn't just drive off without you. In fact, If he can take you as far as he is willing to drive, you would be fine. "What am I supposed to do now, huh?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know or you don't care?"

Wolverine's stare was as cold as ice. "Pick one." He said, returning to his truck.

"Dude, I saved your life back there!" The least you could do is help me out here.

"No, you didn't." After those comments, you watched Wolverine slam the truck's door shut before starting his vehicle up.

You let out a sigh and placed your hands in your pockets to keep them warm as you shivered from the cold. What were you supposed to do now? You are in the middle of nowhere and it'll probably take some time before a vehicle arrives. You need to head to a nearby building before you freeze to death in this weather, but the nearest building is most likely miles away from your location. You'll most —

A few meters from you, Wolverine's truck comes to a complete halt and the engine turns off. You were perplexed as to why he did that, but then you saw him open the door of his truck for you. You hurriedly snatched up your luggage and climbed into the front passenger seat.

"I appreciate it." You mumbled, shutting the truck's door and looking over at him. Even after you thanked him, he did not respond to your generosity. Instead, he cranked the engine and started driving.

For a portion of the drive, you two were deafeningly quiet. Wolverine's attention was kept on the road with a cigar in his hands and you knew that he should not be driving while smoking. Furthermore, the man is not wearing a seatbelt, which mutant or not, was exceedingly unsafe. You stared absently out the window for some time before you broke the silence.

"I'm Y/n." When you introduced yourself, the other man remained silent. E/c eyes wandered to the area of his neck where his necklace was hanging. It resembled the type issued to soldiers in the armed forces. "Did you serve in the army? That necklace indicates you were in it, right?"

Wolverine pulled his necklace inside his shirt but didn't respond to your inquiry and you glanced down at your lap. You didn't hold it against him for not replying to your inquiries. You are a total stranger to him, and you cannot expect him to tell you his life story. But since he was nice enough to give you a ride, you thought it would be nice to talk to him on the ride.

You swiveled your head around to take a look at the remainder of the vehicle and you noticed that Wolverine had clearly been sleeping here because there were numerous articles of clothing, blankets, and personal care items in the back of it.

"Wow." You spoke, drawing his attention. "My life doesn't look too horrible now."

"Look, if you would prefer the road—"

"No, no. I'm perfectly fine where I am."

Even though you were still cold, especially your hands, being inside the truck was preferable to being outside at the moment. To keep your hands warm, you rub them together to create heat.

A glance out of the corner of your eye alerted you that Wolverine had noticed that you were still cold and activated the heater. "Put your hands on the heater."

"Thanks." Your hands felt so good over the heater when you placed them there. While on the subject of hands, e/c eyes shifted their focus to Wolverine's hands where his retractable claws had been. "Does it hurt when they come out?"

The answer Wolverine gave to the query was, "Every time." His tone of voice, however, suggested that there was more than one underlying meaning behind the word. "So, what kind of a name is Y/n?"

"What kind of name is Wolverine?" You countered, honesty in your tone of voice.

His eyes landed on you. "Name's Logan."

"M/n." You responded calmly. "You know, you should wear your seat belt."

"Look, bub, I don't need advice on ho—"

You guys crashed into a tree limb that suddenly appeared in the road, cutting off Logan's sentence midway through. Since Logan wasn't wearing a seatbelt, he was propelled through the glass and landed several meters away in the snow. You ended up striking your forehead on the window, resulting in a slight bruise.

You let out a groan, opening your eyes. The smell of fire materialized first, and a quick glance into the back of the truck revealed that the area was on fire. Panic rose inside your chest as you struggled to remove your seatbelt but were unable.

You're stuck.

This is not good, you thought, trying to get the seatbelt off. You had to get out of here before the fire spread to the rest of the truck. It will cause it to explode.

You turned to face Logan, who was now standing on his feet. He had a massive bruise above his eye and you watched in surprise as it quickly vanished. He must have a regenerative healing factor. You suppose that when he said that you did not save his life, he was being truthful.

"Are you alright?"

"No, I'm stuck!"

Logan moves toward you, but stops, as if he sensed another presence and his metal claws emerge. Out of nowhere, a man who resembled an animal suddenly appeared and hurled Logan into a tree. The unidentified individual then struck Logan with a wooden log, sending him crashing onto the truck, where the self- healing mutant became unconscious.

You turned around to see the fire getting bigger behind you. Fuck, what the hell could you do now to avoid being killed? And to help save Logan from this man?

Use your powers, something whispered.

Despite not wanting to use your abilities because of what they have caused you, you're putting your faith in them today.

You put both hands toward the flames, and a whirlpool of gold surrounded the fire. Having contained it, you attempted to disperse its impact by launching it out the broken window and into the outside. However, the only thing you succeeded in using your powers was causing fire to spread through other areas of the truck.

Dammit!

These abilities you have simply serve to make matters more difficult for you. You are probably about to die right now—

Unexpectedly, your door is opened by a man and woman who were dressed in some sort of uniform. Putting his hand on his visor, the man fires an optic laser at the seatbelt, freeing you from its hold.

The woman extends her hand toward you, and you take it without hesitation. The man snatches Logan off the truck and you all run away seconds before it exploded, tearing the vehicle into bits.

XXXXX XXXXX

I can't believe what happened today.

There you were, perched on the head of a king-sized bed. You were brought here by the man who fired an optic blast from his eyes (and you were still taken aback when you realized he was a mutant just like you). This is the second mutant you have come across now. After promising to return shortly, the man left the room.

You sighed and placed your hands over your face. You couldn't believe you were almost killed by an explosion today. An explosion that you caused to spread to other portions of the truck. You need to go before you cause harm to someone with your abilities that you can't control.

As soon as the man who assisted in the rescue returns and you've thanked both him and Logan, you will leave this place.

How long you sat on the bed waiting for the man who saved your life to enter is a mystery waiting to be solved. Eventually, however, you heard the door open and turned to see him. As he walked into the room, he gave you a tiny, genuine smile.

"Hi." He extended his hand. "I'm Scott."

"So nice to meet you, Scott. I'm Y/n." You shook his hand, and the heat from it was a welcoming surprise. A dazzling source of incredible warmth, his touch warmed your palm. It made you a little reluctant to release your grip at that moment, but you did so in order to avoid creating any unnecessary awkwardness. "Thank you for saving my life." Scott simply nodded. "The man that was with me, is he okay?"

"Logan's here and he's fine. My friend is currently caring for him." Scott answered as he sat down on the bed. "What about you? Are you okay after everything?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Those words were said with sincerity; you were relieved to be alive but still reeling from the events of the previous moments. "Once again, thanks for saving me, but I must leave."

Before leaving, you wanted to see Logan and express your gratitude towards him, but you also knew that you had to leave now before your powers got out of hand and caused chaos like they tend to do.

Scott stood up from the bed and raised an eyebrow at you. "You want to leave?"

The question was answered with a nod from you. "Yeah. You're aware that I'm a mutant; however, I'm someone who can't control my abilities. One reason Logan's truck exploded was due to the usage of my powers, which made the fire spread throughout it. I — I do not want anyone to be harmed as a result of my abilities."

Hurting someone with your powers is the last thing you want to do and will attempt to avoid doing so at all costs.

"If you have trouble keeping your powers under control, this is where you belong." The brown-haired male strolled over to the window, pulled the curtains open, and peered outside before looking back at you. "Just come and see for yourself." With his right hand, he made a motion for you to go over and stand next to him.

Not understanding what he was getting at, you walked over to stand next to him and glanced blankly out the window. So, what are you supposed to be looking at?

The answer to your query can be found in the sight of eight children engaged in a game of four-on-four basketball on the court. One of the guys threw the ball and then teleported to the opposite side to catch it; he continued doing this until he successfully shot the ball in the hoop.

Astounded, your jaw dropped because —in addition to the child being a mutant — he teleported in front of other people in broad daylight. Were all of those people mutants, too? What is this place?

"What is this place?" You looked at Scott with lifted eyebrows and asked him your inquiry out of genuine interest; curiosity.

Scott gave you a friendly smile, placing a hand on your shoulder. "A place where mutants are accepted — not feared. Are you interested in a tour of this school?"

"...Lead the way."

Scott took you on a tour of the school while giving you a detailed history of the institution. He decided to take you to the outdoor area where people were utilizing their powers, the training room where individuals were learning to master their abilities, the lower levels of the building where a machine called Cerebro was kept, and finally the hangar where the X-Men kept their uniforms and their super jet.

When the tour ended, Scott immediately began attempting to persuade you that this was the right location for you to be. Although after today, he probably didn't have to try hard. Everything about this place was amazing and the people here were all just like you. You can't help but wish you'd known about this place when you were a teen. It could have prevented certain things from happening in the past.

A missed opportunity.

You've chosen to remain here in order to master your abilities and eliminate any potential threat you may pose to others or yourself. More importantly, you'll be immersed in a community of people that share similar experiences to your own.

A little while later, the brown-haired male brought you to Professor Charles Xavier, a telepath who assessed your mind and uncovered your deep-seated powers, too.

Knowing so little about your abilities, you were relieved that the professor was taking the time to discover them. All you knew was that you were telekinetic and whenever you tried to move something, a vortex of gold would encircle around it.

"You are more powerful than you realize, Y/n. The key question is whether you'll control that power, or let it control you."

You will give it your all to master them.

XXXXX XXXXX

"Y/n... he is... quite mysterious, isn't he?"

After Scott escorted you back to the room you were in earlier today, he and Charles went to the underground part of the place where they had a conversation concerning you and Charles' discoveries.

"More than you know." The telepath said. "There's more to him than meets the eye and... he is notably reminiscent of Jean."

Scott's eyebrows ascended. "How so?"

"Just like Jean was before, Y/n has very limited control over his telekinetic and telepathic abilities, and he is not aware that he has any telepathic abilities at all. Y/n is quite powerful, too. Furthermore, you look at him the same way that you looked at Jean when y'all first met. You seem to have a strong attraction to him."

Because of what Charles said, the other man's entire face reddened considerably, a rosy hue spreading across his cheeks.

The moment Scott laid eyes on you, he knew you were unlike any man he had ever seen. You were the most stunningly handsome man he had ever seen in his life. Your breathtaking good looks were highlighted by the way the light reflected off your e/c eyes and your flawless skin. And he discovered that he had a desire to not only get to know you, but also to assist you in developing your abilities.

Scott could see a lot of his younger self in you. A young man who felt like he was helpless in the face of his overwhelming abilities and a threat to everyone around.

He'll give it his all to help you master your powers to their fullest potential.

...He'll help you with anything you want.

"How can you tell?"

"Well, I am psychic."

Charles and Scott continued conversing about you when an odd occurrence took place. The mansion began to shake. At first, Scott thought an earthquake was occurring as the entire mansion began trembling uncontrollably around him — but the lights flickered on and off, too.  

"Stop it now." Scott somehow heard your voice inside his head. "No. Just stop it!"

"Get to Y/n's room, Scott." The professor ordered and Scott hurried from the room he was in into your current room. Scott was alarmed by the sheer apprehension audible in Charles' voice. What the hell is going on? He was not sure, but he knew that it had something to do with you —which caused him to quicken his pace.

When the brown-haired man came close to your room, he realized that there was a swarm of people standing outside, so he forced his way through the crowd to enter. When Scott turned on the light, he found Logan leaning over you, with Jean and Storm standing nearby. Your face was drenched in sweat as you said 'stop it' repeatedly under your breath.

"Wake up, Y/n."

"Stop it, dammit!" Your eyes flashed a brilliant gold, and you unleashed a gold tidal wave of telekinetic force that swept the area, knocking everyone who was in the room back. The impact smashed the windows and destroyed the entire room, sending debris clattering to the ground.

When you saw how much damage you'd done, your eyes widened and you looked around the room. Besides destroying the room you were given inadvertently, your telekinetic energy caused physical harm to some of the people inside this place.

This is precisely what you feared would happen if you stayed here, and your fear has come true. It was a constant worry of yours that your abilities would spiral and cause harm to those around you.

And they just did.

It hasn't even been a full day and already you have caused harm to other people.

Again, that is.

"I'm... I'm so sorry." You apologized to everyone in the room before rushing out. You knew deep down that you needed to leave here now before any bad incidents like this one happened again to people. You were unsure of your destination, but you just knew that you needed to leave.

Footsteps could be heard coming from behind you and a hand clamped around your shoulder before you could exit the mansion. You didn't have to turn around to know that it was Scott behind you. It's almost as if you could sense who was behind you without even turning around.

"Y/n, wait!" Please stay.

Please stay. Strangely, you did not hear Scott say those words aloud, but rather, it was as if you heard his voice inside of your head. You chose to ignore that now.

As you whirled around to face Scott, you were horrified to see that he had a gash on his cheek. Seeing the pain you just caused this man only added fuel to the growing fire of guilt you felt, making you more determined than ever to leave now.

You gave a headshake. "I can't stay here, Scott. You saw what happened up there because of me. I cannot have a situation like that happen to people here again."

"It was an accident."

"Whether it was an accident or not, I still caused them harm. I — I do not want to continue hurting others with my powers, but I simply can't control them, and I do not think I ever will. It always seems like they make things worse, causing chaos."

Scott's mind seemed to make some sort of sudden connection. A lightbulb went off. "You've hurt someone before with your powers, haven't you? Someone close to you?" The inquiries were gentle.

The brown-haired male could read the sadness in your expression and hear it in your tone. From the way you spoke, Scott gathered that this was not the first time your powers had harmed someone. Your past experiences and the pain you felt afterward had made you determined to never repeat a mistake like that again.

"Yeah..." You nodded. "I hurt my brother."

You did more than just hurt him.

"I am so sorry." You sniffled, holding your brother close to you, his head resting on your thighs. "I'm sorry." As tears flowed down your face from your unintentional actions, you moved two fingers over to close his eyelids. What have you done?

"What happened?" Scott shifted himself so that he was closer to you. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

You weren't sure what compelled you to tell Scott about what had happened, but you could tell he was a caring man even without knowing him, so you decided to confide in him about parts of your past.

"In my case, my parents happened. After they discovered that I was a mutant, the abuse started, first verbally and at times physically. It made me the target of their animosity and I had no one in my corner. No one except for my brother. Brandon was the only person who loved me no matter what; he was the only one who accepted the fact that I was a mutant."

With your nose, you inhaled and exhaled.

"My parents invited some guys over one day, and I spent the day being their punching bag. As soon as Brandon saw me get hit, he rushed in to help. This led to both of us getting hit." You exhaled a sigh. "All I wanted was for them to stop hitting us. Then — without meaning to — I unleashed a surge of telekinetic waves that caused an explosion to occur.

"Everyone was killed, Brandon included." You felt the tears fall down your face. "I didn't mean to kill anyone, that was not my intention. I just wanted those men to stop... hitting me and Brandon. And now, because of me, the one person who ever truly loved and accepted me is no longer here. I don't want anyone to be injured or killed because of my abilities ever again."

I don't want more blood on my hands.

Cyclops put a hand on your chin and made you look at him. "It won't." He said, looking you in the eyes as he brushed your tears away with his thumb. "I'm so sorry for what happened in the past, but staying here and mastering your abilities will help to avoid a reoccurrence of that."

"Why do you want to help me so badly?" You popped the inquiry out of nowhere. Why would Scott, who didn't even know you, feel so compelled to help you? If it was so glaringly evident that you should leave, why did he not want you to do so?

"Because I know what it's like to have no control over your powers to the point where other people get hurt as a result of them." He kept his gaze fixed on you while moving his hand from your chin to your shoulder. "Please allow me — allow us — time to help you in mastering your abilities as we have done so for others. I assure you that I can and will help you."

You stood there, thinking.

On the face of the coin, you were able to sense that Scott is someone who could help you. This man seemed to truly want to help you and looked really concerned about your well-being, which is unusual for mutants like you. Besides, mastering self-control is the only way to guarantee that nobody is harmed by your powers.

The bottom side of this coin is that your abilities were erratic and unstable. Your presence poses a risk to others and you should leave immediately (you just hurt some people already). Given the choice between leaving and hurting people, you would rather play it safe and depart now.

Which side of the coin should you pick?

Heads or tails?

It's clear which option would be most advantageous to you. Moreover, it was commonly believed that the front side of the coin is associated with good fortune.

"...Okay, I'll stay here with you." Honestly, there wasn't anything else you could say.

XXXXX XXXXX

As a whole, training wasn't terrible for the most part but it was tough at first.

Because your abilities are so intrinsically linked to your emotions, any time you let loose of the pent-up wrath inside of you, chaos happens. Therefore, this exercise is meant to help you calm down and to help you achieve a tranquil state of mind to help your powers manifest peacefully. The thirty-minute meditation exercises seem to have a profound effect on you.

After a week of mindfulness practices, it was time to shift your guys' attention to energy blasts. You presumably have the ability to project psionic and telekinetic energy in the form of blasts. There were three mannequins in the room, and The Professor and Scott told you to aim for the one in the middle with energy blasts.

"It's probably not the best idea for you two to wait inside here." You mentioned.

"Don't be ridiculous, Y/n. We're stayin—"

"Y/n's right, Scott." Charles interrupted him with a quick agreement. "He should be left alone to complete this task. Y/n," The man swiveled around to look at you. "We'll be waiting outside if you need us."

A nod came from your head.

You gave Scott the okay to leave, and he hesitated, looking unsure. But he then gave a nod and placed his hand on your shoulder. "We'll be right outside, okay?"

"Alright."

Both Scott and Charles have left, leaving you here alone. There was a whirlpool of gold that trickled forth from your hands as you concentrated on the mannequin standing in the middle. I can do this.

You took a deep breath in and let it out, sending a gold energy blast flying at the central mannequin. However, you used too much telekinetic force, as the other two mannequins were ruined, triggering an explosion due to the sizable pressure.

Just fucking great.

Following this failed attempt, you had to fire a blast at yet another center-staged dummy. This time, though, there was a twist. Scott and Jean would instead be placed on each side of the mannequin, leaving you with some cause of concern.

"Are you guys serious about this?"

"We're very serious." The telepath spoke. "Another reason why you can't manage your powers is that you don't believe in yourself to control them because of the agony you've endured in the past," The older one continued to speak. "Everyone here has total and absolute faith in you, and you need to feel that same level of confidence to rein in your abilities, Y/n."

Additionally, Jean is present in the event of an emergency. Since your powers and Jean's are so similar, she would be able to restrain your ability and shield Scott from harm, due to her limitless powers. When Jean sets her mind to something, there's nothing that can get in her way.

You turned to gaze at Scott and Jean when Charles left, then looked at the X- marked mannequin in the middle of the room. Was it possible for you to aim for the mannequin and miss the two by it?

You didn't know.

Trust in yourself the way I trust in you. Scott's voice just erupted in your head. What if you hurt them though? That is one thing you really don't want to occur.

Then don't, was whispered in your head.

Then...

...Don't.

As you channeled your power from your mind, tendrils of gold oozed out of your fingers and condensed into a vaporous gold mist. Then don't. Using your hand, you fired an energy blast at the dummy.

This time, you managed to succeed in only hitting the central mannequin. This made you smile from ear to ear, feeling proud of yourself for throwing the blast with just the proper amount of pressure and sparing Jean and Scott from harm.

"I did it!" You continued to smile proudly.

"Of course. You can do anything."

For a brief second, your cheeks felt like they were on fire. The searing heat was not only from Scott's words but from the way Scott was looking at you. You could feel your stomach do a little flip from the way he was looking at you like you were the most intriguing thing in the world. It feels like you're a teenager all over again.

So, for the time being, you will disregard that insignificant sensation because it is meaningless. Scott is just a good friend.

A further two weeks were devoted to honing your telekinetic abilities. Initially, you used your powers to perform things such as levitate a table and chair across the room, move and pull apart wooden blocks around while suspending them in the air and avoid being hit by paint that was blasting out the paintball machine.

After mastering fundamental telekinetic exercises, it's time for you to move on to the Danger Room, where you'd put your abilities to the test in complex situations to practice your defensive and offensive maneuvers in holographic simulations.

You had to complete the first simulation training segment entirely on your own. The first scenario had you battling off a number of guards in order to reach the kids being held in a containment cell.

The second phase of the simulation was completed as a group. In this scenario, everyone had to fight against a sentinel. The simulation was a success, and your abilities were invaluable in this situation. You were making tremendous progress in regulating and mastering your powers from the training you've accomplished.

Your telepathic abilities were an ability that you were going to have to focus on another week since that requires intense focus and deep concentration to master.

And as soon as your training was done, an epiphany hit you. The realization that you had a big crush on Scott Summers.

It was a little difficult for you not to fall for someone so captivating. The mutant was one of the few people who believed in you when you didn't have the courage to believe in yourself. You witnessed the terrified looks and outright pleas for you to go from other people; nonetheless, he insisted that you stay. Furthermore, he delivered on his promise in helping you master your abilities to their potential.

Scott was your guiding beacon, the one who led you back to the light whenever darkness attempted to consume you.

You were bound to develop feelings for him because he embodied three of the best attributes someone could possess: good looks, kindness, and generosity. Unfortunately, you're certain he doesn't feel the same way about you, and that's okay. You were fine with being his friend.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

Scott was the one to make the comment as you gazed up at the magnificent sky. You and Scott went out for ice cream to celebrate your achievement in properly mastering your abilities. The two of you were exploring the X-Mansion when you both came upon the fountain with water flowing down as easily as it felt, unfazed by the height of the massive drop. It was tier-like and descended into a turquoise pool of paradisiacal bliss at this view.

The star-studded sky. That which lies beyond the horizon of human vision — a universe that is immense, unending, and filled with mystery. Numerous stars dot its surface as if it was inviting guests to a grand party. The moon's light made it resemble a silvery claw and It was a ray of light in the night sky. The vastness is to instill modesty, an eternity to inspire thankfulness for the comforts of home.

It was a beautiful sight; you were in awe.

Trees rustled peacefully in the light air, and crickets chirped softly in the night.

"Absolutely stunning." You couldn't help but agree with the brown-haired male, turning your eyes from the sky to Scott. "Oh, I love nights like this. They help me to feel at ease and at peace with myself."

"I wholeheartedly agree." Scott has his gaze fixed on you, his look impenetrable as he gazes intently at you with a look painted across his face that you cannot decipher. "Uh, you got a little something on your face there." With his index finger, he raises it and points it at your features.

You wiped your face with your sleeve. "Did I get it off? Or is it still on my face?"

He carelessly shook his head. Before you could ask him where it was on your face, his hand had already gone to it, and his thumb wiped the ice cream off your lips. Your face felt very hot because of this.

Did he really just do that?

Scott, struggling to make sense of what just happened, thought, 'I cannot believe I did that.' His thumb touched your lips. Scott was unsure of what prompted him to do it, but at that moment he felt bold enough to figure out how those lips felt.

And they felt amazing against his finger.

Scott felt compelled to kiss your lips since they were so smooth and kissable. He desired to feel your lips on his, your hands in his own, and your body on his.

"I apologize. I didn't mean to do that."

Your fingers trailed over the area where Scott's thumb had touched you, shaking your head, "Don't worry, it's alright. And thanks for wiping the ice cream off."

It was my pleasure.

They locked eyes, and the brown-haired mutant took a risk to find out if you feel the same way about him. He knew that you cared for him, but Scott questioned whether or not you liked him the way he liked you. He licked his lips and his eyes saw how your eyes slid down to watch. Scott's self-assurance shot through the roof at the speed of light after receiving even that minimal amount of attention.

"Y/n, there's something I want us to do."

You hummed. "And what might that be?"

In the second that followed, Scott gently pulled you closer to him with one hand. He leaned in close, pressing his soft lips to yours, trapping you in a tender kiss. You may have uttered a small gasp of surprise at first, but you quickly gave in to the kiss, and your arms soon found themselves wrapping around his neck. Scott felt like he just died and went to Heaven. Your lips tasted better than he could have imagined, so he dominated them with his own while rocking his hips softly into yours and grabbing your ass.

Much to his dismay, Scott broke the kiss. Heat of arousal was radiating directly to his groin; he was at major risk of nutting right outdoors if they continued kissing.

"That's what I wanted to do for a while." Scott breathed heavily. "I like you, Y/n. I just didn't think you liked me that way."

"I like you too, Scott." Scott felt his chest constrict with undeniable happiness as you gently confessed to him, your arms still around his neck. "You protected me — not only from the explosion — but also from the dangers I posed to myself. You showed me how to properly master my powers — something I struggled with — and that I cannot live in the past or let it dictate my future. You're the one person that believed in me; I'm grateful for you."

The mutant cracked a smile. "And I am grateful for you. You're magnificent, Y/n." Scott planted a passionate kiss on your cheek. "You're handsome. You are kind. You are glorious. And you possess the most beautiful e/c eyes I've ever seen."

You smiled at the compliments being given to you, fingers scratching Scott's hair. You unwrapped your arms from his neck and reached up to remove Scott's glasses. However, Scott had seized your wrists before you had the chance to take them off and gave you a perplexed look.

"I want to see what your eyes look like."

The mutant immediately shook his head at that unreasonable request. "No, I — I don't want to hurt you, Y/n." I love—

"Just relax, you're not going to hurt me." An air of self-assurance permeated your voice as you assured the mutant across from you, confidence dripping from your words. "Trust me. I'm able to control it. Please allow me to show you what the world looks like without your spectacles."

Scott debated whether or not he should remove his glasses. He was completely confident in your abilities and knew how much more adept you were at mastering them, but he still didn't want to put you in danger. However, he didn't stop you when you took off his glasses, your eyes gleaming gold. He ensured that his eyes were closed before you removed them.

"Please open your eyes. You're not going to hurt me." Scott heard your voice in his eardrums before he heard it in his mind. "Have trust in me as I have trust in you."

I trust you, Y/n.

Two pairs of eyes opened gradually, and, to Scott's surprise, not one of them shot off an optic blast. The red hue in his eyes dispersed, showing his natural eye color.

Beautiful blue eyes. The color of the sea.

You re-encircled his neck with your arms as he encircled your body with his arms. "You have the most stunningly gorgeous ocean-blue eyes I've ever laid eyes on."

Scott smiled, his thumb gently caressing your jawline. You were significantly more attractive without his glasses. He pulled you closer, giving you a passionate kiss.

You and Scott didn't need to say a word; the intensity of your second kiss spoke volumes about your love for each other.

A non-verbal confession of love.

XXXXX XXXXX

[plutobutartsy]

alexis is well dressed not for the summit, but for the special occassion that is watching her cringefail brother try to survive this mess :3

(click for quality)

ID in alt and below cut!! <3

[ID:

A digital drawing of my version of Alexis Solaire shown from the thighs up.

She is drawn as a thin, tall black woman. Her ears are pointed and her wide nose has multiple bumps, almost as though it had been broken multiple times. She has patchy eyebrows and red eyes with long lashes, one of which is being held shut by a deep jagged scar that reaches from her forehead, down through her left eyebrow, and to her cheek. Her dark red lips are pulled into a wide smile, exposing her fangs and her face is slightly flushed.

Her black hair is straight and she is wearing it in a sort of half-up, half-down hairstyle: it is partly in a beehive like bun with the rest falling freely down her back and fanning out in small spikes on either side of her. Her bangs are cut in a v-shape.

Alexis is wearing a dark purple, tight fitting gown with a leg slit on the right side. It is sleeveless with the fabric comming all the way up to her neck, attatched to a silver choker. Additionally she is wearing a thick white fur coat that is slipping off her left shoulder. As far as accessories go, she is wearing an array of silver rings on her fingers and some purple gem earrings. Her black nails are long and sharp.

On her head, Alexis is wearing a silver crown with three peaks that end in purple gems. It extends into silver bat wings on either side of her head with purple gems and black pearls dangleing from them. Inserted into the crown and wings are multiple purple stained glass panels.

Alexis is leaning against a table on her right side with one hand supporting her weight. In her left hand she is holding a wine glass filled with red liquid (this could be blood or wine). Her head is tilted to the side with her gaze thrown over her right shoulder.

There are white lines surrounding her outlines, indicating a light source behind her.

The background is a blurry image of a beige ball room with big arched windows in the back.

End ID.]

taglist: @nothingsweeter @febreze-bottle-without-febreze @teaseat @swanconcerto @beemybella @soup-scope @shawslut @celestecreateschaos @puffin-smoke @xanyiaz @6-atlas-6 @deviantaj (let me know if you want be added or removed <3)

[umbralaether]

Kiss prompts: In the rain/snow 💜

Living in Coerthas was not unlike living in a snow-globe.

She awoke to a new dusting of snow every morning, and as someone who had spent most of her life in warm climates, it was more than an adjustment. She wasn’t sure how the people of Ishgard survived in such a world— endless snow and cold, nothing but grey and white covering every surface. It had been days since she’d seen a blue sky, and weeks since she’d seen the sun and felt it’s warmth.

Needless to say, the snow was beginning to freeze even her spirit.

Haurchefant, the only true sun in this unbearable climate, was not slow to notice her distaste for snow. He made sure the fire in her room was always blazing, had fitted her bed with the warmest of blankets, and made sure warm meals always found their way to her if he was unable to bring them himself.

So when he had told her he wanted to take her on a hike before dawn, she had almost spit out her drink.

“I assure you, my sweet Eisha, it will be worth the trip.” He said, taking her hand in his to kiss it gently.

In the end, she agreed. After all he had done for her, romantic intentions aside, she could give him this small thing. When he woke her an hour or so before the break of dawn, she crawled her way out of the cozy bed and dressed as warmly as she could.

The trek was not to be very far, he had assured her. Noir, his chocobo, did most of the work as he carried both of them up the summit. She was grateful to cling to Haurchefant’s body heat as they went, sleep still hovering around her mind.

“I know the snow has not been your favorite part of Ishgard, or Coerthas for that matter. I hope this can show you there is beauty to be found in even the most dismal of climates.”

They dismount Noir, the bird chirruping happily as Haurchefant feeds her a palmful of Gysahl greens. Eisha takes a moment to look around. He’s taken her to a mountaintop overlooking Ishgard, freshly fallen snow piled high and moments away from falling off the branches of the pine trees nearby. The sky is already a bruising purple as the sun begins it’s ascent.

“So what is it you wanted me to see?”

Haurchefant comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her body, “The sunrise, my sweet.”

It only takes a few minutes for the sun to peek over the horizon, a dazzling show of sparkles as the light hits the freshly fallen snow. Eisha cant help but find it breathtaking— most of the time Ishgard was just grey and white and bland.

This was something entirely new.

“This… I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Haurchefant chuckles, “It’s rare we have clear skies, especially this late in the season. I’m glad I get to be the first to witness you seeing it.”

Eisha turns towards him, and just as she does the wind blows glittering snowflakes all around them. They dance briefly before landing in their hair, on their coats, and she grins before leaning up to kiss him. He meets her with the same softness, a gentle thing, and she swears she could kiss him all day if it weren’t for the cold.

“Thank you, for showing me this,” she leans her head against his chest, “I won’t ever forget it.”

“Anything for you, my sweetest love.”

[angelasscribbles]

The Crown and the Shield Chapter 8: Healing

Series: The Crown and the Shield

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Constantine x Jackson

Word Count: 922

Rating: PG

Warnings for this chapter: none

Special thanks to @aussiegurl1234 for her input.

A/N: So, we finally come to the final chapter of this “one-shot” lol. I hope it meets expectations.

My other stuff: Master List.

“Today is the one-year anniversary of the Madrid Peace Summit Massacre,” the news anchor addressed the camera.

“It was a dark day for all our countries,” His co-host replied nodding her head sympathetically, “Isabella Hasapis was forced to take the Auverness throne when both her parents were killed, making her the youngest monarch in their history, ascending the throne at only sixteen. In Monterisso, the late queen’s sister was appointed as regent until crown princess Amalas is old enough to rule.”

Constantine turned the volume of the TV up as his mind ran back in time to the worst day of his life.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” the white-coated doctor stood with his hands in his pockets as he delivered the news, “We did everything we could. Heroic measures were employed but the injuries from the gunshot wounds were too grievous, and we were unable to save him.”

Constantine’s body shook with sobs. He let himself be led to a chair. He sank into it and dropped his head into his hands. He gathered his emotions as best he could and lifted his head, “And her?”

“I’m sorry, sir, again, the extent of the injuries-“

“So I’ve lost them both?”

“I’m very sorry for your loss. Would you like to see your wife now?”

“Connie, why are you watching this?” Eleanor took the remote from his hand and clicked the TV off just as the footage of his remarks from the south lawn of the palace earlier in the day began to play.

He turned to her with tears in his eyes, “It was the day I lost both my parents. The day I almost lost you. I don’t know how Leo and Liam would have-“

“Hey, we don’t have to worry about that. I’m here. I made it and so did you.”

“Thanks to Jack.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “Thanks to Jack. Speaking of him…don’t you have somewhere to be?”

He glanced at the clock on the wall and jumped to his feet, “Shit! Yes! I have to go!”

“It’s fine, go!” She shooed him out of their private living room, one hand at the small of her back and the other resting on her burgeoning stomach as she felt the baby kick. “Settle down, Lena. You have a month left in there.”

She missed her in-laws, but she was grateful that both she and her husband had been spared. The bullet had hit her in the side. There had been a lot of blood, but no major organs had been damaged.

She would have joined the king, but she was on partial bedrest for the duration of the pregnancy. She had told Constantine to give her love to the Walker family. She would be forever grateful for the sacrifices made that day.

Constantine stepped out of the limo and approached the group gathered around the gravesite. He made his way to Bianca and swept her into a hug before doing the same with Drake and Savannah in turn.

He stepped forward and touched the cold marble of the marker, his fingers tracing the etching. His throat constricted as he croaked out, “He died a hero.”

“That he did. He stepped right in front of that bullet.”

Constantine turned toward the voice with a solemn expression, “So did you.”

“Damned straight I did! And I’d do it again!”

The king pulled the other man into a tight embrace as he fought back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, “Don’t joke about that, Jack, I almost lost you that day!”

It had been touch and go for two weeks. Constantine had never left his side.

“I’m not joking,” Jackson hugged him back.

Constantine had tried to get him to transfer to a less dangerous position, but Jackson had refused. There was no one else he trusted to safeguard the man he loved.

“Eleanor sends her love to all of you,” Constantine pushed out of Jackson’s arms and turned back to the monument, “We know how much Bastien meant to you.”

“He was like family,” Bianca agreed.

“He didn’t hesitate to take that bullet for her,” Jackson removed a flask of whiskey from his jacket pocket and held it up to the monument in salute, “Here’s to the best junior officer I ever had the privilege of training.”

“To Bastien!” the little group chorused.

When the gathering was over, Constantine and Jackson walked back to the limo together, hand in hand.

The perpetrators of the attack had all been brought to justice and The Liberation Core dismantled. There was some amount of closure in that.

Eleanor had taken the news of his relationship with Jackson in stride.

“I suspected, Connie. But it doesn’t change anything for me. I love you, and I love our boys.”

The only thing she had asked him for was another child. A chance for a girl and he’d given it to her.

In return, she’d given him complete acceptance of his relationship with Jackson.

He was as happy as he could be while still grieving his parents. He would always miss them, but he had a baby on the way, a queen who understood him, and the love of his life by his side.

Next year for his birthday, Jackson was getting that white water rafting trip. Constantine had already booked it. Just the two of them…give or take a few dozen guardsmen.

He glanced at the man next to him with happiness in his heart. He was healing, Cordonia was healing, and the future looked bright.  

~fin

[singularattitudeofasafetypin]

Merry Christmas Sweetheart

Masterlist

Summary: Christmassy fluff! Getting a Christmas tree with Eddie and decorating it later with him and Wayne. Just some feel good fluff for the holidays!

Word Count: 2.2k ish

Warnings: reference to Eddie's mum having died, other than that, pure fluff!

A/N: It's been ages since I wrote stuff! I was really struggling with this but as I've read it through today for a last edit, I actually feel really good about it! It might not be my best work but I like it! I hope you guys do and I hope you all have a Merry Christmas!

Please don't steal my work!

Sharp winter air hit your face the moment Eddie opened the door. He helped you down from the van by the gloved hand, rewarded for his chivalry with a kiss. A fleeting smile crossed his mouth before he tucked his hands under his armpits and cursed under his breath, “I still don’t understand why we had to get here this early!”

His complaint turned to fog in the cold. He groaned and stamped his feet on the frosty ground, trying to conjure warmth. You rolled your eyes and reached for the coat and scarf still resting on the front seat. “Because,” you answered, reiterating for the tenth time, “If we don’t, all the good ones will be gone!” Eddie grumbled through your explanation. Your playful slap made him pout like a toddler as you forced him into more layers. “Besides!” you tied his scarf in a knot and pulled a navy-blue hat down over his chestnut curls, “Look how beautiful it is!”

The morning sky really was a sight to behold. A pastel ombre, orange fire on the horizon fading through white to an icy blue overlaid with the merest hint of pink. Eddie followed your outstretched arm but the landscape did little to impress him. Instead, his eyes fell back to you. The soft curve of your smile, cheeks and nose tinged rose by the cold and the dawn light bathing your face in warm light, sparkling in your eyes.

“Yeah,” he gave in, “It’s beautiful!”

You turned your smile back on him; he dropped his gaze like a schoolboy caught staring at his crush. You took his hand, laughing a little, “Come on!”

*

Frost crunched under your welly boots but as you reached the field, the sound muffled. Tarmac gave way to soggy mud. You skirted around half frozen puddles, holding onto each other to keep from slipping as you explored the maze of evergreens.

The Christmas tree farm was all but deserted.

“This one!” Eddie called, a few rows over. You followed his voice to find him staring up some ten feet in the air. He turned, a grin spreading across his features as you took in the summit of the colossal pine and burst into a fit of giggles.

“Eddie, it’s three times the size of your trailer!”

He shrugged like he couldn’t possibly fathom the issue. “We could set it sideways? Or Wayne could drill a hole in the roof!” The clueless act began to drop at the last syllable and he too dissolved into laughter.

“You are ridiculous Eddie Munson!” you managed between hiccups.

“Okay! Okay!” he wiped the tears from his eyes, “What about that one?”

He pointed at a sapling that barely reached your knees. The pair of you lapsed into hysteria again.

The morning drew on, echoing your gleeful laughter. The sun rose, washing the sky a deeper blue and chasing the faint wisps of cloud while the trees seemed to sparkle with fairy dust. A magical spell cast just for you.

Eddie managed to find every misshapen tree to put forward as a contender Too tall, too short, branches stuck out in all directions. There was one almost entirely bare on one side and Eddie had to bite his lip to keep composed while he pleaded its case.

*

It took an hour and a half before you found it.

Teeth chattering, the icy temperature was beginning to see through your gloves and boots. You were almost ready to give up when you rounded a corner and stopped dead in your tracks.

“Eddie!”

A nearby groan answered. He trudged through the line of trees, welly boots dragging through the sludge. The cold was getting to him as well, he always felt it terribly, but the grumbling stopped abruptly. Behind you, he drew a sharp breath.

It was perfect.

Lovely and full. Just the right size, the needles thick and the deepest shade of green.

You didn’t speak, just smiled at the little tree. Eddie’s arms snaked around your waist from behind as he perched his chin on your shoulder. “This one?”

When you didn’t answer, he pushed his nose against your cheek, and you squealed at the sudden cold, “Yes! Yes! This one!”

He laughed, pulling you closer and kissing you everywhere he could reach.

In moments, your tree had been cut and packaged. The two of you stumbled across the rapidly thawing parking lot toward Eddie’s van

“Here, set her down!” He leant the exquisite fir against the side of the van while he fumbled with the keys.

“You sound just like Wayne!” you teased as he pulled open the back doors and hefted the tree inside with a roll of his eyes.

Eddie flicked the heating on as soon as you were safely tucked in the front, warming his trembling, red fingers over the grate and blowing air into his palms.

Other people were only just starting to arrive. Cars full of excited families with restless kids slid past you.

“See!” you pointed out the window triumphantly, “If we’d waited, our tree would already be gone!”

“Fine!” he sighed, “You were right! What do you want from me?”

*

“She’s a beauty!” Uncle Wayne exhaled heavily as he straightened; his aging knees ached with the effort. He smiled at the little Christmas tree, now perfectly situated in one corner of the Munson’s living room.

Your heart swelled with pride. “You like it?”

Wayne hugged an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in and pressing an affectionate kiss to your temple. “You did a wonderful job!”

You beamed, snuggling your face into the warm, familiar knit of his jumper and throwing your own arms around him.

“Hey, I helped too!”

Eddie’s indignant voice grew louder, and he emerged from the hallway. His arms were laden with Christmas lights.

“More like hindered!” you quipped, shooting a mischievous smile from your safe haven. “What have you done to those lights?”

Your boyfriend tugged on a tangled string with an affronted huff, “Hey, don’t look at me! Wayne put them away last year!”

Nearly a half hour, it took to unravel them and wind them around the tree. You stood on a chair to reach the top and Eddie hovered inches away, keeping track of your balance, feeding you the next section of lights.

Next came tinsel! Tucked between the branches in halos of scarlet.

‘We used to have gold,’ Wayne explained, setting down a small cardboard box filled to the brim with decorations. “‘til this one decided to chop it all up to make costumes when he was seven!”

“You did not!” Your head whipped round to stare at your boyfriend, jaw-dropped, at the guilty expression spreading over his face.

Wayne nodded. “He did! I found bits of it scattered all over the floor and the rest tied round his head like a nativity angel!”

“I was being creative!” He protested, then looking to you for mercy, “I thought you liked that about me!”

Your smile softened, “I love that about you!” You opened your arms and Eddie leaned in to your comfort with a mumbled,

“Thank you!”

You smirked at Wayne over Eddie’s curly head, “So, were you supposed to be a wizard or a dragon?”

He snorted and Eddie groaned, “Obviously, a wizard!”

*

Baubles were divided between the three of you and scattered over the green boughs. Then came the special decorations!

Some had been collected on Wayne’s travels. Before Eddie, he’d made a point of compiling an ornament for every city he visited. Most had been broken over the years, adopting a toddler one year out of the blue had come with its fair share of accidents, but a precious few still remained. A glass blown statue of liberty for New York, a plaster image of the golden gate bridge from San Francisco, a wooden cityscape of Atlanta, and a hand-painted postcard from Phoenix. These were hung meticulously above the rest, Wayne telling the stories behind each one.

The others had all been made by Eddie in elementary school. Every year he asked his uncle why they didn’t just throw them away, a dark red flushing his cheeks at the sight of his younger-self’s handiwork. And every year, Wayne would act offended, launching into a speech about how precious and important they were to him.

This year, you got to see the assortment of delicate decorations, clay and cardboard and pipe cleaners fashioned into different types of dragons and other monsters. You couldn’t help but smile at the idea of little Eddie proudly presenting his gluey, glittered projects to his teacher. They couldn’t have known what to say!

While the two men argued, you fished the last ornament from the bottom of the box. It was wrapped in bubble wrap, more neatly than any of the others had been. Secured with sticky tape you now carefully slipped your nails under and peeled back.

A small plaster-cast circle fell into your hand, connected with a baby blue ribbon. Eddie fell silent when he saw what you were holding. Wayne laid a hand on his shoulder, gentle but full of firm reassurance.

You turned it over in your hand a small gasp escaped your mouth. On the other side, a photograph of a woman holding a red-faced infant, grainy and slightly faded, stared back at you. Underneath, the words, ‘Eddie’s First Christmas’ were written in the same blue.

The woman in the picture was smiling, dimples creasing at the sides of her mouth and though the flash had distorted the lighting, you could make out her warm brown eyes, the colour of melted chocolate.

You looked up to see those same eyes gazing back at you, filled with vulnerability. With a small smile, you reached out and pressed the ornament into his palm. His fingers closed around yours. Eddie mirrored your smile. If he had been anyone else, you might have missed the tears he blinked away so fast. He spun on his heel and hung the little plaque in pride of place.

The moment was over as soon as it had begun and Eddie was on his knees, presenting you the star with pomp and circumstance, then lifting you up to place it atop the tree. Wayne smiled and applauded as your feet hit the ground, dropping to his knees and crawling under the tree for the light switch.

Eddie snuck a quick kiss and made you giggle.

The tree burst to life. Brilliant golds, reds, pinks and blues warmed the dim living room, illuminating the shadows and sparkling in Eddie’s awe-filled eyes. All those colours reflecting in their bottomless depths; you couldn’t look away.

He caught you staring. Your mouth was hanging half open and he laughed. “You like what you see?” he teased, breaking the spell and earning a playful shove.

“Who wants hot chocolate?” Wayne announced. He checked his watch, “I’ve got a half hour before I gotta head out to work!”

*

Before long, the three of you were settled on the couch, laughing and talking, steaming mugs in your hands. Wayne had put on a tape of old-timey Christmas songs in the background. Their brassy melodies serenaded warm conversation. Wayne glanced at his watch, drained the dregs, and left to fetch his work bag.

You snuggled closer into your boyfriend’s side. His chest rose and fell in steady, contented rhythm as he hummed along to the music. His arm settled around your body, inviting you closer still.

Your eyes travelled over the tree, watching the lights twinkle and admiring the fruits of your combined labours. Once again, you found the precious photo ornament on the blue ribbon, suspended among the needles.

“You look just like her!” you murmured, nuzzling against Eddie’s shirt. He stopped humming and for a second, you worried you’d overstepped, but he tightened his arm around you and pressed a kiss to your crown.

“I know,” he said softly, leaning his cheek against your hair, “Wayne tells me all the time!”

You shifted to look up at him. His eyes were shining again. Was it tears or just the lights? He sniffed and glanced at the tree, then back at you. “I really wish you could have met her!”

Reaching up, you traced your fingers over his cheek. They came back damp with the ghost of a tear. “Me too!”

Eddie smiled and sniffed again, his own hand coming up to cradle yours. You nestled together again, sipping the last bits of hot chocolate in comfortable silence, resting in each-others love.

Wayne came back in, said his goodbyes as he shrugged his coat on and smiled at the pair of you before making his way into the cold December night. The sound of his car starting up and the headlights along the wall faded into the dark leaving you alone together.

Outside, a few flakes of snow began to fall, carried about on the silent breeze. They spiralled and floated like dancers on a shrouded stage.

You sat there for hours, enjoying one another’s company and basking in the warmth. The lights began to blur as your eyes drooped closed. You leaned closer into Eddie’s chest and sighed. “Merry Christmas, Eddie!”

He smiled sleepily, “Merry Christmas, Sweetheart!”

*

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! I love to hear what people think of my writing! It gives me such a boost to know if people enjoy it!

Check out my Masterlist for the rest of my work!

Taglist: @sadbitchfangirl, @neewtmas, @ladymunson, @idathereader

[monawasredacted]

Sweetheart Headcanons

These are purely related to my interpretation of Sweetheart and the vision of them that I subscribe to! So happy and excited to hear other people’s interpretations and see their Sweethearts (I’ll probably do this for all of my redacted OC’s)

•As their powers manifestested, the pigmentation in Sweetheart’s body started to react to the chemical makeup of their powers, and their hair, eyes and skin all drained of colour. Their skin, already pale, took on a more neutral tone. Their eyes, previously a darker and deeper blue, faded to a light grey. Their hair, a dirty blonde/light brown, grew into more of a white/blonde. This isn’t common, but is known to happen to stealths, as the magic that makes them seemingly transparent also messes with their body.

•They, at first, hated this. Their friends thought it was cool, but they couldn’t think it further from the truth. The features they’d loved the most, gifted from their parents, had been stolen by their powers. While they did not curse the gift of magic, they felt robbed of the things they were proud of, like the Tenerife blue of their mother’s eyes, or the signature tussled brown that had been donned by their father’s lineage for generations.

•Their powers were strong, but they didn’t know what to do with them. In fact, in their stealth classes, they took a little longer than their classmates to get a true handle on things. This is apparent and resurges when they’re in the midst of a highly tense emotional episode, such as panic attacks. They find it hard to decloak even if they want to.

•Sweetheart prefers to wear pants wherever they go, in case they need to cloak for any reason and they need to go unheard. Their magic also affects their clothes, but not always their physical mass; they can be heard and felt while cloaked if they don't exert the extra effort to conceal them, so pants are quieter and easier to move around in.

•In this same vein, they don’t wear jewellery very often either - clattering and clanging can sometimes be hard to mask and keep stealthed. The only exception to this rule is a ring gifted by Milo’s mother, that they wear every day, stealthing or not.

•Milo’s mother has an intense respect for Sweetheart (returned tenfold), and they get along really well. She was the first person Sweetheart went to when concerned about learning healing magic, agonising over not knowing it well and neglecting it when studying. When Sweetheart messaged, and then called Marie, torn to bits about their inability to heal effectively, Marie knew that Sweetheart was a good person, heart and soul. And Marie can always tell deep down whether a person is good or not.

•Colm attempts to converse with Sweetheart often, usually about investigating, and it takes a while for Sweetheart to open up and speak more freely- they, at first, felt as if the tension in the relationship between Milo and Colm was to be tread very carefully. It wasn’t until Milo ensured ‘I won’t be mad at you for entertainin’ his nosy personality, as is the nature of an investigator.’ (When Sweetheart refused this idea, Milo then followed up with ‘No, you’re definitely not nosy, just have a penchant for sneakin’ into unknowing victim's apartments to accost them with interroga-.’ He couldn’t finish the sentence, with a pillow to his face.)

•Sweetheart does, in fact, dress like an old timey P.I: long coats, dark tones, well fit slacks and boots, the works.

And they make it look good?

•Milo usually helps them pick out their clothes, as he’s really actually quite exceptional at doing such. He did not, however, help with their Summit outfit. That was all Sweetheart’s doing (and Milo’s undoing).

[rabbitcruiser]

Racing River, BC (No. 2)

The Stone's sheep (Ovis dalli stonei) or stone sheep is the more southern subspecies of thinhorn sheep, Ovis dalli.

The global population of Stone's sheep is primarily found in Northern British Columbia and can often be seen licking minerals along the side of the Alaska Highway in areas such as Summit Lake, Stone Mountain Provincial Park, and Muncho Lake Provincial Park.

Pelage colour variations range widely, from slate grey-brown with a white rump patch, dark tail and white on the inside of the hind legs, to an almost completely white/grey-white coat with a dark or black dorsal surface on the tail. Horns are curved in form and vary in colour from a yellowish-brown to dark brown horns.

Source: Wikipedia

[aurathian]

To the Moon and Back: 3. and even the stars.

AO3 | Written for @zelinktines24 #7: stars. Reblogs appreciated if you enjoy!!

Fandom: Breath of the Wild

Rating: G

Ships: Link/Zelda

Description: Under the light of the sun, the moon, and the stars, Zelda and Link travel to the Spring of Wisdom so the princess can perform one last prayer.

Read the full fic below or read it on AO3.

It was very, very dark, like her doubts and fears had at last consumed her and she was trapped in them for centuries. That darkness that lingered over her had finally won, she supposed. But in the distance, she heard crackling. Something hot, enveloping her in warmth, something firm around her. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

“You’re awake,” came a voice, relieved. The firm grip on her tightened and pulled her in.

“Link,” was all she could say, curling into him.

He added a piece of wood to the fire and it crackled back at him. The blanket on her shifted to cover her head, aided by Link’s free hand, the other one still holding onto her.

“I was worried.”

Zelda had nothing to say. She wasn’t sure what happened, but knew she said her piece in the waters that rippled just off to her side. Those cold, cold waters. The world around her swam as though she was still submerged there, but Link’s hold kept her grounded in reality.

“I’m fine,” she replied at last. The flames danced in front of her, a warm home in the midst of an icy mountain, inviting and searing. “Are you not cold?”

Her knight wore no blanket and bore no coat, though he had layers underneath his ceremonial tunic. His hair lay across his back and shoulders, free from its usual band so that it could keep his ears warm.

“I’m fine, too.”

Even though her mind was racing, the world outside her thoughts was peaceful. A breeze swept through the Spring and the water reflected the glimmering stars. The icy spires that made up the summit reflected white moonlight. There was not a sound except that crackling fire and whispering wind.

“What do you think will happen now?” Zelda said aloud, mostly to herself. “I could not awaken my powers at any of the springs or statues. That was my one mission given to me. What am I supposed to do now? I’ve done everything, tried everything.”

“What if the Calamity were to awaken right now, Link? What would we do?” He watched the sky intently, which Zelda did not seem to notice as she continued to ramble, voice becoming increasingly shaky with each word and breath.

“Do you think that the sun will rise tomorrow, or the day after? And if it does, then what? I don’t know what’s going to happen.” She sniffled. “But I know that whatever comes to pass, it will be my fault.”

“I will become nothing but a forgotten memory. Should I live or die, they will forget me because I failed along the way.” Pulling the blanket up to her face, she stared out at the statue across the water. Her eyes dragged across the pristine spring to Link, where he still wordlessly looked to the sky.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” she asked before she could think. The Princess, given every right to order her knight around, had not meant to order her knight to respond. They were unfair questions that nobody in the kingdom could answer, and perhaps not even the Goddess Hylia. But she wanted someone to tell her it would be okay. That no matter what would happen, it would turn out alright in the end.

The breeze blew, carrying mists of snow with it. She followed Link’s gaze up to the sky, where hundreds of stars danced and twinkled. Carefree, millions of miles away, untouched by calamities or destinies or prayers.

“I’m naming all those stars after you.” He turned to her and they locked eyes, her heart skipping a beat. “So that nobody will forget.” His hand touched her face ever so gently, fingertips grazing her cheeks, and he leaned in.

They cuddled under the veil of stars that night, slumbering by the fire before leaving down the mountain in the morning. Zelda knew what awaited her there–the Champions, of course, but also the uncertain future that no sun, moon, or stars could illuminate.

[chronicbeans]

The Frostbiter (Original Story)

Oof not a Welcome Home story but this wouldn't leave my head. OwO I hope y'all enjoy anyways.

TW: Descriptions of Severe Frostbite, Mentions of Death

Looking around, I see nothing but snow coating the mountain. I hold my daughter close, her violent shaking telling me just how cold she feels. "It'll be alright, Amanda. We'll find the way down. Don't worry. Daddy will keep you safe. Just hang on." Her dark eyes look up to me, her voice but a soft, whispery quiver "Daddy, your nose is turning black... Dad...?" "Yes, Amanda?" "Are we gonna die?"

I don't want to lie, but I want to keep up hope. The most heartbreaking thought in my mind is seeing my sweet Amanda lose hope. I want to see her smile until the end. "We'll make it down, Amanda. There has to be some way back down the mountain. We hiked up here, after all. The snow has just covered the path. We'll make it down, one way or another." That won't be a lie, right? We can hike down if we figure out which way to go, and even if we don't, someone will come up to retrieve our bodies after this blizzard is over. We aren't too far up for them to do that, right? Amanda weakly nods, her eyes eyes looking around the area "It all looks white... Like a blanket. A cold, cold blanket. I miss my blanket."

I hold her closer, moving on. I can't figure out if I am walking further up the mountain, or if I am going down. I can only pray that it is down. The snow is so heavy, that I cannot see two feet in front of me. As it piles up, it becomes harder to move my legs through it to walk. The weather forecast must've lied. They said there would be sunny skies today. This was supposed to be a fun birthday for my baby girl. She always wanted to hike up the same mountain her mother did ten years ago and do what she couldn't: make it to the summit. Now look at her, bundled up, her skin turning white with frostbite... Just like her mother.

I keep hearing something up ahead that sounds like footsteps. I try to walk faster, shouting "Help! We need help! We can team up to find our way down!" Only for the other person to not respond. I walk faster, shouting louder "Please, I have a child with me! You have to help!"

I struggle onwards, hearing those footsteps. The crunch of the snow with each step I take seems like it is mocking me. It's all around me and my daughter, sucking the life out of us. I'm so cold, even with my multiple layers of coats, scarves, and pants. We both really bundled up for this trip. It all seems like it is in vain.

I can't feel my hands, or my feet, or my lower legs. The sensation ends just underneath my knees and after my wrists. I can't bend my fingers, either. I look down at Amanda, seeing her pale face looking up at me. A few strands of hair poke our from beneath her wool hat, her body curled against me for warmth. "It'll be okay, sweetie. Remember what I told you, okay? Don't take off anything that is meant to keep you warm. Especially if you suddenly feel warm. Let me know if that happens." She nods in responds "Okay dad."

After seemingly hours of agonizing trudging, I can't take it. I am exhausted, the stranger isn't listening, and I feel hopeless. The snow doesn't seem to end. It isn't stopping. It's so cold. I can't go on. I drop into the snow, making sure to turn so I land on my back, with Amanda on top of me. "Amanda... Dad needs a break. You can walk, right?" She gets up, her eyes contrasting the white snow around us, causing me to see every bit of fear in them. "Dad...? Dad, get up!" "I just need a break. Go see if you can get the guy up ahead to talk to you. Please... They can help." She grows, quiet, before looking around, then running after the stranger.

"Help! My daddy needs help! Please, help-!" My eyes, which almost closed from weakness, suddenly shoot open as I hear her scream. I use all of my energy to force myself up. I can't feel anything. I fear to look underneath my mittens, worrying that my fingers might be dead, alongside my feet. That doesn't matter, right now. I need to help my little angel. I trudge further, seeing two silhouettes in the distance.

My little Amanda is backing away from the stranger. They, seemingly, have no winter clothing on; just a white lab coat, dress pants, and what looks to be a watch. I can't see their face, but their hair is short and blonde. The stranger's fingers... they are completely black, before their still living tissue resumes, only to be white from frostbite. They sway slightly, before reaching their hand out to Amanda.

"Get away from her!" They turn their head over to me, causing me to flinch at the horrid sight of their face. Their nose, ears, lips... Even their cheeks by their cheekbones have turned black. The entirety of the skin on their face has turned as pale as the snow around us, as well as the frost that has accumulated on their eyebrows and in their hair. They open their mouth, which seems to have ice growing inside of it, around their teeth. "You are the one the little one was crying about? You look so warm..."

They move, their legs so stiff that their steps are more of a shuffle, towards me. Their voice, smooth and masculine, continues "I am Dr. Pierre Glasgow. I have been up here for years... I am so cold... My bones feel frozen to the marrow. You have to help me..." I back up, feeling uneasy. As much as I know this man's appearance isn't something he can control and that I might look very similar, myself, I can't bring myself to be near him. "What happened to you? My daughter, Amanda, and I were hiking. You look completely unprepared."

Dr. Glasgow reaches out to me, his hands frozen still, as he cries out "My team abandoned me! They told me it would be warm! I am so cold! I am so cold! Get close so you can help me! Close! Help!" I flinch, gently grabbing his wrist to avoid rubbing his dead tissue off, asking "I can help, just tell me what I-" He suddenly lunges, grabbing ahold of my neck with his teeth. The ice inside pierces my skin, causing my daughter to cry out in shock and horror.

Everything suddenly grows colder. Colder than I ever thought possible. I point my hand into the distance, choking out "Amanda, run!" "Dad, I'm so cold! I can't move my legs!" "You have to try!" She shuffles off, just as the man drops me. I watch as he suddenly moves his arms and legs, even his dead fingers, as if he were perfectly fine.

"So warm... warm joints... warm blood in me. Thank you. I guess I should take you someplace safe from the snow. There is a little cabin up ahead. I can keep you there, so you can keep me warm until you grow cold, like me."

I am too weak to do anything as Dr. Glasgow drags me through the snow. I have no words for what this "man" is... it is like a vampire, mixed with snow, or a zombie. I can only describe it as a frostbiter.

[invisibleraven]

“I have cake in my eyes.” “Yeah, and I have cake down my shirt!” “Then just take off your shirt.” feels very Willex to me

Willie normally loved parties, but this was just not one he wanted to attend. Unfortunately building international relations was important, thus instead of relaxing in his bedroom back in DC, here he was in Buckingham Palace, observing the hoy piloi and wondering how long it would be until they cut the obscenely large cake.

Seriously, who needed a cake bigger than an average human being for a wedding? He bet it would be dry and full of like custard or coconut. Ew.

The other reason he didn't want to be here was standing across the room in a morning coat, complete with frigging tails and enough badges and sashes to make a beauty queen jealous. Prince Alex, second in line to the British Crown, and Willie's sworn enemy.

Was it petty to declare someone your enemy over a stupid disagreement at a youth summit three years ago? Sure. Did Willie care? Not in the least. But he had promised Caleb he'd be nice, thus avoiding Alex like the plague.

That unfortunately meant he was stuck by the sidelines, as it was kind of hard to avoid the brother of the bride even in a space this large. Hearing the whispers about Olivia's choice of groom, feeling the side long glances that shot his way. Trying not to flinch when they called him 'tramp' and Caleb worse.

Look, he knew he wasn't Caleb's biological son, but that man loved him more than anything, taking him from the group home when he was very young. Told WIllie he was done waiting for the right guy to make a family with. He'd asked his friend Clementine to help make a baby, but she wasn't able to donate the eggs thanks to complications, Delilah was trans, and Caleb didn't want to have a baby that some errant mom could try and take. So adoption it was.

The road from owning a dinner theatre in LA to residing in the White House had been an interesting one, but Willie got right out there and supported Caleb, picketing for votes right from the outset. Sure he had no interest in politics himself, preferring art and skateboarding, but he was always willing to help out his dad.

So those disparaging comments always stung, and he was never in a position to clap back. Just clenched his fists and blew out a breath, reminding himself he was not only representing his family, but his country itself.

"Okay there Covington?"

Willie turned and there was Alex, smirking at him and nodding to his fists. He shook out his hands. "Fine."

"It all getting to you?" Alex asked, surveying the room.

"It's not all bad, food is dec," Willie replied. He had been gorging himself on all the passing trays of appetizers, and figured that this was their meal. He'd rather sit down and eat at a table, but hey, if this was how the rich did it... "Waiting on cake." He nodded to the table they had found themselves next to on their turn of the room.

"Only the top and bottom are real," Alex whispered. "Rest is all styrofoam. I think Livvie has some sort of pudding ready to serve."

"Like chocolate or full of fruit and nuts?"

"The latter," Alex confirmed.

"Ew."

Whatever Alex was going to say to that was lost as a drunk duke or lord stumbled into them, pushing them down. Willie tried to catch himself, but he just managed to catch the edge of the tablecloth instead, pulling all seven tiers of buttercream monstrosity down on top of them.

He and Alex sat there for a moment, stunned, and Alex winced. "I have cake in my eyes."

“Yeah, and I have cake down my shirt!” Willie retorted, scooping a glob of frosting from his face. Eugh, it tasted rancid and overly fake. Probably a good thing he didn't eat any of it.

“Then just take off your shirt," Alex replied. "Seen you do it often enough."

Willie grumbled. "You do one topless photoshoot for Rolling Stone and it's all people see."

"I didn't say it wasn't a good shoot," Alex replied, blushing. Then swore as he saw guards and one very irate looking bride thundering towards them. "Shit, we gotta go before we end up in the Tower, or worse."

Willie found himself pulled up (wow, Alex was IstrongI, must be all the polo) and pulled through the palace, giggling as he saw the dumbfounded faces they passed by. Collapsing in a simple looking bedroom covered in posters of rock stars and pictures of friends. Plus a very happy looking beagle who came and tried to lick them clean.

"Shoo David!" Alex said, stripping off his coat. He then looked at Willie. "I'll get you some clean clothes, you can take the first shower."

"David, really?" Willie asked, scratching behind the dog's ears.

"After Bowie," Alex replied, handing him some comfy sweats and a pale pink shirt.

Later that day, still hiding out in Alex's bedroom, Willie couldn't say they were still sworn enemies. What they were was to be determined, but his kiss swollen lips and new contact info on his phone made him think the future of inter country relations looked pretty promising.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

The Red Flannel Dress | Kinktober 2023

title: conundrum

prompt: love bites/overstimulation (courtesy of @flightlessangelwings)

pairing: alex/lily (eerie inhabitants (vampire au)

word count: 3593 (told you i get wordy)

master list 🍎

He told me to wait for him by the bus stop, right down the block from his parents’ house. The fog had grown rather dense with the incoming fall, such that to see him in the darkness would remind me of all the times that I had seen the cold silhouette of the man in black against the moonlight. I worried that he would be shrouded in the blackness and conceal a knife in my wake, but I also knew that I could meet up with him by the bold light of the moon overhead.

The moon itself meanwhile hung in the eastern sky like a big hurricane lantern as it guided me to that cozy little neighborhood in Berkeley: they lived near the summit of the hill, a safe haven and an oasis away from the Winchester House and the old houses near Lombard Street, but I knew he awaited me somewhere near the bottom.

I had contemplated riding my bike over there with Mark and Abby, but the two of them decided not to given the sheer amount that fog all around us.

I understood completely, especially since my kid sister and her best friend had enough to worry about with the ghosts all around us. They needn’t come up to the house of Skolnick on a moonlit night when the San Francisco fog bank thickened with each passing minute. But I was the one willing to see him, especially since it took some adjusting for me on my part to his ways. The blood on his teeth, the way his claws jutted out from his fingers, the way he devoured the blood and flesh of the victim; at first, I found it difficult to believe that my crush was a vampire rather than a cannibal, but he assured me that this was the case.

The bus rolled up to the stop, to which I thanked the driver and bowed into the night. The last bus before the morning hours.

I stepped away from the curb to let it free and, once it had lumbered away up the street, I caught the sight of him across the pavement.

My boy. My dead boy.

His black hair tousled over his shoulder as if he had just climbed out of the shower, and the gray streak rested upon his head like the slender tail of a serpent. The collar of his black shirt wide open to reveal the milky white skin on his neck and collar bones, and his black jeans fanned out at his ankles. It took me a moment to realize that his shirt hung all the way open: once I came closer to him, I spotted the narrow sliver of his soft but still very slender belly out in the moonlight. He kept the belt buckle of his jeans down low, right under his belly button, and I knew it was to tickle my fancy.

He knew where my eyes wandered on his body. He knew what I wanted, even when I never wanted to say it aloud to him. He adjusted the belt so it better accentuated his hips and the whole middle of his body: the inside of his coat smelled of cloves and cinnamon, as if he had just come from the heart of his parents’ house in the middle of Hanukkah season.

“There’s my desert rose,” he declared in a low voice and with one arm outstretched towards me. I tucked myself in under his arm, under the heavy corduroy that protected him from the cold and the feeling of the misty rain that hung over us.

“My beautiful prince,” I added onto that.

He rested his free hand on the side of my face and pressed his cherry lips unto mine. The smooth sensation on my skin made me think of the smoothest porcelain I had ever seen in my life. I lingered closer to his little body, where I noticed a rolled up blanket tucked under his arm.

“Where are we going?” I asked him.

“Remember that special place up in the hills where you and I spent the night? We had a panoramic view of the city? We’re not going there.”

He guided me into the trees, away from the street. I had to trust him, especially when I had watched him slaughter a few victims out in the woods with the other vampires, and I had to remain curious about it all on top of that. His long, lanky fingers crept over my shoulder and around my upper arm: when we reached the spot, I made a reminder that I had to take off my coat for him.

I had a little surprise for him.

“I have a hiding place where I go to be away from my parents,” he explained as he nudged a branch out of the way. In the midst of the clearing stood a low triangular stone building nestled down in the trees. At the base of the columns was a small candle of what appeared to be beeswax. Strewn across the ground before us was a fine blanket of leaves and what appeared to be sprigs of sagebrush: the ponderosa pines around us reached up to the black sky overhead, and all the while, they felt rather close to us as we came into the clearing.

“I have two relatives buried here,” he told me in a low voice. “Two vampires who were mercilessly and rather violently killed by circumstances I could never imagine. My dad tells me this area has healing powers.”

He nudged a lock of black hair out from his face, and he showed me a genuine smile, accentuated by the candlelight before us. A cold-blooded killer, but he had the softest, gentlest heart.

There was always a part of me that wanted to be the knight for him, the knight to lead the way, especially since he was as cold as death but he walked with the beauty of his own humanity. To protect him and feel him when he was done licking the blood from his razor-sharp fingers and nourishing his state of undeath with the taste of blood: despite the cold, the frigid quality of his flesh, his body became warm and soft, almost by my own pure emotion.

He sauntered over to the mausoleum, and I could only assume they were buried in there; he took his seat on the first step. Though the clearing was illuminated by candles, the way the light caressed over his face made me think of the full moon at night; he took his seat there with his legs spread apart over the smooth black stone.

His shirt opened all the way to show off that milky smooth skin in all its iciness, as well as the fine hair on his chest and all the way down his belly. Dead or alive, I wanted to kiss that skin. The way that the candlelight glowed over his chest and his stomach made me think of porcelain: when he leaned back, he showed off more of his belly to me, in all its slender smooth beauty.

I stood above him and took off my coat part of the way to show off the top of the bodice as well as the fine collar underneath my neck. Through the dim light, I saw him raise his eyebrow at the sight of me.

“Would you like some more?” I offered him. “Some more of what I have under wraps here?”

He cocked his head to the side and brought his chin down towards his chest as if he flirted with me. I let the coat slide down my arms to reveal the soft red flannel that hugged my body.

“Oh, I see you’re wearing that red dress that you bought the other day,” he remarked in a soft voice. His eyes swept up into my face, and the corners of his lips curled up into a little smile. A loose tendril of curled black hair dangled down over his shoulder down onto his bare chest. He gave his head a slight flick to rid of the tendril but it stayed in place.

“Here, let me help with that,” I insisted, and I took my seat next to him: I nudged the lock of hair from his chest to back over his shoulder. All the while, I brushed my fingers against the side of his neck, the smooth silken skin there that needed to be kissed and caressed even more than I could ever wish for with myself.

I slowly ran my fingers down his chest, that fine layer of dark hair right in the middle of his chest as it wandered down to his belt, down onto his stomach, and then back up to his chest. I locked eyes with him, albeit for a brief moment, and then I glanced up at the gray sliver upon the crown of his head, the indication of the scar on his sky, the old wound that brought him to me.

“The feeling of love,” he began in a low voice, “the feeling of infernal lust within you, the feeling of death that surrounds you and me both.”

“Why am I under the impression that you want me to orgasm at some point, between now and when you undertake your next killing on the side?” I asked him in a near whisper.

“Because to make you do that, you have to cross a threshold of sorts. To live, and to die for a split second just to live again.” He raised a hand and stroked the back of my neck: his long lanky fingers crept up into the roots of my hair, and he closed his eyes.

“Dying is an art, and I do it exceptionally well,” I filled in for him, to which he pressed his free hand onto his chest.

“You are so incredibly delicious and precious, my love,” he breathed to me. “My desert rose.” The candlelight danced over his skin, over his nose and his neck and collar bones. I nudged the lapel of his coat off his chest, then off his shoulder so I could see more skin. He closed his eyes as if to better relish in the feeling: his shoulders were so delicate and slender, and more so as they were kissed by the light of the candles on either side of us. With my coat partially off my body and his pushed off from his shoulders, we were cozy even outside and under the trees.

I let my fingers glide down over his right nipple and onto his side. Without thinking twice, I brought my lips to the side of his neck, right into that vulnerable spot between the side and his collar.

“You know, that feels really good,” he whispered to me, and I let my fingers glide down his side. Careful not to hurt him, I bore my teeth against his skin for a gentle nibble, which in turn coaxed a gasp out of him.

“Whoa, damn—”

“Is that too much for you?” I whispered into his ear.

“No, no, keep going,” he begged. “Please.”

I nibbled on his skin some more, a tiny pinch that could send a shiver up both of our spines. I then changed it up with a slight lick of the tip of my tongue, and he treated me to a soft groan in his throat as a result. Another small nibble and I felt his hand on the small of my back.

“I am going to do my absolute damnedest to try and not bite you and inject my venom into you, my sweet,” he whispered right into my ear: his voice swept over me like a cool wind through the trees, and his hair dangled down right by the side of my head like a tendril from a willow.

I ran my hand down his chest, down onto his belly, and I could feel he was running on empty: his skin resembled silk.

“Kiss me,” he begged me. Very gently, I followed the nibbles with soft brushes of my lips on the same spot. He parted his lips and let out soft little whimpers from the feeling. “Please… touch me. Love me.”

My fingers glided down his belly and I kept my teeth on the side of his neck. His skin was so soft and so warm all around his waist that I never wanted to stop touching him there, and all while I kept up with the nibbles on his neck, all the little love bites that he yearned for and I wanted to give to him.

“Down—” he blurted out.

“Down? Where?”

“Where your hand is.”

I licked my lips and dropped down to his belly. He leaned back on his hands and gave his hair a little toss back. My lips grazed up against his skin to prepare him for some more nibbles and glides of my teeth.

His flesh there was much softer and smoother than his neck, and I knew that he could handle it and hide it from everyone with the swipe of his coat. Slender and smooth, and yet he was soft enough for me to bring in a few extra nibbles for him.

“God, that tickles so much,” he sputtered out, and he parted his lips and gasped from the feeling. “Oh, god…” I kept my fingers on his chest; with each and every nibble on his skin, I could tell he was enjoying it, every last bit of it. He let out a low whistle once I followed up a small nibble with a delicate kiss, a little flower upon the sting of a scorpion.

“Let me do it now,” he begged to me. I treated him to another kiss on his belly, right next to the bite mark, and another one next to his belly button. I lifted my head to look on at him through the warm candlelight all around us.

“You know, I just love that you’re as sensual as you are,” he told me, and his voice was like warm molasses straight out of the jar; a playful smirk crossed his face at that.

“Be careful not to bite me,” I teased him as I lay down on my back on the stone. My coat acted as a makeshift mattress; I could feel him lift up my skirt.

“Mmm, yeah, this is that flannel dress, alright,” he proclaimed. He ran his fingers along the inside of my thighs and down into the crotch of my underwear.

I could feel him taking it off.

“Alex—Alex!”

Those long fingers on my lips, but not a single graze of his teeth on me, however. How I wished to watch him and what he was doing unto me. But I could definitely feel him there.

I could feel everything he was doing, from the tips of his fingers on my lips, to his index finger up under my hood.

“More—more—” His index finger on my clit was enough to make my hips buck from the sensation.

With his free hand, he held me down to the stone. To think that we were fooling around in the presence of his family, deceased even as vampires and entombed within a few feet of the two of us: the thought alone was enough to have my heart pounding. The only thing that would make it better was the addition of some rain.

He slipped two fingers underneath my hood. I couldn’t help but buck some more for him: those long fingers crept over my belly, right underneath the flannel, all to hold me steady.

“There’s a good little sweet spot in here—I got it once before—”

“To the right,” I blurted out. “To the right!”

He tickled the right side of the hood with his middle finger, the tip of which was slightly rough and calloused. That rough rubbing sensation was driving me absolutely insane and only making me want to buck my hips even more. He held me steady all with the press of one hand, and I knew I had to keep it all together. The top of the hill was coming as he used both fingers on the right side.

“I want more of those bites,” he confessed to me right then.

“Not until you get me off—big boy—” I sputtered out.

I felt his cherry lips on the inside of my thigh. I was rising. I was breathing hard. I was rising. I was going to reach the first summit right as he pressed his lips right by my panty line. I gasped and let out a soft moan from the feeling.

He kissed me there again, and that time he swiped the side of my clit with his middle finger. I let out another gasp and another moan as he made me come twice.

“I want more bites, please!” he beseeched, and I let out a low whistle as he took his fingers out and lingered over me, complete with his long curls dangled down from the side of his head over my own as if he protected me from the darkness and the spirits all around us. “Please! I need the bites!”

“Get down next to me, baby,” I whispered to him.

Without a moment of hesitation, he lay down on the stone next to me and opened his legs for me. I knelt between his legs, and I rested my hands on his belly to feel his soft flesh, soft and smooth as ice, accentuated by that silky line of lush hair from his chest down to his belt. I then let my fingers creep down to the top of his belt.

I gazed into his handsome diamond-shaped face, accentuated and softened by the golden candlelight as well as his long black curls, a few of which were strewn over his face and down onto his neck and chest. He looked ready for me.

I licked my lips and held onto his belt. I undid it for him with a little flick of my wrist, and then I peeled back his trousers. He was looking a bit full, but not quite there: as if he needed a little help with some more firming up.

I licked my lips again and brought my head down to him. He treated me to a soft groan from his parted lips as I gently ran my tongue along the side.

I treated him to another lick on the other side, followed by another, and another, and another, and then I moved my lips to the tip. He lifted himself up on his elbows as I moved my head in closer to his body. We locked eyes, albeit for a moment; I reached up and caressed his thighs, then his hips and his belly.

I moved my head in as far as I could without gagging, and I sank my teeth in. He gasped and closed his eyes.

I could feel he was coming. I was going to make him come in my mouth.

I sank my teeth in again, that time near the middle. He groaned again, that time with a tilt to his head. I could feel myself growing wet: if he was getting wet, then I was about to as well.

My teeth in his flesh a third time and I felt something liquid on the back of my tongue. I let go so I could swallow, and then I moved back in again for more. He breathed harder and harder as I gave him my teeth yet again. He kept on coming, and I kept on letting go so I could swallow some more.

“It feels just so… too much,” the words bled out from his cherry lips as if the cold of death caressed him down. It was me. I was the cold of death. I was bringing him past his point and he looked ready to lose it as he writhed before me. He may have been dead himself, but I had become the cold of death all for him.

“Oh, god, it’s too much!” he shrieked, and I let go of him again, that time to spit it out because I went in so deep that I nearly gagged. He treated me to a velvety, throaty moan, complete with his hand rested upon his forehead. The wind picked up and I could feel the rain in the air. I licked my lips and let out a low whistle from the feeling, the feeling of being overstimulated. I was glad that he took off my panties for me because there was no way I could wear them home knowing how utterly wet he had made me. I gazed into his face and his parted lips.

“Oh, god.” His voice was quiet and husky, and his dick was raw and firm, even with the kiss of death over him. “Oh, me.”

I suspended myself over his body with my face into his own: he moved his hand to look at me in the eyes.

“Did you like that?” I asked him in a delicate whisper, and I treated him to a soft kiss on the side of the neck.

“Oh, dearest Lilian, I couldn’t ask for more… even if I was still alive,” he breathed out, to which he cracked a smile at me.

“I think it's gonna rain,” I told him.

“I think so, too...”

[bonesandthebees]

While I try to gather my though, cuz as usual there are a lot of them, have this free invention to ramble about the clothes at the coronation because the paragraph length doubled and I could tell you had so much fun with that. I’m sure you have a ton of reference pictures.

-🌲

oh spruce you are too good to me. yes, I have plenty of reference pictures and i'm gonna use this ask as my master post for the ones I have references of! I'll also be kind to my followers and put it under a read more (also, look at my notes under each one because for most of them the colors are often switched around in the fic compared to the reference picture)

the stars and their children chapter 29 coronation outfit references

Wilbur

I don't have a reference for the front of his coat, but the back looks pretty much exactly like this and is the same length as this too

this is mostly accurate to the circlet wilbur wears, except the black gems are a little longer and thinner to make them look more like feathers rather than leaves

Niki

Niki's gown is very similar to this, except it's white instead of black, the shoulder pieces are gold and not silver, and the shoulder pieces are shaped like stars instead of flowers.

the headpiece I described niki wearing is pretty much exactly this with the way it wraps around her head in front of her braids, except it's white again instead of black with the same gold detailing

Tommy

I don't have a good reference photo for his cloak. Just know that it's a very oversized and thick cloak that falls all the way to the ground. it's white with gold and silver embroidery designed to look like swirling winds

however I do have a reference for the crown

this is pretty much what I imagine the eldingvegr crown to look like. it's not really a crown at all, it's more of a headband with these sunrays shooting out from it

Schlatt

look I just thought it was funny okay. fragrance man vibes and all. he's also got a lot of silver and steel jewerly on (rings, necklaces) and some thin chains decorating his outfit as well

Aimsey

pretty much this exactly except the front is less of a v-neck and more buttoned up to their neck, and also instead of black it's in red

Tina

this exact dress but it's black instead of white. I saw this and just immediately knew it had to be tina's outfit it's so pretty

also idk if i posted it before because she wore this during the summit as well but the headpiece tina wears is this

Karl

similar to his og summit fit, basically this but it's black and goes down to his ankles. also he's got a golden circlet on that's kind of lifted above his head to look like a halo almost

Techno

basically this coat except it's pale blue instead of red, and the embroidery is silver and a bit more delicate than this

Phil

this is what I imagine the zephys iv crown phil is wearing to look like! except it's a bit more sharp and jagged than this one.

I'm so sorry though I do not have any references for phil's actual coronation outfit for the life of me. just go reread the description of his fit I gave in the chapter and do your best I'm not super nitpicky about it I promise

okay I think that's all the ones I have references for?? if I find any more I'll probably try to add them here. I hope you like what I picked!! I LOVED getting to find all the fashion for the coronation. the space royalty aesthetic stars has is just sooooo good for outfits it's this super specific vibe that's not full royalty but not full sci fi either and idk how to describe it but I know exactly what it is when I see it and I just have so much fun with it

[yourfave-eats-sand]

or the chapter of the same name and epithet, see Chapter 155.

"Desert King" Sir Crocodile[3][13] is the former president of the mysterious crime syndicate Baroque Works,[14] formerly operating under the codename "Mr. 0", with Nico Robin, formerly known as "Miss All Sunday", operating as his Vice-President and partner. He is the main antagonist of the Arabasta Arc and the Arabasta Saga overall, and a supporting character in the Impel Down Arc and the Marineford Arc.

He is one of the longest running and most noteworthy primary adversaries of the series, as he was the first enemy to hand Luffy a complete and utter defeat. He was originally introduced as one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea,[7] but he was later stripped of his title after a failed attempt to take control of Arabasta Kingdom[4] and was imprisoned the legendary prison Impel Down; being placed in Level 6.[15]

Crocodile was freed by Luffy from Impel Down in exchange for aiding in the rescue of his brother[16] and went to Marineford to participate in the Summit War on the side of Luffy and the Whitebeard Pirates.[17] After the war, he and his subordinate Daz Bonez decided to head out to the New World,[18] where Crocodile would establish the Cross Guild alongside his former Warlord colleague Dracule Mihawk, with another former Warlord and current member of the Four Emperors, Buggy, acting as the organization's figurehead.[2][19]

Vegapunk later cloned Crocodile as one of the Seraphim to replace the Warlords.[20]

Appearance

Crocodile is a tall man with a wide chest, broad shoulders, muscular arms and legs, and a thick neck. He has pale skin and nape-length black hair, which is kept neatly slicked back, though strands tend to fall in front of his face during battles. Crocodile has various battle wounds, most notably a long-stitched scar at the bridge of his nose that stretches across his face and a large hook made from a tough gold alloy in place of his left hand. His eyes are deep-set and heavy-lidded, and his thin eyebrows are characteristically drawn upward in the middle.[21][7] This gives his usual facial expression a feeling of condescension and distrust. Crocodile speaks with a deep, relaxed voice, and he is usually seen smoking a thick cigar produced by his company. In the anime, his skin is somewhat of a grayish color.

His theme of dress is meant to convey the image of an Italian mafia boss. In his original appearance, Crocodile wore a bright orange, black-striped button up vest over a long-sleeve peach shirt (white in the manga and One Piece: Pirate Warriors series), along with a blue scarf, dark brown suit pants, and polished black shoes with gold buckles. He also wore a long, thick, dark pelted fur coat (full