#your opinions crowned by others outside of your circle

[docholligay]

I think it’s important to remember in fandom that in your own fandom space you are allowed to be god, but never forget that you are also a little stupid.

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 29-- Fairy Tale

You and Saeran get married (1.2k words).  Set after Glow-in-the-Dark.

“This has never happened before,” Jaehee reports, “In the two-thousand year history of this kingdom, no monarch has ever performed a wedding ceremony.”

“Hey, I offered to do it myself,” you point out, adjusting your formal armor. “Where’s Zen? I feel like he did this wrong.”

Zen looks up from polishing the knee plate on his own formal armor. “I don’t think you’re allowed to perform your own ceremony,” he muses, “But I could’ve done it.” Traditionally, wedding ceremonies are performed by knights, though Royal Wizards have been known to fulfill the role in a pinch. 

“Yoosung wanted to make history,” you shrug, “Again.” Ever since Yoosung expanded the protections of marriage to all couples in the kingdom, regardless of gender or class, you and Saeran began considering the possibility of getting married. This, of course, will put you in the line of fire from Saeran’s father, but in your opinion, it’ll be worth it if you can be assured you’ll get to spend forever with the man you love. “Are you sure the breastplate is on right?” 

“It’s on right,” Zen assures you, offering his arm, “But we should probably get going.” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, accepting Zen’s gesture and holding out your other arm for Jaehee. 

“Good luck, MC,” says Jaehee as she takes your arm. You suppose that the situation doesn’t call for very many more words than that, but Jaehee offers them anyway. “You and Saeran… will be very happy together. And I’m sure the ceremony will be beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you nod, “Do you think my armor’s on right?” 

“Definitely,” Jaehee assures you. You shrug, trusting her judgment.

With that, the two of them escort you into the throne room, where Yoosung is waiting for you at the foot of his own throne. It’s still strange to see him in a crown, though he’s been King for a year now. After depositing you in front of Yoosung, your other friends fall back, taking their ceremonial places behind the throne. 

“I’m so fucking nervous,” you whisper to your childhood best friend. You missed Yoosung in the dressing room, but you know it wouldn’t have been proper for him to go in there prior to the event. As King, he has to hold himself to certain standards of politeness lest his authority be questioned. This is especially true considering the particular wedding ceremony that he’ll be performing today. 

“Don’t be,” he squeezes your hand, the same way he used to when you were a child afraid of the dark. “Everything will go over well— I promise.”

There isn’t much more time for words after that, because Saeran steps into the hall, flanked by Saeyoung and Jumin. Saeyoung, who told you his real name in confidence the day after your knighting ceremony, is still dressed in purple to match his stunning aura. His white hair is colored red artificially in accordance with the expectations of the kingdom. Your friends have agreed to avoid sharing too many details about the twins’ powers with anybody outside of your circle, which necessitates keeping the events of last spring as discreet as possible.

Jumin is also dressed to the nines in his customary formal attire. Walking between the pair of them, Saeran somehow manages to stand out, despite the simplicity of his formal blue magic users’ robes. Saeyoung has cast some sort of spell so that the maroon carpet leading up to the throne turns to a bed of flowers as Saeran walks on it. It looks beautiful now, though you’re certain it’ll be a mess to clean up later; you make a mental note to return after the ceremony to assist the servants with whatever they require of you as they restore the grand room to its original state. 

“Are you ready to present the rings?” Yoosung asks once Saeran has established himself across from you. 

“Yes,” you nod, holding back tears as you locate the ring you prepared to give to Saeran. The two of you decided against sappy public vows in favor of a simple ring ceremony. After all, there are no secrets between the pair of you anymore. Both of your feelings have been out in the open for a very long time. “I… learned to use the forge so I could make you this ring out of the armor I was wearing the first time I defended you as a knight.” You slide the band onto Saeran’s slender finger. 

Now it’s his turn to present you with something shockingly jewel-encrusted. It reminds you a bit of the sorts of things he used to conjure for you, although such feats have become nearly impossible since he lost his powers. “I stole this from my father’s house,” he informs you as he eases the ring onto your finger. The concept is romantic, of course, but it leaves you with more questions than you’d have expected to harbor on your wedding day. 

“What?” You can’t help but ask. “Saeran, when—” Without his powers, Saeran would’ve needed to physically enter his father’s palace to retrieve the ring for you. You have no idea where he could have possibly found time for that.

Sensing a conversation that probably should not be held in public, Yoosung cuts in. “Sir MC, Mage Saeran, you are now married in the eyes of the crown. All… illegal use of the royal forge and…” He swallows, “Theft from the royal vaults of other kingdoms is hereby pardoned.” Yoosung does not necessarily have the authority to pardon anyone for crimes committed outside of his jurisdiction, but it’s a very nice thought. 

You take advantage of the resulting cheer from the crowd to turn to your new husband. “When did you manage to… get this, my love?” You turn your hand to and fro, admiring every angle of the ring. It’s clearly worth a great deal of money, but it’s understated enough that you could easily wear it under your armor or during combat training. 

Saeran shrugs. “It’s pardoned now,” he informs you with a sly smile. You wonder how much of this he planned, and how much is just a happy coincidence.

“I’m gonna need more details,” you decide. 

“I’ll give them to you,” Saeran cups your face in his hands, bringing you close. “It’s our wedding night, so we’ll get lots of time alone together. But you have to be patient, or else you’re gonna get transformed.” It’s not a new threat, but it’s much funnier now that Saeran has no feasible way of following through. 

You giggle at the outlandish idea before the implication of his words resonates, at which point you break out into a raging blush. As he spends more and more time in society, Saeran seems to get more and more smooth. “I’d like to see you try,” you taunt him playfully, allowing him to draw you into his arms. It’s a good thing indeed that the pair of you will shortly be getting lots of time alone together.

[onboardsorasora]

Needed a break from all my WIPs and wrote this little holiday bit. It's set in what I'm now going to call the 'Relaxed & Happy Verse' and this AU is going to be only happy fluffy established relationship drabbles. slices of life if you will. This is the same verse as the Love Letters fluff prompt.

Here are the previous fics in this verse.

Christmas Shopping.

Max leaned back into Daniel’s chest, staring proudly over at the Christmas tree the other had insisted on. This was their first Christmas here at home in Monaco. The first one where they weren’t jetting off to be with the other’s family. It wasn’t planned, it kinda just happened that way and Max couldn’t find it in himself to be mad.

This meant that they actually had to put effort into celebrating. The first step was agreeing to decorate the apartment. They argued about the tree– what size, what shape, even the colour. Then they argued about the coloured theme to decorate the tree. It was then they both realized how truly out of the loop they were when it came to actually making a home Christmassy.

So they went to a store and just picked things up that caught their eye. There was no rhyme or reason, no theme or plan. In the end their tree looked beautiful in Max’s opinion. They had unconsciously agreed to not go over the top, so there was still a lot of ‘tree’ to be seen. It was very them but in a simple way.

They didn’t decorate the rest of the apartment, not really. They got a wreath for the front door and Daniel saw some cute tea towels with Christmas puns on them. But outside of that, the tree was the focal point.

Daniel tilted his neck so that his cheek rested Max’s head. He kissed the crown of his head and pulled him closer.

“I have an idea for presents.” Daniel began ominously. Max peeked up at him curiously. “Ok hear me out.”

“Go on.”

“So– well firstly. Are we gonna do that thing where we agree not to buy each other a gift but then buy multiple gifts and like just hand them to each other and not wait til actual Christmas day? Or do you wanna like have everything be a surprise on one day? Because if you do…..”

Max snorted as Daniel’s speech got faster the more he got excited. It was a good thing he was an expert at translating Daniel’s brain trains. 

“Do you want us to wait until Christmas morning to open presents?” Max asked instead.

“Uh, yeah. I think it’ll be fun.”

“Then we’ll do that.” Max said it like it was simple. Because it was.

“Ace! Okay! Then that means we have officially entered an embargo on buying things for ourselves. Lock the doors! Blare the sirens! The embargo has begun!” Daniel cupped his hands around his mouth for his voice to echo around the room. Max laughed heartily at his antics. 

This would be their second ever shopping embargo. The first one happened when Victoria gave birth to Lio and Michelle to Isabella and they both had just been sending gifts without even thinking about it. Grace had to call to put a stop to it. They embargoed for four whole months. It was a dark time.

“Ok, now what?” Max leaned onto the arm of the couch so he could see Daniel properly while he laid out the plan. He lifted his feet to rest in Daniel’s lap and Daniel immediately dropped his palm to circle Max’s ankle.

“Right! So.” Daniel grinned. “Now, we figure out whatever gifts we wanna get and we buy them. BUT like, they have to be a secret. Like we have to promise to not like search for them or go poking at them when they're under the tree. Deal?” He held out his pinky and Max eyed him seriously for a minute before hooking his own pinky around Daniel’s.

“Deal. Of course we’ll both be here the whole time, Daniel.” He said it clearly like Daniel hadn’t considered that fact. Daniel grinned a wolfish grin.

“Oh Maxy Max. That's the best part!” He rubbed his palms together deviously. “So like, literally use everything to your advantage. If you need to lock me out onto the patio and close the blinds while you wrap, just like give me some water and my phone charger yeah?”

Max gave a confused eyebrow lift and Daniel continued.

“Yeah like for this to work, we actually have to play along- suspend our disbelief, pretend we’re in a play and there's a backstage or whatever. We’re both gonna be here almost the whole time so there's not many opportunities to sneak shit. So yeah, if you ask me to lock myself in the bedroom so you can go pick up whatever and take your time to put it under the tree. I’ll be in the bedroom, headphones on– music on loud. Until you let me out.” He shrugged. 

“Ok. I think I got it. Deal.” Max affirmed and Daniel’s answering smile was as blinding as it was mischievous. What had he gotten himself into?

– - –

Max had gotten lucky within a week of their deal. Daniel needed to fly to the Factory for some last minute set up testing before everyone closed down for the holiday. He’d been able to take his time and picked out a gift he knew Daniel would find hilarious and fall in love with.

Max wrapped the box with Sassy’s management and hid it in one of his suitcases in the storage closet. He then ended up buying two more things, deciding they would make perfect dummy gifts and set them for delivery.

Daniel had come back with a flourish, announcing that he had bought Max’s gift and it was on its way. Max had shaken his head fondly. Daniel was enjoying this thoroughly– Max was too, but Daniel was seemingly brimming with excitement about the whole process.

That excitement reached a peak one afternoon. Max was on stream with the Redline boys, playing one of the geography games where Gianni kept lessening the amount of time every round, when Daniel came barrelling into the sim room.

He dipped into the frame and waved to the camera before plucking the headset off of Max’s head. Max’s complaints were heard in the background even while Enzo and Crane both dissolved into giggled and Gianni tried to calm the chat from asking Daniel a barrage of questions. They knew he was only here to cause chaos and leave.

“Hey boys! Can you do me a favour real quick? I need you guys to keep Max distracted for like 30 minutes.”

“Daniel! You can’t just–” Max was laughing in the background, his glee broadcasting for everyone.

“The rules are that I can use whatever is at my disposal!” Daniel argued. “Thanks guys! Hey chat!” Daniel waved and deposited the headset back on Max’s head and left the room. Leaving Max to deal with the fall out while Daniel wrapped whatever gift he’d bought.

“Mate the chat is going crazy, you’re gonna need to give us something here.” Bennett couldn’t keep his grin off of his face. Max sighed in the most fake, put-upon way. They all knew he was extremely private with his relationship– for obvious reasons. It wasn’t as if they weren’t out or open, but they were both very private people. 

“Ok ok! I’ll answer three questions. Make them good Crane.”

“Why give Crane the power?” Gianni complained.

“Because he’s gonna choose shit questions.” Max grinned mischievously into the camera.

“Ok got it. First question Maxy Taxi.” Crane steepled his fingers and raised an eyebrow in a poor evil villain imitation.

“Oh boy.” Bennett couldn’t hold back his giggles.

“First question. What the fuck was all that about?” The group laughed loudly and Max covered his face in his hands.

“I think my Christmas gift just came and of course he wants to make sure I don’t see it.”

“That’s a bit over the top mate.” Gianni pointed out.

“Daniel’s a bit over the top, mate.” Crane shrugged as if it all made sense to him.

“I mean– we are under embargo. Shocking, right?” Max announced to the surprise of the group who nodded sagely, remembering him complaining about the last embargo. 

“OG chat knows.” Enzo piped up.

“That counts as a second answer by the way. So one more!” Max cackled when everyone started arguing loudly into their mics.

“Ok ok ok! Fine, last question. What did you get him?” Crane asked.

“Of course I’m not telling you! Then it’ll end up all over the internet and spoil the surprise.” Max snorted, thoroughly enjoying how everyone started ganging up on Crane for the silly question. He didn’t even realize the door to the sim room finally opened until after all the games were done.

“Am I allowed to come out?” He called out into the hallway tentatively. Sassy rubbed her body around his shins.

“Yup! You’re free to go!” Daniel called from what seemed like the kitchen. Max walked into the living room and snorted a laugh. Daniel cackled from the kitchen at his response. 

The tree was dwarfed by a large wrapped box leaned up on the wall beside it. It was comical.

“It's just a small gift you know? Something tiny that I saw and thought of you.” Daniel’s grin was so wide it was almost manic. It was clear how proud of himself he was. Max couldn’t help but grin back, hopeless against Daniel’s joy.

“Daniel, you told me it was ‘ornament sized’!” Max laughed breathlessly as he looked at the tree.

“Max, it's so tiny! Look at it getting lost by the tree, you’ll never know it was there if I didn’t point it out to you.”

They laughed for a bit before Daniel’s grin got smug. “Well it seems like I’m in the lead Maxy Max. My gift for you is already here. I’m what you call prepared with a capital P.”  Daniel folded his arms and nodded his head. All cocky and self-satisfied.

Max rolled his eyes and looked down at Sassy who seemed to be sharing his reaction to Daniel. He’d had a plan, to present the dummy gifts (that actually were small) before bringing the original gift out with a flourish. But Max was nothing if not a competitive asshole who loved to win. So he smirked at Daniel before turning and walking back down the hallway.

“Max?” Daniel called curiously, hearing the sound of a door opening and shuffling. His eyes widened comically when Max re-entered the room with a large box and placed it gently under the tree. 

“Actually Daniel. Your gift, of course, has been here.” Max’s lips quirked upwards as Daniel rewarded him with a breathless laugh, complete with a clap and little hop.

“That's the spirit Maxy!” Daniel walked across the room and pulled Max into his arms. Max was curious as to the nature of Daniel’s gift, but he truly didn’t care. Because this was already one of the best Christmases they’d ever shared.

“I love you, Daniel.” Max murmured, feeling warm all over.

“I love you too, Maxy Max.” Daniel planted a wet kiss on his cheek that had Max dipping his head into Daniel’s shoulder, blushing wildly. Even after all this time.

[laenordeservedbetter]

Everything Has Changed — Rhaenyra Targaryen x GN!Reader

Summary: When Viserys urges Rhaenyra to marry, the princess storms off to her only place of sanctuary, where you comfort her.

Words: 1k

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Arranged marriage at the end (full circle moment or nah? I don't know), sad Rhaenyra (If I missed anything else, lmk!)

I'm posting this here because my other account isn't showing up in the tags. I have no idea why. This was a request by an anon. This fic can also be found in my other acc!!

not my gif.

—

“—and I have given you my answer, Father! I do not wish to be married off to some lord!” was the angry reply of Rhaenyra. As her sworn sword, standing outside the entrance at all times in case someone seeks to hurt her came with the job. You can feel the vibration coming from Rhaenyra shuffling her feet, pacing around the room as if that will help her prove a point to her father. Given the King’s opinion on the subject, you believe he will not change it for Rhaenyra’s own desires. Viserys can be merciless if the situation requires it.

Viserys makes a movement with both his hands to show his irritation, both of their voices growing higher and higher. Any attempts of warding away eavesdroppers will be nugatory. “EVEN I DO NOT EXIST ABOVE TRADITION AND DUTY, RHAENYRA!”

Rhaenyra wavered. Her father ne’er spoke to her this way. It was another sharp cue that everything has changed. No longer would her father wave off her shenanigans or flash a proud smile her way as she defies his orders. She became his political headache. That’s all he sees her as these previous fortnights. So she storms out of the room, not wanting to bid a proper farewell. She would show him. Rhaenyra would show him that she will make a new order of things. Wait and see, father. Wait and see.

You were not given time to blink when Rhaenyra ran by, only giving a nod in your direction. “Princess Rhaenyra!” You cried out, shoving past your fellow guards who make no attempt to join you in following the princess, making you curse them under your breath along with whoever brought them here. They don’t do their jobs correctly. The only reason they’re stationed in the castle is because of their names. If they weren’t born in such families, they’d have to work as hard as you. To your dismay, ranting won’t get you anywhere; much less change the decree that they will have a higher station. Rhaenyra is the priority here. You cannot allow yourself to get distracted.

“Stop following me, Y/n!”

“It is my duty, Princess! You’re my responsibility!”

In the end, you lost sight of Rhaenyra. With your weighty armor hindering your ability to catch up, you had to skid to a stop. “Where are you, Rhaenyra?” You remove the helmet from your head, propping the metal against the wall. If a thief were to stumble upon it, there would be nothing you can do. You’re willing to take that possibility, however, if it meant boosting your odds of becoming quick enough to pursue the crown princess should she cross your line of sight.

There is a solitary sanctuary that Rhaenyra might be in. This hunch is the greatest theory you have. Besides that, you could not possibly take another guess on Rhaenyra’s whereabouts. You set off to the direction of the Weirwood tree, keeping yourself on high alert.

You were correct in your assumptions.

Rhaenyra sat underneath the tree, eyes puffy and red like the fire Syrax would exhale, except it was much darker. She sees your shadow approaching and sighs.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, hm?” You drop down alongside your lover, cupping her face using your hands gingerly. Rhaenyra places her own hand on top of yours, wordlessly requesting to keep your gentle touch there.

Her eyes close and she holds her breath. “Perhaps my father wouldn’t pressure me for marriage as much if I was born as a son instead. No one respects me because I am not a boy.”

You shift your hand so you could slip it between Rhaenyra’s quivering fingers. Her grip was loose, dissimilar to your firm one. She was half-expecting you to take pity on her. When Rhaenyra sees nothing of the sort, she isn’t sure if she feels relieved or saddened.

“I do, ‘Nyra. I respect you. You are not a son. You are a warrior; everything a ruler should be. It may be the topic of controversy right now, but I know that when you ascend the Iron Throne, you will prove that all the people who doubted you were wrong. It’s only a matter of time, my love. They will see one way or another.”

Most of the internal battle betwixt rationality and the hope inhabiting the princess’s body was put to a stop. Rhaenyra leans her head on your shoulder, unperturbed by the armor still on your body as a result of innumerable instances of her “accidentally” sleeping on your shoulder after a long council meeting. You would try to move her body to her own bed, where she would not wake up with a stiff neck, but she can always tell when you badly attempt at transferring her to the comforts of her silk sheets.

“But that’s not happening today, right?”

You smile sadly, placing a kiss on the top of her head, silver-blonde waves tickling your mouth. “Not today, my love. We can only hope for someday.”

“‘Someday’ is adequate for me.” She said. Rhaenyra has a lot on her mind, but when it comes to you, she has no trouble sharing her thoughts. She wants to tell you everything, ranging from her secrets to the promises she whispers in your ear when she thinks you are asleep. “As long as they are with you, ‘someday’ is bearable. I want you by my side, always.”

“I am your sworn shield, Princess. My order is to stay close by. It would be hard for me to get away from you even if I wanted.” Although you laugh wholeheartedly, it dies in your throat as you see King Viserys in the pathway, staring right at you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, but you knew you had to protect Rhaenyra.

“Shit.” Rhaenyra tenses. “Father, I –”

You could not let her take the fall for this. “It is my fault, Your Grace. Rhaenyra is innocent. She didn’t do anything wrong. I should not have –”

“Save it.” Viserys says, running his hand through his hair (what is left of it, anyway). I should have known, he scolds himself for not being able to spot it sooner. Yours and Rhaenyra’s lingering gazes were more than just friendly gestures. It was romantic! “Rhaenyra is to wed you by spring’s end.”

What in the seven hells?

[btssavedmylifeblr]

you mentioned that youre reading some of sarah j maas’ books, what do you think about it so far? i read her stories (the acotar series and the tog series) as a younger teen and reread it again recently now that im older. when i learned that youre allowed to criticise a book (i was a blind follower with weak opinions 😅) i found out that there are some readers who arent too fond of her and her writing, it was quite a shock for me cause she used to be my fav author (i read only her books as a preteen 😂). personally, from her books that i’ve read my favourites are throne of glass and crown of midnight (the novellas were really good too)

So I’ve really only read the acotar series so far, so that’s the only one I can comment on (my favorite book was a court of mist and fury, followed by a court of silver flames). There are a bunch of things that I really enjoyed in that series and a bunch of things that annoyed me about it. There will never be an author that every reader agrees about. My favorite living author is John Green, but there are people who criticise/dont enjoy his books. I hate Catcher in the Rye but it’s considered a classic. Different readers are going to resonate with different books more or less and certain things will bug some people more than others. For every author that is someone’s favorite author, there will be a bunch of people who hate them. I think it’s more interesting to look at what book does well and what it doesn’t.

Things I enjoyed about acotar:

1. The main characters, love interests and ensemble casts are great. I really like Feyre and Nesta. They are both flawed and fierce and show real character growth over the series. I love Rhysand. He is pretty much everything I want in a love interest, wings included, haha. I love Azriel and Cassian too. The whole Inner Circle is well drawn and makes you want to read more to find out what happens to them.

2. The romance is great. The whole misunderstood villain/enemies to lovers aspect of Feyre and Rhys is great and made especially compelling because it plays out over such a long time. It’s also some of the most enjoyable smut I’ve found outside of fanfiction.

3. The action scenes are great. When there is a lot happening and things are changing rapidly, it’s very fun to read. Her scene and action description are very immersive and she does a good job of keeping you surprised and invested in the outcome. The scene with the giant worm, the scene in the weaver’s cottage, the battle of Velaris and Nesta in the Blood Rite are all still things that I can picture very clearly in my head.

4. It’s easy to read. And the combination of compelling romance and good action makes it very hard to put down when you’re in the middle of it. So for someone who wants a fun, quick, romance series, I would highly recommend it.

Things that bugged me about acotar:

1. It really needs more editing. The prose on a line by line level is sometimes infuriatingly bad. She will have paragraphs that are just the same sentence written three different ways. There are weird descriptions of internal reactions that get way overused. Like I think Feyre’s “bowels turned watery” at least three times in the first novel alone, which is three times too many. There are long stretches with no action where characters just wander around big houses doing nothing that I found hard to get through.

2. The world building is shallow. There are all these different courts (spring court, fall court, night court, etc) but other than aesthetic differences it’s really not clear how they are in any way culturally or magically different. There are different classes of Fae, but the potential political or social repercussions of that are rarely examined. Some classes of fae are just ugly and bound to serve the pretty High Fae, which is a fairly problematic trope. The villains are rather generically evil without really examining what their motives are. There are characters of different races, but their race has no impact on their character or story arc. Certain cultures like the Illyrians are written as fairly monolithic except for our few “enlightened” main characters.

3. The stuff around gender is not great. One of my favorite booktokers (pagemelt) explained this better than I can, but the whole series and potentially all of Sarah J Mass’s writing, suffers from what she calls “gender essentialism”. All the women are small and thin and young and beautiful, and they might be warriors, but they never overpower the main male characters. The men are all large and strong with giant *ahem* “wingspans”. The male love interests are all much older than the female love interests (like centuries older) and vastly overpower them in both physical and magical abilities and familiarity with the world around them. SJM frequently uses the terms male and female in descriptions such as “he gave her a male smirk” or “looked at her with a male gaze”. I think because she wants to emphasize that they are Fae and not humans, she always uses the terms male and female instead of man and woman, but it creates an atmosphere where the terms male and man always mean the same thing and there is only one specific way to be male. There’s also a whole bunch of stuff about fated lovers and soulmates and such that seems to only leave room for cishet relationships (though there are hints that this may change in future books).

4. It’s fairly predictable. This may be a pro for younger readers or people just getting into fantasy/romance books but it fairly obvious where things are going in advance. The answer to riddle at the end of the first book is so glaringly obvious that it makes the whole ending of that book and the fallout from it seem kind of stupid.

So for someone looking for a complex fantasy story with elaborate world building that more accurately reflects the complexities of the real world, there are a lot of other books that will provide that better than this one.

[sorryimanon]

Character: Katsuki Bakugou

Warnings: so much fluff and a bit of spice

In which you and bakugou witness your child’s quirk for the first time

-

Early mornings were the best in your opinion. The warmth of the blankets hugging every inch of your cold body, the sound of cars zipping by outside the cracked window, and the familiar wandering hands that belong to none other than your boyfriend. It’s quite a sight, seeing Katsuki all vulnerable with his head angled just right into the base of the pillow, a pool of drool collecting on it. Usually he’s an early bird, waking up before you to cram in a quick workout then head off making breakfast in the kitchen. However, the routine switched up when a little bundle of joy enterd both of your lives.

Everyone, including you, was surprised you managed to settle Katsuki down let alone have him become a domesticated father. Of course it scared the living shit out of you. Sex with Bakugou was amazing, tenfold even, but one night both of you made an irrational decision to not use protection while being intimate, resulting in you heaving yourself over the toilet the following weekend.

“Stomach flu, right?” Katsuki reasoned anxiously.

“Right.” You reassured him with a crooked smile.

Nine months later you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. To say you were happy was an understatement. Hell, everything you ever wanted landed graciously on your lap like a silver plater. Even though you and Katsuki weren’t planning having kids for a long time, the moment when your daughter finally arrived, it’s like both of y’all knew she came into your lives at the right time.

Now she lays crushed between Katsukis chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her as though something were to have grabbed her in the middle of the night. Their breathing synchronized each time they inhaled and exhaled. For a second, you admire the two figures in front of you. She sure inherited the looks from your boyfriend. Same blonde hair, toothy grin, and crimson eyes. At least she had more of your personality and mannerisms. Although occasionally her sudden outbursts reminded you of Katsuki when he was a teenager.

Your daughters head was in a awkward 45 degree angle, making her blonde hair cover half of her face. Instinctively, you reached over and brushed aside the tangled mess, making her squirm in place at the sudden touch. She opened her eyes finally and obnoxiously yawned, stretching out her small arms. One of her arms accidentally whacked Katsuki in the face during the process.

“Ugh you fucking gremlin...” Katsuki mumbles, playfully swatting his daughters hand away from his face. Your daughter eventually unlatched herself from his arms and began to jump up and down in the space between you and your grumpy looking boyfriend.

“Daddy’s up! It’s time for breakfast!” Your daughter joyfully proclaimed while bouncing around on the king sized bed.

“No it’s not.” He swept his feet that weren’t covered by the devet under hers, causing her to land softly against the bed. You knew she enjoyed the harsh playfulness when you heard her cries of laughter. You giggled and looked over at Katsuki, who at the moment had a temporary scowl across his face.

“Squirt you know the rules. Get yourself cleaned up and then we’ll start making breakfast,” you promised her.

Her eyes lit up at that moment like it was Christmas morning and hoisted herself off the large bed. She closed the door behind her, like you taught her, and scurried off to the shared bathroom. You wanted to have a moment of peace before she comes barging in again. Closing your eyes, you hummed in satisfaction and snuggled more into your pillow. Across from you, Katsuki had other plans in mind. He closed the space between you and laid his hand on the base of your waist, the other bunching up your shirt. Wanting to feel your skin, he slipped his hand under your shirt and rubbed circles around your abdomen. The coldness that clung to your skin immediately warmed up by his gentle touch. The sensation dragged a familiar sensual feeling down your body. A feeling that you haven’t felt in a while. Opening your eyes to where they’re just tiny slits, you can make out Katsuki staring right back at you.

“I know you’re still awake dumbass,” he softly spoke, his breath fanning the crook of your neck. So close he took the opportunity and started kissing the sensitive area. His tongue darted out, licking a small strip in the crevice. You didn’t need a third party to know a bruise was already forming.

“K-Katsuki. Not right now. Our d-daughter is just down the hall from us,” you manage to croak out as he attacked your neck with love bites. Oh how you missed these small little interactions with him. You knew they resorted to adultry, but anything involving foreplay with Katsuki excited you.

He sucked and bit some more of your supple flesh, causing you to ripple out a soft moan.

“Oh baby, how I missed your fucking moans.”

His morning voice mixed in with his already deep brooding one made you even wetter by the minute.

Soon the hand that was rubbing circles around your stomach extended to your breast, grabbing it playfully in tune to his tongue massage on your neck. Katsuki flicked his thumb over your perky nipple, giving it much desired attention. You parted your mouth slightly at the action, letting him latch his lips onto yours. Thankfully your moans were muffled, or else your daughter would’ve heard.

To return the favor, you carelessly grope Katsukis member through his boxers, earning a groan from him within your mouth.

“Fuck baby. You almost made me...cum by just... doing that,” he said in between sloppy kisses.

Without breaking the kiss, you shifted yourself on top of him, straddling his waist with your bare legs on display. His hand left your breast and replaced itself onto your hip, massaging the skin that was exposed. You removed your mouth from his, catching some air you forgot existed until he meshed into you. The two of you were a panting mess.

“It has been awhile, hasn’t it?” You whispered into his ear.

If looks could melt, his infamous smirk would. “Quickie? Before the brat ruins the fun.”

You huffed and pinched his cheek to the point where the flesh turned red.

“Ow fuck! Okay shitty woman. I take back what I said.” He smacked your ass as revenge and kissed the corner of your mouth. “For later then.”

You triumphantly smirk and peck his lips for good measure. Despite being cold turkey from sex, you knew punishing him by having him wait was the best part. You pushed yourself off him and rejoiced to the warm feeling of his chest. Defeated, Katsuki begrudgingly snaked his arms around you, kissing the crown of your forehead. He had to admit, he’d rather enjoy your body next to his than underneath all sweaty with lust. Don’t be fooled, he loves that too.

“What’s taking that brat so long-“

A loud beep startled both you and Katsuki to sit up straight in bed. It was your fire alarm. An alarm that hasn’t gone off since when you first moved in. Katsuki activated his quirk by accident one time in the kitchen, emitting the same annoying blast of noise this morning.

Leaving the bed in shambles, you both hurried out the door in search for your daughter. A foul scent of smoke and ash was wafting through the air. What you weren’t expecting was for the living room and kitchen to be perfectly pristine of any flames or smoke. You checked the perimeter of the area a second time to make sure you weren’t going crazy. Nothing. Maybe the fire alarm was glitching out? You were pull out of your daze when Katsuki slipped on his own feet coming out from the long hallway.

“I think I found out where the smoke is coming from,” he said breathlessly.

He dragged you along with him to your daughters room. Scared and confused, you turn the nob and slowly open the door. There sat your daughter, in the middle of the room laughing hysterically at something. She then noticed you two standing there and smiled widely. Gosh, she looked so much like her father there.

“Mommy daddy, look what I can do!” She said before plugging her nose and lighting herself on fire.

You’d think, this image would scare you, but no. You stared at awe towards your inflamed daughter, basking in at how the flames protected her body and moved with her. It finally came the day where your child’s quirk manifested. She was basically a lone torch. Katsuki mirrored the same emotions you were feeling as well. Your daughter extinguished herself and trailed over to where you both stood. She hugged your lovers leg, cranking her head to where they can directly look at each other.

“Does this mean I can be like you daddy? I can be a future hero just like you?”

Katsuki couldn’t help but to chuckle and bend down to grab her and place her on his hip.

“Just don’t be hanging out with extras when you’re older kiddo.” He reached around and started tickling her aggressively on the sides.

“I promise d-dad n-no stupid extras!” Her laugh with the combination of Katsukis childish taunts was like music to your ears.

And that wasn’t the last of the rude awakening mornings. Nevertheless, you cherished them more now than ever.

-

(Might be a reoccurring story bc I love daddy katsuki with a torch daughter)

[minor-solemnity]

hi i love your work and am excited for your series. i was wondering if you can do a one shot where the reader comforts tom and let’s him fall asleep on her while she plays with her hair 😩 soft tom 😈

Yesssss! Soft Tom - I cannot resist! This may have gotten away from me a bit so I hope you enjoy 2.6k of fluffy comfort!

Tag List: @jinxqsu @naps-and-lemons @riddles-wifey @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute @crumpets-are-better-with-jam

What Equates to Worship

The door to your bedroom is open and you roll your eyes when you peer inside and find the source of your broken wards slumped in the armchair next to your bed. Tom’s best robes are in a heap at the foot of the bed, his smartest brogues are kicked into the furthest corner of the room, his hair - usually so neat - is disarray. He looks like the world’s most harangued man. “Good evening, my love,” You murmur as you make your way over to his side, kneeling on the floor so that you can take hold of his hands which are resting loosely in his lap. “You broke my wards again.”

It’s late when you get home. There is a Very Important Case being tried in the Wizengamot and your boss, Gerald Montague, is running you ragged in an attempt to get the edge on the prosecution. It’s a nasty case, the defendant, Mr Vickers, is on trial for the kidnapping and murders of five women. His chances aren’t looking good - there is enough physical evidence to bury him and his alibi is flimsy at best. In private, both you and Montague are convinced of his guilt but that doesn’t matter when it’s your job to convince the Wizengamot and a jury of his innocence. Needless to say, it’s not been an easy couple of weeks.

Your shoes click against the uneven cobblestones as you make your way down the narrow road to your flat situated just off the main drag of Knockturn Alley. It’s not the best part of town, but the flat itself is double the size of what you would be able to afford if you lived somewhere more reputable. Besides, it’s not as though you’ve ever been scared by the less savoury parts of humanity and society - you’d be awful at your job if that were the case. You throw a couple of sickles to the hag that operates outside your building, and she promises you glory in the afterlife in thanks. “If you could promise me glory when I’m alive, I think I’d find that more useful,” You say as you fumble with your keys.

She laughs, “That will cost you more than a few sickles, love, try again tomorrow.” You chuckle and shrug a shoulder. It was worth try at least. The gas lamps that lead the way up the winding stairs to your attic flat are already lit, casting a dim, flicking light across the stairwell. You frown slightly as you make your way up the stairs; no one usually lights the lamps, leaving it up to you to light them when you return from the Ministry every day. Your curiosity is further piqued when you reach your front door and find it glowing a dim red, indicating that someone has broken through the wards. You have an idea of who it is, but you take your wand out just in case you’re mistaken. You have a few files from the Very Important Case hidden in the depths of your bedroom, which in the wrong hands, would be disastrous for you and Montague.

The inside of your flat is dark and cold and looks just as you’d left it this morning. With a sigh, you flick your wand at the fire and smile as flames begin to flicker and burn. Your flat is relatively spacious, but the fireplace is enchanted to spread the warmth further than a normal fire would and with any luck you’ll be toasty and warm within a few minutes. You shrug out of your travelling robes and kick off your heels, rubbing your aching feet with relish. Next on your list of things to do is figure out who has broken into your flat and if it's something you should be concerned about.

You pad through the flat, your stockinged feet making no noise against the polished wooden floorboards. The door to your bedroom is open and you roll your eyes when you peer inside and find the source of your broken wards slumped in the armchair next to your bed. Tom’s best robes are in a heap at the foot of the bed, his smartest brogues are kicked into the furthest corner of the room, his hair - usually so neat - is in disarray. He looks like the world’s most harangued man. “Good evening, my love,” You murmur as you make your way over to his side, kneeling on the floor so that you can take hold of his hands which are resting loosely in his lap. “You broke my wards again.”

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat which is honestly pitiful and you are struck by a burning desire to make whoever put him in such a state pay for their crimes. Tom should never look so downtrodden - it doesn’t suit him in the slightest. You rub soft circles against his palms, smoothing the tension out of his fingers with careful strokes as the quiet of your flat weaves a gentle spell of calm and soothing around the two of you. “Is it a good evening?” He mutters and when you look up at his face, you can see the hard lines of annoyance and defeat marring his forehead.

“Hmm, don’t frown, darling - you’ll ruin your pretty face.” This at least gets a small hum of amusement out of him which you count as a win. Heaven knows that when Tom gets in these moods it can take a lot more than gentle touches and murmured sweet-nothings to get him to smile. You rise from your position and move behind the armchair, resting your cheek on the crown on his head and your hands on his shoulders to kneed at his knotted muscles. “I assume that you didn’t get the job?”

You’ve been so busy with your own work that you’d forgotten that Tom’s interview with Dumbledore was today. If you had remembered you would have taken the day off because even the most optimistic person would have known there was a fool’s chance of Tom getting the Defence job. Despite everything though, Tom is an optimist. You would never have guessed it when you first got to know him, but underneath his taciturn facade is a terribly hopeful young man who still believes that things will turn out in his favour. His idealism is part of what you love about him if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s a good contrast to your cynical realism.

It’s ridiculous, of course. Tom, despite his young age, is the most qualified person you can think of for the position. He knows more about Defensive magic than anyone save for maybe Dumbledore himself, and beyond that, he has the right temperament for it. It comes as a surprise to most people who meet him that Tom would be a good teacher, but he really is. His love of Hogwarts, defensive magic, and his desire to impart that knowledge all adds up to someone who sees struggling students and wants them to succeed. If it had been anyone other than Dumbledore, he would have been a shoo-in for the role.

“You assume correctly.” His voice is still tight and muted with resigned anger, but he begins to loosen under your hands, his head lolling to the side and coming to rest against your forearm.

“Did he give you a reason why?”

Tom sighs and the sound is world-weary and destitute. At that moment, your hatred for Dumbledore intensifies. “He never intended on giving me a chance. He invited me in and lectured me about dark magic. He essentially said that as long as he was Headmaster I would not be welcome in the castle.” The worst thing is that Tom sounds so forlorn. Unlike you, who had decided after a year at Hogwarts that the only thing you wanted to do was leave, Tom’s fondness for the school is unparalleled. “Knowing him, that won’t be for another hundred years or so.”

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” You say, dropping a kiss into the dark curls of his hair. “He’s an old coot. Still so struck by the mythology of his own genius that he can’t see past his own prejudices.” He hums lowly in response and eventually, you feel him start to relax. It’s gratifying to know that it’s you over anyone else, that he comes to when he needs support. You know his friends and followers would do anything to gain his favour, but at the end of the day, he doesn’t seek them out. No, he doesn’t trust them to see him like this, to see him in his more human moments of vulnerability. He trusts you to understand him and comfort him. That in itself is a gift.

“Now, come on. We can worry about Dumbledore later, but right now, let me find us something to eat.” Food, in your opinion, can go a long way to right a lot of wrongs and you have a sneaking suspicion that Tom probably hasn’t eaten all day. He’s annoying like that, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care about silly little things like eating and taking care of oneself. You can’t help but chuckle softly as he mumbles something under his breath and reaches for your hands to hold you in place. “Later, my love. I promise,” You say and disentangles yourself from his grasp.

Tom follows you out of the bedroom and watches you with a look of exasperated amusement as you search your kitchen. Your cupboards are sinfully bare when you go to inspect them, the rush of the last two weeks has meant that you’ve neglected a lot of your more basic chores. “And you accuse me of neglecting my needs. You hardly set a good example, my dear.” He murmurs from where he’s lounging against the stove. You roll your eyes as you shove your feet back into your heels and head for the door.

“Veeraswamy?” You ask and have to hide your smile when Tom’s eyes light up. It’s not often that the two of you treat yourselves to restaurant-quality food as neither of your jobs’ salaries really allow the indulgence, however, tonight, you think an exception is called for. “Feel free to look over the files I brought home - maybe you’ll notice something I missed.” You don’t even finish your sentence before Tom is digging through your work bag and pulling out the offending files. Typical, you think fondly. Tom is as curious as a cat and one of the easiest ways of making him feel better about anything is to introduce him to a puzzle.

Fifteen minutes later you apparate home with a brown paper bag of Veeraswamy’s finest selection of curries and sweet treats. As a rule, they’re dine-in only, as many of the restaurants in muggle London are, however, you’re not above a confundus charm to get what you want and you always make sure to tip splendidly to offset any guilt you feel for taking advantage. When you get in, Tom has the case files splayed out on the small kitchen table and you spare yourself a moment to admire the elegant curve of his neck and the way his curls fall in graceful arcs across his brow. Without looking up, he makes a space for you to drop the bag of goodies on the table and you collect plates and the bottle of wine that is the only thing you already had in your flat.

You discuss the Very Important Case over dinner and he indulges in your complaints about Montague’s refusal to even consider your line of defence. “Vickers says that he went to a Seer and was told that these women would die by his hand. I want to make the case that he can’t be fully held accountable for the murders if it’s already foretold.” Never mind that that isn’t how prophecies or fortune work, no one in the Wizengamot understands the intricacies of Divination well enough to know that just because something is said, doesn’t mean it will come to pass. “Montague is convinced that we can prove his innocence without resorting to asking for lesser charges.”

“And he’ll lose the case because of it.” He hums, sets his fork down and reaches for your hand, his long fingers looping around your wrist. “Have you considered the fact that Vickers may have been compromised? The file says that when he was found, Vickers was abnormally placid and made no attempts to hide the evidence that would have been easily disposed of? Maybe hire a mind-healer and see if he’s been the victim of an imperius curse,” He says nonchalantly as though he hasn’t just dropped the biggest break in the case in your lap.

“Tom. Tom, you are a genius. How did you even begin to come to that conclusion?” He must hear the wonder in your voice because a small, self-satisfied smile curves his upper lip and he leans over the table to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips.

“These things are obvious if you know what you’re looking for.” The knowing in his voice hints at something darker and your eyes narrow slightly. Tom’s proclivity for the dark arts is no secret, neither is his cunning and ruthlessness. You don’t ask and he doesn’t tell, but you suppose it’s probably a good thing that you’re training to become a defence lawyer. Maybe one day he’ll need one.

Tonight is not the night for those kinds of thoughts though. You doubt any night will be - if ever there comes a day when you have to reckon with Tom’s less savoury pursuits, you already know where your allegiances lie. With a soft hum of acknowledgement, you stand and lead him to the bedroom. “Enough maudlin talk for tonight, I think,” You say as you settle against the headboard and motion for him to join you. “You must be tired after today.”

Even though he tries to hide it, you can see that the day has worn on him. Shadows form like ink stains underneath his eyes, and he holds himself with a kind of forlorn regret that fills you with a feeling of sympathetic sorrow. He crawls up the bed and raises an eyebrow when you don’t move to make room for him. Instead, you simply lift an arm and smile, sleepiness and tenderness mingling into something soft in your eyes. After a few second of internal debate where Tom looks from you to the spot you’ve made for him, he gingerly lowers himself against you, his head resting in the hollow where your shoulder meets your neck. He lies unnaturally still and tense in the way a feral kitten might react to the kindness of a stranger.

Honestly, it’s more than a little heartbreaking. Slowly - carefully - you rest one hand over his heart and begin to card your other through his hair. You’re not entirely sure how he manages it - you’ve never seen a haircare potion in his vicinity - but Tom has the softest hair of anyone you’ve met. It’s dreadfully unfair, really. You rub gentle circles against his scalp and smile softly in the dim light as you feel him relax against you, the long hard lines of his body soften as you continue your gentle ministrations. Gradually, you sense him ease into a contented state as he seeks clemency from the day in your touch.

That you can do this for him, that you can be this for him is not something you would have ever thought possible. You remember vividly the uptight rigidity with which he had held himself throughout your time at school. The fervent dedication he had channelled to reach the top of the pecking order, never allowing himself a moment of softness or reprieve. You’re certain that if he’s not careful he will burn himself out before he’s had a chance to truly shine, and you know just how brightly he could if given the chance.

You brush his hair from his eyes and lazily draw abstract patterns against his chest, feeling the way his breathing deepens as sleep overtakes him. In this moment of calm, sleepy repose, you feel your heart expand with all love and care you think you might ever feel, and you brush a soft kiss to the crown of his head, revelling in the almost breathy sigh that escapes him. “You’re far too good to me,” He mumbles, half asleep and entirely too sincere.

“Agree to disagree, my love. I am exactly as good to you as you deserve.” He chuckles at this, nestling deeper into your side and flinging an arm across your waist. “Now, sleep - we have so much time for everything else.”

AN: Also before anyone accuses me of anachronisms, Veeraswamy is London’s oldest Indian restaurant. It was opened in 1926 and I’ve been there once before - the food was so so so good and it was disgustingly expensive. I’m assuming that it wasn’t that pricey in the 40’s

[superdrawer11]

Chapter 1 Rouxls Kaard is Suspicious - A theory

(NOTE: This was written before Deltarune chapter 2 came out! I had this theory for about a year, but due to switching fandoms before writing the theory in this format I never got around to posting it or showing it in my ask blog. Also this is somewhat rushed since by the time of finishing this post there’s only 30 minutes left.)

A charming aristocrat, a terrible puzzle maker, a shopkeeper.

Rouxls Kaard is definitely an interesting character with lots of contradictions. His opinion on a topic can change in an instant. What are his true intentions? What was he, before he was a duke of puzzles? His face resembles Gaster, does he have anything to do with him? And is he connected to Jevil?

All of these questions will be ー at least partially ー answered here. If the theory ends up being correct

To get to the bottom of this, we need to look at an area none other than the Great Board. Take a look at these screenshots:

--

_

You see, I think Rouxls Kaard may have been the boss of the Great Board.

In order to make this theory more likely, we need more evidence. So, let's do exactly that!

Before we meet Mr. Society and elegance (the two NPC's at the board), we had a puzzle that stated

There are tiles that glow white that, when stepped on, make your screen turn white and teleport you back to the start.

It is well-known that Rouxls can teleport using white light and possesses over a control crown

If Rouxls owns a control crown, he must be able to place such crown on the checker.

As you can see, white light on the checkerboard caused Rouxls’ control crown to fall towards the checker. Furthermore, there are these ponmen who Mr. Society mentions

These ponmen are also used as weapons against Lighteners

And the only time these ponmen appear in the castle at the floor before you meet Rouxls (Rouxls’ first encounter is to the right)

Mr. Elegance and the Puzzlemaster also appear next to each other. The Puzzlemaster uses “We”, and that could imply that they know each other

Now, let us move onto the more mysterious section of this theory, still building off of the screenshots shown above. __

The worm seems to be eating the tree from the mysterious man behind the tree who gives an egg. Presumably the Knight/Gaster (Someone else figured out that EGG in wingdings is ☜︎ ☝︎ ☝︎, which in chess is a move a Knight can make). Rouxls calls the team worms. Heck, he has Rouxlsroux which has worms in it and keeps worms as pets! Having the way of the worm be eating the leaves of the tree of the mysterious man is intriguing.

Now, let us move to this puzzle.

If you try to skip the puzzle, this specific tree will block your path, and it disappears when you solve the puzzle.

Here, you see a ponman in the center. You have to rotate around the ponman

And when you circle around it enough, it seems the leaves of this tree formed some sort of entity, looking at you, and the tree blocking the path disappears.

Let us move to another puzzle

Now, how is this puzzle connected to this theory? Well, in three ways, really. (There is a fourth, but that is at the very end of this theory)

“Only eyes blinded by darkness can see the way” and “The darker it gets, the more you can see” both mean the same thing, just worded differently. Another, stronger evidence, is the fact the same eerie music played at cliffs (Where the eye puzzle is located) as the great board. A third one is that both of these puzzles are perhaps implied to do with Jevil in some way The eyes at the eye puzzle look similar to Jevil’s, and notice the word usage at the later puzzle “Revolve around the center”. Jevil’s theme is The World Revolving. By the way, literally everyone involved in this is suspicious. Mr. Society (helped off-screen), Mr. Elegance, and the Puzzlemaster worked on this door. Very similar to UNDERTALE’s door.

Rouxls’ speech style appeared in the recent UNDERTALE update

The ponmen literally break the fourth wall??

Heck, Rouxls’ teleportation sound is outside the sound folders!

There are two of these in the game’s files

There is one more section to the core of this theory I have to talk about, since time is admittedly running out until chapter 2 is released. I am not sure whether any of this will be true or not, but it’s fun to share! You see, Rouxls is also connected to these forest NPC’s. If you walk around them, these sparkles seem to form around them.

In the game files, these are called Scissor dancers. They make this bell sound (ignore the title of the video) when you interact with them.

I found it quite mysterious that there was a bell sound in this specific place. So I dug a bit deeper and found out that National Geographic has an article about Scissor Dancers!

There wasn’t much on Andean divinities that I could find except they also worshiped the earth. Now, does this connect to Deltarune? Maybe. Here is what it could be about:

The sun are the Lightners, the moon are the Darkners, and while it doesn’t say what the Earth is supposed to represent, it seems important.

These Scissor Dancers seem to be praying for the Lightners, Darkners, and Earth if my conjecture is correct. The thing is, there are also some other mysterious things about these Scissor Dancers. Back in the day, they were called Sons of the Devil, and there was a belief that this dance was a manifestation of Dark Magic. (Could this be a connection to Jevil due to them having a Devilsknife?) Furthermore, they seem to hide their eyes. A big theme in Deltarune.

So, how does this connect to the theory? You see, not only do these Scissor Dancers appear next to Rouxls’ second encounter.

these sparkles are the same.

If you look in the files, you can see these are called Light Fairies (Don’t mind the game looking strange, this is how it’s supposed to look)

If you look at the code when you encounter Rouxls, you see the exact same sprite, but it’s not moving and it’s the original size (The ones around the Scissor Dancers seem to be bigger)

That’s the base of my theory. There may be more intricate details I didn't put here, but writing this was somewhat rushed since the countdown timer is literally shaking and I only got like thirty minutes left lmao. I really want to get this theory on the web before Chapter 2 comes out; I spent too many hours on this theory to let it go to waste-

[endlessly-cursed]

Happy FFWF!!! Please, use this as an opportunity to gush about your OG novel to your heart’s desire!

EEEEE, it warms my heart that someone is interested in my darlings!!!!

Alright, so, let's get into scene: It's 1818, and England is going through a sucession crisis.

Joanna Fields has grown up outside that crisis: instead, she has grown into a magical empire called Dracaria, an advanced country as the Imperial Crown Princess of the aging widowed Empress Amalas, though she's fallen out of favour because she has married secretly a mortal man at the age of 17 (gasp!!!!!!) and had a child and is now expecting her second one.

One day, a letter comes adressed to her... it's a letter from her father, who is very much alive, and awaiting her at the marquesade Marble Stone.

She's excited, but also anxious, for she has foresaken the Mighty Oracle that Knows All, saying that in that estate she'll know her destiny with the help of four companions with very different backgrounds, but complement her and she needs them as much as they need her.

A tired judge with a very mysterious past...

A runaway Greek spy chased by the Ottoman empire... (yep, still haven't found the perfect fc for him...)

A mysterious recently knighted lord...

And a new money woman, daughter of a man that everyone especulates is not her real father...

A estate and empire to inherit and try to kill an assassin who is after her head and claim to the throne, who happens to be very near her circle, with her mother dead, expecting her second child and her son in danger, while dealing with a disgusting duke that won't take the hint and who's very infamous with women, mind you, the competitiveness of the London Season and the future of England and Dracaria resting on her head, The Cursed Heiress deals with many problems such as the sexism, racism, expectations in both women and men, how Joanna navigates a world very much different from an advanced society to the narrow-minded, ancient and wounded world of the Regency Era, full of hipocrisy, hedonism, decadence, depravity and loss. Too much loss, a world in the making that needs one push.

We also can see fragments of the past to the exciting lives of her mother and aunts, who are equally exciting and centuries old!!

Odessa, the mother who has died mysteriously...

Nene, The mysterious aunt who doesn't trust any mortal man for a dark reason...

And Nya, the older aunt who's looking for her long-lost son and is a great advisor and guide to our heroine...

And of course, our heroine herself, the most powerful being having been created in milleniums... Joanna Crochane

I have to say, this is probably my life's work, and how is turning out gives me such joy and the occasional headache because worldbuilding, lolz. But I wouldn't have it any other way and I hope that when is out is to your enjoyment, Al, cause I respect your opinion as a writer very much!!!

My DMs are open if you need to know more or simply want more content <3

[katsukikitten]

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, mentions of animal harm, sexual themes, god/fantasy au for BNHAREM this badboi is 8k so enjoy~

The sound of a wind chime echoes across the small field just outside your home. The breeze carries the smell of summer bloomed blossoms and with it the threat of rain as it comes from down the mountain. 

A soft brown creature catches your eye as your mother picks flowers and berries for the festival. 

“Bunbun!” You exclaim, pointing as you tug on your mother’s tattered kimono, she responds with a soft hmm. Her eyes still focused on the wide range of flowers although her vision blurs. 

But at least you weren’t picked for this festival, no it would be many years before you would be in the running. Your mother’s only wish was for you to be unfavorable. Mother is so engrossed that she does not see you slip away, slowly following the bunny into the forest. 

Soon the soft brown creature begins to hop, faster and faster as you giggle running full speed ahead. Not noticing how the trees thicken or how dark eyes seem to peer through the trees, their mawls salivating with unsated hunger. With gnashing teeth they stalk ever closer all the while you rush to catch the creature just for it to jump high into the air. Nose diving straight for the ground, you copy its actions but the bunny is faster than you. Slipping into the burrow with ease as you fall face first into dirt and rocks. 

“O..ow. Momma!” You sniffle, turning around for some much needed motherly love, but instead of your mother hunched over collecting boring things in her basket you are met with a dense forest. The setting sun washes over the trees giving the thick pines and maples a ghoulish red hue.  Suddenly you are hyper aware of the sounds around you, a stick snaps in the brush. Your head turns as if you were a startled deer, eyes wide, heart racing as you strain to hear over the rushing blood in your ears. Dark figures move in the long shadows and haunting laughs echo around you. Beady eyes shine in the darkness causing a small whimper to leave your lips. Acting on instinct you rush to your feet, running through the woods. Briers snatch at your small ankles, leaving angry red lines in their wake, wanting nothing more than to make you a child of the forest.

“MOOOM!” You shout, panting as they force you further into the mountain, you take a quick left when one jumps from the right causing you to trip over a branch falling into a small clearing, faintly you hear the rush of a spring.

Scuffling rouses a sleepy garnet haired man who lounges in a steaming hot spring, that’s sprinkled with fallen petals of mountain flowers. He thinks to dismiss it until a scream cuts through the serenity of the pines. Whatever animal it is, it sounds small and this stirs something in the mountainous man. Sadly this was the circle of life, he reminds himself as he sinks deeper into the burning hot spring. 

“MOMMA HELP PWEESE!!” You scream, trying to get up but this time you are entangled in a briar patch, thorn and vine twisting around your tender skin. It seems the wicked green plant will have its wish. 

All the while the shadows stalk closer, their bright beady eyes blown wide as their jaws unhinge for their meal. They get on their haunches to launch themselves at you until something causes them to freeze. The trees shake around you while the Earth rumbles as if there were a thunder storm beneath the rich dirt. 

“Hello little flower. Are you lost?” You whip your head towards the sound. Lip quivering as you stare up at a tall, built man. But it was his eyes that stood out the most. 

His glistening rubies glow as fading sunlight catches his hair, emphasizing that the strands are a red so deep one could mistake it as black. Your eyes play tricks on you as the air seems charged and yet calm, giving him a surreal aura. He stands tall, half relaxed as one arm is lazily hanging from his dark rose kimono while the rest of his sculpted body is exposed to the slowly cooling air. You weigh your options as best you can before you scramble to your savior. Clinging to his leg as your tears begin to stain his kimono. 

He breathes in deeply and before he can speak the dark figures vanish, melting into the shadows that stretch in the last winking light of the Sun. He crouches down to you, pushing hair past your face. 

“Don’t cry little flower. Here.” A beautiful flower crown appears in his hands. The  white petals with contrasting amethyst stripes down the center seem to have their own shimmering bio-luminescence making it feel other worldly as he places it atop your head. He chooses the dietes flower for its symbolism and rarity, unknowingly sealing your fate. 

“Is that better, little one?” You nod in response, sniffling softly as he scoops you up walking you until he can just see what must be your home through the thick trees. He watches what he assumes your mother to panic, as the village shouts what must be your name. 

“You’ll have to walk the rest of the way okay little flower?” He sets you down gently before you give a big nod. Cold bare feet crunching the leaves against the forest floor. 

You come into the clearing of your home, the sea of yellows, pinks and reds winking in the stark light of the moon. 

“Momma…” You call softly, the world stops turning on its axis before she rushes to you, pulling you into her arms before her eyes are filled with overflowing fear. Fat droplets leave her long lashes as she snatches the crown away, but it is too late. It has been seen by all. 

“Oh she is favored by the Gods.” Someone comments. 

“If she grows into anything like her mother she will be the best choice to appease the Mountain God!" 

"Let us mark this day and the family name so we may remember 16 years from now." 

They continue to gossip as your mother squeezes you tight enough that it hurts. Her mind racing as she carries you inside, she tucks you in without a word of a scolding. Coaxing you to drink some lavender tea that pulls you into a deep sleep beneath the symphony of crickets and the like.

You do not hear your mother return and if you do, you guess she is doing her nightly routine. Fluffing your blankets and making sure your futon is warm enough but what you weren’t expecting was the cold bite of a blade pressing into the flesh above your left eyebrow.  

"Mom…Momma’s sorry baby.” She chokes on her sobs as she pulls the cool metal hard and deep, crying so loud she can barely hear your scream.  

But that was how long ago? Almost two decades? You toss a rock into your reflection, distorting your marred face as your childhood flashes before your eyes. 

You remember there was shouting, lots of shouting of how you are now “unfavorable” “dishonorable” “an abomination” the next day and from then it’s a blur of insults and isolation. Nothing but the wind in your hair, the creaking of the trees and a dream of glistening rubies kept you alive, desperate to return to the last time you were happy. Although you were unsure of who you saw in the mountain that fated night, a part of you could guess. It had to be the Spirit of the Mountain, Kirishima. Because who else actually looked like the painted scrolls that littered the village and shrines? In your opinion they had his image all wrong. 

He does not scowl or wear a grimace, no his smile is sharp toothed and bright. You sigh, wondering if you will ever bump into him again. 

An inhuman scream tears through the serenity of the babbling brook causing a chill to run through your spine. If you had to guess it was most likely a fox or wolf finally catching up to its meal. 

“They must eat too…” You murmur to yourself, drawing your knees to your chest. The wind rustles the leaves overhead giving you sharp visions of beady black eyes from the past. 

“Don’t let it get away!” A shout from your left before the animal comes scurrying through the brush, running smack into your lap. It is a small fox, its tail missing and in its wake a crude weeping cut. Your vision blurs red as you take off your top layer of kimono, wrapping the poor thing in the brown fabric. 

The culprits come into view, the village elder’s son holds the tail while his favorite goon holds the knife. Red falls to the Earth in nauseating droplets. 

“Well well well, looks like we found something else we can carve up huh?” The goon asks with a smile, “Just keep quiet freak." 

The elder’s son is hesitant, something odd grows in his eyes and chest. Suddenly the tail feels a lot heavier than what it was moments ago, especially so under the weight of your single gaze. Your left eye although clouded over seems to stare straight into his soul. Can you see the desperation he has? Worst yet can you see how tainted he is? 

"Oi Kenji” The goon nudges him, clearly only hanging around the future heir for his influence and with it a hope of immunity to terrorize as he pleases. 

The motion brings him back to the present while a plan begins to form in his head. Would anyone believe the dishonorable, disowned freak over him? Could he do things to you that no matter how loud you screamed the truth it would fall on deaf ears? 

His cruel smile is an answer in of itself as he takes a step towards you, it wouldn’t be hard to make you his. You take a step back, mindful of the sun’s position and your surroundings. They both creep nearer as you hold the shaking animal to you, you turn on your heel rushing through the woods. They were fast and well trained however no one knew these woods like you did. 

It was as if you knew of every fallen leaf or broken branch as you rushed through the deep green leaves. Dodging low branches that they hit face first, holes they tripped in and even a dead deer carcass that you bound in a single leap. You hear a crash and one of them gag as your feet urge you forward, looking over your shoulder. 

That is until your run into something so solid you fall right onto your ass, the small animal gives a whimper on your lap. 

“I could have sworn…” The sound of rushing water swallows up the rest of your thought as you look up to what you’ve run into. Wholly expecting a tree stood a man, with deep garnet hair and a sharp toothed smile. Immediately your blood turns cold, the air about him seeming other worldly as the forest quiets and slows in his presence. 

“Ah, are you alright?” He asks, extending his hand to you, gingerly you take it. His calloused hand is warm and strong as he lifts you to your feet, ruby eyes staring at the bundle in your hand.

“May I?” Hesitantly you pass the bundle, he frowns at its contents before setting the small fox on the ground, waving his fingers to heal its wound. The fox looks at the healer, seemingly giving him a small bow before rushing back into the safety of the brush. 

“The fox told me what you did. Thank you.” His smile is blinding and dazzling. He offers you a single white flower, the amethyst stripe up the middle causes your stomach to tighten.

“Do you always give out good fortune?” You ask quietly, turning the wild iris over in your hand. He laughs, if he recognizes you he does not show it but you are sure this is the man who gave you an abundance of “good fortune” years ago. Your scar burns from the thought. Your mother did tell you stories of the Gods playing cruel jokes. 

But was Kirishima truly a maleficent God? 

You bit your lower lip. A warm hand cups your chin, a soft smile on his face as he turns your left side to you. 

“Do I know you dear heart?” His voice is soft, eyes half mast almost lazily gazing upon your features. You tuck the iris in your ear and it seems to jog his memory. 

“Little flower!” His voice becomes larger, sharper, as his thumb swipes over the deep fissure on your cheek “What happened?!" 

His touch is comforting but not enough you wish to relive the trauma again. 

"I wish not to speak about it.” Your eyes catch the position of the sun. Gently you step from his soft grip.

“I must return home for dinner before I cause my mother to worry.” You bow formally, presenting the flower “Thank you Kamisama but I cannot accept your blessing." 

You stand like that long enough your back begins to hurt causing a deep fear to flow through your veins.

Was he angry that you dared to reject him? 

Your feet burn with the urge to run but you dismiss it, finally his large fingers grasps at the small stem holding the rarity in his hands. Eyes roving over you, you peek up to check his gaze and while he looks level headed to you, you decide to leave before you find out if he isn’t. 

He stares after you, eyes curious and yet not surprised as to how he could have forgotten about someone as remarkable as you. 

But how could he remember? 

You are nothing more than a mere mortal and you were a child at that. A blip, a hazy day dream even, in his infinite lifetime. 

So what interest would he have in a life so fleeting that should he rouse from a nap he would be meeting your great grandchildren who could remember nothing more about you than your name? 

And yet when he looked at you now, as a full grown woman, something bloomed in his chest. Your scar adding to your mystic beauty, especially after what the fox had told him.  

His ruby eyes return to the flower as he ponders over your question in his head. 

A week or so passes, as you’re sure to avoid the Mountain God. Still fearing he may be angered by your rejection. 

But you cannot stay from the depths of the forest long. Staring down at your reflection in the water you sigh, running your hand through the cool water debating if you will bathe in one of the many hot springs tonight. A scurrying in the bush pulls your attention to the here and now. Muscles rigid as you worry it will be an encounter with the heir and his goon, shimmering orange rushes from the brush easing your mind. 

"Ah hello friend!” You call and the fox stops in its tracks, task or hunt at hand long forgotten, “Did His healing power work?" 

You cannot help the glee in your voice as you see your friendly fox sit near your feet, it swishes its tail and just like that another seems to appear. Wagging like an opposing pendulum beside the other. 

"You have two tails now, oh” You give a sly smile, “Are you here to steal my liver?" 

The kitsune chuckles at your joke, his little laugh echoing in the clearing. The haunting sound brings an odd comfort to you as he tilts his head as if someone is whispering to him. He gives a small nod before approaching, setting something in your lap that his black lips were not holding before. 

A note of sorts and the flower he attempted to offer you earlier. The note reads in glowing golden red hue,

"Let’s start over again. Tea by the blue moon wild flowers at midnight.”

You sigh deeply, placing the card and flower deep in your tattered kimono with the thought of not showing up.  Why would a God want tea with you? You who wears a scarred face and milky white eye. You give the kitsune a soft pat before standing, brushing the dirt from your deep brown kimono. 

You spend the rest of the day as you told your mother you would, picking flowers to both practice arranging and drying for the upcoming festival. There were only a few weeks left and you had done zero practicing as you has promised. Your mother claimed this would help earn your keep with the village but you were sure that was more for her peace of mind than the truth. 

With your basket heavy with the finest of flowers you head towards home, careful to avoid the path you last saw the God on.

And anytime you had thought you caught wind of his intoxicating smell of soft musk, pine and the biting threat of snow you turned on your heel as quickly and quietly as humanly possible, ignoring the gemstone gaze that bore into your back. 

After a small dinner with your mother and hours of twisting flower streams to make crowns of, you finally get the chance to lie down to sleep. 

But sleep doesn’t come, instead you’re wide awake as the moon leaks in the through the small cracks in the walls. Dust dancing on the low light as you sigh as if you were in love. 

Deep, unsatisfied and often. 

The invitation burns in the folds of your kimono and suddenly you are filled with action. Gently you rise, fumbling with your hair as best you can before you mumble curses to yourself. Placing a practice crown on your head and rouging your lips with the remnants of berries before you set out into the darkness. 

Your feet seem to guide you on your own as you weave through the trees. Fireflies lazily floating in the air as crickets scream their symphonies at your feet. Finally you come across the mostly hidden spot.

Hesitantly you step into the clearing, blue moon flowers glitter in the light of the quarter moon as if sprinkled with stardust. Their silver sheen invites you in further as a wind sweeps through the patch. Your eyes rove over as you look for the Mountain God. When your search comes up empty you feel your heart free fall into your stomach. Heated foolishness creeps into your throat and cheeks. 

Why would a God invite a mortal? 

Blinking away hurt tears you turn briskly, stopping yourself from running from the clearing incase he is watching for the sake of his cruel joke. 

That is until a deep voice rings out, vibrating the very bones in your body with a comforting hum.

“Little flower, Are we not having tea?” His tone is innocent and when you turn around with half a mind to fuss you see it. A beautiful hand woven rug that holds a low tea table, atop the dark wood sits finary. Foods, desserts and tea ware that would make the emperor jade green with envy. 

“This is…” You whisper but he reaches his hand towards you, gently guiding you to a plush cushion, his strong hand wrapped steadfast around yours. He waits until you are seated comfortably before he sits close to you. 

Almost too close, his shoulder could easily brush against yours in movement and it does as it takes you an eon to realize what exactly he is doing. 

Preparing the tea. Immediately your stomach flips as shaking hands fumble to stop him, grabbing onto his large hands with a fervor unmatched. A quizzical look before a sly smirk paints his handsome features. 

“A..a..a God should not be serving a m..mortal tea.” You trip over your words feeling self conscious as your palms feel is if they are sweating. Shame radiates through your chest as if a hot rod were shoved through your heart. 

“Then let us not be a God and a mortal.” He smiles, lips curving upward gently as his shining teeth glint in the low light. You should be scared, frightened that you may have insulted him or worse yet earned the infamous Wrath of the Mountain God. 

But you aren’t, if anything you’re on the complete opposite of the spectrum as the breeze shifts his scent closer to you. The forest alive at night, the sharp smell of snow mingling with the gentle fragrance of bloomed flowers. 

Suddenly you feel dizzy and his next words do not help. 

“Let us be more.” Again you feel the comforting hum in your chest, you decide now is a good time to let go of his hands. 

He sets the tea before you, again you are faced with a pitiful reflection. You blow on the green liquid disrupting the steam and with it your image. It is quiet save the sounds of late night summer although it is not uncomfortable silence that passes over the hours between the two of you. It is easy as the two of you sip your tea and for a moment you think you’ve forgotten the sin you’re committing by forgetting who he really is. Occasionally the two of you would share a laugh, his shoulder brushing against yours before he comes closer, close enough your forearms touch as they rest against the table. His skin feels warm and smooth like a rock baking in the sun, his smile dazzling as his face seems to get closer. His finger hooks into your palm, lazily tracing the lines as if they were an old and familiar map. 

“Why do you love the mountain forest so much?” His voice is so close you feel breath fan your cheek. Butterflies take rapid flight in your stomach. 

Was it that obvious? I guess it would be with how much of your life you spent within these thick trees. 

“There is so much to love in this place of solace. Every new clearing brings something of wonder. A waterfall, a field of flowers, a hot spring to soak your aching bones. Even just a small fawn grazing on the seeds the trees and flowers offer is more beauty than I can imagine." 

His fingers stop, leaving an odd tingling sensation causing your nerves to stand on edge. Attempting to reach towards the soft touch once more. Kirishima looks to the moon and how it begins to set. 

"Another day little flower.” He whispers, voice honeyed yet sharp as you find yourself standing on the edge of the woods, staring at your small home. You turn in a full circle and see no sign of the God causing your heart to grow heavy. Gripping at your chest as you make your way back towards your home, you thought maybe he didn’t like your answer. Maybe he read your honesty as a poor attempt of flattery. 

What you don’t know is that he liked your answer a little too much.  

It isn’t long before you find yourself in the same patch of flowers at a questionable hour sitting beside Kamisama himself. You swallow thickly, nails biting into your palm as again he pours your tea. 

Is this right? Would your mother approve?

You were sure she wouldn’t, and not from your lack of manners but seeing the very man she so feared and having tea with him nonetheless.

“Something troubling you my blossom?” Flustered over his familiarity you stammer out a response.

“Just…just thinking.” You offer a shy smile as he returns a wolfish grin, you do not know that he can hear just how fast your heart is beating. 

“Hmmm.” The hum rumbles in your own chest and large bottle flies take flight in your stomach. He brushes some hair out of your face so he can better see it. He smiles softly. 

“I’ve been curious about why you are collecting so many flowers lately.” Rigid beneath his touch you fear you have angered him but it won’t be long before you realize just how infatuated he is with you. 

“A festival for you Kirishima, Kamisama of the Mountain.” He lets his fingers play and twist in your hair. You try not to look away. 

“You’ll be the guest of honor then?” His fingers brush down your heated cheeks. 

Despite the intimacy of both his touch and proximity you give a loud laugh. Eyes looking at a blurred green version of yourself in your cup. 

“No, I’m sure I could never be favored.” At least not by the villagers. 

But you seemed to be favored by the Gods. You swallow thickly, of all the talk and importance of the festivals your mother never let you attend, so you are unsure what happens. 

While you’re left home alone you could hear the loud beats of the drum, their feet hitting against the stone of the square and their joyous singing. 

Sometimes you think you hear a scream. 

But you cannot reflect on it long as a pair of soft lips press against your cheek. Then when you do not move they graze along your jawline before finding their way to your pulse. You give a small gasp and when he gives a small suck you a raspy moan.  He growls against your throat, a sudden heat grows between your legs and you swallow desire whole. 

He feels how tense you have become and eases up from your throat. Guiding you by your chin so you may face him before he steals away your first kiss. 

Not that you would have given it to anyone else. 

The next month is a game of cat and mouse. Both of you eagerly seeking the other out, yet making it seem as if it were a mere accidently. All the while a now three tailed fox smiles knowingly.  It’s a blur of tea, mountain top views over valleys, and deep passionate kissing. 

But this last encounter truly was by pure chance for both parties. 

The pungent smell of sulfur tickles your nose, although this is the least offending spring. Its water a lovely milky blue that you’ve decorated with a few left over flowers heads. You sigh as you sink deeper into the borderline scalding water being sure to soak your aching hands and feet. 

You’re thankful that the rushing water settles here in this cluster of rocks despite the small current that carries it away just a few feet down. A sigh leaves your body, eyes lingering to the light of the full moon before they flutter close. Your guard completely down as you know no one is going to be wandering around these woods. 

It is the night of the festival after all. 

And no one was sure as hell gonna be out looking for you.  

Not even Kamisama as you were sure he would oversee the festival, it was held in his name was it not? 

Sleep threatens to pull you beneath its veil so much so you do not hear the footsteps that approach.  

He steps closer to the spot of his favorite spring and when he sees your head titling back onto the rocks, a fine blush blooms on his cheeks. 

“My little hana?” His voice is soft yet concerned, startling you. The water splashes around as you turn to face him. 

If you were flustered before you’re beyond that now. He has his back to you as he gives your privacy, face slightly turned but his eyes are not overlooking his shoulder. Your eyes widen as they take in His beauty. His hair tied up in a messy bun, winking blacks and deep reds beneath the moonlight. His broad shoulders exposed, eyes trailing down his sculpted back to see his bare buttocks. Strong, thick legs holding up this God of a man.  

Well he was a God wasn’t he? 

“Are you alright, lovely blossom? I didn’t know you’d be here I can come ba…" 

"No. No no!” You interrupt, “I…" 

It’s silent for a moment, lust moves your lips. 

"I wouldn’t mind the company.” Your voice is barely heard over the swirling, rushing water. 

But the smirk on his soft lips tells you that he had heard you.  And he will never forget the invitation. 

He turns to join you, your eyes following down the trail of his abs to his pointed V, you do not allow your eyes to travel further south and force them to his face. His glowing eyes bright, two shining rubies lighting up the night. He sinks into the water across from you, letting his arms spread and rest on the rocks. 

You release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Sinking into the water as you realize just how exposed you are.  The weight of his gaze is doing something to you. 

He keeps his eyes locked on yours, the heat of the spring makes you a bit dizzy and you’re beginning to wonder if it is his merlot eyes that have you on cloud nine. 

That have you so bold. Bold enough you float yourself beside him, right into the crook of his arm. He gently slides it around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest. 

“How was your day my sweet?” His voice is soothing but you’d rather not recount your day or the number of flowers you set just right. 

“Boring. Yours Kirishima?” He smiles as you use his name.

“Same.” He places a chaste kiss to your damp hair line. It leaves you wanting more. 

“A..again please?” He goes to kiss your forehead again but you tilt your face upward. He smiles, putting his hand at the nape of your neck. Leaning in impossibly slow holding your gaze. His look makes you impossibly higher and then his kisses your lips.

It is soft, it is slow, but each movement of his lips become more feverish, more bold. Like a cracked dam after a rain far too heavy, it is going to burst. 

And it does. 

Your mouth openes to him and he slides his tongue between your teeth, swirling and tasting your earthly, mortal form. You moan into the kiss, giving him more entrance, your hands clawing at his hair, his back while his hands follow your curves. Running up and down your sides, pinching at your nipples turning you into putty in his hands.  You do not resist, you would never deny him and you’re sure he would never take. 

He does nothing more than light exploring, commiting your skin to memory. You let out another moan, this one louder than before enticing his primal needs. As his tongue slides over yours his hand snakes to your lower back, pulling you into his lap.  

You feel his harden asset resting close to your throbbing sex. 

Would…would it be okay to bed a God? For a mortal to be touched by hands that can create and destroy in a matter of nanoseconds? 

Suddenly you feel too hot, too flustered, too high as the world spins rapidly on its axis. You push back, gasping for air and immediately his lust is replaced with concern. He sees tears forming in your eyes, signs of some internal battle. 

It reminds him of when he pours you a cup of tea but tenfold. He looks up at you, one hand traces down your spine before his other wipes away your tears. 

“Blossom for me when you’re ready not when I want you, my little flower.” His voice is soft, reassuring, causing you to cry more. His fingers gently trace your scar, follow your spine, and continue to wipe away your tears when needed. 

You nod helplessly, removing yourself from his irresistible lap, he pulls you to cuddle. A soft kiss to your hairline. The moon begins to climb higher in the sky and although your mother will not be home for some time, you still need to beat her home. Maybe he can read minds as he says. 

“Let’s meet later tonight? Our usual time after your mother has returned home?” You nod against his chest, slowly stand. He supports your weight as he holds onto your hand as you ease out of the comforting water. 

You look for your brown kimono but with every second you cannot find it panic seizes your bones. 

“M…my kimono. I…I can’t find it!” You realize you may have misplaced it or worse yet placed it too close to the water. 

Oh Kami did it get washed away? 

“Flower, love. It is fine. I can help.” He snaps his fingers and you’re adorning the most stunning kimono you’ve ever seen. More so than what any painting of any God and Goddess meeting you’ve ever seen.  You twirl in the ombre kimono. It starts out black, like a moonless night at the top before lightening until it is put glowing starlight at your ankles. 

“Its gorgeous. But it is too much." 

"Nothing is too much for you.” He stands, a kimono appears on his body as well, ombre again, black at his shoulders until it is blood red at his ankles. The bottom reminds you of the first time you had seen him when you were little. When he saved your life, a halo of setting sun emphasizing his status. 

“We will meet again?"  You nod and he cannot bring himself to say he is going to the annual meeting of the Gods because if he did, with you wearing this star woven kimono, he would whisk you away with him. 

"Until we meet again." 

With the sound of the window fluttering through the trees you find yourself on the fringes of the woods, just outside your home. 

Gingerly you step into the field of flowers, slowly walking towards your house as you relive the time you most felt alive. 

His lips, his hands, his body pressed against yours.

So caught up in your daydream, in your promise of later tonight, you do not see the eyes lying in wait. 

Those prying eyes take note of your kimono and how it shimmers and shines with an otherworldly glow as you slip into your home. 

It isn’t long before you hear a string of screaming and see a set of lights coming your way, close enough you can make out silhouettes and what the woman is screaming.

"SHE IS UNFAVORED! LOOK AT HER SCAR SHE IS TAINTED BEAUTY!” You realize quickly that is the wails of your mother. 

Frantically you try to strip yourself of your kimono but a large hand strips away the door. Your faces are illuminated from the soft glow by your ankles making it clear to see a set of hard steely eyes with hurt but never regret as they should. 

“Just like I said. A blessed kimono.” Kenji’s voice is as hard as his eyes as his father peers in, he smiles with delight.

“We are surely saved from the drought now. Kenji bring her to the festival." 

"No.” Your voice is small, a foreboding dread feeds your panic as your mother cries, restrained by Kenji’s goons. You step back but he lunges for you, squeezing you so tightly you cannot breath. 

The walk to the center seems like ages as you kick and scream, crying out for Kirishima. 

“Yes call for our God. He will be happy to receive his gift, time is running out.” The elder speaks. You elbow Kenji square in the face, everyone panics as you begin to run. Kenji catches you again.  The moon hands high over head, perfectly in the middle of the sky. 

“There is no time left. Let’s do it now!” Kenji’s goon from before shouts, sending the crowd into a boisterous agreement. 

Kenji withdraws his knife, both of your struggling for power. He leans in close, nose touching yours as the smell of copper and ash cling to his skin. 

“You should have just stayed in your place ugly. Should’ve let me have my way.” He slices at you and for a second time a blade marrs your skin. 

He is supposed to make this quick for you, one quick motion against your throat. Instead he lets the blade sink deeper, carve harder until his is splatter in your life’s nectar. Only you and your mother cry out. The rest of them pray and sing. 

Kenji picks you up and tosses you into the brush of the woods. 

“Have her now Kamisama and bless us with rain!” He speaks as if he is the current elder. Grey eyes cold as they look down at you.  They retreat to their usual planned activities, dragging your lost mother with them to drink to their heart’s content. To make her watch what an honor it was for her child to have been chosen. 

It hurts, Kami it hurts as you drag yourself through the woods. Briars tangle around your quickly growing limp limbs as you pull yourself deeper. 

“Kiri…Kirishima!” Your once loud screams turn into hardly more than whispers. But that shouldn’t matter. He should still hear you shouldn’t he? 

Was this not his domain? He can hear every rustling leaf, every snap of a twig, surely he could hear the pained cries of his lover.

No, no you shouldn’t call yourself that, you were not his lover, you were just favored by him. 

And isn’t that always what you wanted? To be desired? Loved? 

This was a festival for Kirishima himself so why did you think any different? 

And why do you still call out his name? 

Your vision blurs in purplish blues and blacks as you fade in and out, a soft sweet scent is tainted with stinging copper. You cough and more dark liquid sputters from your lips. 

It reminds you of his eyes. 

Kitsune comes into the clearing helping frantically. But you smile as you notice his fourth tail. 

“At least I will not die alone…” You breathe as the fox attempts to lick at your wounds, “Why, why is he so cruel?" 

Fat tears fall down your cheeks and the fox panics further. He opens his mouth, his voice comes out gravely and close to a growl without the animosity.

"Master does not know of this, master would never allow this!” He laps at your blood in a desperate attempt to heal you with what little grace he has been bestowed. 

But it doesn’t matter as your world fades to black. 

Kirishima steps through the portal near the top of the mountain to be met with a horrid sight, not realizing it could be worse than that. Kitsune’s normal Auburn fur is tainted a sticky black substance, Kirishima gets a closer look causing his blood to run cold. 

He appears in the field of flowers, following the trail you left as a wispy form of you stands through your drained body. 

“No.” Quiet before deafening loud, birds and animals flee away from him, “NO!" 

The shades circle the clearing, too afraid to enter but too hungry to leave. 

Kirishima shakily grabs onto your glowing hands, tears fall down your cheeks. 

"I…I…” Tears prick his eyes, rage washes over his features, “Who?" 

Your spirit cannot speak as you are still tethered to your fast cooling body. He follows the direction of your eyes, music and laughing become louder further angering him. A thought occurs to him, he reaches for the small golden chain that is at your spiritual ankle connecting you to your real body, he could keep you here, he could….but before he can break your life’s chain a mist of black appears. 

"You know you cannot do that.” From within the mist comes a man with the head of a raven or a tengu, Kirishima is not sure. All he knows is that he loathes to see Death come too close to the things he loves. 

“But.." 

"Look around you Kirishima-kun. You’ve tried countless times to keep mortals before and what becomes of them? Shades, unwavering, thoughtless hungry shades as I’ve told you. Their spirits are so far corrupted they could never return to the cycle.” Death speaks the truth but it does not stop the anguish that sweeps through his body. 

He cannot allow it just yet. He watches as your golden chain is unhooked, you walk backwards, keeping your eyes on your God as Death guides you. 

“Until we meet again.” It is a whisper on the wind, a rustle in the leaves, a huff of a nearby fawn and babbling of the hot spring. He nods, eyes glued to you as you fade away into the black mist. 

He breathes deeply as he picks you up, cradling your cold body to his hard chest. He walks gingerly with you as if he feared he would wake you, he only had on destination in mind. It does not take long before he is walking towards the center of the small town, houses darkened as the square is full of life. The smell of wine and food waft the cool air. 

This only fuels his intentions. 

He stands on the fringe of the crowd and it only takes a blink or two before the roaring party dies to deafening silence. People falling to their knees, their foreheads pressed into the bloodied bricks. 

“K..Kamisama Kirishima, had we known you would grace…" 

"SILENCE!” His voice shakes the very foundations of the homes, the shingles clinking in the wind. The trees quiver in his presence as the Earth seems to roar beneath his feet. His eyes are hard and dark like raw diamonds as he looks over their merriment shredding them with his gaze alone. The moon above suddenly glows red as if washed over with your blood, illuminating him in an ominous tone. The hue paints the village in eerie light as it fully bares witness to the wrath of the mountain God.  

“Is this how you honor me?” A rhetorical question as he wonders how long this had been going on, the shades most likely and happily, eating the remains before Kirishima could have ever found out. He shakes, unable to reign in his rage. 

“Look at her.” Three words, three words has well over fifty people shivering. Eyes barely coming up to look at the limp woman in his hands, skin already graying. Both eyes now clouded over and lips stained a peculiar red. Their eyes shift to the God they worship, the one they had been giving their most beautiful women too. 

He holds eye contact with each and every one of them for a moment, staring into their black souls with a malice that could maim. He spies your mother, his lip snarls as he thinks of your scar. 

He begins to wonder if this is why she had done it. He finds the elder, the one who wears the fine kimono. One of the few garments that is not tattered, dirtied or sullied red. He grinds his teeth. 

“May you never forget this moment in all of your reincarnations. May you never forget her face and may you always feel an inkling of what I’ve felt.” The people weep, not for their own lives but from the feeling of the God’s heart overflowing in them despite him never shedding a tear. They do not ask forgiveness. 

They cannot ask for forgiveness. Just as he sealed your fate all those years ago, he is sealing theirs now. With a stomp of his foot the Earth rumbles, slowly opening up into a jagged mawl. People scream as they reach for one another, grasping onto nothing. Only your mother waits for death silently. Her own tears streaming down her face as she etches into her last moments the sight of her failure. Of you taken from the world too soon. 

The village is swallowed whole and now that it is over, he is still unhappy. The void in his cheat is far deeper than the Earthy chasm before him. He cries out in anguish pulling you impossibly closer. A fissure runs through the ground, deep and fast through the next village and the one after that.

In a loud puff of smoke a man appears beside the mountain God, he pulls down his black hood and his hair shines gold in the moonlight. His eyes like molten lava gleam with destructive glee. The Earth threatens to crumble beneath the new God’s feet, the dark chasm glows a bright hot red in his presence. 

“No one ever strikes your ire.” His voice is dark yet excited, “And never enough to summon me. Need some pointers from the God of Destruction himself shitty hair?”

“Bakugou, I…” The mountainous man’s voice cracks, causing his friend’s brow to furrow. Bakugou takes in the sight of you withered in hands through ghastly means. Of the decimation and the level of it. Reaching over to another village and possibly the next two. This level of destruction would get the Mountain God into a lot of trouble but it was evident he did not care. Bakugou gives his back to the sight and finally speaks, lying a warm hand on his friend’s broad shoulder.

“If anyone asks, I destroyed the villages.” Molten eyes watch tears fall onto you and the ground beneath his friend’s feet. The golden haired man sighs, gently taking you from the arms of his friend who tries to desperately hold on to what is left of you. 

“It’s alright, it’s okay.” A rare comfort from his companion, he takes your small frame and turns. He is going to gently lie you in the cooling Earth. A destruction God destroys in order for something new to be created. He plans to give his only friend a blessed grave for you so he can visit until, what Bakugou hopes but heavily doubts, Kirishima forgets. 

“W..wait. wait. She needs…” His voice shatters as with shaking fingers he creates the very thing he had intended for you to have. Good fortune in the shape of deities or wild irises, circling one another to be a stunning crown. Instead of white they glow gold as he sets it atop your crown. Kirishima squeezes your limp hand a final time before letting you go. Bakugou breathes deeply as he works, pulling the ground back together with sheer force as the lava recedes. He does so until the two shelves barely meet, a rich bed of soil lies before his feet. Gently he lies you in the bed of dirt. 

“Ashes to ashes.” Your body ignites from within, glowing in a golden flame until there is nothing left but dust on the wind and the golden flower crown. Bakugou pulls the dirt over your remains.

Kirishima falls to his knees, pressing his hand into the Earth, fearful he will forget a mortal like you, a mere blip in his infinite lifetime. The ground beneath him bursts and blooms in great color. All deep reds, golden yellows and blinding whites for miles. 

“I will always love you my little flower." 

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The summer breeze feels warm as it rouses the scent of rain and the sound of chimes. You close your eyes and day dream of something long forgotten, of stories retold from an old book of legend you never read. Nervousness thrums through your veins as you stand beside your ash blonde friend, patiently waiting for the third party to arrive. The impatient man growls beside you as he spots someone he recognizes behind you. 

"Oi shitty hair hurry up! Iris and I have been waiting here all damn morning!” Bakugou shouts, using your hero name. You turn to see your new patrol partner for future missions. The sun illuminates behind him, almost giving him a heavenly glow and you realize that there is something odd about the man who approaches you. His long flowing garnet hair is unruly in the wind, shining a red so deep in hue you first mistake it for black. His smile is sharp toothed and easy, causing a swarm of butterflies to take flight in your stomach. With your heart hammering out of your chest you cannot shake the feeling that something seems off about him. It is both other worldly and familiar, you feel as if his name sits on the tip of your tongue. A shiver runs down your spine as his glowing ruby eyes drink you in.  He sees a faint mark traveling through your left eye as if it were a fading scar, maybe it was something you could not shake from a past long forgotten. His heart hammers in his chest as he speaks, your reaction to his next words will tell him what he needs to know. 

“Hello my little flower, it seems we meet again.”

[may-day-voice]

The Meaning of Vengeance to a Thirteen-Year Old

2nd Generation One-Shot

please do not repost, but you have permission to reblog :)

• Watch/ Listen on YouTube: https://youtu.be/ApYodEHIDC0

• Read on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1201853205-2nd-gen-cast-oneshots-the-meaning-of-vengeance-to

• Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35097832/chapters/94054144

The end of the school day couldn’t have arrived any sooner in the eyes of a young man exiting the modest gates of Corusca Private. He hunched with his messenger bag over his shoulder, hands in his pockets while his tall frame passed by many of his fellows with smiles on their faces. Unlike them, he held an aloof scowl, his mind elsewhere while he mindlessly turned to the street, leaving his school without a thought.

Sadly, his reputation preceded him.

“Hey Todoroki!” yelled a student from the gates, watching the tall redhead halt in his stride. “Wanna join us at the arcade?”

The young man turned with his icy blue gaze glazing over the small group of boys by the gates, all huddled together to enjoy an afternoon before reluctantly heading home for the day. “No thanks,” he dryly replied, his expression cold and monotone.

"What? Come on my guy, you said you'd give us another chance to beat your high score," whined one of the group, their eyes anticipating and almost pleading for him to join them.

"You go do that," he responded coldly. A short moment staring at them felt like an eternity waiting for anything more. They were all friends of his, but none that he would ever entrust his deepest thoughts or feelings to. They were of the outer circle variety, a social means in his school, but despite his aversion of growing close to others they had always been warm towards his demeanour. That much he was aware.

Despite the disappointment in some of their faces, they watched a small smirk appear on the tall redhead's lips, his eyes glinting a little with a cockiness about him.

"Photos or it didn't happen," he wagered, stoking a passion amongst the boys with smug grins of their own.

"Yes, Your Highness," they cooed before they went on their way, the group crossing the street towards the arcade close by. The young man frowned a little at the title while he watched the group disappear into the crowd of students who went about their afternoon. The title had stuck due to being proverbially crowned king of the arcade by his group of friends multiple times. It had become a nickname on school grounds, bleeding into the fact that it stirred the pot about his reputation, in and out of public.

Tohru Todoroki was built upon the legacy of his family, from his father and his father's father, and it didn't help that his older brother Haru Todoroki was also making a name for himself. He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders whenever the thought struck, having learnt at a young age about the extent of his family's reputation - good and bad. He was no stranger to the idle chatter and back talk about him specifically, burdened by the opinions of those around him that compared him to certain family members. It only irritated him, silencing those words as quickly as they were uttered. Many learnt quickly how violent his temper was.

Still, it was a usual school day, one that he looked forward to every week when time permitted for him to make the trek towards Aldera Junior High. It became routine every odd day to visit the school, having already grown up around the Pro-Hero circuit and making friends within his father's circles. However, he had also made a compromise to wait outside of the school's gates, soon reaching them and loitering by the brick-laid construction while students exited from the school.

Idling away his time, Tohru went straight onto social media, catching up on the recent news around Musatafu and keeping up with the trends regarding Pro-Hero activity. The usual suspects appeared in his feed, finding Deku making the headlines too often as of late. He would skim past entries of the Number One, finding no interest in the Pro-Hero despite his father being close friends with the man, but a few entries about Shouto had taken centrestage. He wryly pulled at his lips in slight embarrassment at the ridiculous titles of said articles.

Wonder Duo at it Again! Romance & Rescue!

Every so often, Tohru would come across anything revolving around the infamous Shouto also involving you - his mother. A part of him had accepted this fact that the media was oddly obsessed with this romanticised idea about his parents, but the nature of it was blown out of proportion. A read of the articles however would bring a smile to his face, finding that the synchronicity between the both of you was a sight to behold. It only brought back those thoughts of how he was compared, whether against his father, his brother... or his hardly spoken about uncle.

His reputation always preceded him. So much so, that he caught a few whispers from students who spotted him waiting by the gates. He simply ignored them and continued to swipe through his feed, recognising a few names here and there.

It wasn't long for him to find one article that caught his eye, spotting the familiar grenadier bracers in the blurry confines of the image. He immediately read the contents of the event, finding that Ground Zero had single-handedly thwarted a robbery of one of Mustafu's major banks. He intently read the outcomes, paying close attention to details that sparked his excitement in Ground Zero's speed, tenacity, and his well-known explosive power. The sheer force of Ground Zero's Quirk always fascinated him, seeing how a Pro-Hero was able to wield a dangerous force and turn the perspectives and expectations of people's views. To him, Ground Zero was his hero, until he suddenly caught himself with that wide grin on his face.

He sighed inwardly while he shook away his excitement, embarrassed at himself this time for that reaction, before he continued to idle at Aldera Junior High's gates, ignoring the glances of its students.

"Come on, give us a show," bellowed a voice past the gates, catching his ear.

"You think you're so tough because you're Daddy's little girl," sneered another that only forced him to put away his phone back in his pockets.

"Just leave them alone already!" snapped a young voice, the pitch of it almost screeching against her throat.

Tohru grimaced while his scowl deepened at the familiarity of that voice, turning to peer past the brick walls of Aldera Junior High to spot a small huddled group within. Most of the students had already left for the day, but a tall group of boys surrounded a few smaller students, looming over them while one stood before them, her head high and her shoulders rigid while her red glare stood firm. Tohru watched intently, still holding his ground outside of Aldera Junior High.

"What are you gonna do? Blast us?" continued one of the boys, his comment almost spitting on the young girl who stood between them and smaller students behind her.

"Bakugou, let's just leave, okay?" timidly suggested one of the students, tugging at the girl's uniform.

She turned towards the others, seeing their faces filled with a mix of fear and apprehension. However despite their pleading, she softly scoffed before her red eyes turned back onto the boys - the bullies that refused to let this go. She stood as tall as she could, though she was just as small as the rest, her eyes refusing to release their hold on the tall boys before her.

"No, you apologise to them right now!" she reprimanded, her voice wavering a little despite the loudness that projected from it.

Tohru continued to watch the situation unfold while he felt his blood boil. He hated watching any form of injustice occur, especially those toward the girl who stood for the rest. He contemplated entering the school, crossing the threshold of the gates to be at her aid, yet he knew he made this compromise with her to keep him at bay from Aldera Junior High school grounds. He growled under his breath, angered by the boys that surrounded her, for what good is he if he couldn't protect the daughter of his hero.

Aki Bakugou still stood her ground while she stared up towards the boys, hoping that her body despite her size would act as a barrier for the other students behind her. She was only met by mocking laughter while her body trembled, afraid herself for her choices.

"Look, the little princess wants to fight," mocked the largest one of them all, suddenly pushing Aki with a rough shove that almost tripped her over her own feet. She crashed into the other students who immediately caught her fall, but now she was in a heap amongst the others, surrounded by the bullies that jeered and mocked.

Through her tear-filled angry eyes, Aki growled under her breath, hoping that the anger would override the hurt she felt while she stared up at the bullies. No one came to her aid, nor the others while the boys loomed further, their shadows now cast over the students with sinister smiles. Behind their cackles, a sudden heat permeated the air, almost choking that even reached Aki's vicinity. She felt it prick her skin, yet that did not detract from something larger looming behind the bullies, catching one of them unawares.

"Hey, is it getting a little warm?" one boy asked, fanning himself with his hand before he felt a tap on his shoulder. A quick turn was met with a large palm in his face, before an intense wash of flames burst from it, knocking him unconscious. A loud bellow escaped his throat before he crashed to the floor, taking all the students by surprise, except for Aki who stared at the newcomer with his hair masking the glowing ice blue glare he held.

"Todoroki?" she uttered behind her tears.

"What?" exclaimed one of the bullies. "You're kidding me!"

"The Tohru Todoroki?" questioned the other, staring at the boy still with palm in the air from where he blasted one of their own. That heat surrounded them like a suffocating blanket, permeating from Tohru's body like an invisible force. His eyes only stared down at the boys that tormented Aki, his glare cold and uncaring. It made their blood run cold despite the invisible fires that licked from his presence.

"You have to the count of three," slowly warned Tohru with a curdle in his voice, his body unmoving. "One," he started, watching the boys frantically grab their fallen friend. "Two," he continued, eyeing them dragging their friend along, hoping they escaped from his firing range.

"Late," he sneered before he threw his arm, sending off a stream of flames towards the bullies. It only made them run faster, frantically with a surprising amount of strength to take their friend with them over their heads. The sight of Tohru's flames was mesmerising, almost bending light in their invisible cloak that only the trained eye could see during the day. Flickers of it dissipated in the air, leaving only this cool relief once the heat was lifted.

Aki stared up at Tohru, finding his aloof blue eyes on her slightly disappointed. With a nod of his head, he made his way back to the gates, leaving Aki to bid her farewells to whomever she needed before following after him. The walk from Aldera Junior High was quiet for some time, almost awkward while Aki peeked at Tohru's expression every once in a while, hoping to catch glimpses of his thoughts. For some time, she held her tongue until one glance caught his, staring down at her with a raised brow. They both held this gaze for some time before Tohru sighed heavily, his tone nonchalant in his words.

"I knew it," he uttered.

"Huh?" replied Aki, surprised to finally hear Tohru's voice, and less so when his eyes landed back on her.

"How many times have I told you to come to me when you're in trouble? I can tell when something's bothering you, and you've been acting weird for the past week."

"I had it under control," pouted Aki, still standing her ground.

"Didn't look like it," retorted Tohru dryly.

"I didn't want to trouble you with my problems. My problems are mine to deal with."

"You're so stubborn."

"Look who's talking?"

This back and forth was a staple for Tohru while his eyes met Aki's, finding the steadfast look that swam in her gaze while she was on the brink of tears. It was this situation alone that spurred his want to protect her, now afraid to cause any unwarranted and unneeded upsetment on the young girl. He swallowed his tongue, pursing his lips a little with a deep breath to calm himself. If there was one thing he didn't want, it was upsetting Aki. He had already seen enough pain from the unfortunate situations she surprisingly found herself in. Too good of a heart, and yet too stubborn to quit.

He wouldn't think of her less.

Tohru turned to Aki before he flicked her in the forehead playfully. She recoiled with a yelp, rubbing the spot that soon settled from the sudden jolt. Then without a moment to recover, a large hand sat atop her head, rubbing it gently and comforting her from her conflicting feelings and her independent nature.

"Next time bullies like that mess with you again, let me join in on the fun," smoothly offered Tohru, catching Aki's eye while she gazed up into his blue ones, finding that violent mischief in his stare and that wide grin on his face.

"You're weird sometimes," she pouted once more, swiping his hand away from her head.

Tohru couldn't help but chuckle under his breath at her reaction. It was a highlight whenever he could ruffle her a little, gleeful to be in her company every week. Walking through the streets soon was met with something eye-catching atop billboards in the city, spotting a news bulletin displaying live footage of that bank heist Tohru read earlier in his social feed. There emblazoned on the large screens were moments of Ground Zero and his heroics, as destructive as they were.

"Dad's at it again," commented Aki with a sigh, watching the screens along with Tohru. "Wouldn't be surprised if Mum decides on something special tonight."

A nonchalant and blase comment, but nonetheless, Tohru was struck by awe at the sight of Ground Zero in action. Aside from any family gatherings or the like, these news updates were the closest he would ever experience watching his hero. He smiled, his heart full of hope for the future despite the connotations and opinions of others regarding the nature of his Quirk, or his attitude for that matter. After all, if his hero, as brash and violent as he was, could turn the tide within a Pro-Hero capacity—

DING

Tohru's phone caught him unaware in his pocket, drawing his attention from the billboards to find a message from his friends back at Corusca Private. There were two photos - one displaying the newest high score above his own, and the smug smiles on his friends' faces. They even included the new name that took over the scoreboard, finding the letters JKR now the holder of the arcade game. What a joke, he thought, soon violently responding back with a text of his own, after having read their words on his screen.

The Joker stole His Highness' crown today! What will the Prince do?

"Did they beat your high score?" asked Aki, already reading the confused and yet irate look on Tohru's face. "Someone take your crown?"

Her teasing and playful tone only caused further embarrassment for Tohru, afterwards pocketing his phone away to suddenly grab hold of her cheeks. Aki cried out in pain from his own response to her teasing comment, but it was soon replaced with a smile from the young man, earning a flustered pout from Aki herself with her hands against his that now cradled her cheeks.

——

That intervention in Aldera Junior High did not come without its comeuppance for Tohru, now standing opposite the principal's desk. A day or two later came with unimpressed announcements and mediation between involved parties of the confrontation after school, earning Tohru a visit after school hours at Aldera for a formal apology. He believed an apology was unwarranted for what he did. He knew what he did, he even gave the perpetrators warning, but his actions were looked upon with unfavorable opinion. He stared at the principal of Aldera Junior High, her eyes expectant of his next course of action while he swallowed his pride.

"I'm sorry, on behalf of Corusca Private," he apologized with a bow, his eyes aloof and his voice blunt and monotone.

"We accept your humblest apologies," thanked the principal before Tohru took his seat, her eyes now pleased with the immediate result. "And thank you for rectifying this misunderstanding," she continued, her eyes now set on you sitting adjacent to Tohru, still in your Pro-Hero outfit.

"Of course," you simply replied cordially.

"I'd only wished Shouto would be present here. It would mean the world for our students to witness such an impeccable Pro-Hero in their vicinity, especially with his colourful reputation."

Tohru rolled his eyes at the statement, catching a glimpse of the principal's eyes on him. The one thing he hated about legacies was the expectation that trailed after. The so-called rivalry between Pro-Heroes felt like a joke to him, watching how others built their own social standings on the basis and foundations of Pro-Hero popularity. It was overrated in his opinion, knowing that Pro-Heroes and his father alike built themselves for themselves - a trait he admired across the Heroes of today. That word crossed his mind again - reputation. It made him assume the principal's intent about his family's history, as if she were digging a knife further into the chest cavity with a twist. His hands clenched against the arm of the chair he sat in, holding off any residual heat that surely seeped through if he had his way.

"Well, two of your best Pro-Heroes hailed from Aldera," you commented with a smile, catching Tohru's attention on the nuances of your tone and calming the warmth that slowly rose from his presence. "I'm sure there's plenty of that going around for your establishment, especially with young Bakugou still attending here."

"Why yes, absolutely," chirped the principal with a courteous smile.

"And to have us go out of our way for a minor incident is nothing compared to the supervisory board on conduct outside of school grounds."

Tohru eyed your form, sitting tall on the chair with your hands laid before you in your lap. There were certain things he picked up from you on the way you approached conversation with others, whether amongst friends or business colleagues in the field. You upheld courteous and polite conversation at best, but Tohru knew better how you handled underhanded words spoken in your presence. Your tone grew cold through the smile you wore, while your eyes held steadfast on the principal.

"Though my son did respond with the use of his Quirk outside of Quirk-usage jurisdiction, it was in response to a confrontation that involved young Bakugou," you highlighted with emphasis on the situation at hand. "I would have thought Aldera upheld justice much like their former students."

"Well–"

"My son did apologise," you interrupted without giving the principal a chance to breathe. "But his reputation is his own. I'd thought it best that judgement of character was reserved outside of schooling etiquette."

A creak of the chair signaled your motion to leave the office, prompting Tohru to follow suit along with the principal. Tohru still kept his eye on you, observing the way you stood and the way you held your gaze still on the principal, wary of your tongue and regrettably holding theirs.

"You should do well to remember this the next time we find ourselves here again. Perhaps with someone else you'd rather not rub the wrong way," you informed, still with a genial smile that somehow caught the principal off-guard, slightly tense at your opinionated barrage. "I'm glad we did sort out this misunderstanding, but imagine how Ground Zero must feel if he heard otherwise."

With that, you turned to exit the office, once again followed by Tohru who bowed lightly in respect before exiting himself. He trailed after you, a little unnerved and also silent. If not his father, you had been a strong advocate of voicing your opinion when required or needed. Being heard was important, and it was something Tohru instilled in his own life, if not for the rules and regulations getting in the way. Exiting the school was still wrapped in silence while Tohru walked beside you, his bright eyes watching you from their corners.

"Mum–"

"I know why you did it, but you need to reel it in a little," you interrupted, already knowing what Tohru had to say.

A deep sigh escaped his lips, turning away from your gaze but never slowing his step. "Yeah, well, they asked for it," he mumbled under his breath, his scowl turned towards the ground.

You watched him pull a pout on his lips, noticing the slight nuance of embarrassment in his stead. Tohru had always been the problem child, being the youngest but also judged profusely on his Quirk and his attitude. They both came hand-in-hand, smiling inwardly to yourself at the thought of how similar he was to—

"Bakugou would be proud," you muttered under your breath, catching Tohru's ear by curiosity. "About time we get home. Your father has taken the afternoon off to speak with you."

"Mum, I don't need another lecture," whined Tohru, almost droning the words from his lips while he was still in his head. His eyes turned towards the gates, finding two members of his family standing by, one in particular sporting a cheerful smile still in his UA uniform.

"What did you do this time, Tohru?" Piped Haru Todoroki before he ruffled the top of Tohru's head upon approach.

"Get off of me!" barked Tohru, swiping away Haru's hand only to be met by some roughhousing from the older boy.

You walked past the boys before standing by your partner and husband, Shouto Todoroki, still in his Hero outfit after collecting Haru from UA. While both boys continued to roughhouse amongst themselves, Todoroki cleared his throat, immediately halting both of his sons from continuing their childish antics. They both stood upright, standing side by side despite Tohru's inclination to slouch. Todoroki eyed both his sons, his eyes soon drawn to his youngest whose own blue eyes caught his.

"What you did was wrong," he started, earning Tohru's eyes to break away from his gaze. "But why you did it holds weight in the matter. I spoke to Ground Zero about the incident, and he's impressed."

Tohru's eyes lit up at the mention of his Hero's name, and more so on the fact that his Hero knew the situation.

"Unless you focus on your studies, he offered to take you on patrol for a sneak peek into what he does," bargained Todoroki, his aloof gaze watching Tohru's excitement light up inside. "As a thank you for looking out for Aki."

Tohru couldn't believe what he heard. To be in the presence of Katsuki Bakugou as Ground Zero felt like a once in a lifetime opportunity.

"Congratulations brother," warmly piped Haru, smirking at his younger brother earnestly.

"But don't take Bakugou lightly," warned Todoroki. "He can be... difficult to work with."

"Bakugou, well, Ground Zero is happy to take you next week, so long as you keep up with your grades," you added with a gentle smile and a slight stern tone. "And no more confrontations between now and then."

"Yes Mum," droned Tohru with respect before he turned to his father. "Thanks Dad."

A glimmer of a smile appeared on Todoroki's lips, soon in turn spotting a smug smirk on Tohru's. Everything that happened in the mundane felt like paper-thin weights dispersing into the breeze. Tohru attempted to contain the excitement, but his mind was blank, content that he could possibly spend a day in his Hero's shoes, figuratively speaking. He couldn't tell whether it was because of his father's somewhat friendly connection with the man, or if it was due to his recent mishap on Aldera grounds, but Tohru felt lighter and happier.

It was one tiny step towards building his own mark in the world.

[harukamitsuki]

I don't think Lance should have swapped to the Red Lion.

TL;DR at the end.

Lance's connection to Blue was the first connection shown in the series, which makes it all the more meaningful, and it made no sense to the series own rules. Red is temperamental and difficult to control, which is why Keith was her paladin. I have defended Lance's piloting skills in a previous post, but he is not as good as Keith and does not suit the Red Lion. His affinity is water - as emphasised by the start of season 2. Red is aligned with water.

Plus, if he stayed in Blue he would have gotten a proper character arc by living by his own rules and standards and not in Keith's shadow. I know it was supposed to be symbolism - him accepting Keith as leader and not being selfish about it made him qualify as the right-hand man, but the others accepted him as well, despite ribbing Keith about it earlier.

If anyone should have gotten the role as the Red Paladin, it should have been Allura.

Allura as the Red Paladin would, not only make sense narratively, but would also seem right. Colour-wise, she's closer to Red's hue than Blue's, but honestly, I didn't really care about the colour match-up. What is important, is that it would seem like a much bigger deal than Lance accepting Keith as the leader. Lance hates Keith, but that's probably due to being constantly in his shadow and being compared to him, consistently reminded at the Garrison that he was only moved up because Keith was expelled.

Allura, however, has a deeper reason. (Lance's reason is still valid, btw, just not as big as Allura's). She hated Keith for a good portion of Season 2 because he is half-Galra. Obviously, to us, this is a shitty reason to hate someone. It's racism and the show doesn't handle this well. It doesn't handle a lot of stuff well, but whatever. She gives Keith the cold shoulder and Keith knows she hates him. He says so himself to Hunk and doesn't listen to his reassurances. Then again, Hunk was making jokes about something Keith was clearly sensitive about, so that may have had a hand in it too.

Now, I am not condoning her actions. She made Keith feel unwelcome in a team - a family - while he already has abandonment issues, (not that they knew that), and hated him for something he cannot control. Keith probably hated himself for being born. Both of them disregarded the fact that he is still a person with feeling and blood doesn't change that. Hunk too, as much as I love him, was also wrong in his 'Galra Keith' jokes, as if Keith was someone else entirely, when nothing changed apart from their knowledge.

However, what I am saying, is that Allura's reaction was, somewhat, believable and had a genuine reason - and a good one. The Galra Empire completely annihilated her species (as far as she's aware), betrayed the people she loved, and has monopolized entire planets and controlled them - forced them to work and even fight to the death for their entertainment. Apart from Ulaz, she hadn't a single good interaction with the Galra. One good person is not enough to change your opinion about entire races. I know people who are racist, proper racist, to their own race, no joke.

Allura's reaction was actually rather tame, especially compared to how extreme racism can be in the world, even now. She never rose a hand to Keith and kept it passive-aggressive. She gave him the cold shoulder and genuinely hated him, but she never hit him and she never deliberately sent him on a death mission. The Weblum mission was dangerous, but it was also a requirement and she didn't send him in alone. She may have refused to acknowledge his achievements, but she didn't blame him or accuse him of anything. It's likely that, when she saw him, all she saw was Galra. That being said, she wasn't a bad person, simply badly written. There are many people who hurt others for no reason - people who haven't been wronged in any way, but rate a community simply because they exist or they think they're lower than them or less human, which is wrong on so many levels. Allura, at least, had a good reason, though it should have been built on and written better.

In the end, Allura acknowledged her toxic attitude and apologised to Keith. This in and of itself does not make everything okay, but it's more than what Lance did, (virtually nothing except telling Keith that he has to be the leader). Allura knows she was wrong and sets out to make it right, and this development would have been solidified by her becoming the Red Paladin. Like, let's be honest. Lance does not treat Keith right and it's never explained why, in and outside of the show. He's the one antagonising Keith, even during their first proper meeting, and he's the only starting all the arguments, especially in season 2. Keith has been volatile too, I will admit, but he stops his behaviour in the second season. Lance is the one starting everything. Allura, however, stops her behaviour before it takes extreme lengths and becomes a better person and a better friend as a result. It's then that she calls Keith family for the first time, and becoming his right-hand would have shown how serious she was and how far they've come.

Seeing Allura, who, just the season prior, hated Keith's guts, accept Keith as her leader, the Black Paladin, become his right-hand, would have meant so much more. The symbolism goes even deeper. Red's first paladin was Altean and Black's was Galran. Need I say more? (No, but I will). Many of us were incredibly disappointed with the ending of Voltron, especially with Allura dying. The reason she died was to complete the circle, so to speak. The war against the Galra Empire truly started with the death of Allura's father, Alfor, and the entire species of Altea, and the war is finally ending with Allura and Honerva's death. That being said, it was just so insulting and pointless and nobody was happy. Instead of dying to complete the circle, Allura should have survived and broken the chain, for both herself and Red's own paladin tragedy. It was just a huge slap in the face for people who actually powered through seasons 7 and 8 and trusted the show to pull through and get its head together. I know that Shiro was supposed to get Black back, Keith goes back to Red and Allura controls the Atlas, but if that wasn't the plan, then Allura in Red would have made much more sense.

Additionally, the fight in that realm would have been more emotional if Allura was forced to fight her father and bring him back. Lance had no emotional attachment to Alfor, and I know that was the case with Hunk and Pidge, and Allura had attachment to all of the previous paladins, but still. Think about how heart wrenching it would have been for her to face her father, whom she loves dearly. he wouldn't have even recognised her and would have fought her with the intent to kill after his soul was trapped for 10,003 decapheobs/years. (I know they're different, but Allura says 10,000 years even when she didn't know what years were, so I didn't know if that was a mistake or not). Allura would not have been able to fight as well as she did against the Blue Paladin of Old.

Let's not forget that Allura was the one to convince Keith to take up the role of the Black Paladin. Of all the paladins, it was Allura who knew what to say; who knew why Keith was acting the way he was in season 3. Lance saw Shiro as his idol, Pidge as a legend, and Hunk as a mentor. Keith's relationship with Shiro is so much deeper than that. Shiro wasn't the youngest man to be sent into space. He wasn't someone to look up to. He didn't go to the Garrison because Shiro went there - he went there because Shiro convinced him. He doesn't see Takashi Shirogane, piloting prodigy, idol for all. He sees Takashi Shirogane, his best friend and brother, a man he can trust and how can trust him. Nobody else realises how deep this goes. Nobody but Allura. She's the only one to see how much Shiro meant to Keith. She's the one to call him 'irreplaceable' and she's the only one even by the end of the series, who isn't Keith, who has sacrificed something for him. Allura gave up her freedom for him by allowing herself to be captured, and then she gave up the crystal for his arm. Keith has saved Shiro many times, even his clone, and literally gave up his place in Voltron for Shiro. Allura trusts Keith and Keith allowed himself to trust her. She understands his pain when nobody else saw it.

Finally, Allura would have been inheriting Red from her father. Coran has explicitly said that Allura wanted to pilot Red due to her father piloting her. The Lions clearly have some amount of sentience, Red and Black especially. Black only opens themselves to Keith because he of Shiro. The first time, it's to save Shiro from death. The second, it's because Shiro wanted him to become the leader. Red only accepted Keith because he proved himself to her and has saved Keith many times while he's floating in space. She's described as temperamental, which suggest levels of sentience. Obviously, Red would have more of a soft spot for Allura, the daughter of her previous paladin, than she would for Lance, whom she only opens up to well into season 3 and is someone antagonised and even bullied Keith, her current/transitioning paladin. Allura also shows that she's fiercely loyal and is willing to give one up for the team.

Allura has sacrificed her only contact to her father, she has allowed herself to be kidnapped for Shiro, she has constantly exhausted herself for both her friends and strangers such as the Balmerans, she has given up the crystal in her crown for Shiro without hesitation, and she even dated Lance despite not showing any form of romantic attraction previously. (That last one was joke, obviously).

TL;DR - Lance has literally no reason to have become the Red Paladin outside of a rubbish character arc, and Allura has all the reasons. It would have marked an excellent character arc mid-point and would have set up a great ending, if handled well.

I have nothing but respect for the writers of Voltron for their work, especially after all the intervening of their higher-ups that caused many issues, especially regarding Shiro, Keith, Lance and Allura, who were all robbed of excellent character arcs. That doesn't mean I can't hate what came of it.

[tomtenadia]

Winter Bliss

This is a very old Rowaelin Oneshot that I wrote last year but never published here. So, while you all wait for chapter 3 of A Little Braver i give you my one shot and a lot of fluff. 

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Set sometime in the future after KoA. Aelin is working and Rowan decides to have some fun in the snow with their daughter. Loads of fluff.

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Their daughter is called Aisling which in Gaelic means dream or vision. First because I still think about the dream Rowan had of Aelin and their 5 kids. Also, in my head the Old Language is basically Gaelic.

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It had snowed heavily in Terrasen for the past few days. Rowan moved to the window and stared at the white countryside in front of him. The snow was so thick that it muffled the sounds of the world and a sense of peace swept over him. He opened the big window of his and Aelin’s royal chamber and took a deep breath, inhaling deeply the crisp scent of the air. He wished Aelin hadn’t been busy with crown business that afternoon. It was the perfect day for a walk in the woods, hand in hand, to enjoy a moment of peace just the two of them. Between the kingdom to run and their two years old daughter, they had very little time for themselves and he wished he could whisk her away just for a few hours.

He was deep in thought when he heard some light footsteps behind him. He turned and saw their daughter walking toward him with her stuffed toy in her hands. “Dada!” She cried, walking toward him, arms extended. Rowan ran to the girl and picked her up, hugging her tightly at his chest. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek and she giggled. “What is it, my love?” His daughter leaned forward and with her hand pointed at the window and at the snow. “You like the snow?” Aisling’s green eyes lit up in joy “snow” she said pointing outside. At witnessing his daughter’s joy, Rowan had a sudden crazy idea. With her still in his arms he rushed out his chambers and went to the nursery. He put his daughter on the bed and went to the chest of drawers as if on a mission. “You and I are going on an adventure.” He confessed, turning his head to look at the little girl who was his exact copy “but we are not telling mum.” He knew Aelin was going to be busy for a few more hours so he had plenty of time to enjoy the snow with his daughter in all secrecy and come back in time before Aelin discovered anything. Aisling giggled, “snow” she repeated and clapped her hands feeling her father’s excitement at their upcoming adventure in the woods. Rowan went back to her with a selection of clothes to wrap up his daughter nicely. Aelin would have his head on a silver plate if he got their daughter sick. Once Aisling was bundled up in a cosy thick layer of clothes, with a wooly hat a scarf and some gloves he decided they were ready. They stopped quickly to his bedroom so he could grab his cloak and a scarf and they were ready to go. He sneakily opened the door and checked that the corridor was free of guards. He knew they were his wife little minions and there would be no hiding from her this little escape if they spotted him. Aisling hugged her father tightly around his neck and leaned her head on his shoulder while he was walking as silently as possible through the castle. “We are almost out.” He whispered. He crossed the last corridor before reaching the main hall. Once he made sure his path was clear he dashed for the door and sneaked out. Once out in the open he took a deep breath and kissed his daughter on her head. She smelled of jasmine, like her mother and he wished she was there as well. Slowly he started walking and shifted the little girl on his shoulders. She put her tiny hands on his silver hair and babbled some nonsense and Rowan laughed at that sound. Once they were deeper in the woods he began singing a song to her in the Old Language and Aisling kept babbling gibberish as if she was singing along with him and Rowan’s heart almost melted with happiness. His two girls were the most precious thing in his world. The day Aisling came to the world he had held them both in the circle of his arms and cried of happiness. He finally had that family he had been dreaming about. And after all the pain he and Aelin had to go through to get to that moment, he felt like the luckiest male alive. He had all he needed. He reached a clearing and stopped, removing his daughter from his shoulders. He sat her down on the snow and Aisling started crawling and playing with the with icy substance on the ground. “Snow” she turned to Rowan smiling happily. Then a flurry of snow lifted from the ground creating a small vortex and Rowan laughed. Aelin and him had discovered quite recently that Aisling had affinity to wind like her father and on a few occasions her power had erupted uncontrolled. Aisling clapped her hands excited at the small flurry of snow and her father added a bit of his magic to make it a bit bigger and gently enveloped her. Then he stopped and the snow fell on his daughter, who was now covered with a light dust of snow. “That was fun, eh?” “Fun!” She repeated and tried to stand on her two feet. She moved a few steps and grabbed some snow and threw it at her dad, losing then her balance and falling with a thump on her backside. Rowan all of a sudden had an idea “Shall we build a snowman?” He asked but did not wait for Aisling to answer. Always keeping an eye on his daughter, who was now using her power to play with the snow in front of her, he started gathering snow to create the two big balls that would have made up the snowman’s body. “Big man!” shouted Aisling while staring at her dad at work. Once the body was completed he began thinking on how to decorated the snowman. He grabbed his daughter in his arms “mama!” She yelled happily. Rowan laughed “Oh yes, she could be mum.” He grabbed a stick and placed it as a mouth, then removed his scarf and tied around the neck of the snow-woman. Once his work was complete with eyes and sticky hands he took a step back. “What do you think, my love? Does it look like mum?” “I know I am pregnant, but I think you made me a bit too fat.” A feminine voice that he would recognise everywhere reached him and he froze. Fuck. He thought. How did she find out? He turned. Aisling leaned forward toward her mother “mama” she called happily. Aelin took her daughter in her arms and turned to her husband who was now frozen in place. “You thought you were being sneaky?” “I had the perfect plan.” He finally took a step toward her and placed a kiss on her cheek reddened by the cold. Aelin chuckled “You failed miserably, buzzard.” She snuggled close to his chest “you forgot to check that there was no staff about. Emrys was coming out of the kitchen when he spotted you.” Rowan growled happily and nibbled at her ear “I missed you.” He muttered as a sort of apology. “I am sure my snow version would have been more than happy to please you.” Rowan was about to add a snarky remark when Aisling started to get agitated to get off from her mother’s arms. Aelin placed the little girl on the snow and she ran happily toward the snow-woman. Rowan laughed and moved behind Aelin and with his arms he circled her waist and placed his hands on her swollen belly “I love all the three of you. Madly.” “You forgot the boobs.” Was Aelin’s comment, not allowing him to have a cheesy moment. She freed herself from his embrace and joined their daughter. Clumsily she tried to bend down and grab some snow but her belly was in the way. “Does your majesty require the help of her dutiful husband?” He joked, while walking toward her with a big grin painted on his face. “Yes, my dearest husband, it’s good to know you can be of some use.” And gave him a warm smile and blew him a kiss. Rowan grabbed some snow and passed it to her. Aelin moulded it in her hands and then pressed it on the ball of snow and attached the fake boobs. “Now it looks like me.” “You have a high opinion of your bosom’s size.” He teased her shamelessly. In response she glared at him, then grabbed one of the snow boobs and threw it at him, then grabbed the other and threw it as well until his hair was even whiter. Aisling laughed and created a bigger flurry of snow around her dad. Rowan grabbed the little girl in his arms and started spinning on his feet until he collapsed in the snow with his daughter on his chest. “Wait for me.” Shouted Aelin, while trying to sit on the snow. Rowan offered her a hand and slowly she made her way down. She pulled the hood of her cloak on top of her head and lay down beside her husband and daughter. A strong arm went behind her back and pulled her closer. She placed a hand on her daughter’s back and then looked in her husband’s green eyes. “Kiss me.” He took his time, and when she began to pout he finally leaned forward and gave her a chaste kiss on her lips. “You are bad at making snowmen.” “I already excel in almost everything I do,” he chuckled “it’s normal that I might have some flaws in other endeavours.” Her smile turned wanton and he noticed the glint of lust in her eyes. “Not here and not with our daughter.” He added, knowing exactly where her mind had wondered off to. “Then take me home, buzzard and show me some of this amazing skills you have.” He stood with a fluid motion and helped her stand as well. “At your service, my Fireheart.”a smirk painted on his face and desire in his eyes. Aelin took Aisling for his arms and started walking back to the castle. Rowan put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. He looked at his wife and daughter and smiled. A deep sense of happiness settled in his soul.

And in that instant it started to snow again…

[seasonofthewicth]

kings and queens

a smutty rowaelin halloween oneshot

(if smut isn’t your thing you can still read, just finish when Aelin says ‘you’)

my masterlist

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The clear gems on her crown shone in the dim, evening light. She had found the crown a week ago in a thrift store and the moment Aelin had seen it she knew it was perfect. It rose up from her golden waves to reach three peaks, the middle slightly taller than the two either side, and they were each topped with shimmering imitation diamonds. A far better find than any useless piece of trash she could have found in a costume store.

Aelin didn’t do costumes by half. The dress she wore was a deep red velvet, with a corset style top that helped to give her chest a boost and a gold lace trim that she knew would draw the eye. It had a short but flowing skirt that hit mid-thigh, showing a peek of the border of her thigh high stockings. She had painted her lips a bold red to match the dress and her eyes were lined with heavy black.

Dressing up as a queen for Halloween didn’t mean she had to be a maiden.

Aelin always went all out for Halloween, but her costumes were never gimmicky. She could find a way to make the dorkiest of ideas sexy to make sure she felt good and more importantly, looked hot.

“You ready?” She heard her roommate and best friend Lysandra call. “Aedion just texted asking where we are.”

Aelin grabbed her small shoulder bag off her bed, her only out of character item for the evening, and left her room to meet Lysandra in the hallway between their rooms. They shared a small two bedroom apartment off campus, it was far from luxury, but it was their space and she loved it. Since meeting Lysandra in her first year of college she hadn’t lived with anyone else.

Lysandra was leaning against the wall, fully dressed in her own costume. She wore a dress with a tight green bodice and a short but full skirt that flowed as she moved. Her hair was piled atop her head in a messy bun and her make-up was peachy and subtle. Tinkerbell.

Aedion had invited them to the party he was hosting in his own house off campus that he shared with a few roommates. Aelin had spent most of her first and second years at college tucked away in that house spending time with her cousin and his friends, she loved his friend Fenrys who shared her appreciation for all things devilish and she had been close with his other housemate Dorian. She and Dorian had shared a mutual attraction but had quickly moved past it to become as thick as thieves and he had been one of her best friends.

The time she spent there had plummeted in her third year when Dorian moved out after his graduation and Rowan Whitethorn moved in, filling the spare room. Aelin hated Rowan Whitethorn with a burning passion. He was arrogant, hot-headed and spiteful, all traits she despised.

The first time they had met she had thought they could have been friends, he got along well with Aedion as did she, but he had opened his mouth to let her know his thoughts on the opinions she had shared in a political theory class she hadn’t even known he was in, and that had been it.

Since that day she noted his presence in the same class, and they would share verbal barbs and taunts every week. She knew it made the other attendees of the class uncomfortable and even the professor leading the sessions seemed at a loss with the sparring students. Aelin couldn’t even understand why they would argue, no matter whether or not she agreed with his point the sound of his voice, the rich and swirling Wendlyn accent would set her off.

Aedion had tried to bridge the gap somewhat, playing moderator to their fights whenever they crossed paths, but ultimately even her easy-going cousin couldn’t fight the fire Rowan made her burn.

She knew he would be there tonight, but she wouldn’t let him ruin what was predicted to turn into a great night, especially not on Halloween when she looked so good. Aedion’s teammates from the football team would likely be there, and it wouldn’t take her long to find someone to distract her from Rowan’s presence.

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The music at the party could be heard from down the road, and as they walked up the path she took in the decorations in the front yard. Someone had strung spider webs through the branches of the twisting tree in the corner and there were fluorescent lights shining orange and green in all directions. There were people in all kinds of costumes spilling into the street as she and Lysandra battled their way into the front door.

They edged their way into the kitchen, pushing past groups of already intoxicated revellers to fix themselves a drink.

Once in the kitchen a loud cry caught their attention.

“Ladies!” Fenrys shouted to them, his voice booming over the music. He reached them and tugged them each under an arm, pulling them into an extravagantly painted but otherwise bare chest.

“What are you?” She yelled.

“I’m your dreams come true,” He gave her shoulders a squeeze as she and Lysandra both rolled their eyes at his proclamation. Fenrys was an ass but they loved him for it.

“Have you seen Aedion?” Lysandra yelled in his ear as she twisted to search for a cup and a drink.

“So desperate to leave me when you’ve only just arrived?” He raised a hand to his chest in mock offense but released them and turned to find them each a drink.

“The vision of you is burning my eyes so bad I’m desperate to get away,” Lysandra told him as they accepted the drinks he handed to them. Fenrys only stuck his tongue out at her, seemingly too drunk to bother trying to come up with a better response.

“I think he was in the main room with Rowan and Lorcan.” He told them before saluting them and venturing back into the throng of moving bodies.

Aelin raised her glass in a toast to Lysandra before taking her first sip and tugging Lysandra to find her cousin.

It only took a minute to spot her cousin, his golden hair spilling out of a small brown cap tucked onto the top of his head. She took in the green tights and tunic before sending a sharp glance at Lysandra. She hadn’t known they had planned a couple’s costume, but one look at Aedion told her he was clearly the Peter Pan to Lysandra’s Tinkerbell.

She took in the two males stood next to her cousin, opposites in their exterior, light and dark, Rowan and Lorcan. Lorcan had made the safe choice, a black mask pushed up onto his forehead the only part of his Batman costume that was out of place.

The sight of Rowan Whitethorn had her blood boiling. He wore a deep green velvet cape and a glowing golden crown atop his silver locks. She was going to kill him, how dare he come as a King to the same party she was dressed as a Queen.

She was vaguely aware of Lysandra slipping up to Aedion and Lorcan’s brief greeting and dismissal as he sought out his crush, Elide, before she was marching up to Whitethorn and hissing in his face.

“What are you wearing?” Her voice was tight.

“Hello to you too, Princess,” He drawled, tipping his chin down to look her directly in the eye.

“I’m not a princess,” She snapped, feeling her anger bubble in her throat. “I’m a Queen.”

“You look like a princess to me,” His voice was as smug as the smirk that spread across his face, showing rows of straight white teeth, canines flashing in the light. He reached a hand up to poke at her crown. “Especially with your little tiara.”

She slapped his hand away. “It is a crown!”

“Sure it is, Princess.” He was making her blood pound in her ears, the sounds of the party fading into the background and she stepped closer to him again, trying to crowd into his space, no matter the fact that he towered over her. She took a deep breath in, readying herself for the barrage of insults she could throw at him when a voice behind her pulled her out of the spell.

“Aelin, hi!”

Aelin turned her head to the side and spotted the source of the voice. Feyre Archeron. She and Aelin had shared an art class in the previous year and Feyre had been a natural, painting with smooth strokes of her brush where Aelin was all pointed jabs.

Failure in her artistic endeavour aside, Aelin liked Feyre, and she knew Aedion ran in the same circles as her boyfriend Rhys.

“Oh hey,” She smiled at Feyre with a small wave. Feyre seemed to take a moment before approaching, glancing between Rowan and Aelin.

It was then that Aelin noticed their proximity. Her body was fully pressed against the length of Rowan’s where she had managed to back him against the wall. The hard planes of his body sending an aura of warmth into her. Their faces were close enough to share a breath as she leaned up and he down. An outsider could easily assume they were lovers, and to Aelin’s horror it seemed an outsider did.

“I didn’t know you guys were together!” Feyre exclaimed and Aelin’s mouth dropped open. “And a King and Queen costume? Gods, such a great idea, I’ll have to tell Rhys for next year.”

Aelin couldn’t find the words. Her and Rowan? Her eyes flicked to his face and he seemed in a similar state of shock, pink lips slightly parted as he stared at Feyre.

When neither of them spoke Feyre blushed and before Aelin could find words she had disappeared into the crown. Aelin immediately took a step back, putting space between herself and Rowan, trying to ignore the way her body moaned at the lack of contact. It was Rowan rutting Whitethorn for Gods’ sake.

He seemed in a similar state to herself, arms frozen where they hovered at his sides, and she glanced around desperately seeking Lysandra but her and Aedion were gone.

“Fuck you,” She spat at Rowan and turned on her heel, pushing through the crowd, putting some much needed space between them and ignoring the way she desperately wanted to turn back.

------

She spent most of the party slipping between groups of people she knew, refilling her drink each time her cup emptied. She didn’t see Rowan again and spent at least an hour catching up with Yrene Towers and Manon Blackbeak in a toilet.

She shook her head, laughing at the unusual combinations alcohol and loud music could bring out in people. She was still yet to see Lysandra and Aedion again, poking her head into each room and looking for her best friend.

Once back at the kitchen, having searched each room she resolved to take a look outside, musing that as long as she spoke before she arrived she’d be unlikely to stumble upon anything she wished she wouldn’t have to witness between her cousin and best friend.

“Lysandra?” She called, wrapping her arms around her body as the chilled October air bit at her skin.

There was no response from her best friend, but a male voice reached her as she tucked the door shut behind herself.

“Unlucky for you, Princess, I’m the only one out here.”

Just her rutting luck. Rowan Whitethorn leaned back against the wall of the house, the butt of a mostly burned cigarette dangling between his fingertips. He threw it to the side as she took a step closer to him.

“Stop calling me princess,” She snapped, crossing her arms across her chest. She didn’t miss the way his eyes darted down to her chest, lingering a second before dragging themselves back up to her face.

“Why would I do that,” He pushed off from the wall taking a single step closer to her, “When it suits you so well?”

She rolled her eyes. “Suits me how?”

“Well, I think most people would probably describe princesses as spoiled and entitled.”

Despite his close proximity she unwrapped her arms from her chest and flashed him her middle finger. His own hand came up as fast as a flash of lightening, to grab her hand and wrap her fingers up in his own as he tugged slightly, knocking her off balance and she stumbled into him slightly.

“I’m not spoiled or entitled.” She mumbled, unable to draw her eyes away from his lips, now close enough that his warm breaths washed across her face.

“I’d beg to differ, Princess. Seems to me like you always get what you want.”

Her breathing had quickened, coming in short pants and gasps where he had her pressed against the cold wall of the house. His hand still wrapped around her own, burning her skin where he touched.

“I don’t always get what I want.” She whispered as he leant into her even further, bracing his free hand against the wall by her head. He cocked his head at her words.

“What could you possibly want that you haven’t got?” His voice was a seductive caress against her neck where he tilted his head down.

She didn’t let herself break eye-contact, her unyielding gaze staring him down.

“What I want,” She began, voice weak.

“Mhmm,” He hummed, the sound sending vibrations through her own chest.

“What I want is for you to take that damned costume off. I’m the Queen.”

He laughed; a dark sound filled with promise.

“Princess,” He drawled. “If you wanted me to take my clothes off you only had to ask. Don’t pretend it’s about some dumb costume.”

She gasped, frustrated to no end that he always managed to rile her so. Always left her speechless, her mind swimming with rage. Her body drowning in arousal at his closeness. Fuck.

She stared him down, his body now pressed along every inch of her own as he blocked her into the wall. His eyes flashed to her lips and she couldn’t hold herself back from doing the same. He seemed to be warring with himself, his expression pained as he stared into her eyes.

She took a breath, begging herself to do something, anything, but she was frozen.

A beat passed, and then he crashed his lips to hers.

He kissed her as furiously as he argued, his hand grasping her face hard and plunging his tongue into her mouth. She gasped and twisted her fingers into his hair in response, holding his face to her own, and she registered the clunk of his crown hitting the floor. Good.  

A fire spread through her veins as he kissed her, taking control and owning her completely. She allowed him, opening her mouth to him greedily as he nipped at her lips. She knew they would already be swollen.

He kissed her as if she was a prize to be won, as if he needed to or he would shatter. The desperation spreading through his hands as they roamed her body, slipping down her sides and back up to lightly brush the undersides of her breasts with his thumbs and back down again to tug her hips against his own.

He slid a thigh between her legs, and she writhed against the pressure, letting out a small cry as the sensation sent a jolt through her entire body, finishing with a flood of heat below her bellybutton.

He drew back with a gasp, panting. He only got as far as she let him, her fingers still twisted through his silver strands as he pressed his forehead against her own.

“Fuck.” He growled, tucking his chin to bury his face in her neck. She tugged at his hair, begging for him to do more than just press his lips gently against the soft skin of her throat. “What is it that you want, Princess?” He asked again.

She tugged his face back to meet her gaze, vaguely aware of her crown slipping from her head as she looked up at him.

“You.”

------

Back at her apartment he crowded her against the door, his heat behind her and a delightful pressure against her lower back had her fumbling with her keys in the lock. She had managed to shoot Lysandra a quick text letting her know she was leaving, knowing her best friend would be safe with Aedion when Aelin left.

When Aelin left with Rowan Whitethorn. Shit.

He had been a storm she hadn’t seen coming, kissing her with a passion that burned all the way to the soles of her feet. He pressed her back against the door once they were inside, leaning down to kiss her hard and fast. His tongue lavishing sweeping strokes that lit a fire inside of her.

He pressed his knee between her legs and this time she didn’t hold herself back from rocking against it, letting out a breathy moan as she pulled back, tilting her head back until it hit the door with a thud.

He pressed hot and wet kisses down her jaw until he reached her neck, nipping and sucking his way down. The sensation sent her wild, drawing short gasps from her lips with every press of his tongue and scrape of his teeth.

His hands burned a path down her side, not stopping with a brush against her chest this time, instead wrapping her breast in one of his large hands and squeezing sharply. She bucked her hips against his thigh as he rubbed a thumb across her nipple. Rowan let out a dark rumble of laughter at her reaction and did it again, timing it perfectly with a swipe of his tongue up the side of her neck.

He bent down slightly, sliding a hand down her thigh until he reached the crook of her knee and straightened, wrapping her leg around his waist and pressing his hips firmly into the gap he had created.

She let out a moan, slamming her head into the door again as he pressed his lips to hers again. The pressure of his hips was firm, burning against her core, and his lips were relentless as he licked into her mouth aggressively as she fisted her hand in his cape.

She pulled back, panting.

“You need to take this off.” She yanked even harder on the cape and he grinned, hands leaving her leg and chest to loosen the clasp at his neck. He didn’t stop there, reaching down to the hem of his shirt and pulling it off his body in one sharp motion.

Her mouth went dry at the expanse of tanned skin now exposed. His chest was covered in firm muscle and down his left arm swept a swirling and intricate tattoo. She traced a line across his shoulder with a finger, transfixed by the beauty of his body.

His hand flashed out to grab her by the chin, tilting her face up to look at him.

“You too, Princess.”

His fingers left her chin, trailing a torturously slow path down her neck and across her chest to rest at the knot at the top of her corset top. The sheer possession in his touch had her grinding her hips against him, desperate for any kind of relief.

Undeterred, he slowly wound one of the laces around a finger and bit his lip as he took in her heaving chest.  Her skin was flushed as her heart pounded beneath.

Torturously slow he pulled the string, unravelling the only closure of her top. His deft fingers loosened the ties as the red fabric slid away to reveal her heaving chest and full breasts. His dark eyes devoured the exposed skin and his tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip.

His head ducked down as he slowly wrapped his lips around a peaked nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. Her head fell back to the door again as she moaned and her hand flew behind her, trying to find any purchase on the flat surface.

He hummed against her skin, the vibration sending sparks down to her core. His thumb found her other breast, flicking her nipple hard. She groaned, pressing her hips into his own, becoming desperate.

She laced her hands through his hair as he looked up at her, lips still around her, and she groaned pulling his head up.

“Bedroom, now,” She said breathlessly as she pushed him away from herself and pressed away from the door, dropping the rest of her dress to pool around her feet. Rowan was silent as he took her in, his eyes trailing a burning path from her face to the tips of her toes.

At the sight she trailed a feather-light touch across the front of his trousers where they strained against his hardness. He groaned at the touch, his head tipping back and the vein in the side of his neck straining.

“Bedroom,” He growled and grabbed her by the waist.

------

Rowan laid her down on her bed, having lost his trousers along the way. She lay bare for him, only a thin pair of black panties prevented her from being exposed entirely.

His head tilted as his predatory stare assessed her.

“You look so good like this Princess,” his voice was raw as he crawled up the bed between her legs, resting his weight against her body and pressing her into the mattress. “We really should find you that tiara again.”

She rolled her eyes but tugged his face to hers. Pressing her lips against his firmly, his short stubble scratching against her cheeks in the most delicious way. He braced a hand by her head, supporting his weight, and the other brushed down her body, starting at the base of her throat until his index finger pressed gently against her centre.

He let out a moan at the dampness of the dark fabric and he swiped a long stroke over the line of her folds. Aelin bit her lip, trying to hold in the moan that his electric touch elicited. Her hips shifted at his teasing, raising them to try and press further into his touch, but he only laughed against her lips.

He nipped her lower lip, the pressure almost painful, but it sent another wave of arousal through her.

Slowly he slid his finger beneath the fabric, pressing a finger into her and the heavy pressure had her fisting her hands in the sheets. His tongue swept into her mouth again as he pumped his finger inside her, slipping a second in a moment later. His thumb came up to press against the apex of her thighs, the friction sending sparks through her entire body as he swirled his thumb against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She broke away from the kiss to moan, twisting her face to the side, unable to focus on anything other than the sensations he was creating. The delightful pleasure his fingers were creating as his mouth pressed hot, open mouthed kisses down her throat.

“Please,” She gasped, and she felt his lips against her neck curve into a smile.

“Please what?” His voice was playful as he teased her, pulling his hand back leaving her clenching around air.

“You know what. Dick.” She snapped, tugging his head up to look at her.

“Now, now, princess,” He carded his fingers through her hair, twisting them into the strands at the base of her head before pulling hard. “Remember to use your manners.”

She gasped again, back arching off the bed to press her body against his. He ground his hips against her own, the hard length of him catching against the spot she needed most.

He nipped at the skin on her neck before pulling back, tugging her panties down her legs, wasting no time before shucking off his own briefs revealing the full length of him to her. Her eyes rolled back at the sight.

He tucked himself back between her legs, pressing the tip lightly at her entrance. Her hips bucked up as he grabbed a hold of her chin.

“Condom?” He asked, his voice low.

“I’m on the pill.” She breathed, rolling her hips, urging him to hurry.

He groaned, lining himself up and pressing into her as he crashed his lips to hers.

Her mind cleared at the sensation, thinking only of where he filled and stretched her. The brief flash of pain sinking into a burning pleasure. He paused his hips, allowing her to adjust, but still pressed his lips to hers. His togue sweeping into her mouth.

She sank her nails into the skin of his broad shoulders, urging him to move and he eagerly obliged, snapping his hips into hers with a force so strong the bed crashed against the wall, rhythmic thuds in time with his thrusts.

Her skin was on fire as he pounded into her, drawing breathy moans from her throat as she clung to him in desperation. Rowan’s hands tightened on her hips, owning her with his touch as he moaned low in her ear and nipped her lobe with his teeth.

Rowan tugged one of her legs up to tuck it over his hip, changing the pace and thrusting into her wildly. Aelin clung to him, fingernails pressing crescent moons into his shoulders as his hands dug into the flesh of her thighs.

His pace became frantic as he brought one hand around between their bodies, swirling his thumb over her clit. Her breath hitched in her throat as he growled.

“Come on, Princess.”

His words sent her over the edge, shattering around him with a cry. She felt him increase his pace and he bit sharply into her shoulder as he came sending another wave of pleasure through her.

He ghosted his lips over hers a final time as he pulled out gently before lying next to her on the bed and pulling her into his side, wrapping a broad arm around her shoulders. She pressed her face to his chest, hiding her satisfied smile.

“I still think you’re a dick,” She muttered eventually, interrupting the easy silence.

His laughter rumbled through her, shaking the bed they lay on.

“That’s okay,” He said squeezing her hip. “I still think you’re a princess.”

[olivinesea]

A Mixed Blessing

Chapter List

chapter four: talking in your demon voice

a/n: It’s my birthday! So it’s Hotch’s birthday too. Warning for substance use, as you might have suspected. ~2.6k

Aaron’s fifteenth birthday came and went without any mention or change in his home. He’d grown past the point of caring or expecting anything from his family. It was enough to just make it through the day without being noticed. To make it through unscathed. After dinner he helped Sean get ready for bed while his mother cleaned and his father settled into his favorite chair to begin his nightly ritual of slipping under the veil of alcohol fumes. If everyone was lucky he wouldn’t get up again that evening.

After Sean took a bath, Aaron helped him pull on his soft red pajamas, cozy in the late fall air. Hair still damp, it stuck up in odd places around the crown of his head. He moved slowly, sucking on his bottom lip, seeming to be waiting for something. Aaron pulled back the covers, inviting him over.

“C’mon, if you hurry up I can read you a story.”

He didn’t move. “Aaron?”

He frowned slightly, unsure what was going through the child’s mind. “What’s up?”

Sean scrunched up his face. “Is it your birthday?”

Aaron laughed. “Yeah buddy, it’s my birthday.”

Relief immediately washed over the child’s face, quickly followed by confusion. “We didn’t have a cake.”

Aaron sighed. “It’s okay, I don’t really like cake that much.”

“But you have to blow your candles out and make a wish. That’s what we do on my birthday.”

Aaron looked at him steadily, his face still round with baby fat, blue eyes searching beneath furrowed brows. He wondered when he’d grown into this little person, forming opinions on the world around him. Sean had an acute sense of justice, a child’s insistence on fairness and parity being the same thing. Aaron shrugged a shoulder, “I don’t need to wish for anything.”

“Why?”

Aaron exhaled sharply though his nose, tired of this conversation, not wanting to get into a long string of why’s, just wanting to get out of the house, treat himself to his own birthday celebration. “Okay I have one wish: I wish you would get in bed.”

Sean didn’t move, exploring the limit of his autonomy. Aaron patted the bed, trying to ignore the irritation crawling up the back of his neck. “Please Sean, it’s getting late.”

Sean sighed, relenting but not moving towards the bed. Instead he walked over to the child sized table and chair where he kept some puzzles and art supplies. He carefully pulled a folded paper from under a stack. Aaron watched his brother’s determined actions from his seat on the bed. Sean held the paper close to his chest as he walked back to the bed. He seemed a little self-conscious.

“I made you a birthday card.” He paused. “I did it all by myself.”

Aaron’s heart melted, feeling guilt for his earlier irritation.

“Can I read it to you?”

“Of course, come here,” Aaron said, pulling Sean up on the bed beside him. Sean leaned against his side as he held out the card. Thick marker lines messily spelled out a birthday wish in shaky letters, jumbled randomly. Sean had only just begun learning the alphabet. There were a few unrecognizable designs that Aaron thought might be cars or birds. He smiled as Sean pointed to the letters, reading out his current version of what it said, a rambling child’s message of happiness. Aaron felt his throat closing, thinking about all the choices he’d been making, about how often he left Sean here alone with their parents, unprotected. Yet Sean loved him anyway. He didn’t deserve that love. Sean finished his recitation of the the card’s contents and looked up at Aaron expectantly.

“Thanks buddy, I love it.” He squeezed him to his side. “I love you Sean.”

The little boy rubbed his face into the fabric of Aaron’s shirt, making a small noise of happiness. An image of himself, faded and disconnected, flashed through his mind and he squeezed tighter, causing Sean to squeak in protest.

“Sorry,” Aaron muttered, releasing him. “Alright, bedtime for real. Lay down.”

Sean wriggled into his sheets, smiling to himself at the gift he’d given. Aaron pulled the blankets up to his shoulders.

“Story?” Sean asked hopefully but Aaron shook his head. He needed to go, the guilt was becoming unbearable. That he could be so irresponsible while Sean was here, perfect in his childhood, worrying about whether his big brother got to blow out birthday candles, was too much. His self loathing was threatening to overwhelm him and he couldn’t be around Sean when that happened. He needed to run, run to the escape he’d found in abandoned sheds and unused garages. Sean stuck out his bottom lip, ready to complain. Aaron just leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

“Thank you for the birthday card.” He held it to his chest to show how much it meant to him and Sean smiled sleepily. “Sweet dreams, kid.”

Aaron ruffled his hair before heading out of the room, turning off the lights as he left, making sure the door was closed. In the hallway he looked at the card again, the brightly colored scribbles searing through his chest like a knife. He felt an urge to tear it up but gritted his teeth and folded it carefully, sticking it in his back pocket. He stopped in his room long enough to grab his coat and a beanie then slipped out the back door before either of his parents could notice him leaving.

He was going to meet Cole. He’d started spending more time with the older boy, time outside of school hours. A few times a week he’d find himself following him to various locations where other teenagers would be loitering, making the same dumb choices that teenagers had always made. He hated being there, uncomfortable and ignored. He’d tuck himself into a corner with a beer and watch Cole lord over the group, holding their attention with his darkly iridescent personality. Some nights they barely spoke and Aaron wondered if he was even really supposed to be there. He’d think about ducking out, heading home to the familiar loneliness that wasn’t him being forced to watch others as they became louder and dumber. But as soon as he’d make the decision, start moving in the direction of a door, Cole was always there, right at his side, grabbing his elbow, pulling him to a circle of smokers or handing him another drink.

Cole noticed how nervous, how uncomfortable Aaron was and if anything he found it funny. One night, as Aaron’s eyes darted around a crowded living room, Cole smirked and dragged him outside, handing him a cigarette.

“Here, something to do.”

Aaron didn’t like the way it tasted, didn’t like the way the smoke lingered in his mouth like he’d eaten a fistful of ash, didn’t like the sick, hollow feeling it created in his stomach. But he liked having an activity. Standing by yourself was much less noticeable with a cigarette in your hand. Time passed faster when punctuated by smoke breaks. However, he didn’t like always having to ask, like a child asking for one more treat. When he saw a pack in someone’s unattended bag he lifted it without a second thought. When Cole raised his eyebrows at him, questioning as he pulled out his own cigarette he felt a small smile of satisfaction curl the corners of his mouth. Cole laughed at this and held up his lighter, the flame just far enough away that Aaron had to lean forward to reach it. Cigarette lit, Aaron straightened, catching a flicker of emotion crossing Cole’s face. He replaced it with a humorless grin before Aaron could interpret it fully.

Not for the first time he questioned the wisdom of his choice to spend his time with this person who’s motivations he couldn’t pin down. He took a drag, feeling the smoke fill his lungs, no resistance, all sensitivity burned away at this point. He looked at Cole again as he exhaled in to the chilled night air. He looked pleased and Aaron couldn’t deny the warmth that it caused to spread to his fingertips. Cole winked at him before turning away to talk with a group gathered nearby. Aaron clung to the warmth, inhaling again to try to pull it back in as it filtered away with Cole’s attention. He hated to admit it but he would wait around for more of that feeling. He wandered to the corner of the building and sunk down against the wall, pulling his knees into his chest, ashing on to the bare dirt beside him. He could be patient.

Tonight would be no different he assumed. He’d developed a system. First he would check Cole’s grandma’s house since that was the easiest place to get to, only a mile or so from Aaron’s own house. If he wasn’t there, Aaron would go on to the shed in the woods, where, hopefully, Cole would be lounging in his feline way, watchful eyes and retracted claws at the ready. Sometimes they stayed there, sometimes he’d get dragged to some social gathering. Other times no one was there and Aaron would make himself comfortable on one of the busted couches, pulling out his own small stash of weed that he’d started carrying around and smoke until he couldn’t think straight. Only then would he wander home, when he got too cold to be there anymore and he was certain his family would be long asleep, his father too unconscious to hear him stumble back in.

Tonight he was lucky, finding Cole at the first location. He could tell he was home by the light shining through the small high windows of the garage. The door was partially raised but not enough to see inside. Aaron leaned close and knocked on it, calling softly,

“Hey, it’s me.”

He heard some swearing and some rustling as Cole came over to lift the door higher, allowing Aaron access. He didn’t bother greeting him, only turning away immediately to go back to his desk where he was messing with something small. Aaron was used to this behavior by now, though it had confused him at first, thinking that it must mean he wasn’t welcome. But Cole was just like that, sometimes so focused on him that it felt like he was cutting through Aaron with his attention and sometimes so distracted that he didn’t notice or even seem to recognize him. It still made Aaron a little uncomfortable, not knowing what he would be getting, but it wasn’t like he had better options for company.

He went and sat on the corner of Cole’s bed, just a mattress on the ground and the only other furniture in the garage besides the table and chair pushed up against the wall. There were some milk crates and cardboard boxes with unfolded clothes and other odds and ends. Some rusty and broken bikes and an old TV that turned on but mostly only got static. Aaron picked at a hole forming in the knee of of his jeans, waiting for Cole to say something to him, considering if he should start rolling a joint. He was unclear on the rules for this place; sometimes he’d arrive with the air filled with smoke and Cole lazily smoking on the bed. Other times he’d suggest it and get met with a sharp comment, something cutting about how he needed to calm down, not be such a damn pothead. It was unnerving. But it was Aaron’s birthday and he had been sober for too much of it. He pulled out his supplies, grabbing a magazine that had been discarded on the ground to use as a work surface.

“Put that shit away.”

He looked up at Cole who was unexpectedly standing above him, holding something carefully in his hands. He opened his mouth to protest, he really needed this right now, needed to get away from all these thoughts that were chasing him. But Cole glared at him so he set the magazine down, careful not to spill what he’d already put out. Pleased with being obeyed, Cole smiled and sat down beside him.

“I’ve got something better for you, birthday boy.”

Despite the whiplash of Cole’s demeanor, Aaron couldn’t help but feel a happiness that someone, this someone, his only friend, had remembered his birthday. Side by side now, he could feel the heat of the other boy’s body even though they were not quite touching, too aware of his presence. He chewed on his lip, trying to understand what he was seeing in Cole’s hands. It looked like tiny pieces of trash: some foil, a straw too short to drink from, something dark and sticky looking.

“Here, hold this.” He handed over the tiny straw, chuckling at the confusion on Aaron’s face. “When I light this you’re gonna inhale as long as you can and then hold your breath. Okay?”

Aaron frowned, “Sure.”

Cole held the foil so it was at chest height. He leaned forward slightly.

“With the straw, dumbass.”

Aaron blushed but held the straw to his lips. The smoke that filled his lungs tasted unlike anything he had ever had before. He almost wanted to stop, to ask more questions but felt Cole’s eyes on him, demanding he continue. When his lungs were so full he felt like they might burst, he sat up again. Cole placed a finger on his lips, reminding him to hold the smoke in. Aaron looked at him, trying to read the thoughts so clearly running through the other boy’s mind. He felt certain it wasn’t something he would like to hear. Just when he thought he might pass out from lack of oxygen, Cole dropped his hand. Relieved, Aaron exhaled, shaking his head at the taste.

“Again.”

“What? Why? What even is that?” He didn’t feel any different and he wasn’t particularly comfortable with how that had just happened.

“Shut up, just do it.” Cole’s eye’s flashed, his smile sharp.

Aaron stared at him for a moment, then relented. They repeated the process and this time Aaron started to feel a heaviness settle over him, like his body was being coated in warm syrup. He smiled unconsciously as he exhaled.

“See,” Cole said, his voice sounding distant. “I told you so.”

Aaron’s eyes even felt heavy as he tried to look at Cole, wondering if he’d said something without realizing it. He could feel his blood pulse, his brain vibrating like a cat purring.

“One more time, birthday boy.”

Aaron gave up on trying to turn his head, just leaning forward again to meet the smoke. He lost his grip on time, couldn’t make any of the shapes around him make sense. For a second, panic surged through his chest, he couldn’t move. A hand gently pressed him backwards, falling in slow motion, eventually meeting the softness of the mattress. He squinted his eyes at the light and the colors floating above him.

“Just close your eyes.”

He felt fingertips ghosting over his eyelids as he complied. He smiled, or he thought he was smiling at least. His mouth didn’t seem to be very accessible at the moment but he didn’t mind. He felt warm, the kind of warmth that came from fleece lined blankets and fuzzy socks and the certainty that no one was coming to hurt him, that he was so well hidden they could never find him. He was lost and he hoped to stay there forever.

chapter five

[childrenofthenightt]

only the black rose (chapter 5)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: talks of parental abandonment, off-scene injury, drug use (legal!), fluff, and me waxing poetic about one of my favourite books. and more fluff.

words: 3.1k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: this one wrote itself. i expected to take longer with it cause of this. this is the start of the Chaos seen in the 1975 North American tour, so hold onto your hats and enjoy! congrats! you’ve unlocked layla’s tragic backstory! unbeta’d as always, and here’s the link to the playlist :)

masterlist

playlist

chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

----------

Soon enough, the band make their way home, basking in the golden glow of a couple of excellent shows. It’s only a matter of days until the start of the North American tour, and the excitement is palpable. The boys find themselves at the studio, running through some last-minute tour details, accompanied by a certain brunette firecracker, who sits reading comfortably in the lobby.

Layla, sitting on a luxurious couch just outside of the meeting room, is drowning in a hardcover book, consuming every word at a ravenous pace. The sound of pages flipping periodically is accompanied by the light din of voices detailing the upcoming tour. Lost in the story in front of her, she is surprised when she hears a person clearing their throat, seemingly right in front of her. Looking up, she spots the secretary of Swan Song Records, a woman with glasses and long brown hair ran through with gray, pinned up in a low bun. Light freckles dusted her cheeks. Judging by the crow’s feet at the corners of her hazel eyes, the secretary had to have been older than Layla, perhaps around 50, though her bright smile gave the impression of youth.  

“Sorry to interrupt, Miss… I just couldn’t help but notice the book you were reading. I don’t see many fans of the classics around here, especially ones so young.”

Recovering from the shock of being ripped out of the hypnotising story she was wrapped up in, Layla gestures to the seat next to her. With a bright smile, the secretary smoothes down her pencil skirt, and sits down.

“My mother was a literature buff, and it seems she’s passed that down to me! My name’s Layla. You’re Evelyn, right?”

“Y-Yes, I am! How do you…”

“Well, I had to put a name to the lovely secretary that gives me a smile whenever I see her. Makes my day, if I’m being honest.”

“You’re too sweet, darling,” Evelyn says, lips turning up warmly, eyes dancing with joy. “If I may, what are your thoughts on the book? It’s a personal favourite of mine, and it’s always nice to hear new opinions.”

“Well,” Layla starts, lighting up as she speaks. “Wilde’s language paints such a beautiful, vivid picture, and the characters are so interesting, even if they aren’t morally likeable, most of the time. They make mistakes… Many mistakes… but we sympathize with them.”

At this, Layla cups her hand around her mouth, whispering to Evelyn mischievously, as if what she was about to say was the world’s most important secret.

“It’s a favourite of mine too.”

The two women laugh, Evelyn’s hand falling across Layla’s arm, a comforting, grounding weight. Evelyn, with a warm smile gracing her face, crow’s feet as prominent as ever, sends a pang of longing into Layla’s heart. Not for love, but for her old life. Her friends worried out of their minds over her disappearance; her mother, left alone not once, but twice. Her father had left when she was a child, and it had been her and her mother ever since. Layla learned to put up walls, so that she’d never be hurt like that again. They all leave in the end. It’s better that way. Better not to get attached. Better not to get hurt.

“That’s a lovely interpretation, Layla. You know,” Evelyn says, interrupting Layla’s train of thought. “For someone so young, you have an old soul. Wise beyond your years, for sure.”

“You have no idea…”

“Well, I must get to work, darling,” Evelyn claps her hands together, and stands up, resting a hand on Layla’s arm once more. “I’d love to chat again, though. Such refreshing opinions from such a young woman. I’ll let you get back to your book.”

“I would love to! We’ll make plans soon, I promise. Have a wonderful day, Evelyn!” With that, Layla opens the novel, and is taken once again by the current of the story. Minutes pass, until Layla is interrupted once more, this time by a soft press of lips against the crown of her head.

“Everything alright, Layla?”

“Of course, Jim,” Layla says, reaching out to grasp Jimmy’s hand in return. “How did the meeting go?”

“Well, you were right outside the door, I’m surprised you didn’t eavesdrop,” He takes a seat beside her, and reaches down to tap at the book still nestled in Layla’s hand, her finger keeping the page. “You were too engrossed in this, I bet. What are you reading anyways?”

Layla lifts the book to show the cover, which is a slightly worn navy blue, with golden accents in the form of small droplets. In metallic lettering, read ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’.

“Oscar Wilde, hey? Wouldn’t have pegged you for a lover of the classics.”

“I spent my teenage years with Austen and Dickens, after all.”

“I didn’t think you were that old.”

Layla rolls her eyes, a fond look upon her features. Smiling at the man in front of her, she puts a hand to his cheek.

“Yeah, I’m a real cradle-robber.”

“Just make sure my mum doesn’t hear about this relationship: she’ll have a fit.”

“I’ll be careful, angel,” Layla laughs, putting a pensive finger to her chin. “Hey, Jimmy? Do you have a good relationship with your parents?” Jimmy smiles wide at the question and nods, dark curls bobbing at the movement. He absentmindedly takes Layla’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb in soft circles across her wrist.

“My parents… They’ve always been very supportive of me in every way, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to find a way to thank them,” Jimmy squeezes her hand briefly, meeting her eyes. “You know, I bet they’d love you.”

“Do you really think so?” Layla’s cheeks grow warm, and her lips tilt upwards in a smile that is uncharacteristically shy.

“Of course I do, petal,” Jimmy says, pushing a fallen lock of hair behind Layla’s ear, his touch featherlight. “How about you? What are your parents like?”

“Well… My dad… He left us when I was young, so it’s been me and my mom ever since,” This is marked with a moment of silence, and Layla’s eyes meet her shoes, pointedly not looking at Jimmy. “My mom’s probably the strongest person I’ve ever met, and I truly can’t thank her enough for everything she’s done for me. She’s my best friend.”

The silence continues, until Layla feels a calloused finger at her jaw, lifting her chin. Finally flicking her eyes up to gaze at the guitarist, she’s shocked by the concern and sadness she sees in those emerald green eyes.

“Petal, I…”

“Jim, it’s fine. It—”

“It’s not fine, Layla. It’s not. I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve that. Either of you.” Jimmy pulls her into a tight hug, long arms wrapping around her, making her feel safe. They stay like this for what feels like hours, breaking apart slowly.

“Jimmy, I… Thank you.”

“Of course. Now, how about you read me some of that book of yours?”

Layla laughs brightly, albeit a little watery, and smiles at Jimmy, eyes shining with gratitude. Shuffling, she positions herself in his lap, legs hanging off the end of the couch as his arm comes to rest across her back, holding her steady against his chest. She opens the book, dog-earing the corner of the page she was reading, before flipping back to the start.

“Petal, as much as I like this, I thought we were gonna take it slow? I don’t think public places are the best idea to… Well…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jimmy,” Layla says, smirk gracing her face as she speaks. “You just make a very comfortable chair.”

Jimmy’s laugh is music to her ears, and she presses a light kiss to his cheek. Focusing on the book in her hand, she begins to read:

“The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.”

----------

‘Was it all true? Had the portrait really changed? Or had it been simply his own imagination that had made him see a look of evil where there had been a look of joy?’

The next day had arrived, and Layla sits at her kitchen table, enraptured once again by the writings of Oscar Wilde. The words on the page enchant her, and she has no desire to put the novel down anytime soon. She’d have to tell Evelyn all about it, the next time she sees her.

‘Surely a painted canvas could not alter? The thing was absurd. It would serve as a tale to tell Basil some day. It would make him smile. And, yet, how vivid was his recollection—’

A shrill ringing pulls her out of the carefully crafted narrative of Dorian Gray. Layla huffs, annoyed at the intrusion, and moves to pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Layla! Hi, good to hear from you, hope you’re having a great day so far! Lovely weather we’re having, hey?” The slightly nasal voice of one Robert Plant, crackles through the phone, and Layla sighs at his exuberance.

“Robert, hey. What is it?”

“Uh… Please don’t freak out. It’s really not that bad, and everyone is… mostly… fine?”

“Rob—”

This is followed by a noise in the background, a sort of crackle, as if Robert had shifted the phone to his other hand. Layla can hear the way his breath picks up, the way panic seeps into his voice. “Just a heads up that we’ll be at your place in about… 10 minutes! See you then!”

“What is going on? I was reading, I’m really not in the mood for—”

Another crackle, and a sigh from Robert’s end of the line. Layla runs a hand through her hair, biting her lip in an attempt to quell the panic rising in her throat.

“Promise me you won’t freak out, little dove.”

Layla exhales sharply through her nose, unimpressed at the plea of the man on the other line. Coiling the telephone cord around her finger to calm her nerves, she responds.

“Fine, I’m not gonna freak out. Now, tell me what happened.”

“Well… Um… Jimmy, well, he kinda… got his… finger slammed in a train door?”

“...”

“Layla? Are you still there?”

“How?!”

“I told you not to freak out…”

“Robert!” Layla exclaims, concern painted clearly on her flushed face.

“Okay, okay, he told us he was holding the door open for someone on the way to Swan Song, and well… You know the rest.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

Another sigh sounds from the other line, and Layla waits in anticipation for his response, growing anxious with each passing moment. Finally, she hears the man’s response, and deflates with relief, sinking into the chair beside her.

“He should be fine. Like I said before, we’re gonna come get you right away. He’ll be okay, Layla.”

“Okay…Robert?”

“Yes, little dove?

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Robert chuckles lightly, bringing a smile to Layla’s face, the undercurrent of anxiety still coursing through her. She thinks it will stay that way, until she sees Jimmy, makes sure he’s okay. “We’ll be there in 10 minutes. Sit tight, Layla.”

Layla sits at the kitchen table, biting her thumbnail, mind elsewhere, until she hears the telltale sound of a car pulling up, engine cutting out. Flying out the door, She spots Jonesy in the driver’s seat, Bonzo next to him, with Robert in the back. Opening the door, she sits next to the blond, and he gazes over at her, putting a hand to her shoulder. Sympathy flashes across his face as he takes in the shocked look Layla’s sporting.

“He’ll be okay, Layla. He will.”

“Robert, I… Jonesy, please, just drive?”

“Right.”

The engine rumbles to life, and they’re off, no doubt speeding to whatever hospital Jimmy���s holed up in. Layla lets her thoughts drift to Jimmy. She wonders how he’s doing, if he’s in any pain, if they’re treating him well. She’s distracted enough that she barely feels Robert’s hand, warm and comforting, on her knee. Layla is snapped out of her thoughts by a particularly sharp turn, and she looks up at Robert, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Rob… What if he’s… not okay? It was his finger. That means that he might not be able to play, if it’s bad enough,” She stammers, eyes frantic in their search of the blond’s face. “His guitar is his life, and—”

“Layla, calm down. It’ll be okay. It won’t do us any good to think like that.” Robert leans over, throwing his arm around her shoulder as best he could in the cramped car. To his surprise, she leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Layla unconsciously brings a hand up to bite her thumbnail, and catching the action, Robert places his hand on hers, pushing it back down to rest in her lap. They stay that way until the car rolls to a stop in the hospital parking lot. Layla lifts her head from Robert’s shoulder with breakneck speed, scrambling out of the car.

“Layla, wait!” Jonesy calls out, running after the woman, who dashes through the door. Robert and Bonzo catch up, just as Layla reaches the front desk, panting from exertion. The nurse on shift looks at her, eyes wide, shocked at the display.

“Excuse me, love,” Bonzo says, tucking Layla under his arm as he speaks to the nurse. “We’re looking for James Page? He was brought in for a fractured finger, I believe?”

“...Yes, right. What is your relationship with the patient?”

“We’re his bandmates, we can call our manager if you need proof. Please, we just need to see if he’s okay.”

The nurse eyes the group dubiously, and grabs the chart sitting next to her, looking through it. Glancing at the group again, she points behind them, to a room packed with seats, posters and pamphlets lining the walls.

“It seems that Mr. Page is still with the doctor getting X-rayed, so I’m going to need you to take a seat in the waiting area. Give that manager of yours a call, and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

“Thank you, love.” Bonzo says, as he herds the group over to the soft, patterned armchairs, plopping down with a sigh. Jonesy excuses himself to make a phone call to Peter, the others left waiting for news that won’t come fast enough.

Jimmy has to be okay. He has to.

----------

“For James Page?” The nurse’s voice rings out across the waiting area, and the group shoot up from their seats, stiff backs groaning in protest. “Follow me.”

The nurse leads them through a labyrinth of hallways, stopping finally at a room with a large 164 pasted on the closed door. Through the window looking into the room, Layla spots Jimmy asleep under the covers, his hands atop the sheets, resting on his stomach. He looks peaceful, she thinks, like he’s devoid of pain. If she couldn’t see the injured hand at all, she’d have thought he was perfectly fine.

The group finally walk into the room, the sharp smell of antiseptic burning their nostrils. Hearing the click of the door opening, Jimmy opens his eyes, pupils blown wide. His irises are almost black, and he sends them a dopey smile, a giggle bursting out.

“Hey, guys. Fancy seeing you all here.” Jimmy slurs, laughing harder now, as though he had told the most hilarious joke in the world. The boys join in, amused by the antics of their guitarist. Layla hangs back, staring at Jimmy, concern clear on her face. She had spotted the injured finger on the way in, which was already bruised a deep purple, the fingernail completely blackened.

“They give you the good stuff, Pagey?”

“You know it, Jonesy.” Jimmy shoots the bassist a sloppy wink, and the group erupts into soft laughter once more. Taking a dazed glance around the room, the raven-haired man pouts, completely endearing in his drugged state. “Hey… where’s Layla?”

Peter, who had been standing next to the bed, moves aside, and glassy green met warm brown. The guitarist smiles softly, relaxing back into the pillows. He sticks out his uninjured hand, and she walks closer to take it. Never lessening her grip, Layla threads the fingers of her free hand through Jimmy’s messy curls, and looks down at him fondly.

“How’re you doing, champ?”

“Good, now that you’re here. I would kiss you right now… if I wasn’t seeing two of you.”

“They must have him on the really good stuff…” Layla throws over her shoulder, looking back at the injured guitarist. He’s looking up at her with unabashed affection, and she can’t help but blush at the adoration in his gaze.

“Sorry to interrupt,” comes from the open doorway, as Jimmy’s doctor steps through. “I’m Dr. Vane, I treated James when he came in. If you’d kindly step out for a moment, I’d like to go over his prognosis.”

The boys file out of the room, and Layla goes to follow, stopped in her tracks by Jimmy tugging her back towards him with a whimper. She gives in, sinking back down in the chair at his bedside.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Jimmy. I was so scared when Robert called. I thought...”

“I’m glad you’re here, petal. Now, come into bed with me. I want to see you better.” Jimmy mutters, scooting over to make room for her to fit in the small hospital bed. Layla laughs, nodding, and crawls in beside him, careful not to hurt him. She turns on her side, her hand landing in his hair again. Jimmy looks up at her, pupils still dilated, and presses a quick peck on her lips, giggling anew.

“You’re so beautiful. Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful? ‘Cause you are.” He insists, slurred speech returning in full force, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Go to sleep, Jimmy. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He hums softy in response and a few seconds later, Jimmy’s breathing evens out. He’s dead to the world. Through the door left ajar, Layla can hear snippets of the conversation with the doctor.

“... Fractured the tip of his finger… At least a month.”

“Will he be able to play anytime soon?” That was Peter, voice soft with worry for the frail man in the hospital bed.

“He should rest… Not good to put too much strain on it… Keeping him here until the anaesthetic wears off.”

Tuning them out, Layla looks down at the man sleeping beside her. His hair is matted on one side of his head, and he snores louder than he’d ever admit, but he looks peaceful. He’s not in any pain, and that’s enough for Layla. She drifts off, as the sound of footsteps against the floor draw near. Her tired eyes open to slits, and she sees a shadow with dark, shoulder-length and a beard. It must be Bonzo, she thinks. The last thing Layla hears before succumbing to the exhaustion that plagues her, is the drummer’s soothing voice, hushed to a whisper.

“Let them sleep.”

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taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 (let me know if you want to be added!)