#ch: forthcoming

[syoddeye]

cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part two part two cw: dubcon/noncon, blood, mild injury, manhandling, forced orgasm, referenced animal death/butchering forthcoming cw: more dubcon, forced marriage, breeding kink, body horror a/n: vibes. part one | masterlist 🦢

The knife is small, but the task feels impossible. You are unaccustomed to such labor. Meals once came easily, just a bend of your neck to pull up pondweed and milfoil—tadpoles, the occasional fish.

Not this. Not the lump in your hand with its rough, textured skin. Pulling a blade across it, releasing that musty, earthy scent that makes your nose wrinkle.

Your fingers inevitably slip.

Pain flares, sharp and foreign. You flinch hard, watching in mute horror as the first bead of blood wells up, then another, crimson blooming across the underside of your finger. The sound escapes unbidden—jarring, ugly—growing louder as the sting takes hold.

Heavy footsteps thump against the earth outside, and the door flies open, rattling on its hinges. John steps inside, shoulders heaving, mitts already stained from the doe hanging outside.

The sight of him shrinks the scream in your throat to a wordless, panicked whine.

The smell of iron clings to him. Fur, fat, something that once had a heartbeat. His hands crease as they flex at his sides. 

His eyes flick to your trembling hand, then to the knife still clutched in the other. He wipes his palms on his trousers, messily and imperfectly scrubbing away the gore of your eventual supper. As if he needs clean hands to touch you.

(You doubt they ever were.)

He exhales hard through his nose. His words tinged with exasperation.

"Gave you one job…"

Then he's on you.

The change is swift, inborn. The pendulum of your emotions swings violently from panic to rage. Fear, the constant.

You hiss, teeth snapping as he crowds you against the table, your spine meeting his chest. A half-peeled potato rolls off the edge, thudding to the floor while blood drips from your finger, a bright spot on the wood.

You twist, raising the little knife in your good hand, but he is faster—a solid grip clamps around your wrist, squeezing until your fingers betray you and the blade clatters. You squeal at the sharp twist of your arm, but his mouth is already at your ear, hot, shushing.

"Quit strugglin'," he says, pressing closer, draping his weight over your back. The wall of him, unrelenting. The force alone stills you, allowing him to bend and pin you over the table. Your cheek presses into it, a curl of potato skin sticking damp to your face.

You turn your head, teeth gritted, and glare, eyes full of fury you have no way to unleash.

"That's better," he lifts your hand, smearing blood. "Now, let's see what you've done to yourself."

John takes his time assessing the small cut. Long enough that the anger inside you fizzles into an embarrassed frustration. You told him. You told him you did not know how to do this. Any of this. To which he'd calmly replied he'd teach you every little thing you needed to know.

But now, here you are, cringing as he inspects the wound, dripping onto him, and it's shameful. Tears well and threaten to fall, held at bay by sheer will. Then he shifts, and your concentration breaks.

You realize how treacherously high your plain dress bunches on your hips at this angle. And through the fabric, there's a warmth. A steady heat that passes from him into you, inescapable. It seeps through where his body pins yours, through the calloused hand wrapped firmly around your wrist.

Then, as if he's arrived at the same realization in that instant, John moves.

He grinds his pelvis into the small of your back. Subtly. Or as subtly as he cares to try. The length between his legs fattening.

"See now?" he murmurs, almost gentle. "Ain't so bad if you just hold still."

He releases your injured hand, planting his own on the table to steady himself. Then, apparently indulging an impulse, he hooks his chin over your shoulder, drawing closer, whiskers scraping your cheek. The bulk of him snug at your back. "It'll be alright. We have enough for dinner, anyway."

John cleans your cut with you seated unnecessarily on his thigh. Too close to the bulge you are intent on ignoring. You don't protest, the rage building inside too deep for words. Instead, you fix your gaze on the window, seething at the sun as it pours in.

When he finishes, he kisses your palm, thumb grazing over the fine, downy feathers on your wrist. You flinch at the contact, but he only lifts your hand higher, inhaling deeply, dragging his nose along the tiny feathers.

"Said I'd take care of you."

That night, John insists you share the bed. That there's no harm in it if he intends to make good on his promise and make you his missus.

He gives you no quarter, wrangling you to bed, ignoring your squawking. Against every bit of resistance in your body, your muscles betray you the moment you land. After weeks of sleeping curled on the floor out of your own volition, the bed is a reprieve. Even if it feels wrong.

You fold inward, facing the wall, determined to keep the distance.

In the dark, the room grows silent, save for the rhythm of his breathing. You keep your body tense, refusing to give in, but his warmth bridges the small gap between you and, with it, an insidious pull. 

Your stubbornness abates. Muscles loosening, mind drifting. Before you know it, it's dawn.

You wake, disoriented by slivers of sunlight, a hairy chest pressed to your back, a thick arm banded around your waist. Breath tickling your neck. A hand low on your belly.

The second you try to move, it glides south.

You gasp as it curls under the hem of your dress, slowly hoisting it up.

"John—" His name slips from your lips, strained, a barely audible squeak. 

It's the first time you've said it. The shift behind you is unmistakable—he likes it. His arm tightens around you, possessive, and your breath catches in spite of yourself. 

The length of him twitches against your backside.

"Hush, Shy, don't fight me today," he rasps, voice heavy with sleep and tenderness. He kisses your nape, his lips sending a shiver down your spine. "Let me be nice to you."

His calloused fingers find the swath of feathers between your legs, and he hums. He ventures further, dragging over your seam, a sleepy chuckle rumbling from his chest and through your back at the sound you make. The finger strokes again, and your hips jerk.

"That feel good? So soft here."

John doesn't wait for a response to cup your sex and wedge a knee into the crux of your thighs.

He pries you open, petting at your clit, and prodding at your folds. The pads of his fingers burn hot, like coals, the cherries of his cigars. His touch sears your mind clean. Burns the frayed edges of your senses, fusing them like waxed thread. Everything slows, each sensation doubling in intensity.

With some persistence, he coaxes some bitterly forfeited arousal and teases a thick finger at your hole. You shudder, breath hiccuping, one hand digging into the muscle of his forearm, the other cramming into your mouth to stifle a whimper.

You gnaw at your bandaged finger, teeth worrying the cloth until it gives. The wound opens, blood welling up fresh and hot. Iron coats your tongue, rising through your nose as if a fire's been lit in your mouth.

It's no use after minutes of him toying with you, rubbing at your clit in small, gentle circles—you become silt. Soft and wet, warm and perfect for him to sink into.

He tucks two fingers into your sex and groans, loosing a string of curses that make your cheeks scorch. Borderline hellish when he grinds his palm against your clit, scattering stars across your vision just to yank them down when he leisurely pumps his fingers in once, twice. Deep as they'll go into your cunt—and keeps going.

You clench around him helplessly, hatefully. Plugged up tight and choking, muscles contracting without permission as he crushes your notions of keeping something, anything from him under the heel of his hand. Better than his boot, but you might've preferred it.

Your attention is torn between the blood you're sucking into your mouth and the mess gushing over his fingers, and hardly notice when he starts rutting against your bottom. It knocks a pitchy noise out of your throat, realizing how thin the flannel is between you and him. He must like it, because his mouth suctions to your neck and breaks a moan.

"C'mon, darling. Give it."

It feels as though you're a young cygnet again, caught in a summer storm and hurtled far and away from everything you know. 

The room thick and crackling with heat and electricity. John wrapped around you, his intent heavy and aching, pulsing short of where it wants to strike. Every nerve buzzes under his touch, alive and restless as if the very air he puffs over your shoulder pulls at your core and twists it. A force that batters and uproots, tearing at you with each crook of his fingers. Caught in the whirl of him. Wild, lost, and undone.

It hurts when you come, drawing up so tight and shattering into pieces.

It hurts more when John drags it out with his digits sunk to the hilt and thumb resting on your clit. 

When he pulls them out, his fingers glisten. He holds them in front of your face for you to see, his smile apparent when hums. Pleased.

You don't realize you're crying until he rolls you onto your back, his face a hazy blur.

John sighs, long and slow, like a man well-versed in this ritual. He shifts, pulling you close as if you aren't unraveling in his arms.

"You're wearin' yourself out," he whispers with tired amusement, smoothing up and down your back. "Ain't got enough in you to be cryin' this hard."

You hiccup against his chest, breath shuddering, hands mindlessly grabbing at his shoulder and bicep like you hate him, like you need him. Maybe both.

He sighs again, presses a kiss into your hairline, lingers there. "There, now. You're alright. Just tired, huh?" His voice softens. "You'll feel better after a nap."

He slips away as sleep pulls you back under, the bed creaking, door hinges groaning as he steps outside to himself in hand.

[freshllamapeace]

A False Sense

Remmick x Reader

 Holy crap I felt like I was writing interview with a vampire with the amount of dialogue and recounted there is in this. Uh slow burn and you talk like a lot… 

Warning - Death, Vampires, blood, all that jazz, Dead dove (not really but part two will be) 

Part ½, possible prequel 

Bruises didn’t stick and wounds healed quick but… the memories, they were haunting. They refuse to leave, replaying in the back of your skull like a broken cassette tape. Yet you still managed to keep a smile on your face because you survived it. Even managed to kill the fucker and sever that damn connetion but in the back of your head you worry that maybe it isn’t over.  

You sat on the floor of the woods, blood dripping from your mouth, dirt staining your hands. The man before you was breathing heavily, your eyes watching as his chest rose and fell and his Adam's apple bobbed. 

“Do you think that's enough?” He asked sheepishly, sweat running down his forehead. His breath was hot and his eyes were sunken. He was tired, you had taken more than you promised. You smile, teeth shining in the moonlight.  Grabbing the blade you'd been using all night long to carve the man up, you gently wiped the metal on your dress allowing the red ichor to stain the fabric before pocketing it. Laying your back to the earth, you look to the stars. They shined down bright and friendly like an old friend. The one constant in your immortal life were those twinkling lights, people came and went, animals died, and nature often left destroyed but those pretty lights never left. Sure there were nights where it was harder to see them than others but you knew they were still there and that's what brought you comfort night after night.  “Yeah I think so.” You stated, closing your eyes and allowing the cold air to affectionately kiss at your skin. “I think I may have over done it tonight.”

“I think so too.” Louis grimaced in pain as he laid next to you. His eyes running up and down your body, looking for something, anything that was out of place and would point to the monster he believed you to be. The longer his eyes looked the more his mind drifted to the conclusion that there was nothing out of the ordinary about you, you had no tells. And that, well that wasn’t okay. It put him on edge, his skin crawled and tiny goosebumps would materialize on his brown skin. Just the thought that he couldn’t tell your kind apart from his kind frightened him but still he said nothing. “You know it’s been three years since you smashed into me and my sister's life like battering ram. And still you ain’t very forthcoming about yourself.” He pauses looking to you for a reaction that wouldn’t come. “It ain’t fair you know.” 

Letting out a deep sigh in what could only be human mockery, you groan. Slowly you flutter your eyes open as if waking from a thoughtless slumber. “Three years, huh? Time really is but a stubborn illusion, a fleeting moment constantly on the run.” You smile, soft, kind. “Fine… I'm an open book. What do you want to know?” You ask as you use your elbow to lift you up. Looking deep into Louis' worn out eyes. You should get him home soon. 

“How’d you come to be like this? And don’t reply with no poetic bullshit, okay? I ain’t stupid, I want the real answer.” Bold boy, he was. His hunger for answers pumping through his veins, a need for knowledge ripping through the air. Your instincts told you to dance around the question, run him in circles till he was dizzy just like you always did but what good would come out of that. You’d spent the last three years doing so and now the jig was up. “Well ain’t that a loaded question.” You laugh trying to hide your unease. 

“I was hunted… hunted like a baby fawn.” You took a deep breath, the memories engulfing you like a dark cloud. The face you tried so hard to forget flashing in your mind like a film reel. “He said he loved me. Said he knew me better than I knew myself.” You allowed yourself to let out a bitter chuckle. “In the end, I guess he did.” Louis looked on quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I let him in one night. My hunger, my lust, it clouded my judgement. He wasted no time showering me with love and adoration, it was nice.” A distant smile appeared on your face before dropping. 

“I allowed the events of the night to creep up on me, lulling me to sleep in his arms. When I woke the sweet remnants of sleep still hung to my body but also this indescribable dread. It clung to me like a leach, buried itself in the pit of my stomach. He was gone of course, the morning rays shining down on my dark skin, giving it a reluctant golden hue. I still remember how beautiful that sunrise was that day. The midtones of orange, yellow and even a luminescent pink clashing with each other for control of the sky, as the sun smiled down at all creation. It was so warm, so friendly, I could’ve fallen back into the arms of slumber in an instant if it wasn’t for the nauseating dread that was clinging to me.” You didn't realize it but your breathing became uneven as your mind went to the events that followed after that sunrise. You closed your eyes if only for a moment. 

You were there again. Feet anxiously climbing down the stair case as a sickening rotting fragrance filled your nose. Eyes wide as you looked at the gore before you. This wasn’t real, it couldn't be. Your dads body was broken, contorted in ways that didn’t seem possible. His bones poked out where they shouldn’t and stomach gashed open with his intestines spilling out. His eyes were haunting, the lively brown hue they carried, now gone and greyed over. Not far from him was your mother. Her face stretched out in horror, the expression ingrained in her loving brown features. Her throat was completely shredded, all components on display. You could even see the pale white bone making an appearance through the heaps of blood. A wail so guttural and raw left your mouth that night and you cried for hours on end. You had come to believe it was your fault. 

“Y/n you’re crying.” You blinked a moment. You mind racing at an inhuman pace you struggled to catch up. You smile, wiping the cherry tears from your face, you laugh. “Sorry about that.” 

“Anyways I woke up that day to my parents dead in the living room and my dog, Little Daisy gored on front porch.” You breath, pulling your body forward you sat up before crossing your legs. “He left me to stupor in his actions, he enjoyed watching it eat at me from a far. It took me months to leave the house after that. Reduced to a hermit, I lived in fear. But it’d be years before he’d strike again. He waited, waited til I was comfortable, happy, safe. He was always content to play the long game. Something I never grew to understand.” 

“Why didn’t he just kill you that night? Turn while you were laying up in bed with him.” You laugh sharp and bitter. “You listening to me? He didn’t kill me because what’s the fun in that?” You asked. “I let him in and for that, there needed to be consequences. My parents and little Daisy were just that… Consequences.” 

“But you let him in again, didn’t you?” Louis accused. “How else would he have gotten his hand on you?” 

“Of course not. I would’ve never let him in, I don’t purposely make the same mistake twice.” You left those words in the air for a moment. Silence surrounding the two of you. 

“Like I said, he waited. Waiting till he became a distant memory in the back of my mind. Waited for me to get bold. Waiting was what he was good at. It took a while but I did get bold, started testing my luck by going outside when the sun sunk low. I had to… needed to, the house was suffocating, had been for years but I couldn’t bring myself to go anywhere else. All my memories resided there, riding my first bike, the many piggybacks my father gave me, my mother and the ‘secret’ girls night we’d have when dad was working late. I latched onto it all because outside of memories all I had was the house. My parents weren’t well off so to give them a proper burial I sold things, things that I would’ve treasure if I knew better.” 

“But April 26 19XX I chose to be bold. Bold for the last time. I sat on the wooden swinging chair that resided on the porch, an old thing with striking baby blue paint littered on it. Long aged, the paint was chipped and peeling but she was still a beauty. I was tired, lazy, the book that resided in my lap long since abandoned and my eyes began fluttering closed. It’d been a long time since I’d had the chance to fall asleep with the wind kissing so lovingly on my skin. I took the risk, I acted boldly, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.” “No” Louis whispered clearly enraptured by your story. 

“I don’t know what time I woke up but when I did the moon was softly shining down on me. It was comforting but only for a moment. I felt time slow as the wood of the chair creaked. He was sitting beside me doing what he did best, watching and waiting.” You wouldn’t dare go over the intimated details of how that night unfolded. The things you endured that night never meant to be recounted or relived. “He turned me that night, just before sunrise.” Your voice was quiet barely audible above the crickets and cicadas as they sang. 

“But you say you killed him!” Louis said his voice full of hope. The words noticeably coming out loud and proud. “That what sis says anyways.” He said his tone shifting to be a bit meeker after noticing his voice had scared aways many of wildlife that resided in the forest. Another true and genuine smile found itself pressed into your lips. The brother and sister duo really did crack you up with their antics. A shame you were only feeding on the one tonight. “Where’s your sister anyways?” You asked. 

“My question first.” Eager was the serpent to feast. His hunger for knowledge leaves holes in his stomach that only you could fill. You chuckled. “Yeah I suppose I did. But that didn’t come first, What came first was severing the ‘connection’ we had.” “Connection?” He questioned. 

“Vampires have this connection to one another, like a symbiosis relationship. Not only did he get my memories but I got his. I saw the countless nights he spent waiting for me. I saw his first hand account of him murdering my parents, my dog. And those memories, they drove me crazy. They replayed in my head like a fucking siren. It felt like it was his doing, like he was the reason they wouldn’t stop like he wanted me to watch those moments over and over again. And maybe he did, he had a peculiar way he went about things.” There was a profound sadness now present in your eyes. Louis sat seemingly amazed at just how expressive your eyes were. They told their own story time and time again. 

“Now about that sister of yours?” You asked, giving a friendly tilt of the head. As Louis opened his mouth to answer, the sound of a branch snapping could be heard loud and clear. You both snapped your head in the direction of the noise. Your body immediately stiffened and you felt as though all the blood you had just received ran cold. What stood before you was hardly a few feet away. A ghost of a man with blood soaked clothes, in his hand he held an iron grip on the decapitated head of Zuri, Louis’ sister. The spinal bone still attached, her eyes were stuck staring back at you in horror. You could only imagine what her last moments looked like.

“She ain’t wanna miss out on the pleasantree’s thought I'd bring her with me.” Remmick voice and smooth and sweet like honey, always was. Even when he would whisper in your ear about how he would break every bone in your body. It made you sick. Louis cried out his eyes never leaving his sister's head, tears started to rain down his face like a water hose that was not quite shut off. “How?” The word came out quiet, frightened. 

“I did what I do best darlin’… Watched and waited.” He mocked. He had been there lurking far longer than you realized.

__________________________________

I wanna do mafia AU next man

[avaults]

chapter one - welcome to society

from false pretense - a bridgerton!au starring suguru geto

pairing: suguru geto x female reader (zenin)

ch. summary: as daughter of the zenin household, your parents expect no less than perfection of you - their precious emerald! so what happens if the queen sees you; will she have the same perception of you? (3.8k)

content/warnings: bridgerton au, regency era au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, misogyny, bullying, jealousy, mentions of alcohol and explicit contents, mental health issues, death,  academic themes, breaking society’s norms and expectations, geto is as prideful as ever, reader pretending to be someone else, both being a pain 

author's gossip: bonjour, it's me - Anna! so the first chapter has finally arrived and I hope you like it. thank you very much for taking your time to read - please enjoy! special thanks to @fushitoru <3

Dearest gentle reader,

welcome to yet another season of  family representatives entering into society. Alongside mamas making sure their daughters shimmer as brightly as a star, are young eligible men using the opportunity to check whose sparkle might fit themselves. Weeks, months and hours are spent on preparing these young women for their debut to society - all in hopes of impressing her majesty. Though whom may the queen deem worthy enough to take place among her most prized collection of jewelry and will therefore earn the title as this year’s most desired debutante; earning this season’s title as the most incomparable - the diamond of the season.

Upon society’s excitement on to whose daughter will bedazzle the crowd and especially the queen the most to make the final cut, are also rumors lingering as to whom may grace us with their decision to fully participate in the courting related events regarding public. But before we will dive into every mother’s most anticipated part of this very column, I shall inform you about whom many males and also the queen herself have set their sights on. There are two young women who are currently being favored not only for their looks, but also for their standings in society as well as their exquisite mannerisms proven in minor gatherings before. Both are of exceptional lineages. One being miss Iori, daughter of viscount Iori and the other one is in fact a close friend of hers; miss Zenin of the Zenin household. Bear with me as we pay attention to what future will hold spare for these two little birds.

Now onto the most important part for many - during most recent days it has come to my attention that whispers surrounding this season’s attendees have steadily increased in volume. So much so, that I could not do other but to investigate those myself for I can confirm wether it is of great value or impact to society. So now this very author can confirm with joy that none other than Suguru Geto, heir to duke Geto, is preparing to pay his full attention on finding himself a match. Will he succeed on the mirage market though? We certainly shall see as men of the Geto household are said to be rather demanding and expectant. So far every woman that has entered into this house’s rows excelled with not only a grande skillset in music and literature but also in holding proper conversations to entertain audience. Additionally these women were able to continuously display more than perfect knowledge of their ranks in society and value to their partner. Though lord Suguru Geto holds quite the reputation for being much too prideful, causing him to be rather distant and disregarding towards others - especially those lower in rank. Will this apply to the dames and debutantes as well? We certainly will be kept on edge for this forthcoming quest.

Yours truly - Lady Whistledown

A huff escapes your mother’s lips as she laid this weeks print aside on the surface of your vanity, taking one last judging look at your appearance. A certain expression begins to take place on her visage, indicating that she is not yet fully content with your attire. Intrigued, you gather your nerves in order to speak up properly: „Mama, I fear you are not content with my looks so how may I improve them to your liking? Dare I recommend some striking jewelry?“. Your mother pauses with examining you to contemplate said thoughts of yours. After a moment of thinking, she responds: „My dear, that is certainly a sparkling idea. But what pieces shall we choose upon? We must keep your attire a certain amount of interesting, yet without making your look overbearing.“. „I share those very thoughts . As of now I dare say I look rather plain and I am afraid that colorless or neutral jewelry may not do much on improving the simplicity of my looks, instead it might further the dullness of it.“. Mindlessly you rise from your seat to leave for the room inside the manor where all the prized jewelry is stored and cared for.

As you are strutting down the hallway leading to the room, you glance over your shoulder to see your mother following suit with a pleased smile gracing her lips. Though you love your mother dearly, you can not deny the frustration lingering deep within your stomach. All throughout your life, you were raised to obey and please you parents every wishes in order to prepare you for mirage - according to Zenin’s standard of values of course. A certain amount of pressure constantly being laid upon you. You shall not disappoint and dishonor this family’s name ever by making a fool out of yourself or others. You shall experience quite the education; enough to uphold a proper conversation and interest potential suitors, enough to entertain audience with your social skillset during gatherings - but never shall you receive too much education to form a mind of your own and cause commotion with it. Do not speak up and do not talk back. Especially to your elders.

Once your reach the desired spot, you bring yourself to break away from those constricting feelings and to focus on the task at hand. Finding the right piece of jewelry is hard, especially from such a vast collection as that of your family. Rows and rows of silvers or golds either covered in sapphires, rubies, pearls, diamonds or emeralds are in front of you. Thus making it hard to choose from, especially the emeralds which your family is known for. Fully engulfed in the sheer beauty by the gems, you do not notice the presence of your brother Naoya until he clears his throat, making it known that he is in the room with you. His disapproving stare is burning through your skin, leaving residuals deep within your bones. More than enough to leave you with chills regularly.

Shaking off those unsettling stares, you redirect your attention and soon enough decide on a pair of sapphire studded earrings to try on along with a matching necklace. Once you applied the jewelry you study the improved look in the mirror, just to hear Naoya’s typical disregarding scoff: „Dear sister, I do not interfere with your looks much for neither do I care or share some interest in, though if you might ask me you should refrain from using anything blueish. It seems blue dulls your complexion by far, letting you resemble that of a corpse’s.“. „Naoya Zenin, this is certainly no way to treat a woman, especially your sister!“. „I am only stating the obvious. I am not at fault for my sister being so sensitive to critique. I suggest you improve that trait of yours instead of focussing on some jewelry in an attempt to do so with your looks. After all you did not inherit this family’s genes much; you are hideous. Your skills I will not fur-„. „Naoya Zenin, you are to leave this room immediately as I no longer tolerate such disdainful behavior! If you dare to refuse my very command then you leave me no other choice but to talk to your father regarding your allowances. In fact I will have him cut them.“. „But mother-„. „Enough! Now take your leave.“. As Naoya takes off, you relax a little. Letting out a breath you absentmindedly withheld. Though, his words keep circling your mind the time you turn your attention back to the mirror. It seems you can not let go of this hurtful comment and form judgement of your own. Sadly you do see his point, which makes you even more frustrated.

Just then you hear your father calling out for you, signaling you that you do not have much more time left to make choices. Unfortunately this only adds to your level of stress, that build up in the recent hours. So without another thought left to spare you quickly put the sapphires back in their place: „Oh mommy, this will simply not do! I hate to admit it, but my brother is right. Blue does not favor my complexion and actually makes me look like living death. Additionally it seems I do not have enough time left to make the right decision in jewelry as father already called out for me. I am afraid I will be at fault for us not making it to the announcement in time.“. „My dear do not fret too much. Sadly we do have not more time left, but I am certain you will select the right set of accessories soon. Just close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath, then let your heart choose.“. Those words of wisdom offered you some reassurance and without a doubt you follow suit. Breathe in - breathe deep - breathe out et voilà, your gaze lands on emerald embedded earrings with an equally decent necklace to pair with. You can feel your whole face sparkling up upon applying them, knowing you just made the perfectly right decision. The emerald’s color accentuates your features nicely and boost your complexion. An additional prospect is that it adds some touch of color to your otherwise very dull ensemble of all white fabrics. Your mother can not help but let out a squeal of pure joy as she takes your gleeful appearance in: „My precious girl, these pieces of jewelry suit you so well! They make this whole attire of yours complete - making you shimmer like a gem yourself. A positive aspect that comes along with it is that you subtly represent your family’s color with it as well. Like a true Zenin indeed. Your father will be very pleased by that. But now we shall leave or else we might really be late.“. Just then your father calls out for you yet again, this time though you can hear the slight agitation in voice. Your mother already hushes you out the room and down the stairs, where you meet your fathers expectant gaze. „I am sorry daddy, I just put a lot of effort into looking perfectly presentable and also representable. I guess it took up more time than I initially calculated it would. I will make sure to keep that in mind the next time we will prepare for an event.“ Your fathers stern visage softens at your words: „It is alright, we are still on time though I would have appreciated it if you responded to my calls instead of letting me believe it fell to death ears. I was getting worried for a moment. Other than that I see you managed well. So far I am very content with your looks and I see that you added our house’s color to it - makes me really happy.“. Besides him is your brother trying his best to keep the already forming disgust on his face at bay. Instead in an attempt to to mask it he clears his throat, drawing the attention: „As much as I hate to interrupt this conversation, I might remind you we shall take our leave or I fear we will not arrive in time.“ Silently agreeing you step to the carriage to take a seat for the ride ahead. The ride itself is not long and also not filled with much talking as everyone is lost in their own thoughts based on the anxiety and stress swirling the air.

Though the moment you enter the grounds of the palace your thoughts seem to falter and you are mesmerized by the palace’s beauty of architecture. This interest keeps your nerves at bay until you are pulled out from your daydreams by your mother, pulling you inside the preparation room for the presentation. Your father and Naoya have split from you two prior, to secure themselves a good spot in the audience. After all Naoya still has to find himself a wife. Preparations for the parade are fleeting, only tucks and tufts of feathers and fabrics are left to do. Otherwise the looks are already set. Every young woman in attendance is clad in white, though there are attempts to from each to draw attention with details; Either with the arrangement and amount of feathers, the distinct scents of perfumes applied or the ever so bedazzling jewelry the decided on. Scanning the room, your eyes land on a head of raven hair not too far away.seeing that as your opportunity to calm your steadily rising nerves by striking up a small conversation with your friend prior to the parade. „Viscountess Iori, Utahime! It is such a delight to see you two.“. Utahime spins around, a bright smile latched on her lips: „Madame Zenin, Y/n - I am relieved to see you. Stress is steadily consuming me. So much so that for a second I felt like I was on the verge of crying.“. „I see what you are talking about, I actually feel the same way about this event and everything regarding it. Though dare I might say, that your attire is really stunning today.“. „Thank you very much, it is really kind of you. But I may say so about your ensemble as well - truly shimmering. I fear you are greater completion than I expected.“. „Truth be told, it will be very exciting for us. But I worry we are not the only ones in competence unlike lady Whistledown has reported.“ Looking around the room she agrees: „You certainly are right, I can spot several who have diamond worthy potential.“ While approximately 15 young ladies are adding finishing touches in attempts to calm their nerves, only a handful of them stand out - at least to you; one woman in particular. A striking aura to fit her upright posture, clad in a dress tailored to favor her already slander shape. Sadly your observations are disturbed by to footmen  ordering the guests into positions, announcing we will parade alphabetically. Unfortunately you are the last in line to present themselves, adding only further to the stress. You know that as time goes by, it will be harder for the queen to focus and therefore making it harder for her to decide, especially if there are several shining young ladies. So what if she has already made her choice by the time you step foot into the very hall. Your patience begins waning resulting in your posture lacking necessary tension, but your mother aside you is quick to notice and reminds you of it. After collecting yourself and fixing your posture, your name is being called - indicating for you to parade.

Once you are making your way down to the queen, you take chance to check for familiar faces. You even manage to spot your father and Naoya, some of your cousins, viscount Iori and even some dukes you have heard of, but there is someone among them who catches your eyes - one you have not seen or heard of before. Tall and lean with hair black as ink cascading down his shoulders and onto his chest. His raven hair framing his face, pulling focus on his striking features matching his even complexion. Eyes sharp and lips so soft adding to his extraordinary facial structure, one unlike any other you have seen before. As if god himself carved this very man out of marble. Simply heavenly. To your demise though he seems to notice your stare and averts his gaze somewhere into the audience, his eyes narrowing. His facial expression switching from discontent to boredom occasionally. Feeling the blush of embarrassment building on your chest, you redirect your own gaze ahead. Upon arriving in front of the queen, you present her your long practiced greeting. „My my, what do we have here? Please rise so I can take a better look.“. You follow the queens order wordlessly. „Th emeralds you wear are very dazzling. I must admit it suits you well - they are accentuating your beauty. And as I recall these emeralds equal your family’s colors, am I right?“. „Yes, your majesty.“. „Mhmm, very sparkling indeed…“. With these words you are dismissed along with the rest of society for the queen has to take a break in order to close her diamond wisely.

Seeing as your parents are pleased with your behavior, you excuse yourself to go fetch some fresh a air on the terrace. There you find Utahime and enjoy some catching up before deciding to head back inside. But you are interrupted by Naoya who stands in the entrance to the hall leading back to the ballroom, blocking you from entering. Your brother lets Utahime pass, telling her you two will follow soon after. But something is off; it is unlikely for your brother to meet you unless it is either in his favor or to torment you: „Do tell brother, what brings you outside?“. „Am i not allowed to catch a breath of fresh air myself before accompanying my dear sister back to the hall?“. „There is no problem with that, though it seems very unlike you for you to be so caring. So what do you want to tell me this time?“. „Well it is not something I want to tell you but rather something I want to question you about.“. „Alright go ahead so we can return as fast as possible, I am sure the queen will announce the diamond soon.“. „Well then, what happened during the parade?“. Taken aback, you respond confused: „I do not know what your speaking of? I paraded perfectly, no tripping or loss of balance.“. Naoya begins to circle you, mustering you: „Hard for me to admit, but you did. Though I did not meant that. What I want to know is what your relationship with him is?“. „What do you mean? Which relationship? With whom?“. Naoya stops in front of you, taking a step closer to you: „Do not play dumb. I am speaking of Suguru Geto!“. „I swear I do not know whom you are talking about. I have not heard of a so called `Suguru Geto´ except in lady Whistledown’s article, I do not even know what he looks like.“. „Oh sister, this will not do so let me rephrase my question. The raven haired man I saw you staring at earlier - what is your relation to him?“. You scoff at his ridiculousness, deciding it is enough you make way for the hallway. „I am tired of this nonsense so I will return on my own.“. Stepping in, Naoya threatens you: „You will not or else I will share my suspicions with the rest of the family and ruin your very being like no-one else will. So tell me, are you involved in an affair with this man?“. „No, i am not involved with this man or anyone. I would not ever dare to even think about adultery. Are you content now?“. „No, no, no… then why was there a bush all over you? This usually only happens when two parties engaged in improper activities before…“. „Or this happens out of embarrassment. Embarrassment of him catching me staring.“. „But that is exactly what I was talking about? If you keep avoiding me, then I am afraid you leave me no there choice but to walk up to-„.

Luckily your father disrupts the two of you tough upon seeing the anger splashed across his face, you consider yourself not so lucky anymore: „Young lady just what do you think you are doing here? Catching some fresh air? Or rather having a chat with your brother? Whatever it is ends now and so does your reckless behavior. Just this morning I thought you will not cause commotion for once, but I was disappointed yet again. You missed the announcement - missed the chance of becoming the diamond and making up for all your missteps along the way. This will have consequences; for the both of you! Naoya you should only fetch her so why did I end up doing it myself instead?“. Naoya is the first to speak up: „I am sorry father, but she just threw a fit and got me involved into this. I am innocent, I swear!“. „Spare all your excuses for later, when we will discuss this thoroughly. Now let us return to the hall and fetch your mother. She already took over and congratulated the diamond in our name.“. Leaving you no option, he drags you down the hall way and into the ballroom to fetch your mother rather quickly before scurrying off into the carriage. The carriage ride home is filled with your father’s rage on what happened at the announcement. Your mother sits in silence besides him, disappointment all across her face and it does not seem to leave until hours later. Once your father finished with scolding you and your brother, you apologize thoroughly without trying to explain yourself as it will not change the situation for the better. Instead it will only worsen it, potentially earning you more punishment. When nothing else is left to say, your mother rises from her seat and takes word: „Although it was quite disappointing you were not elected as diamond of the season for obvious reasons, this situation does have it’s positive aspects. While I was engaging in conversations earlier, in the over heard people’s whispers about you. It seems that you have received the title of ´the emerald of the season´ from society. Many were mesmerized by you, at least that is what I heard duke Nanami say.“. Your fathers sour expression lifts to one a little lighter: „Well if that is not a pleasant surprise. So then you may get ready for we have to present the emerald at duke Gojo’s ball.“. With that you are dismissed from this family’s gathering, allowing you to get ready for the masquerade ball ahead. Though this time everything ran quicker and more smoothly.

So you find yourself in the carriage once more, this time though on your way to the Gojo estate. The ride itself is not as suffocating as the one before, letting you relax a little for all the dancing that will happen soon enough. Several minutes later you find yourself switching between conversations and dances with potential suitors. But not one who catches your eyes in sight, much to your disappointment. Otherwise everything is well; no man causes some sort of commotion by misbehavior and no one is making you uncomfortable. So far a good start into festivities. Engaging in social activities like this one does tire you out, you need to admit. So in order to clear your mind a bit and regain some energy, you decide to take a quick stroll around the hallways of the estate. You are aware that this behavior is not accepted in society but no one is there to catch or judge you because they are in fact all present inside the ballroom. So when you see a pair of doors ajar, you pay no mind and enter quickly. Inside your met with shelves full of books. And before you can skim through some,  you light a few candles to be able to read. What you do not see though is someone slipping inside behind you, keeping watchful gaze on your every move.

a/n: publishing the first chapter has been a wild ride y'all - from my laptop not allowing me to copy and paste to tumblr being a lil' bitch about the format of the text. i had like seven mental breakdowns until I could finally publish lol 🥹 - but @fushitoru was there to save my ass. thank you looks - I appreciate you looking out for me🫶🏻. now on to the other matter; I added a taglist. so if you want to be added please notify or message me - don't be shy 😌

taglist: @tiramisuandlove @gojouology @not-ur-average-fangirl /taglist is open!

[luveline]

aaahhh okay wait imagine Emily is away on a case longer than usual and comes home without telling r to surprise her and sees that reader has been like idk wearing her shirt or sleeping with her pillow or idk just like something to feel close to her

thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader

Emily knows you're in her bed before she's so much as opened her front door. She lives in a nice building across from Washington, DC, in an apartment that glows with the lights of the city. It takes time to get home after a case, but the view isn't one you'd find anywhere else. 

She'd fly a hundred hour flight if it meant getting to ch ome home to you. It sounds silly and corny, like a fairytale she didn't believe in, but there's something about you that inspires cliches. Like, your beat up converse arranged neatly so as not to disrupt her tower of high heels and boots. Your coat on the rack with the arms and hood smoothed down, and the way you arrange Sergei's food and water bowls intricately every time you visit because you're aware of Emily's penchant for orderliness. 

She knows you're here because of all of these things, but really, she has a freaky sixth sense when it comes to you, and seeing you curled up on her side of the bed cements it perfectly. 

She locks her gun away in its safe and puts her shoes and jacket away. Quiet, she slinks to where you're sleeping with the sheets up to your nose and bends down to check you over. She knows nothing has happened since she saw you last, but it doesn't matter. She needs to look at you properly. 

You're on your side, face angled down, arm a lump under the sheets. Emily smiles and, despite the singing urge to wipe away the day's faded makeup and brush out curls crunchy with hairspray, lingers, holding her hand up to your face, stroking a short line.

You won't wake from it. Maybe you're a heavy sleeper or maybe you know it's her, but she never wakes you up when she comes home. 

Sergei snores little nosed snores from his fluffy bed. Emily laughs as you do the same, though she frets (and she'd deny it if anyone asked, but frets all the same) that you can't breathe with the blankets smushed to your nose as they are. 

Gently, she pulls down the sheets. 

Her lips fall from their fond smile. Tucked in your arms like a life jacket is a soft white camisole, the last shirt Emily slept in before she left. 

She isn't excessively loud about loving you —she isn't quiet about wanting you, but that isn't the same— and you aren't overly forthcoming. 

Which isn't to say she doesn't feel loved, Emily knows she's loved in the same way you must know it, with the burning, aching sort of desire that has you pinching her hips when she walks by, or begging her to share a shower with you even if it'll make her late for work. But Emily hadn't realised how much you loved her in this sense. The difference between missing her company and missing the intrinsic smell of her skin is unsaid and yet yawning; you love her enough to curl around a dirty t-shirt. This is the kind of love that grows old together. 

Emily's particular about things, but not tonight. Fuck it, she hopes she gets mascara on the silk pillow case as she climbs into bed behind you. Let it be a monument to how she feels, any hint of fatigue replaced with silky soft wanting. 

"'Mily?" you murmur, covering her arm where it curves over your waist. 

"No," she whispers, "axe murderer. Sorry, babe, welcome to your nightmare." 

"I had a good run." You push her back a touch as you roll onto your back, squinting at her through thick-knitted lashes. 

"You can sleep. I'll still be here in the morning, I promise." 

"Y'here now. Missed you, Emily," you murmur, turning more, vying to hold her waist as she holds yours. You sound a little upset, but that could be the sudden wake up call. 

"I'm sorry," she says, smiling at you in hopes of getting one back. "But I'm home early. That's a good thing, right?" 

"Can I put my face in your neck?" you ask. 

Emily tries to say yes. All she can summon is a mute nod and a tight smile —she's happy, yeah, but she feels strangely like crying. It's a scary thing, finding out how loved you are. Suddenly she has to worry about it being taken away. 

You wrap your arms around her, your skin hot with a furnace like heat. Mumbling, your face fits into the curve of her neck, your lips skipping against it as you say, "Love you… you okay?" 

Her smile shocks back to life. She presses it to your forehead without hesitation. "I'm fine now. Love you. You can go back to sleep." 

"I really really missed you." 

Emily feels each word fan against her neck. It's a sensation she's sure she'll remember for years to come. "I missed you, too." 

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch.22

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here.

WARNING: non-consensual groping

First - Prev - Next

CH.22

Jingle

Click

Creeeakkk

“Hey fellers, I’m back! I hope ya’ll are ready for- hello?”

“F… Fiddleford…”

“Stanford? Where are you at? Why d’you sound so-.”

“L-Living room...”

“What in tarnation - Stanford, why’re you dressed like that? And why’re ya’ll laid back on the armchair like that?”

“Can’t… move. He left Naloxone on the coffee table… I can’t reach it… I’m paralyzed.”

“How did this happen?”

“Stanley got me with my own tranq gun…”

“Oh, for Heavens sake. Here friend, let’s get you that Narcan.”

“Thank you, Fiddleford. Stanley underestimated his ability to metabolize opioids, or he overestimated mine. It took sixteen hours for me to wake up, and I’ve still been paralyzed for the past six or eight.”

“Why would Stan do this? And did he switch clothes with you?”

“Yes.”

“...This makes me uncomfortable.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, I’ll explain as much to you as possible on the way down to my lab. Follow me!”

(...)

“So cosmic-level authorities placed you under arrest.”

“Yes.”

“And you tried to save your sorry hide by requesting a transdimensional trial by combat?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“And Stan - who has been to multiple planets and different dimensions - cut his hair, knocked you out, stole your spare set of glasses, and switched clothes with you to take your place?”

“Correct.”

“And you expect me to believe all of this?”

“Fiddleford, we scavenged several parts for my computer at crash site omega, you know extraterrestrials are real, why does this seem so far fetched?”

“That’s different! That ship was millions of years old, and long abandoned! Whatever left it behind should have died out eons ago.”

“Didn’t you ever wonder how I was able to decode the alien language so fast?”

“I imagine you put your doctorates in Linguistics and Etymology to use.”

“I tried to at first. But Stanley already knew that language, and translated it for me. Well, the major structures of words and sentences at least, cultural context was missing.”

“...I beg your pardon?”

“The language is called Gromflomish, it’s the standard language of the Galactic Federation due to the dominant species of that regime being the Gromflomites. Stanley learned it while he was galavanting in space.”

“Are you even listening to yourself right now?”

“Fiddleford, I understand that what I am telling you is a lot, and I am sorry we weren’t more forthcoming with you from the start; but we need to focus on rescuing Stanley.”

“How in Sam Hell are we supposed to do that?”

“When Stanley switched our clothes, he also switched our wallets. I imagine this was to avoid scrutiny if he was searched. I found some items of interest inside.”

“You didn’t search what was in it when you confiscated it the first time?”

“No. There was not a lot I expected to find in there given his lifestyle. I only did a precursory check for illicit substances. But what I found with a more in-depth search is… Interesting.”

*Ford quickly types on his computer, and pulls out a photograph and an I.D from Stans wallet*

“Who… are all of those strange characters and critters in the photo with him?”

“Apparently he was the bouncer for a group called the Flesh Curtains… a band made up exclusively of intergalactic criminals. And there is one member who can help us.”

“You want to call a space outlaw to help us find your brother?”

“Fiddleford, I will remind you Stanley is not just an ex-convict, he is also an intergalactic and interdimensional wanted criminal. And trust me when I say, I also very much do not like who I am about to send a beacon to.”

(...)

“Stanford Filbrick Pines, step forward.”

“Almost a whole day in ‘the hole’, just to drag me into court anyways? What happened to the Gladiatorial challenge?”

“SILENCE! You will be read your charges before you make your attempts to clear them in Globnar! First and foremost, your most heinous crime is Unlicensed Nightmare Fueling! You are wanted under suspicion of giving debilitating nightmares to the following individuals; Federico Fidel “Rico” Leiva Arias, Jorge Andrés Martelo Visbal, -”

‘Hey wait a second, these names…’

‘These are a from the list I gave to-’

‘Has he… has he been giving them nightmares?’

‘But why?’

‘Why would he…?’

‘Has he been doing that the whole time?’

“FURTHERMORE, a standard DNA scan has linked you to the crimes of the petty outlaw, and notorious first and second person to ever break into and out of the Infinetentiary; Staniel Danger Malone.”

‘Why did I ever let Rick submit the paperwork for my Federation I.D..?”

“REGARDLESS of what name you use, any crime committed that is linked to your DNA signature will be held against you, and can only be cleared by Globnar, or an imprisonment up to a number of Schwabe cycles equal to xn+1=rxn(1−xn), whereas x represents the amount of crimes you are convicted of. WHAT SAY YOU, The Accused?”

“Bring it.”

(...)

*Ford is heavily hugged from behind by a much taller figure, who practically drapes over him*

“Hey-Hey Stan! I was wondering when you’d call back. Took you long enough.

Has someone been trying to install tracking chips on you, by the way? I’ve gotten like, six notifications from how many have been shorted out in the past four months or so.

Didja miss me, Stan?”

“...Sanchez.”

“...”

“This is Dr. Stanford Pines, while I did send you that beacon, you are mistaking me for my identical twin brother, Stanley.”

“Huh, so I guess it was short for Stanley, I owe Birdperson a Kalaxian Crystal.”

“Please remove your hand from my groin. I will only request this once.”

“Wow, you two really must be identical, the way it fills my hand-.”

WACK

(...)

“So you’re Stan’s brother huh? You must be that thing he was looking for. Here I was, thinking he buried some gold somewhere.”

“Sanchez, we’ve met before.”

“Have we?”

“I attended several of the same classes in Backupsmore University as your late wife.”

“Hm, still not familiar, pal.”

"I have six fingers."

"So you'd be more expensive to animate, but I'm still blanking out here."

“We had a heated debate once because you claimed you solved the Hodge Conjecture.”

“Was it a heated debate? Really? Sounds more like whisky-over-the-rocks chat to me.”

“...Perhaps a bit more heated on my end.”

“Still not- Oh! Wait, I think I remember you now.”

“Good, now-.”

“You were that slutty shorts guy!”

“...Now, we need to discuss Stanley. My brother has recently been apprehended by the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron. I called you here because I am aware you possess advanced transdimensional portal technology.”

“And what’s in it for me?”

“Excuse me?”

“You want my help? What can you give me for it?”

“I was under the impression you and Stanley were friends.”

“When he calls me I could at least expect a booty call.”

*Fiddleford in the background clearly tenses up, and angrily crosses his arms*

“But you? I can tell just by looking at you that, the only thing you’ve ever fucked is your own sleep schedule. Also, you just gave me a black eye, so excuse me if I’m not feeling charitable.”

“Why you selfish, short sighted, arrogant-.”

“Wait, those plans over there? Are those yours?”

“Those are my schematics, actually, Mister Rick.”

“Hmm, interesting. A gun that wipes out memories based on a typed-in word, phrase, or concept? Looks like it can be edited to store what’s removed as well, what a mindblower. Tell you what, Ford, I’ll get you teleported over to your superior half, with a way back, but your little lab partner lets me study his invention.”

“Fiddleford?”

“If it's what it takes to bring him back… but I’m not gonna like it.”

“Alright, Sanchez. He’ll share his concept with you. But in exchange you need to help us find and retrieve Stanley.”

“Finding him is easy enough, I had a tracking device stored into one of his molars. It shorts out any lesser tracking device.”

“He said you didn’t alter his physiology.”

“Oh, he doesn’t know about it. The shady dentist he went to who surgically re-grew all of his missing teeth, he owed me a few favours.”

“I have no idea what Stanley ever saw in you…”

“Ha! You think your brother’s some kind of saint? He once took a rocket gun, said “I am the god of destruction”, and vaporized an unmanned warehouse full of Galactic Federation pharmaceuticals, because the local supply depot didn't accept the prescription pad that he forged, in English.

He got us both banned from The Gambling Dimension because he wrote a three hundred page manifesto on bribery called The Holy Brible, which created a new religion called Stanentology that became the third most practiced faith in the entire dimension. And then he kept advising his followers to overthrow the government, kickstarting The Crusades.

One planet has a picture of him in the dictionary when you look up ‘customer complaint’, because he sold them really shitty copper.

He did a keg stand with liquid ecstasy once. You think it sounds insane, me just saying it? Imagine what it was like to see it. He did a keg stand with liquid ecstasy.”

“I am sure your influence did not help.”

“Oh, definitely. I know I made him worse, but he was already fucked up when I met him. Also, Ford, not using contractions doesn’t make you sound smarter. Just confirms how much of a hubristic turd you are.”

“Are you going to show us where in the Sam hell he is or not?”

“That southern guy has more bite than you do, Ford. Buuut, a deals a deal. Here we go.”

*Rick takes a cable and connects his watch to Fords computer, and then begins typing*

“Alright hot dick let’s see where you managed to get yourself cornered this time.”

“Stanford, you better hurry when you find Stan. Because if you leave me with this man for too long…”

“Yes, he is insufferable, I understand.”

“There he is. He’s in the Time Dimension - in the Future City Court Room? Ouch. That isn’t good, he’s wanted by the jurisdiction of Future City because he broke into their maximum security prison to get me off, and also out, twice. And they’re still pissed about it.”

“But you’ve pinpointed his location?”

“Yes. But I’m not giving you my portal gun, you couldn't possibly even begin to understand how to use it. Instead, you’re going to put this watch on. Here.”

“Fine.”

“I’m going to open a portal that will drop you directly next to him. When you’re ready to come back, just press the button on the side of the watch, it’ll send me a notification that you’re ready to come back, and I’ll open another portal for you.”

“I won’t be long - Fiddleford, keep an eye on the place. Sanchez, behave yourself.”

“You really do have less bite to you than Stan does, he would have told me to go kill myself.”

“The day's still young, Sanchez.”

(...)

“[The winner gets a precious Time Wish, and then decides the loser's fate. And you are officially ch-.]”

“WAIT!”

*Ford suddenly drops out of a green portal vortex right next to Stan, who is still in shackles. The portal winks out instantly.*

“Doc?!”

“Stanley, I cannot believe you thought you had to save me from-!”

“Both of us.”

“Excuse me?”

“They were never just gonna charge you for your weird brain crimes… They were gonna charge you with my stuff, too. And my rap sheets a lot longer than yours.”

“I would have done it anyways!”

“I know you would, that’s why I had to trick you. By the way… about those nightmares you caused- why did you do it?”

“You know why.”

“EXCUSE US?! This is unprecedented! An imposter among us?”

“I am the real Stanford!”

“No, he isn't! Don’t listen to him, he’s crazy!”

“SILENCE! Timebot, run a DNA analysis of the interloper.”

“[Scan complete. DNA 102% match for the accused, with a 2% margin of error.]”

“Identical twins? Clones? How can we possibly tell the difference between them, Lolph?”

“That new one has six fingers, and his glasses still have their lenses.”

“Yes, but our reports never specified the number of fingers of the suspect. And the suspect was always reported to be wearing goggles designed for skiing.”

“Really, Stanley? You judged me for the outfit I chose, and yet you-.”

“Can it, PhD. We both know you just like playing dress-up.”

“Why don’t we use footage from the Infinetentiary Break to count the fingers?”

“We cannot reliably do so, the graininess of the footage is cleared up by an A.I that almost never gets the amount of fingers right.”

“Nah, you listen here ya future jerks, you can’t tell us apart! If you’re gonna take us, you’re gonna have to take both of us- in combat. I want to specify and put that to record right now, I mean take us in combat.”

“Stanley, why are you repeating that?”

“Trust me. This one time, just trust me. Specification is important.”

“[Agents Dundgren and Lolph, do you accept a challenge of two versus two?]”

“We accept. We have advanced, expert training.”

“And those two are just a pair of nobodies with many identities under their belts, but no true purpose with any of them.”

“Hey, doc?”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna punch that guy.”

“Understandable.”

*A large hole opens up above the arena, and the Time Baby floats out of it, and the crowd in the arena goes wild*

“Welcome Globnar tributes! I have a very important nap to get to so let's make this quick. You each have a chance to settle your time-crimes through gladiatorial combat.”

“[You will have until Time Baby finishes drinking the cosmic sand in this hourglass.]”

“Get ready, Stans. When we win and decide your fate, you’ll both be subject to the maximum punishment under time law.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Stanley! Put the finger- fingers, down!”

“...Dundgren, why is the pudgy one giving us the universal symbol for good luck?”

“Maybe he’s taunting us by suggesting that we will need luck to beat them.”

“That one is tricky. I’ll be sure to stab him before he becomes a problem.”

To be continued…

[olivialau]

Shadow's Embrace Ch.34

Sukuna x Reader

Notes:

This story is set in the Jujutsu Kaisen universe/slight AU where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel, separate from Itadori Yuji's body, and is accomplices with the Jogo, Geto/Kenjaku, Mahito gang.

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to bind her abilities through a contract. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

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CHAPTER 34– Inferno

You fiddled with the whistle in the pocket of your uniform, the cold metal gliding over the anxious sweat of your palms. Your feet hit the floor with restless taps, matching the frenzied pace of your mind as one worried thought spiraled into another. Gojo’s voice barely filtered through, which was quite a feat considering the animated way he delivered his lecture. The usual symphony of Yuji’s warm laughter and Nobara’s sharp quips had faded to white noise.

Only Megumi seemed to share in your mental absence, his dark eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the window while his foot maintained a slower but equally restless rhythm. Yet you doubted his worries were as nauseating as yours, as bitter with the poison of forthcoming betrayal.

You glanced at the clock. Less than two hours until…

Your insides coiled with the same uneasy dread that had sent you running yesterday.

After that kiss, you’d raced home, breathless and frantic, your shirt sticking to your back, hands clutching at your hair in panic. Why, oh why, did you have to go and do that?

Flustered beyond coherent thought, you’d resorted to humanity’s most primitive—and perhaps most childish—defense against an inevitably mortifying rendezvous: pretending to be asleep.

On the couch, you leveled your breath to slow and even waves, closed your eyes, and held your face perfectly still in artificial peace. You maintained this vigil through the eternal hour it took for Sukuna to return.

When the lock finally clicked, you tracked his footsteps through the apartment with quiet focus, ears perked to catch each shuffle of his sandals across the oak floor.

Halfway to his room, he stopped dead in his tracks.

A heavy sigh drifted down to where you laid, and for an agonizing minute, you wondered if he could see the thumping of your heart.

You wondered what look he was regarding you with. Was it disgust, detachment, anger… endearment?

The soft squeak of his bedroom door finally broke the tension, and with him back in the apartment, the familiar pressure of his cursed energy settled into the air. Oddly enough, you found it calmed your frayed nerves rather than set them on edge.

Like a cozy weighted blanket, it soothed you to sleep…

This morning, you’d woken to an empty apartment—no trace of his energy. Sukuna had already left, taking that strange comfort with him and leaving you with a shitload of worries and a whistle in your pocket.

You tilted back on the rear legs of your chair, nearly losing balance but not even flinching because, well, if you fell, it would have been well-deserved.

Sure, you’d managed to negotiate some measure of safety for your friends, but whatever Patchface and Volcano-head were coming to steal would become just another piece in their grand design against Jujutsu society. What you were about to do was still inherently evil, would still inevitably lead to chaos, violence, even death down the line.

You tried to comfort yourself with the thought that even without your complicated feelings for Sukuna, the binding vow would have forced your hand anyway.

So why did that do nothing to ease the writhing guilt in your gut?

A sudden weight on your shoulders snapped you out of your spiral of self-loathing. Nobara’s perfume, vanilla and jasmine—wafted up your nose as she leaned close.

“Class ended five minutes ago, slowpoke. What are you spacing out for? Don’t tell me there’s a guy on your mind—” She punctuated her question with a playful flick to your ear before gently tucking a strand of hair behind it.

She wasn’t entirely wrong.

You shifted to put your notebook away, but as you ducked to reach for your backpack, something snagged your collar. “Hold up—just fixing a fold…” You glanced over your shoulder to find Nobara’s perfectly manicured nails pulling at the fabric until…

Her eyes widened to saucers as she caught a glimpse of your nape.

Well, shit. What was it with people peeping down your neck these days?

“Nooo way! It really is a boy…” She squealed so loudly that all eyes in the room snapped to you. You frantically gestured for her to lower her voice, and thank god, she quickly piped down.

Fine, she’d caught you—but that didn’t mean your cover was blown, right? Any random guy could have left those marks. She had no reason to suspect you were sharing a bed with the King of Curses.

“Relax, your little secret’s safe with me,” she whispered, yanking you up from your chair with surprising strength. “But whoever he is, he’s clearly a beast. And you didn’t even tell me? I’m wounded.” A dramatic pout found her face and she clutched at her chest in offense.

For the briefest moment, her eyes softened as they drifted off. “So that’s why you’ve been acting so weird lately. Huh, figures…”

She said it so quietly, you felt the words were meant only for her—yet you were glad you caught them. There was something awfully relieving about knowing she could stop worrying about you, even if her assumption was worlds away from the truth…

You turned your head when Yuji jogged over, a lunchbox tucked under his arm, with Megumi trailing behind, hands buried deep in his pockets.

The four of you found a sun-warmed bench outside, settling in for lunch as a gentle breeze carried the scent of sweet blossoms across the courtyard. Your mind found a peculiar sort of peace as you bit into your sandwich—not true peace, but something close to it.

Maybe it was the way the sunlight dappled through the courtyard’s leaves, casting gentle shadows that danced across your skin. Or maybe it was the way Nobara’s laughter rang pure and clear again, unburdened by the weight of unspoken concerns, certain that there were no more secrets between you.

If only she knew.

Your gaze wandered to the training grounds, where hard-packed sand stretched out around the rust-colored gravel track. Beyond it, rows of trees formed a forest, casting shadows over patches of moss that mosaiced the ground. High grass and dense bushes offered perfect coverage—the kind one might need to summon a curse away from prying eyes.

Three o’clock. That’s when you’d have to do it.

The only challenge left was finding an excuse to create a moment alone in that forest during the training session.

You’d just have to improvise.

You took another bite of your sandwich and with your next blink, a wall of white suddenly blocked your vision. Confused, you blinked again, but still there—

A wall of white… fur?

Your eyes drifted upward, and—

“Hrkk—” The bite of sandwich caught in your throat as you found yourself staring into the dark eyes of a—

“No way… you’re Panda? The second year’s Panda?” The words tumbled out before you could catch them, manners forgotten in the face of absolute absurdity. But how could anyone blame you?

You’d heard whispers about ‘Panda’ here and there. He’d been mentioned during your training with the second years when he’d been absent, away on a mission. But you’d just assumed it was some kind of nickname, maybe for someone particularly big and cuddly, not an actual walking—

“Huh? What are you gawking at? Of course I’m Panda.” He scratched behind his black-furred ear with his massive paw, a playful smile puffing up his cheeks. “Seen any other panda-shaped students around the school grounds? You’re not the brightest, are you, new kid…”

A walking—and talking panda.

Okay, calm down—you’d seen stranger things these past couple of months.

In the background, your evident shock sent Nobara into a fit of hysterics. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “Oh god—your face—” she wheezed between laughs, until a sharp flick to the side of her head cut her laughter short.

“Ow!” Nobara yelped, rubbing the reddening spot as Maki materialized behind her, adjusting her glasses with a smirk. “Are you sure you should be laughing? As I recall, you screamed like a spooked chipmunk and hid behind Gojo-sensei when you first met Panda.”

A furious blush spread across Nobara’s cheeks. “I did not! That’s—”

Meanwhile, Inumaki had stepped out from behind Panda’s shadow, his collar pulled up over his nose and his purple eyes darting back and forth, silently witnessing the scene from a safe distance.

When your eyes met, he offered a gentle, “Kelp,” lifting his hand in a tentative wave.

You returned his greeting with a small wave of your own and a soft smile, grateful for his simple ‘hello’ in this circus of a meeting.

After a few more minutes of Nobara’s defensive yelps, Maki’s cutting retorts—she was a master at verbal sparring if you’d ever seen one—and Panda’s occasional rumbling laughter that shook the entire bench, Yuji finally seemed to process something from his perch atop the backrest.

His legs dangled loosely as he tilted his head. “Why are you guys here anyway? To watch our training session?”

Maki pushed her glasses up onto her head, the lenses catching the sunlight as she let out a sigh of irritated resignation—like she’d already known this would happen but was certainly still annoyed by it.

“Huh? Of course he didn’t tell you. That deadbeat idiot.” She clicked her tongue. “We’re not here to watch; we’re leading the training session.”

Your ears perked up, stomach dropping at this unexpected change of plans.

As if you weren’t stressed enough already.

“Wait, um,” you interjected, words coming out a bit too cold as you tried to keep the nerves from creeping into your voice. “Why isn’t Gojo leading? I thought—”

Maki cut in, a sharp edge to her smile that made you shrink back slightly. “What’s wrong? Think we second-years can’t handle teaching a few basics? Trust me, I’ve got plenty to show a rookie like you.”

That’s not exactly what you meant but—still desperate for an answer, you glanced at Panda, who caught your silent plea for clarification.

“Most of the teachers were called away on an emergency mission,” he explained, stretching his paws high in the air. “That’s why we’re filling in.”

The teachers got… called away?

Oh no. No, no, no.

The blood drained from your face as the implications of this new reality hit you.

With the first-grade curse you had to release, and if Mahito and Jogo decided to act up, to overstep their bounds… God, you weren’t even sure if Sukuna had kept his word. Maybe they’d orchestrated this whole ‘emergency mission’ themselves—leaving all of you defenseless, at their mercy.

You felt sick.

Yuji gently tugged at your sleeve, his bright eyes dimming with concern. “Hey, you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost… you sure that sandwich isn’t expired?” He eyed the half-eaten lunch in your trembling hands, but you couldn’t reply. Your eyes fixed on the faint outline of the whistle pressing against your thigh, knowing if you met anyone’s gaze right now, the truth would come spilling out like water from a broken dam.

It rose so high up your throat. You could only stare and swallow, swallow, swallow again until it stayed down—

You straightened your features and looked up, only to find everyone staring at you.

“I’m fine, sorry, maybe it is expired… I—”

You fell silent again.

Luckily Megumi noticed your unease and came to your rescue. He pulled his phone from his pocket. “It’s almost two,” he said, all eyes snapping to him instead.

“We should head to the training grounds.”

You thanked him with a tiny bow of your head for his quiet ability to read the room. He might not show it with his stoic exterior, but he was easily one of the most perceptive when it came to others’ feelings.

The tension dissolved as quickly as it had built, everyone falling into animated discussions about sparring pairs while you hung back, trying to steady your breaths.

Everyone except Yuji, who lingered beside you with that gentle smile of his, eyes curved into crescents as he gestured at your sandwich.

“Want me to throw that for you?”

You forced a kind smile in return and nodded.

It wasn’t like you could manage a bite with your nerves clamping your throat shut anyway.

At the training grounds, everyone quickly settled into pairs. And it didn’t take long to realize who they’d decided to pair with you.

Maki tossed the wooden bo staff your way, sending you stumbling into an awkward sidestep as you barely caught it. The confident smirk she wore left no doubt: she’d taken your earlier remark as a slight against her teaching skills, and she was absolutely going to make you pay for it—bad sandwich or not.

You tightened your grip on the weapon until your knuckles went white against the worn wood, but it hardly mattered—because Maki had already blurred into motion. One moment she was standing there, the next—there was a sharp thwack of wood on wood and your weapon went sailing across the training grounds.

“Too slow,” she commented from behind you as you jogged to retrieve your staff.

God she reminded you of that mercenary who nearly took you out—Toji, was it? The same lethal speed, the same complete void of cursed energy that rendered your technique useless. The same taunting smirk playing at her lips as she twirled her staff in lazy circles—a mirror image of him—both so damn confident in their ability to make you eat dirt.

And well, she did.

Again and again, she disarmed you—either the stick or your ass hitting the ground. 

And each time you retrieved your weapon, your eyes were drawn to the big clock mounted on the wall across the field, its hands creeping closer to three despite your prayers to please let time slow. 

You hadn’t even figured out a proper excuse to sneak off to those woods yet. 

“Getting tired already?” Maki’s voice cut through your distraction and you sighed, turning to face her, bracing for another graceless defeat. But as you prepared for your stick to go sailing across the field for the umpteenth time… it hit you that—that might be exactly what you needed. 

You loosened your grip just enough to ensure it would fling—far. Your eyes fixed on a spot near the treeline as you turned your back to it and took a few calculated steps backward, disguising your intent as defensive positioning. 

You pretended to raise your guard and—this time, when Maki charged, you angled the stick ever so slightly, letting her momentum do the work. 

The impact made the wooden weapon spin through the air in a perfect arc, disappearing far into the woods before landing in the undergrowth with a soft rustle. 

“I’ll get it,” you called out, already jogging toward the forest’s edge, forcing a casual stride even though it felt more like a run for the gallows. 

There was no backing out. Bound by the vow, your only option was to put your trust in Sukuna’s word: 

Hell, even your little group of friends could exorcise it if they used their brains… 

“You better be right, asshole,” you whispered under your breath as you pushed past the first row of bushes, each step carrying you deeper into the shadows.

The sounds of training grew muffled, replaced by the nervous chirping—no, screeching—of birds. It was as if they knew, somehow they knew, their calls a desperate plea against the wrongness about to unfold. 

You stopped when the last remaining sounds of sparring finally faded away, leaving you alone with the knowledge of what you were about to do—what you had to do. 

You knew you had to, but the metal felt like heavy lead as you guided the opening of the whistle toward your mouth. Your hand trembled—whether from fear or guilt, you couldn’t tell anymore. 

You clenched your eyes shut, no use in delaying this, and drew in one last breath of innocence before your mouth found the whistle and you blew— 

Birds shot from the trees in a startled exodus, their wings flapping frantically, fanning the dead leaves from the branches. 

Then… silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the kind that comes before a storm. 

Before everything goes to hell. 

You tucked the whistle back into your pocket with trembling fingers, your body moving on its own as the sudden realization struck: you were alone in the woods, and that curse could appear at any moment. 

Quickly you pushed your way back through the leaves and bushes, passing by your bo staff as your imagination conjured phantoms out of the shadows in the corner of your eye, until finally—mercifully—you burst through the last line of bushes, greeted by the warm glow of sunlight. 

“Took you long enough,” Maki hissed, still waiting at the forest’s edge. You dropped your gaze, tracing idle circles in the earth with the staff—you couldn’t look her in the eyes, but since silence would be even more damning— 

“Sorry,” you mumbled—sorry for what was about to happen, sorry for the chaos you were about to unleash. 

“Guess your throw really sent it flying… You’re strong, Maki.” 

You weren’t even sure why you felt the need to mention that, maybe to patch over your earlier comment which she’d mistook, maybe to reassure yourself that this group—your friends—could handle whatever was coming. Your eyes drifted up for a small hesitant peek across the training grounds, taking in the symphonic violence. 

Yuji and Nobara moving like wind and thunder, Megumi’s shikigami locked in a waltz that challenged Panda’s brute force. 

Inumaki stood at the sideline, a quiet sentinel… 

Would it be okay?

The thought had barely formed when the ground began to tremble—not a gentle quiver, but a deep, primordial shudder that tilted the earth. Your careful circle dissolved as loose soil redistributed. 

The sounds of combat came to an abrupt halt as everyone paused, glancing around to make sense of the situation and steadying themselves against the shuddering earth. 

Nobara staggered, gripping Yuji’s arm for balance. “Huh?! An earthquake?” Her yelp of surprise carried over the field and to your side, where Maki stood unnervingly still. 

Her gaze was sharp as a blade. And even though she couldn’t sense cursed energy, her instincts honed by years of combat knew exactly what this was… “No,” she muttered, knuckles whitening around her staff. “It’s not.” Her worried whisper morphed into a command as she swung her staff forward. “Everyone, brace yourselves. It’s a curse.” 

Your throat tightened. She’s right. You knew because—you did this.

Right then, the ground erupted. Jagged fissures spiderwebbed outward, spewing scalding steam that blurred the air into a hellish haze. The heat grazed your arm—searing hot and blistering. 

You choked back a cry of pain. 

What the hell kind of curse was this? It couldn’t be… Jogo, could it? 

“Everyone, watch out!” Megumi’s shout cut through the chaos. His Divine Dogs burst from the shadows, leaping forward to shield Panda and Inumaki beside him. But as they neared the fissures, they recoiled with pained yelps, their fur smoldering where the steam touched. 

“Fuck, it’s hot!” Nobara snapped, frantically fanning her scorched skin. Yuji darted left and right, his sleeves already singed, fists twitching with the instinct to fight whatever was hurting his friends. 

He was desperate to strike something—anything. And as if answering his unspoken call for vengeance, a guttural roar boomed from the depths. 

Then, the scraping of claws tearing free from the ground as the curse emerged from underneath the earth, its body a pulsing mass of oozing abscesses. Each crater-like pore exhaling hot vapor, distorting the air with waves of suffocating heat. 

You should have felt repulsed, yet the relief that it wasn’t any of Sukuna’s accomplices… That small comfort was enough to make your breath come easier. 

Just your breath though—your body was frozen in place. 

Maki, in contrast, wasted no time. She surged forward, staff raised and ready to strike. Yet she stopped just short, staggering back—glasses fogged, skin flushed red. 

“The heat… it’s too much. It’ll burn you to a crisp if you get too close,” she hissed. 

Nobara barked a laugh, “Like hell that’s gonna stop me!” She flicked a nail skyward, hitting it with her hammer in a perfect trajectory—until the projectile hit that wall of scorching air. The steel caught the light as it softened, twisted, then dripped into a molten puddle. 

Megumi gritted his teeth as his hands flew into a sign, shadows forming around him. 

“Nue!” 

The owl-like shikigami erupted from the darkness, its wings crackling with cursed electricity as it climbed higher and higher, gathering power for a devastating dive— 

But right as it pounced, jets of steam shot up like geysers, ruthlessly targeting the bird. Nue’s screech of pain hurt your ears as its feathers crumbled to ash. Megumi’s face contorted, sweat streaming down his temples as he dismissed his wounded familiar before it could suffer further damage. 

You watched Yuji dart forward next, that familiar determined glint in his eyes—but even his raw strength meant nothing against the oppressive heat. He backpedaled with a hiss, forearms red and angry. 

“Enough!” Maki’s voice was stern demanding everyone’s attention. “We need to regroup. Panda, find help—anyone. The rest of you, to me. Now!” 

Panda nodded firmly. “On it! Try not to get barbecued while I’m gone!” He called over his shoulder, already breaking into a sprint that seemed way too fast for something his size. 

As Panda disappeared into the distance, your group huddled together, narrowly avoiding the spider web of cracks that was spread across the earth. 

The curse, despite its high grade, had a dense, lumpy form and trudged forward with agonizing slowness, dragging itself like a snail across the surface—gross, but at least it gave you some time to strategize. 

Nobara stumbled into the circle first, brandishing her remaining nails. “These things are useless—they’re turning to soup before they even get close! That blob is damn strong…” 

Yuji skidded in beside her, hand nursing his burned arm. “No luck on my side either… and for a curse to be poppin’ up outta nowhere like that, it feels off…” 

Ouch. 

Megumi joined last, his Divine Dogs pressing close to his legs with low, worried whines. “We’ll figure out why it’s here later. First, we need a plan. The steam acts as both an offense and defense—so… so direct hits are impossible.” His gaze shifted to where Inumaki stood silently observing, until something sparked in those dark eyes. “Unless…” 

Maki followed his line of sight and caught his drift. 

“Inumaki’s our only ranged option. A freeze command could temporarily halt the steam output. If that gives us even a small window…” She jabbed her staff—its tip now charred black—toward the curse. 

“But it’s grade one. He’ll burn out fast,” Yuji interjected, his eyes drooping with concern.

Inumaki raised two fingers, then a third, before pointing deliberately at his throat. 

“Two, maybe three commands before his throat gives out,” Megumi translated. “Not enough.” 

The curse’s laughter bubbled up from behind. Through the heat haze, its crater-like pores flexed like dozens of mocking mouths—taunting you.

You had caused this, hadn’t you? Which meant you had to fix this—no matter what.

“I… I can extend his limit.” 

Every head snapped toward you. 

“My technique.” You flexed your fingers, still tender from earlier. “I don’t just siphon energy on contact. I can transfer it too. If I can drain some of the curse’s power in that window, then channel it back into Inumaki…” 

Megumi raised an eyebrow, rubbing his chin as he contemplated the plan. “You’ve done this before? Transferred between people?” 

“Once.” 

A lie.

In truth, you’d only ever practiced with your dagger—a lifeless object imbued with cursed energy. But the principle couldn’t be that much different, could it? 

Inumaki studied you with those perceptive violet eyes before tapping his throat and giving a single, decisive nod. 

“Salmon.” 

Maki’s staff struck the ground with finality. “We’ll need perfect timing. Inumaki’s freeze command will give us maybe ten seconds. We hit hard, then get out fast.” She turned to Yuji, who had perked up with renewed focus. “You’re our bait. Draw it into position so we can strike from its blind spots.” 

A grin split his face as he threw up a thumbs-up. “Leave it to me!” 

“First wave,” Megumi laid out, voice steady despite the tension. “Inumaki freezes it. Maki, I’ll pull you a proper weapon from my shadows—we take the left flank. Nobara, right side. Your nails should hold once the steam stops. Yuji—” 

“Keep it real mad at me. Got it!” 

“And you.” Maki’s eyes locked onto yours like lasers. “You have ten seconds to drain everything you can from behind. Inumaki will need every drop.” 

You nodded, jaw set with determination. If this was how you could minimize the damage you’d unleashed… then you’d give it everything you had. 

Megumi reached into the air where he pulled out a gleaming special grade cursed katana from his shadow inventory, passing it to Maki before pulling out a black-steeled Shadow sword for himself. His determined eyes reflected in its dark surface and when he looked back up, you all locked eyes for a heartbeat—no speech needed. 

That was the starting sign. 

Yuji darted forward, zigzagging between the steam vents like a pinball, smoke curling off his uniform as it caught a drift of heat here and there. “Hey ugly, over here!” he taunted.

“Bet you can’t catch me!” The curse’s gurgling roar confirmed its irritation, its bulbous form dragging itself to face him.

The rest of you used that precious moment to creep in as close as possible—to where the heat became almost unbearable. 

Then one bark from Divine Dog Black signaled Inumaki, and— 

“Freeze.” 

Inumaki’s command caused a second of absolute silence—the curse’s bubbling pores frozen mid-exhale, the last remnants of steam rising up. 

When that second passed, you all exploded into action. 

Bridging the remaining distance with a sprint, you outstretched your hands all the way to the tips of your fingers as you sought contact with its putrid skin. 

Your fingers sunk into the flesh—the smell so foul it made you gag—but you quickly pushed those senses aside, putting every ounce of your focus into absorbing as much cursed energy as possible. 

To hell with cursed energy overload—you’d handled worse. 

The taste of a first-grade’s power was much like Sukuna’s—strong, hot and viscous. But you gritted your teeth and drew it in anyway, ignoring the way your head began to swim. 

From the left flank Maki struck first. Her sharp katana carved a clean gash in the curse’s side, followed by Megumi, his Shadow sword cutting deep as both dogs mauled at its legs. Nobara’s nails were functional at last, exploding with chunks of cursed flesh from the right flank. The impact of each hit reverberating through the monster like heavy shockwaves. 

Finally, Yuji threw a punch at its stomach—a Black Flash in fact. 

It lit up the battlefield, and you swore you could hear that familiar ring of reality warping in your ears. 

The first twitches of its grotesque body were a warning signal to retreat, and you were all well outside the range of its steam when the curse broke free with an ear-splitting shriek. 

You sprinted the final feet to Inumaki, who was trying to suppress the muffled coughs into his collar, and without hesitation pressed your palms to his chest. Focusing like you had with the dagger, you carefully channeled the stolen energy into him and— 

Thank god, it worked. 

His eyes widened at the surge of foreign power, and the coughing quickly ceased. 

“Again!” Megumi called out when he noticed the transfer was successful. 

Once more Yuji vaulted at the curse to catch its attention, while the rest of you snuck close. 

“Freeze.” 

The second wave proved even more devastating than the first. Yuji’s fist landing another Black Flash, Nobara’s nails penetrating even deeper, Maki and Megumi’s assault leaving ragged trenches in the curse’s skin. You drained more and more energy, your skin feeling like it might split from containing it all. 

But you endured. 

Second transfer. Third wave. The curse’s defenses were weakening, but so was your group. Sweat streaked every forehead, breaths came in ragged gasps, and the sluggish retreat left nearly everyone with superficial burns smoking off their limbs. 

This time, you barely managed to transfer the energy to Inumaki. Your legs trembled violently, threatening to give out as you pressed your palms to his chest—half to transfer the energy, half to steady yourself. 

“F-freeze,” he rasped. 

The fourth attack was desperate. The strikes less precise—no more Black Flashes—just average punches—and the curse breaking free from the command faster as if it were adapting despite your desperate tries to drain it. 

It was obviously weakened from the streak of attacks but so was your group. 

So were you. 

You stumbled back in a daze, unsure if the air was blurry from exhaustion or heat. Through the haze, you spotted Inumaki’s uniform and drifted that way on autopilot. As you neared you noticed the thick crimson droplets that spattered from his mouth between violent coughs. 

You were barely out of range of the curse and the heat burnt your uniform into your back, but right as you stumbled Yuji caught you mid-collapse, slinging you over his shoulder as he rushed to Inumaki’s side to regroup. 

The boy was in a very bad state. Worse than you were. Coughing up—no at this point vomiting blood as he collapsed to the ground. 

“Inumaki!” Multiple voices cried out in alarm as the others rushed over. Yuji set you down beside him, your vision swimming. 

“Shit. What do we do now?!” Nobara hissed. 

You could taste the desperation in the air. 

But then—footsteps. Heavy, running footsteps. Not the curse; it didn’t have feet. And the rest were here, so who? Your thoughts struggled to piece it together until— 

“There they are!” Panda’s voice boomed across the field. Behind him, Shoko’s white coat fluttered as she sprinted forward, her face set in a calm yet urgent expression. 

“He can’t fight anymore,” she assessed in seconds, already kneeling beside Inumaki. 

Panda scratched his head awkwardly, clearly hating to pile bad news onto an already dire situation. “All the combat teachers were called away, so it’s up to us to finish this.” 

“What’s the situation?” Shoko inquired. 

Maki straightened, despite her obvious fatigue. “The curse is weakened, but without Inumaki’s command—” 

“We’ll burn,” Megumi finished.

You looked at your friends—at Yuji's red arms, Nobara's blistered skin, Maki's scorched uniform, Megumi's exhausted shikigami with their fur burnt short.

Yet, despite it all, they stood unwavering at the side of their friend— 

You yearned to be like them... to be someone good, not a filthy traitor—a monster's slave. 

“We can take it,” you said quietly, then louder as you pushed yourself up: “We can push through. It’s weak enough now that... that the burns won’t be permanent. Right, Shoko-sensei?” 

“You’re out of your damn mind—you can barely stand,” Nobara snapped, glaring at you like you’d lost your marbles. 

To your surprise though, Shoko seemed to actually consider your suggestion. She nodded, not looking up from her patient. 

“With immediate RCT, yes.” 

An all-telling pause. 

“But it’ll hurt like hell.” 

Yuji, always desperate to keep the mood light in situations like these, gave Megumi a playful punch to his shoulder. “Hey, maybe we might be able to get a nice tan on that pale face of yours.” 

“You’re all insane,” Panda rumbled, but he was already settling into a fighting stance, obviously planning to join your descent into the fiery pits of hell. 

“I don’t see any other options. Let’s do it,” Maki added, gripping firm hold of her katana. 

“Fine. But if my hair gets ruined, you’re paying for extensions, missy!” Nobara snapped as she helped pull you up. 

You let out a small giggle at her words, the rush of adrenaline at what was to come kicking in and helping to steady your shaky legs. 

“Deal.” 

Everyone steeled themselves for the final charge, each silently battling their own nerves—fully aware that what awaited them would be far from pleasant. 

Yuji cracked his scorched knuckles, Nobara’s thumb traced the blistered skin of her palm, her other hand compulsively smoothing singed strands of hair behind her ear. Megumi’s brows knotted together. 

Panda and Maki took one last moment, kneeling by Inumaki. 

You clenched your teeth, biting down hard until the copper taste of blood flooded your tongue. Then, with a synchronized push, Maki and Panda rose, stepping into place beside you. 

“Let’s finish this.” Maki’s words were the signal—the final charge was set in motion. 

A charge of pure determination. A mad rush through walls of steam. 

It was like running straight through flames.

With every step, your skin blistered and split open further, nerves howling in agony as the searing heat tore through them. Every breath seared your lungs until breathing was simply not an option anymore. 

Through tears of pain, you saw everyone pushing forward—Maki’s glasses cracking from the heat, Nobara guarding her precious face with hands that barely had skin left, Yuji’s uniform smoking, Megumi’s face contorted in agony as his shikigami howled and followed loyally, the white patches of Panda’s fur turning as black as the rest of him. 

What followed wasn’t a battle—it was a slaughter. 

A total outburst of rage, adrenaline, and pain that translated into a devastating combined attack from all sides. 

Maki’s blade carving a molten arc through the steam like a meteor trail. Panda’s claws burning red as he wrestled the monstrosity into Maki’s next strike.

Nobara’s hammer swinging in a frenzy as her remaining nails hummed through the air—one hitting the curse’s weeping eye. Her grin turned feral as she detonated it with a raw-throated “Die!” 

Yuji’s punches split open the curse’s belly. The stench of ozone clinging to his smoldering fists as he punched again, and again, knuckles grinding to bone. 

Megumi’s shadow blade snarled, silent and feral like his Divine Dogs, ripping through flesh as effortlessly as their teeth.  

And you—you dug your disintegrating fingers into its disintegrating core and drank every drop you could get to. All until there was nothing more left to drain. 

The steam died first—a final hiss as the battlefield fell still. Then the curse itself folded inward, dissolving into a pool of black tar. 

Then nothing but silence and the soft thump of bodies hitting the ground as everyone collapsed. 

Through the haze of pain, you heard Shoko sigh... “Where’s that guy when you need him? I swear to god, Gojo, you should take better care of your students.” 

Her footsteps were already approaching, hands glowing with cursed energy as she knelt down somewhere beside you. 

You lay there, staring at the sky, every inch of your body screaming—but somehow, you were smiling. Because this pain? This was the pain of protecting your friends, not betraying them. 

---------------------------------------------------------

You must have passed out at some point because when consciousness returned, you found yourself on a bed in one of the school’s infirmary rooms. Through the window to your left, Jujutsu High’s grounds stretched into darkness—dawn long gone, leaving the courtyard bathed in pale moonlight. 

The burns on your arms were wrapped in clean bandages. And though Shoko’s reverse cursed technique had dulled the worst of the pain, a sharp ache still throbbed beneath the dressings. Your entire body felt leaden, drained of energy to the point where even the thought of swinging your legs over the bed seemed impossible. So you let yourself sink deeper into the mattress, preserving what little strength remained for healing. 

Your mind drifted to Sukuna. He was probably pissed that you hadn’t returned, but frankly, you didn’t care. You were pissed too—pissed that he’d forced you into this position, pissed about that convenient 'emergency mission' that had drawn away all the teachers. 

What absolute bullshit. 

He and his merry band of psychopaths had to be behind it. 

You attempted to roll onto your side, seeking a more comfortable position, but the burns made every movement a harsh negotiation with pain. 

And when you finally managed to settle, the door suddenly swung open. 

Shoko entered in a cloud of antiseptic and unfiltered Camels, her lab coat sleeves crusted brown-red. Dark circles hung heavy under her eyes as she dropped into the chair beside your bed, gently lifting your arm to examine the bandages. 

“They’ll heal,” she muttered around an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips. “Gonna take some more time though. Had to save energy for—” She caught herself with a sharp click of her tongue. 

“For what?” The question scraped painfully past your smoke-damaged throat, and the red crust on her sleeves suddenly seemed all the more vivid. “Is everyone okay? Gojo-sensei?” Worry clawed at your chest. 

“The guards at the cursed warehouse.” Her voice was flat, clinical. “The curse that attacked you was a diversion. Someone broke in and killed them all. Multiple special grade cursed objects were taken.” 

Killed. The word refused to process properly, your brain short-circuiting as the reality sank in. You had more than burns on your hands now—this was blood. 

Shoko sighed, rubbing her temples. “I tried, but... the corpses were completely mangled. Either grotesquely deformed or burned to ash. Nothing I could do.”

Deformed—Mahito’s signature. Burned—Jogo’s flames.

Mahito might have gone rogue, defied orders for the fun of it, but Jogo? You’d seen how loyal he was to Sukuna, thoroughly aware of the consequences of betrayal.

Which meant...

Sukuna had lied. Double-crossed you just to make you blow that whistle.

Nausea surged up your throat. You barely managed to point at the bucket beside the bed before Shoko thrust it into your hands, your stomach violently rejecting everything it contained.

“Major toll on your body,” she commented, rising from her chair. “Rest. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Between heaves, you managed to gasp out: “The others?”

A small, reassuring smile tugged at her lips. “Don’t worry about them. You’re a special lot, your group.” With that, she left, abandoning you to the mingled stench of vomit and betrayal.

Your betrayal. His betrayal.

It was funny how upset you were over his lies when you’d been weaving nothing but lies for weeks now.

But somehow, his one lie felt like it had tainted everything—every glance, every touch, every bruising kiss now felt poisoned by that betrayal. Each memory replayed in your mind with a sickening twist that made your stomach churn all over again.

And why did that betrayal cut deeper than knowing people had died? That their blood was partly on your hands? Your moral compass felt so warped you couldn’t find its true north anymore. But you knew exactly who had pulled it off course, degree by devastating degree.

A sudden drop in temperature made your still-heightened senses snap to attention.

A rustle outside, then a gentle tap against the glass, like a bird testing its beak against the window. But birds didn’t move with such deliberate purpose, didn’t make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

The window frame creaked—the sound of claws scraping against wood as something worked at the latch from outside.

The faintest trace of his energy ghosted across your senses, detectable only because you’d grown intimately attuned to its particular flavor of malevolence...

Your muscles seized, torn between fight and flight—anger pulling you towards the former. But exhaustion had stripped you of both options.

As the window inched upward, you could only watch as a hand curled around the frame, tattooed wrist standing out against the pale wood. Then came the flash of pink hair, and finally—the last remnants of moonlight were blocked, cloaking the room in darkness except for those eyes.

Twin points of hellfire burning with such intensity that the shadows themselves seemed to recoil in fear. His broad shoulders filled the entire space as he sat ducked beneath the top frame.

The devil himself—here at Jujutsu High.

Once again come to claim you.

---------------------------------------------------------

No Sukuna in this chapter, guys—sorry! 😫🙏 Had to push the plot forward a bit.

But don't worry, the next few chapters will be all about Sukuna and MC!! Hope you still enjoyed this one, and thanks so much for all your support again 🫶💕

Taglist: @sukunasthightattoos , @tomiokasecretlover , @6demonize6me6 , @blindbabycadder , @domainofmarie , @marcoschuitmaker , @geniejunn , @chanaaaannel , @nessca153 , @technicallysublimedemon

If you want to be added to the taglist, so you don't miss any updates, please let me know in the comments or with a private message. Thankyou!

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

One in Eleven Million (ch.7)

damian wayne x reader x jon kent

(A/N): this is where the real-life experience I took to write this story runs out so please take any and all airplane/airline logistics with a grain of salt. And with that said, enjoy! I want to get the rest of this series out by the end of fall to hopefully have room to post the holiday fics I want to write so look forwards to the coming final chapters. And apologies, this is a short one.

edit: forgot to link the masterlist so here it is!

warnings: airplane travel, turbulence, emergency (not crash) landings, panic

wc: ~750

~~

The next forty five minutes passed in some part conversation and some part Jon showing you dozens of pictures on his phone. He had a few really good ones of Superman (the older one) and some stunning ones overlooking Metropolis. 

“My parents are reporters so they–they know people who take photos like this,” Jon explained to you, crunching on the airplane pretzels he’d reclaimed from Damian.  

You pulled out a few photos of the Gotham skyline to show the boys in turn. Your photos didn’t live up to theirs, but with your not-high-tech phone camera, those were about the best you had. 

A stronger bout of turbulence rocked even you, hands instinctively gripping the hard plastic of the armrests. A quick glance at Damian gave away that he didn’t find it regular either. 

Jon’s “This is weird right?” overlapped with the concerned cries of other passengers. You turned to Damian. 

“It feels more like a train right now than a plane.” 

“I agree. This is irregular at best.” 

You nearly missed the crackle of the loudspeaker from underneath the raised voices of those around you. 

“Ladies and gentleman, there has been a slight issue with one of our regulators. As of now, all passengers and attendants are to remain seated for their safety. Our next step is to make an emergency landing at the Philadelphia airport where there will then be connecting flights to Gotham. If you would rather find an alternate method of transport, let the front desk know as soon as we arrive so any luggage is forwarded to baggage claim.” 

You could barely process the new information over the sudden uproar. 

“This has never happened to you, I assume?” Damian spoke loudly. 

“No, nothing like this. I’d never even had a delay this bad before but this? No it-it’s crazy.” The answer to your question was chiseled into the shaken expression on Damian’s face but you asked anyway. “Either of you?”

Twin shakes of the head confirmed your assumption. 

“It’s not an emergency right? Like I know it’s an emergency landing but not a fall out of the sky kind of emergency right?” Jon’s blue eyes were wide. You shrugged helplessly.

“I want to say they’d tell us if it was but-”

“But they’ve been less than forthcoming so far so why begin now?” Damian finished. 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Exactly.” 

Beside your seat, the emergency exit lights lit up. 

“That doesn’t bode well.” Damian pulled the words out of your brain. “But panicking,” he hissed at the woman lamenting in the row behind you, “will not solve anything.” 

You didn’t think Damian realized Jon was clinging to his hand. You didn’t think he knew he was holding yours.  

“Jon, you’re shaking the floor.” The words came out harsher than you intended. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be-I just-it’s-”

“Sorry I just-” Jon switched from tapping his foot to holding Damian’s left hand in his, focus tuned on his fingers. Damian’s gaze was locked on where his right hand was linked with yours. You pulled away as if his gaze burned you. “I’m never flying commercial again,” Jon finished. 

The laughter that bubbled out of your mouth was more hysterical than you intended. 

Another bout of rough turbulence wracked the plane. You kept your hands to yourself his time, arms crossed against your chest to squeeze at your biceps. 

You barely heard Jon’s whispered cursing underneath the panic rising throughout the rest of the plane.

Damian stayed quiet, but the hand that wasn’t held in Jon’s was tightly clenched. If he wasn’t human, you might have expected there to be holes bored into the head of an older man across the aisle. You wanted to quiet the guy yourself; his catastrophic ranting was only adding into your own anxiety. Instead, you spent a couple minutes making sure all of the stuff in your backpack was tucked away. 

“He does know everyone else can hear him, right?” You asked as you sat up. Both boys chuckled. Jon’s fingers tapped rapidly on his thigh. 

“Alright folks,” the pilot’s voice interrupted the catastrophizing. “We’ve begun the landing process. Please be aware that further turbulence is normal. We should be on the ground soon.”

“How much longer can they call turbulence normal?” Damian ground out. You didn’t have an answer for him. 

[cutestkilla]

It's Wednesday, I'm taking my kids to the fair today and also: I shockingly have something to share again even though it seems to be a quiet Tumblr day today. (Maybe you are all at the fair too?)

I posted Chapter 6 of Hiding Out in the Open on Monday (@artsyunderstudy's birthdayyyyy which I think everyone in this fandom can agree deserves so much celebrating - HAPPY BIRTHDAY WEEK ASHTON), and when I did I committed to posting Chapter 7 VERY SOON too. Mainly because as so often happens to me, things mushroomed and so the end of the forthcoming Ch 7 is really where I wanted to get to in the story. And the good news is: it's done! I've sent it to my tremendous beta readers and I'm feeling pretty good about it.

Anyway, have some of it:

“Snow…” I say with trepidation. Because there’s a bloody dryad standing there. She’s slight, with smooth green skin and spindly limbs emerging from a lacy, black puff sleeve dress. Her look, which I can only describe as lolita goth, includes a black corset and black granny boots, and her hair looks like what would happen if one styled a giant black clematis flower into a mod bob. She looks pointedly at the sign—“MEMBERS ONLY £10”—that sits on the little table she’s set herself up behind.  “Just, wait here,” he replies. He slips his hand out of mine and walks up to the table. “Um, are you”—he pulls a slip of paper out of his pocket and reads from it—“Viticaulis?” “Please,” the dryad says, “call me Vee.” (With the way Snow butchered her full name I can understand why.) She smiles up at him inscrutably. “What do you seek?” “Um, I think I’m on the list?” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Simon Snow?” “I know who you are,” she says placidly. Then she smirks in my direction. “Funaria wasn’t kidding, your bloodeater is handsome.” She gestures toward a heavy set of velvet curtains. “You are both welcome to enter.” “Uh, thanks,” Simon mumbles, grabbing me by the wrist.  “Where are we, Snow?” I hiss. “Why does she know—” “Just—” He yanks me past the dryad, who winks at me, and through the curtains. “See for yourself.”

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[my-soul-sings]

afloat: ch 2

Fandom: Love and Deepspace Characters: Rafayel/Reader

Summary: "Teach me how to swim.”

// You knew where you stood, behind the line that clearly separated you from him: a princess betrothed to another, and a talented, handsome artist, free to explore the world as he wished.

But with each step you took into the waters, that same line grew murkier, and there would soon be no turning back.

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 (coming soon)

*See replies to this post for the AO3 link.

+++++++++++++

The afterlife was always a mystery to you. No one ever returned to tell the tale, and you had always thought it would just be an end to everything: no more pain, no more feelings, and certainly no more experiences in a heaven or a hell that others seemed to believe in. 

But of all the things it could have been, you certainly didn’t expect the afterlife to look so much like the place where you died. Or with any sort of company by your side. 

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself laying on your back, staring up at a familiar night sky. You didn’t have time to appreciate it at all however, because in the next second you were sputtering at the acrid taste of saltwater in your mouth. You sprung up, coughing up more water and trying to catch your breath. 

Then you felt a hand on your back, patting it as if to soothe your coughing. You turned to your left, and found a young man next to you, worry clear in his eyes. He had wavy purple hair and was dressed in a white tunic and blue pants… much like the man you had seen just the day before. 

So, you hadn’t been hallucinating after all. 

“Here. It’s water.” He handed you a canteen, and you accepted it without question, gulping it down to soothe your scorching throat. 

“Drink slowly,” you heard him say, and you reluctantly dropped your pace to avoid choking. It wasn’t until the container was empty that you returned it to him, while mumbling an apology for finishing it down to the last drop. 

“Where are we?” you asked him then, and he stared at you, confused. 

“Do you… not remember falling into the sea earlier?” 

“Yes, but I thought I died, and that this is the afterlife and that you’re… a merman or something…” you watched as his expression changed from one of confusion to complete bewilderment, before adding, “...or, maybe we’re both alive and human?”

He let out a sigh of relief. “You had me worried for a second there.”

Okay, so that was a good start. You were alive and well, and presumably he had been the one who had saved you, if his drenched clothes were any indication. 

“Did you jump in to save me?” you asked, as he raked his wet hair back, drops of seawater dripping down the sides of his face and from his chin. 

“Nope, I was just minding my own business and enjoying a swim when someone landed in the water nearby and gave me a heart attack.” He started coughing then, fist pounding lightly against his chest. “It’s been a while since I last choked on seawater like that.” 

“Sorry,” you muttered with a grimace. “And thank you. For saving me. I didn’t think anyone would be here. It’s supposed to be closed off and no one else knows about this place…” 

Your voice trailed off as realisation dawned on you. Right. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone here. 

“Who are you, anyway? You were here yesterday, right? How did you get here?” 

A string of questions came flooding out instead, and he seemed to regard you with some amusement before answering them in succession. 

“Name’s Rafayel. Yes, I was here yesterday, and I came by boat.”

Your guard lowered a little at the way he was so forthcoming with his answers. The next question you had followed naturally. “Why?” 

“It’s quiet, and I like to paint here,” he replied nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just committed a grave crime by trespassing in here. “Like you said, no one knows about this place, so it’s been easy to get in and get out.”

You really should have the guards look into the security of the palace, but that could come after you left for Yaryn. 

“Well, you shouldn’t come here anymore, Rafayel. The guards will take you for a criminal if you’re found.” 

Rafayel only smiled at that, entirely unperturbed despite your concern. “Don’t worry, princess. They won’t find me.” 

“How… How did you know who I am?” 

He merely shrugged. “You’re famous around these parts, especially with the news of your betrothal to the crown prince of Yaryn. The people are celebrating; it means they’ll have better days ahead now.”

You looked away at that, a half-smile lifting your lips. “I see. Glad to hear it.” 

A moment of silence passed as Rafayel studied you keenly. “For someone so ‘glad’, you seem unhappy. Why?”

“I’m… not,” you denied, bringing your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around your shoulders for want of warmth. The evening wind was starting to feel chilly against your wet skin. 

“Hmm.” Rafayel sat quietly next to you, not inquiring further or saying anything else as he stared out at the ocean together with you. It felt strange to have company like this for the first time.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? The ocean, I mean.” 

“It is,” you agreed with a sigh. “But I won’t get to see this once I leave.” 

“Yeah, you won’t. Yaryn’s all the way up in the mountains, or so I’ve heard.” 

“Yes, it is. Far, far away from the ocean.” 

“You could always jump off a mountain cliff next time, instead of a rock.” 

Despite it being at your expense, you couldn’t help but laugh, and when you turned you realised Rafayel was staring at you, lips turned up in a smile. 

“You’re finally smiling.” 

Your smile faltered as you caught yourself. Then you turned away hastily, as you felt heat begin to spread in your cheeks. 

“I-I should go.” You stood to leave, and the man followed suit. “You should leave soon, too. I’m not sure if the guards patrolling come here at night, but it’s better to be safe and leave while you can.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of myself. After you, princess.” With an elegant bow, Rafayel extended his arm in the direction back to the palace. You went ahead, combing your fingers through your messy hair in an effort to look more presentable, lest you ran into anyone on the way back to your bedchambers. You’d have to think of a way to get back stealthily, especially since it was so late; your father may have ordered the guards to search for you by now. 

Your chest began to feel heavy again with the weight of the worries and responsibilities that you’d be returning to. But despite being in a rush to return, you couldn’t help but turn back. 

There Rafayel stood, watching as you left. 

“I suppose… I’ll be seeing you here again tomorrow?” you asked. 

He shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. “Dunno. Will you be showing up with the guards to take me away?” 

You pretended to consider it. “I won’t, on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You have to show me one of your paintings tomorrow.” 

“What, you don’t believe my cover story?” 

Shrugging, you replied, “I’ve only known you for less than an hour. I’ll need some proof that you’re not a fraud. Surely you’ll have a painting or two to show me if you’re telling the truth.” 

If Rafayel were a sham, he’d be panicking by now, but the man remained composed. Amused, even, by your proposition. Clearly, he was confident.   

“That’s fine by me, although I thought that saving you today would have earned me amnesty for my visits here.” 

“Only for today and yesterday,” you replied. “So, do we have a deal?” 

He nodded, waving you off. “As you wish, princess.” 

Satisfied, you turned to leave, already anticipating your meeting with this peculiar man again the next day. 

+++++++++++++

The next sunset arrived, and you found yourself staring at a disappointingly blank, white canvas. 

“So you really are a fraud,” you muttered beneath your breath, shooting a pointed look at Rafayel who continued to busy himself with setting up his paints beside him on the sand. If he heard your remark, he simply chose to ignore it and only glanced at you briefly to gesture for you to sit in front of him on the sand. 

You complied, settling down in a comfortable position and waiting for Rafayel to explain himself. 

Five minutes passed, and the man was still mixing colours on his wooden palette. 

Patience was really not one of your virtues, so you began huffing and sighing, hoping he would take a hint. All you got in return was a tiny smirk curling his lips upward, but his gaze remained resolutely fixed to his paints and the canvas before him.

“So…” you began, breaking the silence eventually, “what exactly are you doing?” 

“I’m painting.” 

“You said you’d show me one.” 

“If I had brought a painting with me, you might think that I had bought it from somewhere and you’d still think I’m a fraud.” 

That was… a surprisingly reasonable argument. You could only blink while he continued. 

“So I thought, why not paint something on the spot? There’s no witness more reliable than the princess herself.” 

“Sure,” you replied, voice flat. “Then, what are you planning to paint?” 

“I have a few ideas.” He held out his fist, holding up fingers as he listed them down.

“You sprawled out on the beach like washed up seaweed, you flailing around in the water like an octopus, or maybe you falling off the rock— hey!” 

His canvas rattled in place, shuddering from where you’d just smacked it nearly clean off the little easel Rafayel had prepared. He swiftly grabbed it, ceasing its movements and returning it to its original position, before narrowing his eyes in your direction. He met your glare, and had the cheek to burst into a fit of laughter.

“Not funny,” you retorted, considering grabbing a fistful of sand and hurling it his way. But you collected yourself, mindful that it wasn’t at all how a princess should behave.

“I was just joking, princess. But, I do have something in mind. You’ll just have to sit there for a while.” 

“You’re… painting my portrait?” Dread filled you immediately. Portrait painting with the court-appointed artist could take an entire day of staying still in one spot without moving. It usually ended with your muscles being too stiff to move and you’d have trouble sleeping the next few days. You certainly weren’t about to camp out here on the beach overnight and alone with this strange man. 

His pupils moved skyward, lips twisting as he thought about his reply. “Something like that. Don’t worry, you can still move around and I won’t take too long.” 

“Okay…” Doubt laced your voice but you decided to play along for now. Rafayel’s expression turned more serious then, as he began painting in earnest. You thought it would be silent for a while and that you’d be bored out of your mind while waiting for him to finish, but it didn’t stay that way for long. 

“So tell me, what do you like about the ocean?” 

“What?” 

His gaze shifted from the canvas to you. “You seem to enjoy coming out here just to stare at the sea. There must be something you like about it.” 

Oh. He had a point, but for some reason you hesitated as you wondered why exactly you were drawn to this place since the day you found it. Come to think of it, you never had a reason for liking the ocean; you had never even been more than knee-deep in the waters before. 

Or maybe, there was a reason, just that it was something you had forgotten about or brushed off as something insignificant. 

“There’s no big story or mystery behind it,” you answered eventually. “And it’s stupid. You’ll laugh at me again.” 

“I promise I won’t.”

“Liar.”

“I won’t. I can’t anyway, or I’ll ruin my work here.” 

You supposed that was good enough. 

“When I was little,” you began, warily eyeing him to watch for any laugh lines on his face, “I found a fish washed up on the shore.”

“I see. Did you eat it?”

“No!” you exclaimed, horrified. “I put it back in the ocean, obviously.” 

“How charitable. The fish must have been thankful to you for saving its life.” 

“I wouldn’t know. I never saw it again,” you replied wistfully. “But I remember going to the beach every day after that, hoping I’d catch a glimpse of its scales. And every day I wondered where it might have gone. Perhaps it lived in an underwater kingdom, a place that no human knew about. Then I thought about how big the ocean is, when I saw that it stretches all the way to the far horizon… and I thought, how nice it would be if I could be a fish too. I’d be able to swim and explore the ocean every day, count all the different fish that live in there, and maybe even find out if mermaids and sirens do exist...” 

You trailed off then, heat rushing to your cheeks when you remembered that you had just gone off on an entire monologue about such fantastical, frivolous things to someone you barely knew. 

“Sorry, I got carried away. You must think I’m crazy.”

Rafayel shook his head. “Not at all.” He sounded like he meant it. “Go on.” 

You toyed with the hem of your skirt, hesitating as the words teetered on the edge of your lips.  

“I… used to have the same, recurring dreams when I was a child. I don’t remember many details of it now, but it was always about the ocean.” 

“What about it?” he prodded. 

“I was in a city — or maybe it was a kingdom — that was built underwater. The fish could talk, and there were mermaids everywhere. But they weren’t called mermaids. And I could breathe and talk in the water just like everything else.” 

You paused then, gauging Rafayel’s reaction from your limited view of his face, which was mostly obscured by the canvas.

“Do you remember anything else from your dream?” You thought he would find your words amusing, but there was no mockery in his voice, only sincere curiosity. 

Unfortunately, you couldn’t give him a satisfactory answer. “No,” you replied, shaking your head somewhat ruefully, “it’s been so long that I can barely remember what it looked like. All I remember is that in my dream, I found the ocean so, so beautiful.” 

You looked past Rafayel, to the waves dancing on the shore behind him. “Sometimes, I wish I could see it again.” 

“Well,” he quipped, catching your attention once more, “I might be able to help with that.” 

Rafayel set his paintbrush down, and with a charming smile, turned the canvas around to reveal his newly finished work. 

Your breath was stolen at that moment. 

It felt like you had stepped into the world of that old, forgotten dream once more. It was deep within the ocean where the sun couldn’t reach but where a fire continued to burn bright and everlasting like the sun itself. Schools of different-coloured fish filled the clear blue waters, and figures of mermaids and mermen in the distance made the colour of the ocean shine vibrantly.  

“Lemuria.” 

Your eyes shifted, gaze falling onto the man before you. That foreign word stirred something deep within you; tugged at your heartstrings, but you couldn’t figure out why. 

“What’s that?” you asked, resisting the urge to clutch at your chest to ease the dull ache throbbing against your ribcage. 

“The name of this piece,” Rafayel answered, handing the canvas to you. You accepted it, fingers hovering over the drying paint, careful not to disturb the colours that shone in the setting sun.

"It’s beautiful.” It felt like a part of you had been returned, with your memory of that dream restored. Strange. It was just a dream, yet somehow it felt real. Like there really was an underwater kingdom that existed in the depths of the waters below. 

You could hear Rafayel speaking, but it felt like there was water in your ears, muting the sound of the world around you as you tried to tap into that memory more. It felt like you might just think of something if you just tried a bit harder, but you were startled out of it when you felt Rafayel’s hand on your shoulder. 

“You alright?” 

“Oh— Y-Yes. Yes, I’m fine. What were you saying earlier?” 

“I was saying, I hope that means I’ve proven that I’m not a fraud. And that I’ve been pardoned for my past, present and future visits to this place,” Rafayel told you. 

“If I say ‘yes’, does that mean I’ll see you again?” you asked him, perhaps sounding a little too hopeful. 

“Sure. If that’s what you wish for, princess.” 

He extended a hand to you, patiently waiting as you slipped your hand into his, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours. It reminded you of the warmth of the waters in Lemuria — the world in that painting of his. 

You parted ways with a promise to meet again, and that night you found yourself dreaming of Lemuria, of a time when you could explore the ocean freely, and of a Lemurian’s tail — the same colour as the tail that you had caught a glimpse of that day when you nearly drowned. 

[tenderwatches]

Ch. 41 of Lies We Tell Ourselves is up!

𐡸.:𐫱:.𐡷

chapter teaser

𐡸.:𐫱:.𐡷

chapter excerpt

Chapter 41: There Was a Boy

‘Would you choose never to have been loved?’

The sky has faded to muted indigo by the time Jayce and Viktor climb the stairs of their lab to the rooftop. Viktor had suggested a breath of fresh air to clear their minds after finalising the new titration plan for the shimmer microdoses. Though Jayce had looked between Viktor and the stairs sceptically (Viktor had been, dutifully, using the lift Jayce installed), with a little encouragement and a roguish smirk from Viktor, he’d relented. Now, Viktor leans against a beautifully crafted railing, his crutch propped on his opposite side, ignored for the support of the rail and Jayce’s steady presence.

The December chill is pervasive enough that Viktor feels it despite the heavy wool of his coat. Despite the apples of his cheeks having gone pink with cold, he wears a contented smile so soft that it seems easy and natural, like climbing a flight of stairs with the need to stop only once at the behest of his fatigue is normal for him.

Stretching before them lies the twinkling view of Piltover in all its ascendant glory. Chem-lamps flicker to life as evening approaches, stars awakening in the gathering dusk. Viktor’s gaze settles on the horizon, where the last airships of the day drift above the city. He watches them disappear in gentle flashes of Hextech blue, snowflakes dancing through the spaces they leave behind.

Viktor breathes in normalcy, letting it settle in him like borrowed time. It feels too precious to trust but too necessary to refuse. These past few days have felt suspended outside of time, like living within a snow globe—beautiful, contained, and impossibly fragile. His body moves with an ease he’d forgotten was possible, climbing stairs without the familiar burn in his chest, walking without constantly calculating the distance to the next place he might rest. This taste of normal is so familiar, it’s dangerous.

“Viktor, are you even listening to me?”

Viktor blinks, awakening from his misty thoughts of drifting in that snow-filled sky, suspended between the earth and open atmosphere. The imagined weightlessness reminded him of the night Hextech had been born, he and Jayce, two young fools levitating in the Dean’s office. “I apologise, Jayce. I have not heard a single word you have said in the past, eh…” he feigns checking a pocket watch he doesn’t wear, “two minutes, perhaps.”

Jayce’s head drops with dramatic despair, one arm flung over Viktor’s shoulder. His theatrics coax a playful eye-roll from Viktor, which Jayce returns as he slumps against Viktor’s frame, as if the tragedy of repeating himself is nigh unbearable. “I said you handled those stairs like a champion. So how do you feel?”

Viktor swallows a practiced deflection—fine, thank you—reminding himself that he’s promised to be forthcoming. “Eh…” His eyes slide sideways as his head tilts towards his shoulder, watching the fingers of Jayce’s free hand drum along the rail near a spot where the shiny topcoat has worn away to show the dark iron underneath.

Viktor places his hand on the rail next to Jayce’s, close enough that their knuckles nearly brush. “I admit I am… unmoored.” Jayce’s smallest finger stretches towards him and taps Viktor’s once. The contact is brief but achingly simple, warmth spreading through his chest at having his subtle offering returned. Viktor taps back and smiles.

“Can’t imagine what might be ‘unmooring’ about clinically dying, only to be revived with a shot of drugs straight to your heart.” Jayce shifts to wind his arms around Viktor, carrying the familiar scent of spice and forge soot. His chin rests on Viktor’s shoulder, the solid weight finding the exact spot where tension has gathered. Viktor breathes out softly as the pressure dissolves a hard knot in the muscle, leaning back into Jayce’s frame as he looks out at the airships dotting the sky.

“You jest, but I do… worry.” Despite Jayce’s reassurances and casual air, there’s been a heaviness Viktor has been carrying since the events of their last treatments. It’s a guilt he’s been unable to let go of and the question of who he might be if he allowed himself to be the person who had so quickly assumed Jayce would jeopardise their work, despite the protocols they’d agreed upon for exactly that situation. His spitting venom was monstrous, and if he voices his fears aloud, it may carve itself into reality and become an inescapable truth. He inhales deeply, choosing to trust in the conviction with which Jayce has faced down every challenge. “I do not want to live only for the man you fell in love with to die, despite our efforts.”

Jayce gives him a look so vulnerable, it might shatter. His eyes search Viktor’s face with an intensity that makes something in Viktor’s chest burn and shy away, not the customary notice of symptoms, but something deeper. It feels like being recognised, like being seen.

(Read the rest on AO3!)(Or start from the beginning!)

[arecaceae175]

For Want Of Rest: Ch. 3

FAN JOY JULY!

ic Summary: Five times Sky falls asleep somewhere that isn’t a bed plus one time they all do. Or, Sky struggles to manage his disabilities, then the chain has a conversation about accessibility and accommodations.

Fan Joy July! Each chapter is inspired a few amazing art pieces of Sleepy Sky <3. There are plenty more chapters and art inspirations to come :D

Chapter Summary: Sky is separated from the chain and finds a spooky tree. 1K, angst.

Inspired by Nap by a spooky tree by @ovegakart and Sleeping in flowers by @ikaishere.

Ovegakart's art is always so fun to see. It's such a unique style. The minimalist detail in this piece adds to the spooky effect. What a cool tree.

My favorite thing about Ikaishere's art piece is the texture of it. Sky looks SO comfy in his little bed of flowers. Unfortunately he is not very comfy in this fic XD. I'll say the magic of how pretty the flowers are let him fall asleep.

Warnings for this chapter: Blorbo is upset in this one. Warnings for Sky being unreliable narrator with hints of internalized ableism and self care issues :)

The portals were a strange experience. The buzz of magic as he approached was something even Sky could feel. There was a moment as he entered that mimics his breath getting caught in his lungs as all his muscles tense, and then there was nothing. He didn’t feel the pain in his joints, he didn’t feel the tightness in his muscles, he didn’t feel the overbearing weight of fatigue. There was a slight tingling where he thought his limbs should be, but it was pleasant, like the soft trickle of water running through the hair on his skin.

And then the world slammed into place and everything was so much worse than before. Sky collapsed on the ground, his body throbbing as it came back into itself. He stayed still, desperately gasping through the turmoil of the sensations, until he could pull a full breath into his weary lungs. They’re tight, so he knew immediately he wasn’t in the sky. As always, no matter how many times he tried to deny it, a sharp sliver of disappointment cut through him.

He really, really missed his partners. 

Sky gave himself three breaths to mope about it before he pushed himself into a sitting position. His elbows cracked as he straightened them, but not in the way that hurt; just in the way they do, sometimes. He only had a few seconds before his vision started to go black around the edges and his head was filled with the sound of blood rushing. Sky groaned and stayed as still as he could, breathing as deeply as he could. After a moment it faded, and Sky could actually look around.

Warriors would probably be on him about taking so long to get up. He always worried like that, and Sky hasn’t been exactly forthcoming with… whatever it is that happened when he goes through the portals. Or gets out of bed, or sits up too fast, or stands for too long, or gets too hot, or— 

Not helpful, Sky told himself. 

Sky was in a grassy clearing. There were thick trees scattered across the plain, not quite enough to call a forest, but enough to obscure his view. There wasn’t much to see at all, but Sky did notice two very important things: there were no monsters in sight, but there were no other heroes, either. 

Sky sighed, and barely resisted the urge to collapse back onto the ground. It was soft and inviting and he was so, so tired. The thought of walking aimlessly to find his brothers made him want to cry, a little bit. But he was a hero, and he couldn’t do that. He had to keep going. What if the others needed help?

Sky pushed himself over to the closest tree and used it as a leverage point to stand. He swayed as he was struck with lightheadedness and blinked away black spots in his vision. His chest twinged, so he rubbed at it uncomfortably until it faded. Then, with a weary sigh, Sky pushed away from the tree and surveyed the area. He couldn’t see any signs of a town or any running water to follow, so he picked the biggest tree he could see as his destination. It was the most identifiable landmark around, so surely the others would be heading that way, too.

So he walked. Then as his knee started to burn with the—albeit minimal—exertion, he slowed his pace and limped. His hips protested, so he forced himself to walk normally again. His head started to pound as he walked, a dull ache that started at the base of his skull and wrapped around his head. His eyelids dropped, desperate to close, and his movements were sluggish with fatigue.

Sky huffed with frustration. Tears burned at the back of his eyes. He wiped at his face and forced them back. He was not going to cry. He was a hero. He’d been in so much more pain before. He’d been more sleep deprived before; he’d barely slept at all during his adventure. Sure, it had taken nearly six months to recover from that, but he’d done it. He’d survived. 

Sky didn’t notice the tree until he was tripping over a root. He crashed to his knees, barely throwing his arms out in time to stop from face planting in the foliage. Searing pain throbbed through his joints. 

Sky considered standing for all of one second, then rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around himself in a hug. He sniffled as he rolled his shoulders around enough to look up at the tree, ignoring the ache in his back at the movement. 

The tree was… spooky. Sky couldn’t think of a more apt description than spooky. The roots crawled over the ruins of a stone building, engulfing them into the trunk of the tree. The stone was cracking under the weight of the tree. To the side, crumpled pillars lay around the tree in decoration. The tree itself was massive. Not nearly as large as the Deku tree they met in Wind’s era, but it was the largest natural one Sky had ever seen. The other trees were twigs in comparison, the soft purple flowers smaller than gnats.

If Sky wasn’t so miserably exhausted, he would’ve loved to climb to the top, just to see if he could. The views from the top would be incredible.  The views from the top would also give him a good lay of the land and a chance to look for the others. 

Sky should do that. 

…

Sky should do that. He would do that, if the effort required to move more than a finger wasn’t such a monumental task. Tears sprung to his eyes, and this time he didn’t have the energy to wipe them away. He was just so tired. Despite the burning in his joints, Sky curled up into as tight a ball as he could. The pain was enough that he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep naturally, even as tired as he was. Wild’s special teas were the only thing that could get him to sleep through the night these last few weeks. 

Any of the others would’ve been up the tree already, searching with keen eyes for anyone in need of help. Mere years ago, Sky would’ve ignored his discomfort and gone up the tree himself. But not now. No, now Sky was crying on the ground, curled up in the dirt beneath the tree, crushing the innocent purple flowers.

[goggles-mcgee]

A Little Birdy Told Me 20

AO3

Beginning Last Chapter

Summary: Damian continues to try and get more information about the akuma class and Marinette while Dick is having an off day and just wants it to get better.

Only one brother gets what they want.

CH 20:

Damian may have jumped the gun on that one. 

He admitted that, willingly, in the privacy of his own mind. 

“To Dupain-Cheng? I mean sure but why would you like to know.” Chloe asked with narrowed sharp eyes.

Bourgeois was sharp, as were all his acquaintances so there was no point in lying, though he was confident he could do so flawlessly, his acquaintances had proved to be somewhat trustful. They all kept secrets if asked unless it was something trivial which confused him to no end. Allegra could ask they don’t tell anyone what she shared with them when it came to her having trouble mentally or her parents fighting but the group would tell almost everyone in the group how Claude had a crush on so-and-so from class-whatever. Richard said that is just how teenagers and friends are but it didn’t make sense to Damian and he tried many times to make it make sense. The only thing that made him feel better is the fact his father also didn’t understand. When he was in med school he told him how his study group kept his fear of bats to themselves but when he admitted to not being a fan of some musician that that information was shared and laughed at, but he stated clearly that the laughing wasn’t at him, just at the information as a study group member had explained. Again. It was strange, but Damian felt like this wasn’t one of those moments that they would share his information with others. 

“It goes without saying that what I tell you does not leave this table,” he began, “I know I said that if I knew something I wouldn’t tell, but given Bourgeois’s forthcoming, I too can be a little forthcoming. Dupain-Cheng is now a ward of my Father for the rest of the exchange.”

Vogel nodded and glared at everyone at the table as if to ward them off even thinking of telling anyone what Damian was saying. It was…nice and appreciated. Vogul reminded him of Cassandra sometimes and it always left him feeling warm yet wrongfooted. The blonde wasn’t his sister but sometimes she felt like it and that also confused him. Nonetheless he gave Vogel a small nod of appreciation. “After the events at Wayne Tower and what followed, it was decided that my father take care of Dupain-Cheng for the remainder of the trip and actual chaperones are being flown in. The original plan of having the class merge with ours has been effectively thrown out the window and negotiations are being made where to place everyone as they will be separated. Dupain-Cheng and her friends will join our class but it hasn’t been decided where Rossi and her sycophants will go.” 

Allaway pursed his lips together and looked deep in thought, it was like he was trying to organize everything that was said and unsaid. He was someone who liked puzzles and mysteries. “You guys are building a case?” It was posed as a question but Damian knew the other boy better. It was a statement. Damian simply leaned back in his chair to give Allaway his attention, it took the boy some time to voice his thoughts so Damian waited before responding. “The question is, who is the case against?” 

“I would think that obvious by now Allaway.” Damian scoffed. 

Allaway stared at Damian intensely until he let out a deep sigh, “Yeah, I know, I was saying it to be dramatic.”

“You’re always dramatic.” Damian countered.

“No. That’s Claude.” Allaway shot right back.

“Guilty!” Hardy sing-songed. Damian conceded. Hardy was always dramatic. Every announcement he made to the group or even the school was so rich in dramatics that Damian wondered if the boy practiced what he said every day to make sure it was the perfect amount of dramatic or if it was something instinctual. Damian felt like it was the latter. Sometimes Hardy’s dramatics confused him but Vogel was good at explaining what the dramatic boy was saying, she was basically the Hardy Translator.

“We are getting off topic.” Bourgeois sighed. “You really want to know everything that witch did to Dupain-Cheng, Wayne? Then you better buckle in and take notes.

Damian nodded and pressed the hidden button on his watch that Lucius Fox and his son Lucas upgraded at Bruce’s request, that would record the rest of the conversation. Though he did take out a notebook and pen, he never wrote in pencil, writing in pencil showed you were not confident in your writing or knowledge. He was trying to break out of the habit though as it was one Ra’s made sure ‘stuck’ with his heir. His grandfather would never settle for anything less than perfect and the one time Damian took a test in front of his grandfather and used a pencil, he was punished. Damian hid a wince at the memories of that particular lesson and instead stared at his watch, it was a replica of his Grandfather's watch , the one he wore when he was murdered. It was a bit morbid but it was the thought behind it that made it one of Damian’s most prized possessions. 

It had been a little after he had been…introduced to his father and a little before his father’s seeming demise at Darkseid’s hand that Bruce had taken Damian aside into his study to talk to him. Damian thought it would be another reprimand of his methods but had been surprised when Bruce handed him a small box with a bow on it. He had been so hesitant, so wary, so suspicious that his father had gently taken the box from him and opened it to show a watch. A rather nice watch though Damian had noted its somewhat dated design. Like someone had purposefully made it look vintage.  “ It’s made to look like my father’s watch, your grandfather, though I have no doubt you were…informed of my parents before you came here -”

“ I know everything about you, Father, and my grandparents .” Damian had interrupted, eager to prove his knowledge, his worth. 

“ I don’t doubt that, Damian, but you were told about them by people who did not know them. That makes all the difference. There is time for stories so you get to know them like I knew them but this is the first one I will tell you. ” Bruce had looked sincere yet a bit uncomfortable, Damian had chalked it up to his father’s weakness of not getting over his parent’s death. Such a weakness was not allowed in the League, but Damian had said nothing of the fact even if he could. Richard had been teaching him just because you could doesn’t mean you should. It was confusing but his father seemed to agree with the sentiment so Damian was doing his best to learn it. 

His father continued. “ When my father was ten, his father bought him his first watch. I never met my grandfather, but when I was young, my father told me grandfather wanted to start a new Wayne tradition. When the heir of the family turned ten, they would be gifted a watch. I’m afraid that the reason is lost in time and forgotten memories but my father wanted to continue this tradition. I got my watch on my birthday and 9 days later my parents died. My father had been wearing his birthday watch that night .”

Damian hadn’t wanted to interrupt but he did want to touch the watch and his father seemed to understand that so he passed back the gift and watched as Damian had caressed the face of the watch with his thumb. 

“ I admit that I have bought your brother's watches as well but I know you are struggling to accept them. I won’t lie and say I understand but I want to feel connected to them, to me, to this family. I wasn’t able to give you a watch on your birthday but I am giving it to you now. I had this made for you in the image of your grandfather’s watch because I want to show you how important you are to this family and me. I could have easily given you a new watch as I had your brother’s but you deserve a connection to your roots. I hope you like it. ”

Damian had only nodded but the small smile his father gave in return had filled him with such warmth he hadn’t known what to do other than let his father put the watch on him. Later, Alfred would explain that Bruce had the watch built with many hidden features to keep Damian safe and to make sure his son wouldn’t be without a way out of a situation. The watch was made to resemble the Rolex Submariner that Damian had seen in a case along with a broken pearl necklace and some loose grimy pearls. He knows they were keepsakes of his grandparents that Bruce kept in a protected case in the Cave. He didn’t really believe it would make him feel any more connected to the Wayne name than him already being Bruce Wayne’s biological son but wearing the watch and seeing the original in its case when he was down in the Cave actually did make him feel connected in a way he couldn’t explain. Thus it became one of his most prized possessions much like his first straight double edged sword his mother gave him for the earliest birthdays he could remember. 

Damian inhaled slowly then exhaled to bring himself out of his memory before he looked up at Bourgeois and gave her a short nod. “Proceed.” 

___________________

Dick was doing all he could to relax and show Marinette the company’s botanical gardens as it was something she had wanted to do. It was good to see her smile and flit from plant to plant like a little honey bee or something, but Dick couldn’t get rid of his tension completely. He was always like that after dealing with Two-Face even if it wasn’t the usual confrontation between the two, i.e mask to two faces but it still left him feeling the same. Angry, restless and most annoyingly, scared. He wasn’t the same little scared Robin but dealing with Two-Face always made him feel like he was. He thought he worked past all that! But seeing Marinette in his arms with a gun pressed to her head brought uncomfortable flashbacks of a different tiny black-haired blue-eyed child. A child who got cocky in his skills as Robin and helper of Batman. He could still feel the long-since healed injuries throb in phantom pain. Dick couldn’t help the flash of another black-haired blue-eyed child, older than the first when he learned that being Robin wasn’t magical or whimsical. Thinking of that never did him any good, if anything it brought about an enormous amount of guilt and anger that Dick didn’t know what to do with. 

“Mari-gold?” A very familiar voice pulled Dick out of his thoughts and he cursed himself for being so distracted. 

“Ivy!” Marinette shouted out in glee as she ran to hug the woman she had seen fairly recently. It made Dick smile though, this kid loved with her whole heart and it was something he admired. 

“Now what are you doing here, Sapling?” 

“I came here with Mister Dick and Mister Tim. Though we lost Tim pretty early on.” Oh yeah, they did. Though Dick was willing to bet Tim just went to the coffee shop nearby, he seemed to have a built in radar for knowing where they were no matter what part of town they were in. It was kind of funny though since Tim wasn’t even a big fan of coffee, he more so just needed the caffeine. The guy preferred tea but he was really particular about which places made the best tea, specifically a good ol’ Dirty Chai. 

“And what brings you to the Gardens today, Ive?” Dick asked, deciding to partake in the conversation. 

“Oh just making sure they are doing okay and to give the workers a restock of my special fertilizer.” That made sense, Ivy was, on-the-down low helping the Wayne Botanical Studies team. While Harley helped them more with their night time business, Ivy was content to help in the more official business. With the occasional helping hand stopping a threat if they “got in over their heads.” Her words. 

“You make your own fertilizer?” Marinette asked. Look, Dick was also curious about that but after finding Ivy and Jason talking one night with these big-ass smiles on their faces, all teeth, he was like 80% sure that fertilizer was some of Jason’s…problems. But there was no way in hell that Dick was going to try and confirm that, and he sure as hell would not be telling Bruce that little theory. 

“Yes! It takes time but it-”

“My Passion Lily! I got your Matcha Lemonade and look! I found a wild Wayne.” They were interrupted by Harley, which was not a surprise, and she was dragging a resigned looking Tim with her. 

Ivy merely huffed out a laugh at her wife before taking the offered drink with a kiss to Harley’s cheek. “Thank you, Peanut, I also found a wild Wayne and a little Sapling.”

“Mari-Doll!” Harley squeaked out before almost knocking the poor girl off her feet in her hurry to smother the girl in a hug. Surprisingly they didn’t fall over. 

“Hi Harley!”

“You guys saw each other the other night?” Tim said, confused. 

“And?” Marinette and Harley asked in unison. It made Dick giggle and helped relieve him of more of his pent up tension. 

“Well since we're all here, why don’t we walk around together?” Dick offered. “Bruce wanted Tim to get some fresh air so try not to let him sneak off again.”

Tim gave an offended squawk which had Marinette laughing once more. “I’m fine!”

“Yeah, okay Timmy-Boy.” Harley said with a scoff as she laced her arms together with Ivy and Marinette. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

“You do need some time outside the Manor Tim. It’s not healthy to stay cooped up.” Ivy said as she happily walked with Harley and Marinette. Though she did grab Tim by the scruff of his shirt and manhandled him toward Dick. He looked very much like a cranky kitten. 

“What is this? Pick on Tim day?” 

“I believe Damian has that scheduled for next month.” Dick wished he was joking.

Marinette obviously noticed he wasn’t if her raised brow was anything to go off. “Oh?”

“He stepped on Titus’s tail three months ago, on accident.” Dick explained. “But Damian is very good at keeping grudges and he’s very good on cashing in on favors.” 

Tim merely whined in response and Dick couldn’t help but pity his brother for a second before he remembered how Tim used him as a human meat shield when Condiment King randomly joined in on a fight against some robbers. Apparently he was also planning on robbing the jewelry store after keeping a low profile from his then-recent prison break. Needless to say it took Dick forever trying to get the mustard smell out of his costume once again and had to beg Alfred for help once again. Even though Alfred refused to help with cleaning anything CK contaminated, it spiked his blood pressure or something like that. Dick thinks it’s because of all the first times he helped clean them up when the rogue had been new on the scene. That had been a long month and Dick had seen how Alfred got more and more annoyed each time they came home covered in mustard, ketchup, you name it. It was awful. Truly. So Dick didn’t feel all that bad. Stephanie was already coming up with a list of things to tease Tim about. She specifically waits for the days Damian declares will be Pick-On Drake Days so she has lists on lists compiled for that very reason. She hoards them and never shares until the scheduled day. Duke surprisingly joined in too and started making his own list. 

“He’s very dedicated.” Marinette giggled out.

“That’s one word for it.” Tim grumbled. 

From there they had a good time touring the different gardens with Ivy acting as a somewhat tour guide and Dick could see it was really helping Marinette unwind as well. The interview with Jim and Harvey had really gotten her tense which was totally understandable, it would be intimidating for anyone. Tim tried to escape a couple times but after Dick teasingly asked if he should get Tim a child-leash and Ivy offered to make one out of vines he stopped. He even seemed to be relaxing a small bit. It was nice, really and it seemed to be something that Dick needed too without realizing it. Eventually they went out for lunch and after they went their separate ways. The drive back to the Manor had been nice too, normal traffic and a nice playlist helped. Tim and Marinette had even made some good conversation, though Dick got worried at the mention of PowerPoints. He hoped it was nothing serious, but the fact that Tim found someone as obsessed with planning and making PowerPoints was a little frightening. Maybe more than a little, Dick could only take so many Tim PowerPoints. He loved his brother, dearly, with his whole heart, but his PowerPoints were long and…thorough. He even tested people on the more important ones with a freaking Kahoot match. Cass and surprisingly Damian always won those. 

As they made their way into the manor Dick was pretty much planning on taking a good, lengthy nap to catch up on the sleep he hadn't gotten last night. His brain felt fried and scrambled, like it couldn’t decide whether to sink into the depressing thoughts from before or just remember the good time at the gardens they all had, even Tim surprisingly had a good time. As he sunk into the couch in the family living room his mind seemed to settle on both. His eyes closed and he saw Marinette laughing and smiling at their afternoon activities, then it would flash to her being held against Two-Face. He could hear the rogue’s laugh deep in his bones, then it changed to the Joker’s unique cackle. Marinette changed from her to him to Jason at blinding speeds. He could hear Marinette’s voice firm and confident in contrast to the fear in her eyes when she told him there was no time and that she would lead Scarecrow away. He could hear her yelling and telling Alfred she and they weren’t safe. He heard his own cries and shouts mixed with Two-Face’s voice. He could hear what he imagined Jason sounded like when the Joker beat him to death. He could hear the accusations of others about his jealousy of Jason being adopted. 

That unfortunately brought up memories of the talk he had had with Bruce once upon a time about Jason and adoption. It felt like he had had to fight not only tabloids but even Bruce about nonexistent hatred. Dick never hated Jason, but he had been so caught up in his anger with Bruce that he let it affect his and Jason’s relationship. He had just been so angry and it wasn’t an excuse but sometimes it seemed like he was even trying to justify his actions to himself. Though there was some jealousy and hurt there that he didn’t know what to do with, okay he did know what to do but the fact it would have to involve talking to Bruce and Jason was not something that sounded fun nor easy. He liked a good challenge but that idea sounded impossible. Like yes, he was Bruce’s son now but for so long he was just a ward, like Marinette was now, he called Bruce dad, they lived together, they fought crime together, they took care of each other, and yet it took years for Bruce to adopt him. But Jason? Dick knew Jason was Bruce’s son, his first son, his favorite son. Jason got the Bruce Dick had always wanted and it had hurt. Jason’s death had impacted Bruce more than his parents. That was a fact. 

And…And Dick had no idea where this was all coming from. He knew he didn’t know Marinette well as her class’s tour guide but seeing her held against Two-Face, mere centimeters from danger had thrown him. She reminded him too much of himself and too much like Jason before his death. She wasn’t a Robin, she would never be a Robin, but she had been a hero like one. She saved her people as fiercely as a Robin protected Gotham and its people. She took the weight of her world on her shoulders, much like a Robin. She was a child turned soldier due to circumstance just like a Robin. Marinette was a Robin in soul with no Batman to guide her and maybe that was for the best but looking at how lost she looked when she spoke about the ‘akumatizations’ in Paris, Dick wished she had had her version of Batman. A mentor who could aid in the fight, who shared the knowledge and responsibility. Yes, there were other heroes, they were like her version of Teen Titans, but that’s just it she was just barely a teen, a child, when she took up the mantle of hero. And from the pictures Tim showed the family of the other heroes, it wasn’t hard to guess that the other ‘Holders’ were teens themselves. Seeing as Adrien was also a teen and a former hero. 

Dick, in a weird, roundabout way, felt responsible for Marinette. As soon as she looked at him with hope, determination and fear in her eyes he was hit by a wave of protectiveness for her. She looked at him like Damian did when he first complimented and criticized his work as Robin, he and Marinette had also pulled off a plan as smooth and seamless as Dick and Damian had been when they were the Dynamic Duo. Or as Dick liked to call them, The More Dynamic Duo. He knew his family was kind of freaked out by how well Marinette and Damian seemed to get along, but not him, sure he teased a bit but he just had a feeling they would be friends. Damian had been trying to get himself out there and make friends and he did have some! He just called them acquaintances right now but Dick knew it wouldn’t be long till they were bumped up to friend status. Though Jon would always be Damian’s best friend even if they weren’t in the same school anymore. They still video or phone called every day and they played games with each other online. Which games? Dick could never remember but the point was, Damian had grown and was very capable of making friends, it just took him some time. 

Speaking of time , Dick thought as his gaze lazily glanced at the clock on the wall. If he slept now, he knew he would not go to bed after patrol tonight. So with much reluctance he pushed himself up and off the couch. He figured he could see if Marinette wanted some company and maybe the two of them could get some tea and snacks from Alfred and tour more of the manor when they were done. It would help in the long term of Marinette’s stay so it was productive! When he got to her room he saw that the door was slightly open but it was still he knocked, if he could dodge a Pennyworth Lecture he would even knock his own bedroom door. As he did so though, the door opened more and with it came an overwhelming energy that left him feeling suppressed yet energized. He wasn’t around magic a lot anymore, but it always left him with the same feeling so he ditched being a gentleman and waiting for an answer and just barreled into the room to see what looked like a closing portal. 

“Shit!” That would be a dollar in the Swear Jar, but that wasn’t important. What was important however was the fact Marinette was missing, a portal had seemingly opened in her room and closed, and…and there was a note on the bed? 

‘Dear Any Wayne That Finds This,

Actually, are you all Waynes? I never asked, I should have asked. Anyways, please don’t freak out if you come to my room and I’m not here. Ladybug needed my help back in Paris and opened a portal to get me there. I shouldn’t be too long and hey! Maybe I’ll be back before anyone reads this but if I’m not then just don’t worry. Ladybug will return me once the akuma is dealt with.

 -Marinette who is very sorry if someone does end up reading this and is pleading they don’t worry or get angry.’  

“Double shit.” Dick said as he read over the letter. 

That was another dollar for the Swear Jar. 

_________________

Dick “Flying” Grayson @toflyistofall

Oops.

____

Bruce Wayne @therealbrucewayne

RE: Dick “Flying” Grayson @toflyistofall

       Oops.

Richard John Grayson-Wayne. What did you do?

_____

JBIrd @sidesteppeddeath

RE: Bruce Wayne @therealbrucewayne

       Richard John Grayson-Wayne. What did you do?

Ha! You got full government named Dickie! @toflyistofall

_____

Dick “Flying” Grayson @toflyistofall

RE: JBIrd @sidesteppeddeath

       Ha! You got full government named Dickie! @toflyistofall

Oh come on! I didn’t even add tags! How did he respond so fast?

#hahaimindanger

Next Chapter

[rizuno]

The Unknown Kind Chapter 4 Preview!

Fandom: Star Trek/Alien Rating: Explicit (NC-17) Violence, gore, smexy timez Length: Multi-chapter (15 chapters written) AO3: The Unknown Kind chs 1-3

Chappie preview!

Jim and Bones sit in silence, and watch Keenser count out and organize his chips. The hiss of a door jerks Jim’s head up, but it’s Spock who walks in. He pauses by them and gives a nod of greeting. “Gentlemen.”

Bones grunts, still absorbed in Keenser calculating out his winnings.

“Spock,” Jim returns, absorbed in Keenser’s counting as well. Surely he can switch some of that wealth over to his pile? “Shift over?”

“Indeed. If no one has any need of me, I believe I will retire to my quarters.”

Jim snaps his head up to look squarely at Spock. He lets a warm inviting grin spread over his face.

“Need a bed-warmer?” Jim asks, flirting outrageously.

Spock blinks. “No Captain, the current temperature in my quarters is sufficient for my needs.”

Jim didn’t think he’d find anything more adorable than Chekov’s curls and earnestness, but here it is. Oblivious politeness. When it’s obvious nothing else is forthcoming from Jim, Spock nods, and returns to his journey to the crew quarters door.

Jim appreciates Spock’s retreating form for a moment and then turns his attention back to the table to find Bones giving him an extremely judgy look.

“What?” He asks, hearing the defensiveness in his tone with an internal wince.

“You know what.” Bones accuses.

“Me?” Jim opens his eyes wide and goes for innocence.

Bones is not fooled. He leans forward over the table. “I do not want that Science weirdo moping around my sick bay, sniffing around for Jim scraps, like the last one,” he hisses.

A squawk of indignation is all Jim can muster. That is totally-that’s not what happened! Jim doesn’t think. 

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Ch. 3

While on a routine mission for Cid, the Bad Batch encounter a woman fleeing from the Empire. Crosshair suspects her seemingly free-spirited, nomadic existence is actually a cover for something else, but struggles to keep his attraction toward her in check as their personalities and ideals clash.

Relevant tags: Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut (not for a few chapters still), Canon-Typical Violence

Chapters posted 1-2x weekly!

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2

Chapter 3 summary: The mysterious woman rescued by Crosshair comes to on the Marauder. Rather than interrogate why he decided to save her, Crosshair decides to antagonize her, because that's who he is.

“Hey, hey. Easy now.” Hunter appeased the woman like a wounded animal, crouching to her level, hands held out carefully in front of him. Crosshair rolled his eyes.

“I hardly think she needs consoling,” he intoned sibilantly. “She did take out four troopers on her own.”

“That you know of,” the woman muttered under her breath. “Where’s my gear?” she demanded, shifting herself into a seated position.

“Careful there. Hang on just a minute,” Hunter continued. Crosshair could barely stand it when Hunter was like this; gentle, cajoling, infantilizing. He didn’t see why the woman ought to be treated with kid gloves. “You’re hurt pretty bad,” the Sergeant continued. “Just rest up, and we can help you out. What’s your name?”

“Who’s asking?” The woman was defensive, distrustful. As she scanned the Marauder, Crosshair felt like he could see the gears turning behind her eyes, sizing them up. Wondering what she had gotten herself into, and how she could get herself out of it.

“I’m Hunter. That’s Tech, Echo, Wrecker, and Crosshair. We’re not going to hurt you. Crosshair said Imperials were after you, so he took you back to our ship.”

Tech, the most direct among them—with the possible exception of the sniper himself—got straight to the point. “How did you find yourself out there?”

The woman eased up a bit, but continued to be less-than-forthcoming. “I could ask you the same thing.”

The squad looked at one another. “We weren’t the ones crash-landing in a stolen shuttle,” Echo pointed out.

This time, the woman remained silent.

Hunter decided to take a different tactic, easing up on the interrogation. “Not too chatty, eh?” He chuckled.

“I’m sure I could find a way to get her to talk,” Crosshair interrupted suggestively, earning him a stern glance from his brother.

Hunter turned back to her. “Ignore him. Look, we get it. We’re not exactly friends of the Empire, either, and you never know who to trust. We’re on our way to Ord Mantell. It’s going to be a few hours, but there’s a spaceport there. Take some time to recover, and then you can be on your way.” He exited, taking the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit alongside Echo.

Tech reached for her leg to continue treating her injuries, but the woman shrank back. He regarded her seriously from behind his goggles. “Your recovery will be significantly longer if you do not receive treatment,” he observed pointedly.

“Fine,” the woman grumbled, allowing him to take her leg into his hands and begin again. The blaster looked to have only grazed her calf, and soon Tech was sitting back.

“Please remove the clothing over your torso. I need to examine and wrap your ribs,” he requested politely. Crosshair raised an eyebrow, waiting to see the woman’s reaction. She began peeling off her poncho, unbuckling her holsters, finally unbuttoning her shirt to reveal a cropped band beneath, which exposed the flesh of her ribs and belly. She moved slowly, but not self-consciously, caring less about undressing in front of the men than about minimizing the pain. Crosshair took it in, his eyes raking over the fine line of her collarbone, the sweat dripping down to disappear between her breasts, her winces, the soft curves of her hip, the purple bruising that bloomed all over her torso. He noticed a small tattoo on her ribs, but the discoloration was too extreme for him to make out what it was. A puckering of the skin on her abdomen just to the right of her belly button provided evidence of earlier wounds, and he wondered hungrily what the scar would feel like under his fingertips. When he met her eyes, she was glaring; he returned the gaze with a raised brow, amused.

Her anger flickered, interrupted briefly by pain as Tech undertook his work. “What’s your problem?” she demanded.

“Just enjoying the show.”

“Please do not antagonize her, Crosshair,” his brother admonished. The sniper smirked, thinking that he wasn’t the only one a little bit pleased; Tech’s fingers seemed, to him, like they were dwelling a little unnecessarily long against the woman’s skin as he tucked the bandages into place.

A moment later, he was looking down the barrel of Tech’s sidearm. The woman had taken advantage of his brother’s focus on her injuries to unholster it from his hip. “Say that again,” she warned. She had a steely edge to her voice that thrilled him. He only smirked wider. The rest of the squad had already raised their own weapons in turn, a series of metallic clicks echoing from their various positions around the ship indicating that she was outnumbered. She lowered the blaster, slowly, and tossed it to the floor.

Tech retrieved it and stood, unbothered, as the rest of the squad returned to their tasks. This was not the first passenger aboard the Marauder to pull a gun on one of them, and the sniper deserved it a little. “Crosshair, she has a concussion. Keep her awake.”

“Oh, goody,” came his reply as his brother left them to it.

The woman pressed a palm to her forehead before running her hand through her long, silvery hair. There were some leaves tangled in it. He wondered idly if she’d try to break his fingers if he reached over and plucked them out. “Can I at least have my pack?” She sounded more exhausted than defeated, like she had simply run out of the energy to sustain herself.

Crosshair pulled her pack from the shelf where it had been stored behind him, rolling his toothpick between his lips from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Anything… dangerous… in here I should know about?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

“Dangerous?” Between the pain and exhaustion, the woman almost looked amused. “Not me. I avoid danger. Just trying to make a life in a nice, quiet corner of the galaxy.”

“I’m sure the hijacked Imperial shuttle was all a misunderstanding, then.” He glanced through the contents of her pack, removing a few knives before returning it to her. She didn’t take the bait, busying herself instead with dumping some of the contents of a leather pouch—what appeared to be dried leaves, giving off a grassy, bitter smell—into a mug that looked to be made out of a hollowed gourd. She heated a thermos of water with an auto-camp kit, poured some into the mug, and finally sipped the beverage through a filtered metal straw, leaning back against the wall with a sigh.

“Habit I picked up on Endor,” she replied to Crosshair’s raised eyebrow.

Tech was evidently still listening from the cockpit, nosy about their passenger. “There is no civilization on Endor,” he countered. “It is inhabited only by hostile primitives.”

“I’ve seen how civilization is defined in the Galactic Empire. I prefer to spend my time with the primitives.” Her tone was mostly even, but the sniper thought he heard traces of venom in her words.

Crosshair decided to take this cue to restart the interrogation. “Is that little… ideological disagreement… how you ended up shot?” She sipped at her tea impassively, meeting his eyes but refusing to take the bait again. He would have to go on needling her to get the reaction he wanted, poking and prodding to find the limits of her self-control.

He had liked that steely edge earlier, but that wasn’t exactly what he was looking for. Nor did he care about the determination—what had been on her face as she dove behind cover and exchanged fire with the troopers, what was still detectable in her expression now as she tamped down her emotions, waiting to reveal her hand until she could thoroughly evaluate the strangers she found herself at the mercy of.

What he wanted was to draw out the woman she’d shown him before she’d known he was watching through his scope: the rage, the frustration. The despair. The pain. And yes, that gentle glimmer on her face when she’d thought she was at her end, meeting her death not with fear, but the certainty—perhaps, even, the hope—that it had come time to let go. The real reason, which he would never tell his brothers, that he had decided not to let them kill her.

Next chapter

End Note: How many times do you think someone has pulled a gun on Crosshair because he was being a little shit? It feels like probably a lot.

[yearofthesnape]

Chapters 10-12: Lavender Brown, Severus Snape, and the Fangs of Fate

Lavender discovers new secrets of Hogwarts that might give her an edge in saving Snape... if she can get them to cooperate. You can read this on AO3 or FF.net, or below the cut.

Story begins (ch 1-3)

Previous (ch 7-9)

Next (ch 13-15)

Chapter 10: On Probation

“So,” said Parvati conspiratorially that evening, “been spending more time with Seamus, have you? Padma said she saw you walking down the street together…”

Lavender smiled patiently. “Yes. We went to Wellington’s Emergency Apothecary to look for a Blood-Replenishing Potion to use on Snape.” 

“Really,” said Parvati, arching an eyebrow in polished disbelief. Parvati had a shrewd eye for drama, trained over a lifetime in the pureblood wizarding world. That was helpful and a lot of fun, except when it wasn’t.

“Where do you think I got this, then?” Lavender countered, pulling the flask from the shop out of her robe pocket. She unstoppered it and poured the contents into one of her Unbreakable Charm-reinforced vials. The dark red liquid glistened in the common room firelight. It smelled faintly unpleasant; Lavender stoppered the vial quickly.

Parvati subsided reluctantly. Before she could think of a new angle on the nonexistent question of Seamus, Lavender asked her, “Do you reckon Hermione will want to be friends with us, now that we’re in on her plan?”

Parvati gave her a lopsided smile. “No. I think this is like SPEW all over again. She just wants people to join her cause. I know it’s hard to take, but not everyone wants to be your friend.”

Parvati was always saying that. As she had once explained, she’d been sorting out people’s intentions since the day she was born. Lavender’s mind went back to their very first year. Just before the Halloween feast, Parvati had held onto Lavender’s sleeve as she was about to go wash up. “Don’t go in there, Hermione’s crying in one of the stalls.”

“But then she might want someone to talk to!”

“She hates us, I keep telling you!”

“But — “

Parvati had sighed. “Lavender. She wants to be left alone. Honestly, you need to read the signs.”

Now, Lavender responded, as she always did, “I know, but that doesn’t mean we can’t give her a chance. You might think I’m naive — “

“You’ve literally been planning to save Snape, of all people! Sometimes I think you believe, if you can just be nice enough to people, they’ll like you. Snape will give you top marks in Potions. Hermione will take you dress robes shopping just to spend time together. All that sort of thing.”

“I know it’s not like that. But… I just don’t want to be the sort of person who gives up on someone. The future’s full of scary things, and leaving someone to face them alone…” Lavender shivered. “I can’t imagine doing that to anyone, making myself the one who does the leaving. That’s a coward’s thing to do. Being abandoned isn’t fun.”

“I see what you mean,” said Parvati, “but sometimes… don’t you think leaving is the best thing to do?”

“When someone’s going to die?” asked Lavender, incredulous.

“No, that’s not what I meant…” Parvati looked uncomfortable. “I only meant, don’t get your hopes up about Hermione. Ten to one, she’s going to go back to ignoring us again.”

It was Lavender’s turn to give a lopsided smile.

On Monday, however, Hermione went up to them of her own accord to inform them that, despite Umbridge’s latest decree abolishing all student groups, the Defense Against the Dark Arts study group was still on. More details, she said, would be forthcoming.

Hermione wasn’t the only one acting uncharacteristically that day. In the middle of History of Magic, Harry’s beautiful snowy owl appeared by the window, and Harry just walked out of class carrying the bird, after telling Professor Binns an obvious fib about feeling unwell. Just before Potions, Neville tried to charge the Slytherins and got into a wrestling match with Harry and Ron. It was all so strange.

Just as the Potions class were finding their seats and Lavender was whispering to Parvati about the oddity of Neville’s attack, Professor Snape closed the dungeon door with a loud bang. “You will notice that we have a guest with us today.” 

He, at least, sounded much his usual self. Lavender followed the wave of his hand and saw Umbridge sitting in a dim corner with a clipboard. So it must be inspection day. 

Lavender briefly wondered what she would do if Snape were sacked. On one hand, she’d dearly love to have more time and less hectoring in her days… on the other, how could she find Snape to save his life if he left Hogwarts?

Snape was speaking quickly. “We are continuing with our Strengthening Solutions today, you will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson, if correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend — instructions on the board. Carry on.”

Lavender checked whether her solution had, in fact, matured well over the weekend, and was pleasantly surprised to see that it actually bore some resemblance to the description on the board. She began carefully adding ingredients. Powdered cedar twigs… A pinch of lovage… Three drops of salamander blood…

“Well, the class seems fairly advanced for their level,” Lavender heard Umbridge tell Snape. Inwardly, Lavender snorted. Of course they did, with the way Snape worked them all into the ground.

Umbridge seemed to regret giving Snape this compliment, as she immediately criticized his choice of potion and began trying to bait him over not being the Defense teacher instead. Lavender, like most of the class, was curious about what Snape would say; everyone knew how much Snape wished he taught Defense. But it proved beyond Lavender’s capacity to both listen and control her stirring rate, and from the glitter in Snape’s eye, he would leap at any opportunity for criticism. Lavender gave it up and turned her focus to the cauldron. After class, she’d ask Parvati what she’d heard.

There was a smell of burning rubber, and Lavender looked up to see Snape vanishing Harry’s potion. He had almost come to hers now… Lavender tried to look as studious as possible as Snape walked up…

Snape glanced at Lavender’s cauldron and proceeded on his way without looking twice. Lavender breathed a small sigh of relief. He must be preoccupied with the inspection. It was the small mercies that mattered.

When class was over, Lavender and Parvati headed for Professor Trelawney’s tower to spend lunch with her as usual, but when they got to the trapdoor, there was a note attached to it. Parvati pulled it off and read aloud, “My dears, I shall be spending this lunch hour in solitude, restoring the Inner Eye. Signed, Professor Trelawney.”

“That’s strange,” said Lavender. “Perhaps she’s unwell?”

“But then, she could just ask Madam Pomfrey for a Pepper-Up Potion…”

They made their way to the Great Hall for lunch instead. Parvati told Lavender all the things she had heard Umbridge and Snape say, disappointingly spare though they were. Parvati seemed to think there was something nefarious in the tone of voice Umbridge had given the words “a thorough understanding of teachers’ — er — backgrounds,” but she didn’t know what it might imply, and Lavender, naturally, had nothing to contribute. They quickly switched back, therefore, to the more interesting topic of what was keeping Professor Trelawney from wanting to meet with them. Lavender continued to argue for some sort of sickness. Parvati thought she might have stayed up late scrying.

When Divination class came, however, both of them were proven wrong; Professor Trelawney’s eyes were red-rimmed and full of tears. She distributed Dream Oracles with uncharacteristic brusqueness to everyone, even Lavender and Parvati. “Well, carry on! You know what to do! Or am I such a substandard teacher that you have never learned how to open a book?”

Lavender and Parvati exchanged worried glances. Parvati spoke first, while Lavender was still trying to work out what to say. “Professor?”

Trelawney said nothing; it wasn’t clear she had heard Parvati. Parvati tried again. “Professor, is there anything — er — wrong?”

“Wrong! Certainly not! I have been insulted, certainly… Insinuations have been made against me… Unfounded accusations leveled… but no, there is nothing wrong, certainly not…” Trelawney turned away from them, sobbing, “I say nothing of sixteen years’ devoted service… It has passed, apparently, unnoticed… But I shall not be insulted, no, I shall not!”

Lavender frowned; Trelawney had always said that her Inner Eye meant that she was above such petty things.

“But Professor,” Parvati ventured, “who’s insulting you?”

“The establishment!” pronounced Trelawney. “Yes, those with eyes too clouded by the Mundane to See as I See, to Know as I Know...”

What establishment? It couldn’t be Dumbledore, Lavender thought. He hadn’t been insulting at all about Lavender’s request for phoenix tears.

Trelawney continued, “Of course, we Seers have always been feared, always persecuted… It is — alas — our fate…” She paused to wipe her tears with the end of her shawl.

Lavender shivered slightly. Was all this going to happen to her, now that she had seen the future too? Some of the Seers in the past had faced terrible things. But in the current case, a disloyal part of Lavender’s mind added, Trelawney’s above-it-all attitude had hardly been helping her make friends… Was it the fate of the Seers, or Trelawney’s own approach?

A mocking laugh interrupted Lavender’s thoughts; it was Ron, making fun of Trelawney blowing her nose. Lavender shot him a disgusted look, partly for his actions, partly for her own thoughts. Whatever Trelawney should have been doing about her gift, other people had no business responding this way.

“Professor, do you mean…” Parvati began. “Is it something Professor Umbridge…”

“Do not speak to me about that woman!” Professor Trelawney jumped up. “Kindly continue with your work!”

She wandered the classroom, continuing to speak in a ceaseless undertone: “I may well choose to leave, after this… what would my great-grandmother think of the indignity of it all? On probation, indeed… We shall see about that. I don’t know how she dares to do such things to someone like me…”

“On probation?” whispered Parvati to Lavender. “Oh, this is dreadful…”

Lavender nodded, troubled. If Professor Trelawney went away, who would she consult about the future?

Chapter 11: The Room of Requirement

The next day, Lavender and Parvati tried again to have lunch with Professor Trelawney. However, there was a note hanging down from the trapdoor again, saying that she was indisposed.

The day after that, Lavender watched Professor Trelawney very closely during Divination. Trelawney seemed less obviously distressed, but there was a faint smell of cooking sherry that hung about her, and all her predictions seemed gloomier than usual. Lavender found this disturbing. She and Parvati risked staying slightly late after the lesson so as to talk to Trelawney, but Trelawney refused to speak to them, almost pushing them down the silver ladder. At lunchtime, therefore, when Parvati started straight for the Great Hall instead of Trelawney’s tower, Lavender followed her, only slightly protesting.

It turned out to be a good thing that they had gone to the Great Hall that day. Partway through lunch, just as Neville took a bite of sausage, Dean slid into the place beside him. “I’ve just heard from Ron,” he said in an undertone. “First Defense meeting’s tonight. Eight o’clock on the seventh floor, opposite the tapestry of that one wizard trying to teach trolls ballet.”

Neville inhaled sharply and began choking on his sausage. “Anapneo,” said Lavender, pointing her wand at him, and Neville started breathing again.

“Thanks,” said Neville. “Anyway — Harry’s holding a meeting tonight? But it’s so soon after Umbridge’s announcement! Won’t everyone be looking for us?”

“And another thing,” said Parvati, frowning. “I don’t remember there being a door opposite that tapestry. You’re sure this isn’t a joke of Ron’s, Dean?”

“Well, we can find out, can’t we?” asked Dean, looking uncomfortable.

A little before eight o’clock, Lavender, Parvati, Neville, and Dean turned up in the corridor with the tapestry in question. Ginny joined them. Together, they all crowded around a highly polished door between a window and a large vase. No one remembered seeing it before. They all stood there for a moment, looking at each other. Finally, Ginny tapped it softly and tried the brass handle. It opened.

Inside was a large room, lit with torches, like a more welcoming version of Snape’s Potions dungeon. Wooden bookshelves covered the walls, and silk cushions dotted the floor. At the far end of the room, there was a case of strange-looking objects Lavender didn’t recognize, except for a larger, cracked version of the misty glass the Wellingtons had used to watch customers.

“Whoa,” said Dean in an awestruck voice, as all of them peered around the room. “What is this place?”

“I heard about it yesterday night from Dobby — a house-elf I know,” Harry said as Lavender came closer to listen. “He said it’s called the Room of Requirement…”

Harry had to restart his explanation several times, as more people crowded into the room, but in the end, Lavender learned that the place in which they all stood was a room that waited for people to really need it. Then, if they walked past the wall three times, thinking of their needs, the room would appear, filled with everything they required. Lavender’s eyes widened with a startling idea… everything she required? But then…

Any experimenting with the Room of Requirement, however, would have to wait for later. It was now eight o’clock. Harry locked the door and the meeting began.

In quick succession, they voted Harry in as official leader, passed a motion to call themselves Dumbledore’s Army, and divided into pairs to practice the Disarming Charm (Parvati was with Padma; Lavender was with Dean). Lavender remembered this charm vividly from the dueling club Professor Lockhart had attempted to start in her second year. Parvati had dragged her to its first meeting, and when Professor Snape had Disarmed Professor Lockhart, Lockhart’s wand had rolled right to Lavender’s feet. Lavender had passed it back to him. Parvati had been wild with envy, all the more so since Lockhart had said “Ah, thank you, Miss Brown,” thus showing that he knew Lavender’s name. She still brought it up to Lavender sometimes. 

Lavender herself remembered mostly the horrible snake that had appeared at the end of the dueling club. For ages afterward, Lavender had been terrified of everyone involved with that snake. She still avoided Draco Malfoy in the halls. She had avoided Harry too for a little while, but it turned out that Harry hadn't been egging on the snake at all, despite appearances. As for Professor Snape, while he had made the snake vanish in the end, he had also whispered in Malfoy’s ear before Malfoy produced it, so Lavender wasn’t sure what to think about him. What she did know was that all of this made the idea of a snake that Snape couldn’t vanish far more frightening.

“Expelliarmus!” shouted Dean, and Lavender’s wand flew out of her hand. Her attention snapped back to the present.

The next day, Lavender ate breakfast in a great rush and started out for the Room of Requirement on her own. Once there, she thought as hard as she could: I need an antidote for the snake I saw in my dream… give me an antidote for that specific snake…

Nothing happened. Lavender tried again: I need phoenix tears for Professor Snape…

Three times passing the stretch of wall, and it stayed blank. Was she forgetting something?

Lavender walked past the wall to start one last try: I need you to help me save Severus Snape…

Just as she was about to give up, a door appeared in the wall. Lavender wrenched it open. 

Inside was a torchlit room much smaller than the one they had used for the D.A. meeting. It looked like a miniature version of the Potions classroom; there was a single cauldron standing over an unlit fire, beside a stone countertop covered with various implements — a set of scales with weights; a collection of knives, including a silver dagger; a chopping board; a mortar and pestle. Oddly, there were no ingredients anywhere in the room. 

There was, however, a single cupboard over the countertop. Lavender opened it, hoping to find an antidote-filled flask, but there was nothing inside but a stack of battered Potions textbooks. Lavender took them out and set them on the counter. She turned back to the cupboard and began running her hands over the inside; surely she was missing something?

When Lavender pushed the cupboard's back, it swung open. Somehow, improbably, she was looking out on the Potions classroom itself. Lavender climbed onto the countertop for a better view. From the scene before her, it seemed as though the Room of Requirement had created this cupboard as a back door into a real cupboard, one that existed in the corner of the Potions classroom. Lavender could not fit through the cupboard to get into the classroom, and the Room of Requirement seemed unwilling to let her do this. Thus, Lavender turned her attention to the books.

All the textbooks were editions of the same volume, and they were all identical in appearance, except for the top book. While the others had no distinguishing markings, this one had a bit of black ribbon sticking out at the very back, the sort of ribbon the Diagon Alley apothecary used on packages. Lavender opened the book at its back cover, where the ribbon indicated. Someone had inscribed a set of Potions instructions on the flyleaf in very hasty handwriting. Lavender puzzled out the title: To Counteract a Cursed Bite. Then in smaller and even harder-to-read letters: Possibly effective against werewolves.

Lavender paused. Werewolves? It was snakes she cared about! But the part about a cursed bite certainly sounded promising, and the black ribbon seemed quite intentional…

Just in case, she began looking through the rest of the book to see if there was anything else in it about snakes, or antidotes, or stopping bleeding. The pages were nearly black with annotations in the same difficult handwriting. It was clear this was going to take a long time, longer than Lavender had… she was going to be late to class…

Lavender put the book back on the stack, shoved all the books back into the cupboard, and hurried from the room, but not before she noticed even more of the same writing along the back cover of the book she had been reading: This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.

Notes:

The Room of Requirement is a difficult location to handle well in any story. I have done my best to write its operations believably. Some arguments from the original text follow, for readers confused by what Lavender is and is not able to find: While we know from Order of the Phoenix that the Room has provided Dobby with antidotes to butterbeer, I think the Room restricts itself to objects that have already been in Hogwarts grounds by more ordinary means. This may explain why no one uses the Room to find all the Horcruxes or to give Arthur Weasley a venom antidote. So, Lavender cannot find a ready-made antidote to Nagini's venom this way, either. I also find it unlikely that the Room can make rare objects common, nor override the consent required to gain an object. So, Lavender cannot find phoenix tears. If the thing needed is found in a specific location, we know from Deathly Hallows that the Room can provide a passageway to that location. So, Lavender can find the passage to the book she needs. As we learn in Deathly Hallows, food cannot be produced by the Room (ruling out some Potions ingredients, which may be considered food at a pinch). Even if you may later find you need an object, the Room will not provide it until you ask for it (e.g. Harry's whistle in OotP). Since Lavender has not yet decided to make the antidote whose recipe the Room has suggested, she has not decided that she needs specific ingredients, so none are present.

Chapter 12: Struggles with Stinksap

Lavender found after leaving the Room of Requirement that she had carried the black bookmark with her by mistake. When she returned to the Room after classes and a very hasty lunch, she discovered the ribbon had been replaced in exactly the same place in the book. That seemed like as clear a sign as any, especially since a closer look at the rest of the textbook showed page after page of obviously unrelated potions. Not only this, but all the dense scribbles on the other pages seemed to either be corrections to the textbook, or odd spells and counterspells Lavender had never seen before. These made her hopeful at first, but the Half-Blood Prince seemed never to see fit to explain what any of the spells did, and Lavender wasn’t about to start casting them at random when there was a perfectly good set of potion instructions at hand that seemed far more likely to apply to Snape’s future predicament. Lavender was at a loss for what to do otherwise. She gave the potion, therefore, her closest attention.

The Half-Blood Prince seemed to have either copied or composed a rhyme of sorts, detailing the ingredients. The list began in a fairly standard way:

Stir in water’s gentle flow Rue and wormwood for your woe, Silver and dried dittany, Earthy roots of betony…

Even when the components became more esoteric, Lavender was able to find them in the students’ store-cupboard:

Wolf’s tooth, horn of unicorn, Monkshood plucked at break of morn…

There was only one ingredient that wasn’t in the cupboard, and it came at the end of the rhyme:

Yarrow, echinacea, Mimbulus mimbletonia (Sap thereof), combine as one. Now the potion-making’s done. Azure is the potion’s hue, Pour on wounds to heal as new.

Mimbulus mimbletonia… From night after night of saying this as the common room password, Lavender recognized it for what it was: the rare plant that was Neville Longbottom’s pride and joy. It seemed that the Prince had not been able to test how much of this ingredient he needed. While the blank space around the rhyme was full of alarmingly precise measurements of rue, yarrow, and the like, there was a question mark beside the infamous Mimbulus mimbletonia Stinksap. Perhaps there had been none of the plant in the greenhouses when the Prince had been a student. Lavender dimly remembered Neville saying he didn’t think Hogwarts grew any.

There was just one problem about getting Stinksap for the potion. Neville had the only Mimbulus mimbletonia that Lavender knew about, and the whole school knew that Professor Snape was Neville’s boggart from third year. Would Neville be willing to give Lavender the Stinksap she needed, if he knew it was for the teacher he feared?

That evening in the common room, Lavender tried to decide what to do. If she just asked Neville for Stinksap without saying what it was for, she knew he’d give her some; Neville was always eager to talk about his plant to anyone who’d listen. But there was something that felt wrong about that, almost like stealing. At last, Lavender went up to Neville. “Question for you — it’s a bit out of nowhere…”

“Go on,” said Neville.

“If Professor Snape needed Stinksap, would you give it to him?”

Neville laughed, a little sadly. “Would I have a choice?”

“Yes,” said Lavender, making up her mind. “You could say no, and he’d never find out.”

“This is the strangest thought experiment I’ve heard in a while. I didn’t know you liked that sort of thing.”

“It’s, er, not a thought experiment,” said Lavender awkwardly. “If you say yes, I’m going to ask you for Stinksap to put in this flask.” She held up the flask from Wellington’s, which she had cleaned to sparkling condition.

“Oh.” Neville paused. “What does he need it for?”

“Saving his life,” said Lavender, “but he doesn’t know that yet, so don’t tell anyone.”

Neville started to grin. “You’re having me on.”

“Let’s say I am. Will you give me this Stinksap? Even if it is for Snape?”

Neville stared at Lavender for a long time. Then he said, “Wait here.” When he came back, he was carrying the little boil-covered plant Lavender remembered him holding at the beginning of the year. “Give it a poke, and it should give you all the Stinksap you need. You might want to take it somewhere you can clean easily, though. It goes everywhere, I found that out on the train.”

Lavender took the pot very carefully in her hands, the glass flask clinking against it. She looked Neville in the eye. “Thank you. He won’t know, but… thank you.” 

As she turned to go, the sound of Neville’s voice called her back. “If this turns out to be something after all — do me a favor, will you? Tell him. Not now, but after you save his life. I want him to know it was me. Just — just so he can think about that.”

Lavender nodded. “Done.”

The Gryffindor girls’ bathroom was mercifully empty when Lavender carried the little plant inside. She set the pot down inside a large porcelain bathtub and held the flask next to the largest and most juicy-looking boil. The plant’s bulbous grey sides pulsed. Lavender prodded it. Instantly a jet of dark green sap spurted from every boil, spattering the sides of the bath, coating Lavender’s arms and clothes and face and hair, even reaching the ceiling. A smell of rancid manure filled the room.

“Eurgh!” shrieked Lavender involuntarily. The Stinksap instantly ran into her mouth. It tasted even worse than it smelled.

Lavender spit it out and grimly tilted her head to shift the layer of slime on it. She peered at the flask. A small amount of Stinksap lined the bottom. Closing her eyes, Lavender jabbed at the plant again.

It took half an hour to fill the flask; Lavender wanted to make sure she had enough, even though she didn’t know how much “enough” would be. As she put a cork in the flask at last, Lavender caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror at the other side of the room. She was so covered in Stinksap, she looked like a green version of the yeti they’d learned about in second year.

Someone pounded on the door. It was Parvati. “Are you nearly done? I want a bath!”

Lavender tried to respond, but the Stinksap immediately filled her mouth again. Her words came out as a garbled noise.

Parvati, getting no reply, opened the door. “Is everyth — Ugh! What is this, Lavender? Scourgify!”

The Stinksap disappeared; Lavender, feeling like a human girl again, gave Parvati a grateful smile. “Thanks — I left my wand outside by mistake.”

“Is that Neville’s plant?” asked Parvati, peering at the blobby grey shape in the pot. “Why are you — oh. Oh, no. This isn’t part of your Snape scheme, is it?”

“How did you —“

“Everything strange you do seems to be,” said Parvati, half exasperated, half fond. “I don’t know why you bother, honestly.”

As the week wore on, Lavender had to admit she was starting to wonder the same thing. The Prince’s potion’s simple ingredients hid the fact that it had the most complicated instructions Lavender had ever seen. Timing was specified down to the second. There was a sort of musical notation for stirring rate, which she puzzled out with immense difficulty; the ingredient rhyme, it turned out, showed the rhythm at which the cauldron needed to be stirred. Lavender had to vanish batch after batch of failed potion before it even got to the last stage of adding the Stinksap.

After many tries, Lavender got the potion to cooperate up to the point where Stinksap would be required. Here the Prince’s work could no longer guide her. Holding her breath, Lavender added a single drop of the green liquid to the cauldron, whose contents were the exact color and texture of lake mud.

Nothing happened.

Lavender consulted the rhyme in the textbook again. Azure is the potion’s hue… She saw nothing of the sort in front of her. How was this noxious mass supposed to turn blue and cure bites?

Perhaps she hadn’t added enough of the Stinksap? Lavender added a second drop, keeping in mind everything Professor Snape had ever said in class about drop size. Immediately, the whole cauldron exploded.

Jumping back, Lavender vanished the cauldron’s contents before they could do more damage. The Room of Requirement coolly generated another cauldron, as though this were normal. Lavender thought she must have waited too long before the first and second drops… or had it been too short? Too much Stinksap, perhaps? But the drops had been as small as she knew how to make them! Lavender sighed with frustration. Had the Half-Blood Prince had this much trouble working out all the other directions?

The weeks progressed in much this way. Lavender’s own parchment of notes was beginning to look as dense as the Prince’s with its cross-outs and accounts of experimental failures. Meanwhile, the rest of Hogwarts ticked on as usual. There were D.A. meetings as often as Harry said he could make them happen; Hermione had given everyone an enchanted Galleon so they knew when the meetings were. The charm she’d used was so complicated that it reminded Lavender that Hermione was a homework genius. However, when Lavender asked Hermione for help with a theoretical potion that kept blowing up, Hermione lectured her on the dangers of messing about with experimental potions outside of class. Lavender supposed Hermione was right, but what was she to do?

Potions class was still an ever-constant battle between Lavender and Snape to see whether Lavender’s work or Snape’s criticisms would be most detailed in the end. Unlike the contest of wills that seemed constantly to go on between Snape and some of the other students, the struggle between Snape and Lavender was largely silent and no one seemed to notice. Parvati said once, “Did I hear Snape tell you to watch how many times you breathed over the cauldron? Bit much, isn’t it?” This, however, was all the sympathy Lavender got.

Meanwhile, Trelawney’s new standoffishness showed no sign of stopping, either. The only time Lavender saw her now was in class, where an unpleasant undercurrent of cooking sherry ran beneath the usual perfume of the Divination tower. Trelawney’s lessons seemed to have gone to pieces, too. The class spent all their time reviewing things they’d learned ages ago — crystal balls and tea leaves and palmistry. Trelawney said it was to help them revise for the O.W.L. examination, but Lavender couldn’t help suspecting that she simply hadn’t prepared new lessons for them.

D.A. meetings started to slacken off as the first Quidditch match of the season approached. Lavender and Seamus amused themselves, as usual, by writing down predictions of the upcoming match, no Divination tools allowed. Whoever got the most right would get a Fizzing Whizzbee or a Sugar Quill from the other, as applicable. Seamus was betting that Gryffindor would focus on shoring up their defenses to make up for their Keeper’s inexperience, and so Quaffle-scored points on Gryffindor’s side would be less than Slytherin’s. Lavender thought they might decide a good offense was a better strategy and thus would end up beating Slytherin’s Quaffle points. Both Lavender and Seamus agreed Harry would be the one to catch the Snitch — Slytherin’s advantage was too great for the Slytherin Seeker to want to find it first.

The day of the match found Lavender and Seamus, together with what looked like all of Hogwarts, huddled in the stands. Lavender cupped her dragon-skin-gloved hands over her mouth and exhaled slowly, trying to warm them. The Slytherins all seemed to be singing a song about Ron Weasley. They had even gone to the trouble of making badges. Lavender and Seamus exchanged glances; that hadn’t been on their prediction sheets. When the players filed out, Lavender tried to cheer extra hard for Ron; failing at something new was something she understood well now, and she couldn’t imagine having everyone watch you do it. Ron appeared to be in a sort of daze.

When the score was only forty-ten, Draco Malfoy and Harry went into a neck-and-neck dive… the air left Lavender’s lungs… then Harry lifted the Snitch in his hand and Lavender screamed along with everyone else. Seamus would probably get his Sugar Quill, but Lavender didn’t really mind; they had won!

Then a Slytherin player whacked a Bludger at Harry, knocking him off his broom. Madam Hooch flew over to the guilty Slytherin player, Crabbe. Lavender looked to see where Ron had gone; he seemed to be heading off on his own, without the team. She hoped he was all right.

A cry of surprise from Seamus made Lavender look over quickly. Harry, George Weasley, and Draco Malfoy had started an all-out brawl on the Quidditch pitch for no apparent reason. It was one of the strangest ends to a Quidditch match they’d had in a while. In the end, Lavender and Seamus split the Sugar Quill and the Fizzing Whizzbee in half; the whole thing, Seamus said, had been too unexpected for him to feel right taking the whole quill for himself.

This was not the end of unexpected things. Word spread over the next few days that Harry, Fred, and George all had lifetime bans from Quidditch. Lavender was still talking with Seamus at breakfast Monday morning about the impossible things the remaining team members would have to do to make up for this, when Parvati nudged her. “Look.”

Lavender followed her gaze up the Great Hall to the staff table. Her heart seemed to fall to the ground like a dropped fork. Hagrid was back.

No. Lavender shook her head in disbelief. He couldn’t have returned. She wasn’t anywhere close to finishing the cure for cursed bites, she needed more time before Harry inevitably started shouting for Hagrid to come back and touched off the chain of events that would lead to Snape being bitten, and with Hagrid at the school again, it could all happen at any moment… Parvati caught Lavender’s eye, frowned sympathetically, and shook her head as well. She knew what this meant as well as Lavender did.

Right then, Lavender decided the time had come for desperate measures. There was only one person in the school who might know what to do about the Prince’s potion — Professor Snape.

Next (ch 13-15)

[goforth-ladymidnight]

The Wolf and the Fox, Ch. 4

Tags: @achaotichuman @hani-yo @zivotzaruzi (If anyone else would like to be tagged, please let me know!)

Pairing: Tamlin x Lucien

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Disappointed with his Solstice gift from the Night Court, Lucien dreams of a different day in the Spring Court, one in which he gives (and gets) more than he asked for.

Read the chapter on AO3 or read it below the cut:

Chapter Four

* * *

One morsel of food before I go, the fox said; Surely you can spare one… One each, for me and my friend. The other animals looked at him, and then at each other. Typical greedy fox, they said, but they all agreed: One morsel. Just one.

* * *

“Come in,” Tamlin’s voice called from the other side of the study door.

Lucien entered with an expectant smile on his face, which vanished when he noticed the High Lord’s grim expression, and the other two golden-haired High Fae sitting across from him at the desk.

“Oh. Captain Ianto, High Priestess Ianthe,” Lucien said politely, then bowed.

They nodded politely in turn.

“What is it, Lucien?” Tamlin asked.

Lucien closed the door behind him, then approached, holding out the unsealed correspondence. The black wax seal was marked with a mountain and three stars. “The Night Court finally agreed to send a representative for Calanmai,” he declared.

Tamlin breathed a small sigh of relief as he accepted the message, but his expression remained grim. “That means all seven Courts will be present,” he said, looking it over, then his green-eyed gaze flicked to his advisor. “We still need a Priestess to oversee the Great Rite, however.”

Ianthe bowed her veiled head as her father squared his shoulders.

“There are other Priestesses, my Lord,” Ianto said coolly.

“None that I trust,” Tamlin said, setting aside the message. “Besides, Calanmai is in three days. There simply isn’t time to send for someone else.”

“What’s going on?” Lucien asked, glancing between them.

Tamlin’s jaw tightened. “Captain Ianto and his family are boarding the next ship to Vallahan… tomorrow.”

“What?” Lucien’s mouth fell open as he faced the captain. “Why?”

Ianto lifted his squared chin. “I do not need to explain my reasons to a lowly messenger-boy.”

Lucien’s mouth snapped shut.

“That’s enough, Ianto,” Tamlin growled, and there was a trace of fang in his bared teeth before he took a deep breath and sat back. “You served my father well during his reign, but that does not give you the right to rebuke my emissary for asking a question that, quite frankly, deserves an answer. Anyone would be suspicious of the timing of your decision, given the role your daughter has dutifully performed since my mother’s death, so unless you wish to resign in disgrace, I suggest you be a little more forthcoming when my friend asks you a question.”

Spots of angry red dotted Ianto��s cheeks at the High Lord’s reprimand, and Lucien couldn’t help but smirk at his humiliation. Messenger-boy, indeed.

“Please do not be angry with my father,” Ianthe implored. “He is trying to protect my sister Daphne.”

“Ianthe,” her father chided.

“Father,” she said firmly. “He deserves to know.”

When he remained silent, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as she faced the High Lord. “As you know, my younger sister was recently inducted to the Order of the Moon,” she explained, touching her own tattooed brow. “She did not… react well to drinking from the Cup of Wisdom.”

“Cup of Wisdom?” Lucien asked.

“What happened?” Tamlin asked at the same time.

When Ianthe hesitated about which question she should answer, Tamlin gave her a reassuring nod.

“It’s all right, Ianthe,” he told her. “Lucien is not as familiar with your sacred rites. Please, explain.”

Ianthe obediently folded her hands in her lap. “The Cup of Wisdom is filled with the Water of Life itself, taken from the Pool of Memories inside Middengard,” she explained patiently, then her voice lowered to a reverent murmur. “It is said to be the final resting place of the Cauldron, and its sacred fluids.”

“Blessed be,” Tamlin said quietly.

“Blessed be,” Ianthe repeated, touching her fingers to her brow.

Lucien had never visited Prythian’s Sacred Mountain, but he had seen drawings of it in books, and studied its history as a boy. The lessons had bored him then, but hearing Ianthe speak of it now, seeing the mural depicting the Mother’s Cauldron on Tamlin’s wall… he couldn’t suppress his shiver.

“When your sister drank the water,” Tamlin prompted, “what happened?”

Ianthe pursed her lips, looking pensive. “She had a vision,” she said at last.

“Of what?” Tamlin asked.

“Is that typical?” Lucien asked at the same time, then winced. “Sorry, Tam.”

“I think you mean High Lord,” Ianto muttered, frowning, but Ianthe laid a hand on his arm.

She continued as though her father hadn’t spoken. “Yes, visions are typical, but not of this nature,” she explained worriedly. “Most see the path the Mother has chosen for them, which Temple she might be guided to, or what skill she is meant to learn… I myself saw that I must devote myself to Spring, but Daphne…” She slowly shook her head.

Tamlin leaned forward and laced his fingers on his desk. “What did she see?”

Ianthe sighed, and her blue-green eyes were swimming with tears. “A blight,” she whispered.

Lucien looked at her askance. “A blight?” he repeated skeptically.

“Of crops?” Tamlin asked in a low, concerned tone.

Ianthe shook her head. “No. She saw a rose garden, choked by thorns. A fox without an eye. A wolf with no skin.” She shuddered. “She said something is writhing in the bowels of Middengard, and it wants to be free.”

Ianto laid his hand over hers. “It’s all right, my dear,” he said soothingly. “You’ve said enough.”

“Actually, I don’t think she has,” Lucien declared, which earned him another frown. “If someone is having visions about the Spring Court, its High Lord deserves to know. Right, Tam?”

Tamlin’s knuckles were white as claws sprouted from his fingertips. A slow, deep breath relaxed them. “Captain,” he said evenly, “have any of your men reported skinned wolves or mauled foxes recently?”

“No, my lord.”

“Good. Lucien?”

Lucien snapped to attention. “Yes, milord? Uh, Tam, I mean.”

“Go to the window,” Tamlin said, gesturing carefully, “and tell me if you see any thorns in my mother’s rose garden.”

Lucien could feel Ianto glowering at his back as he dutifully obeyed. Vivid crimson, pink, white, and yellow roses nodded in the garden below, waving in a gentle breeze. “No thorns,” he called out. “No more than usual, anyway.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Ianto demanded as Lucien returned to Tamlin’s side. “Do you doubt the veracity of my daughter’s claims?”

“No,” Tamlin said flatly. “Only the timing. Since none of these visions have come to pass, yet, I cannot understand why you wish to leave tomorrow instead of a month from now. Calanmai will be over, and everyone will be more concerned about attending Lord Keir’s Ball. Besides—” He looked to Ianthe. “—If what your sister says is true, then we need the magic from the Great Rite more than ever.”

Ianthe bit her lip as she lowered her gaze to her lap.

“Please,” Tamlin said softly. “I’ve never performed the Rite without you… Stay.”

“Is that an order… High Lord?” Ianto interjected, though carefully.

Tamlin frowned at him and sat back. “No.”

Ianthe looked up then. “I’m sorry,” she said sadly. “My sister is still being plagued by these visions. If the priestesses in Vallahan cannot help her, then no one can.”

“I am not asking you to ignore your sister’s health and well-being for my sake—” Tamlin insisted, even though he would be more than justified to do so, as High Lord. “—I am asking you to stay until the ceremony is complete. Then I will make all the necessary arrangements and ensure your safe passage to Vallahan. I swear it.”

She shook her head again. “I can’t. The visions… I can’t.”

“There are other Priestesses, High Lord,” Ianto reminded him, but in a gentler tone this time.

“Strangers, you mean,” Tamlin said quietly, then rolled his shoulders and looked away, discomfited. “I’d like to think that I have some say in who the Magic chooses, yet you would have me choose someone I’ve never met.”

“Can anyone volunteer?”

The three of them looked to Lucien in surprise, as if they had forgotten he was there. He had been listening, and thinking, as they argued.

“Did you have someone in mind?” Ianthe asked him.

Lucien shrugged, even as he blushed. “Me.”

Tamlin sat back and stared at him, but said nothing.

“You mean you wish to perform the Great Rite in the High Lord’s place?” Ianto said doubtfully, then scoffed and shook his head. “It takes a great deal of strength to take down the White Stag, let alone have the stamina required to perform afterwards,” he added meaningfully.

Lucien sneered. “You think I can’t perform?”

“Perhaps he meant the Maiden,” Ianthe offered quickly, then told Lucien, “I can assure you that there will be many willing females waiting at the cave for the Hunter to choose from. You do not have to find someone for him.”

“No, I…” Lucien took a deep breath. “I meant: Me. Rather than ask Tam to choose a stranger to join him in the Great Rite, he can choose me.”

Ianthe’s eyes widened as she covered her mouth with her fingers.

Ianto, however, was apoplectic. “You dare make a mockery of Spring’s most sacred ceremony?” he snarled as he stood. “The Maiden is a sacred vessel for the Hunter’s seed, not some lowly outcast who thinks with his cock first and balls second.”

“Ianto.” Tamlin growled a warning growl, then slowly rose to his feet. “Lucien is my friend, and you forget your place.”

The Captain stiffened, then clicked his heels and gave a shallow bow. “My apologies, High Lord,” he said tightly. “But my point still stands. Your parents set the perfect example for how the Great Rite should be performed, and the land flourished under their care. I would hate to see the Spring Court wither away like… like Autumn, if that were to change,” he added, narrowing his eyes at Lucien.

Lucien’s lip curled, but Tamlin laid a hand on his back, and he forgot to argue.

Tamlin replied, “Then I suppose it is just as well that you will be in Vallahan this year.”

Ianto startled, but quickly composed himself. “Come Ianthe,” he said coolly. “There is still much to do before tomorrow morning.”

Ianthe slowly rose to her feet as her father strode to the door. “You should send for the priestess Delphine, in Summer,” she told Tamlin quietly. “She will ensure a fruitful harvest for the rest of the year, I assure you.”

“Thank you, Ianthe,” Tamlis said, then slid his arm around Lucien’s waist. “But I’m not worried about the harvest this year.”

Lucien’s face warmed at his touch, and he found himself leaning into the High Lord’s embrace.

Ianthe glanced between them, wide-eyed, then dipped her head reverently. “Blessed be the harvest,” she murmured, then her gaze… lingered, as she slowly lifted her head.

Lucien knew that look. He had been with enough females to know when he was being sized up, and the look Ianthe gave him was no different. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t interested in a High Priestess who had grown up alongside a future High Lord, inserted herself into every important Spring Court ceremony, and then abandoned him when he needed her most.

As Ianto opened the door for his daughter, Tamlin stopped them.

“In spite of what transpired here today, please know that you are all welcome back to my Court upon your return,” he told them.

“If there is still a Spring Court after this, then we shall consider it,” Ianto declared, somewhat snidely, but he did manage a more sincere bow. “High Lord.”

Tamlin’s lips were pursed as he nodded in return.

“May the High Mother bless you and keep you,” Ianthe said, then touched her fingers to her lips in farewell.

“Goodbye, Ianthe,” Tamlin said gently.

Lucien chose to remain silent, even though he noticed her gaze linger again before she followed her father out the door.

When the study door was once again closed, Lucien huffed a laugh. “They really think I’m going to ruin the Spring Court, don’t they?” he scoffed. “I make beds quake, not foundations, thank you very much.”

“Is that right.”

Lucien’s face heated as he realized what he’d said, how close they were standing… and how Tamlin’s hand was still resting on his back.

“Did you mean what you said before?” Tamlin asked softly. “About volunteering for the Rite?”

Lucien swallowed, then slowly turned his head to look into Tamlin’s eyes. They were the color of new leaves, and speckled with drops of amber. “Yes,” he whispered.

Tamlin’s gaze drifted down to Lucien’s mouth, and his breath caught. Instead of kissing him, however, Tamlin turned to lean against his wide wooden desk, and his hand left Lucien’s back to grip the edge of it. The veins in his hand were prominent, a faint green against his naturally sun-kissed skin.

Tamlin took a deep breath and tilted his head, and his hair, as golden as ripe wheat in Autumn, shifted at his shoulders. “Have you ever been with a male before?” he asked, sounding somewhat cautious.

Lucien blinked in surprise, distracted from studying the shape of Tamlin’s full mouth. “Once,” he said huskily. “It wasn’t anything like you and Rhys, but…”

“But what?”

“I… I found I didn’t mind it.”

“You didn’t mind it,” Tamlin echoed, as though they were commenting on a new flavor of wine.

Lucien blushed. “He was one of the lesser Lords in my father’s Court,” he admitted with some embarrassment. “During the Equinox Ball, after one too many glasses of cider—” Tamlin’s brow furrowed at that. “—My brothers thought they’d have some fun at my expense, so they told me someone was waiting for me in the hedge maze.”

Tamlin tilted his head the other way when Lucien didn’t continue. “And was there? Someone?”

Lucien nodded distantly, remembering. “Sylvain.”

He had slim hands, a low, breathy laugh, and long nut-brown hair secured at his neck with a green ribbon. The ribbon, he remembered, because it matched his eyes. Green silk, sliding between his fingers.

“What happened?” Tamlin asked gently.

Lucien took a deep breath, then let out a heavy sigh. “We talked for hours. He was engaged, not happily so, to a lady his father had chosen for him, even though he said he always preferred males. He had gone to the hedge maze to be alone, to think, when I showed up.”

“And then?”

“I’m sure you can guess,” Lucien said quietly. “I woke up in his bed, and I stupidly wondered what it would be like to wake up beside him every day.”

“What about Jesminda?”

Lucien swallowed hard and looked away. “I met her shortly after. When Sylvain told me that he had no intention of breaking off his engagement, but that he would happily meet me in the hedge maze once in a while. I took a walk to clear my head, and… there she was. It felt like a sign.”

Tamlin sighed. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“It’s my own fault,” Lucien said with false levity. “What’s funny is that my father might not have cared if I bound myself to a lesser Lord, but a lesser Fae was taking things too far.” He huffed a laugh and scraped a hand through his hair. “Me, the lesser son. Lessest of them all, and he couldn’t leave me be.”

Tamlin reached for his free hand. “You’re not lesser,” he said in a way that was both firm and gentle. “No matter what Ianto says, you have a place here, as long as you want it.”

Lucien’s throat bobbed as he found himself unable to speak, and he dropped his gaze to their joined hands.

Tamlin’s thumb gently rubbed across his knuckles as he murmured, “What your father did to you… to her… It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Lucien whispered.

Tamlin gently turned Lucien’s hand over to trace the lines in his palm. “I’ve asked myself that question many times over the last three years,” he said softly. “If I had not told my father where Rhys and I used to picnic, would Rowena and her mother still be alive? Or was it only a matter of time before he killed them all, to teach me a lesson?”

Lucien stared at him. “Tam…”

Tamlin gave him a tight, sad smile. “If we’re so lesser, why are our fathers so threatened by our happiness?”

Lucien blinked in surprise as he thought it over. “I… I don’t know.”

“Then perhaps we’re not so lesser,” Tamlin said, and his smile softened. “Perhaps we can be more. Perhaps we always have been.”

Lucien’s heart jumped into his throat as Tamlin bowed his head and kissed Lucien’s palm. He found himself blushing at the tenderness of it, the gentleness of it.

Tamlin lifted his head and met his gaze. “You don’t have to perform the Rite with me, you know,” he said softly. “It’s not really going to be me for most of it, anyway—”

“I want to,” Lucien said quickly, and nodded for emphasis. He wet his lips, then swallowed. “Trust me, I want to.”

A shy dimple appeared in Tamlin’s cheek as he smiled. “You wouldn’t mind it?”

Lucien blushed deeper, but he returned that smile, and gladly. “Not at all.”

Tamlin’s hands slid around his hips and pulled him closer between his parted legs, until their bodies were flush. Warm sunlight caught his hair as he tilted his head back, the color of ripe wheat in Autumn. And his eyes, as green as springtime itself, drifted closed as he brought his soft mouth to Lucien’s.

Autumn and Spring were not so different, after all. They both shared cool mornings, mild afternoons, and the glow of warm fires in the evenings to ward off the chill…

There was a wildness there, too, though; a changing of the seasons that would not be changed. Neither hot nor cold, neither light nor dark. The sharpness of thorns before the flowers bloomed; the starkness of tree branches when the leaves fell after a storm.

Tamlin growled and bit down on his lower lip, and Lucien winced, despite the rush of pleasure. His fingers curled into Tamlin’s back as he let out a small moan.

Tamlin released his lip slowly, although he continued to grip Lucien’s hair at the back of his neck. His face was flushed. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” he whispered.

“What?” Lucien blinked, unsure he’d heard correctly; his ears were still filled with the sound of drumming.

“Calanmai,” Tamlin rasped. “I know this isn’t your first time, but… this is different. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Tam, you won’t—”

“I won’t. I would never, but… the Hunter might.”

Lucien swallowed hard at the thought. “Do the Maidens enjoy it?”

“Well, I…” Tamlin relaxed his grip. “Yes. I’m told they do.”

“Then so will I,” Lucien declared, but Tamlin pulled away and sat back anyway.

“Is that why you volunteered?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Lucien said firmly, smoothing down his tunic. “I just… I don’t want you to wake up next to a stranger. Not when you can wake up with—” He blushed. “—with me.”

Tamlin’s shoulders relaxed at that, and a pleased smile tugged at his lips as he reached out to smooth Lucien’s hair over his shoulder.

“Your hair is like fox fur,” he mused, running it through his fingers. He lifted his gaze, and his green eyes gleamed mischievously. “You know, I’m starting to think the Hunter will enjoy playing with you.”

It was as though the distant drums of Calanmai had started beating, or perhaps it was Lucien’s pulse rising. He swallowed. “Perhaps the High Lord would enjoy it, too,” he whispered.

Tamlin paused, smiling thoughtfully as he tugged, ever so gently, on Lucien’s hair to pull him closer. When he was close enough, he pressed his lips against the corner of Lucien’s mouth. “Perhaps we should find out,” he murmured.

Lucien’s breath caught again. “Perhaps.”

“Tonight,” Tamlin murmured, winding Lucien’s auburn strands around his finger. “After dinner. In my chambers.”

As he pulled away, Lucien’s hair unspooled and loosened the air in his lungs. “Yes, my lord.”

Tamlin shook his head. “No. Not like that,” he said in his firm but gentle way. “Come to me because you want to, not because I order you. I’m only High Lord here because I have to be, but in there…” His lips twitched as he blushed. “Let’s just say that the only orders I intend to give will be on my knees.”

Lucien’s brows rose, as did his temperature. “After dinner, you said?”

Tamlin smirked. “Unless you’d prefer sooner?”

Lucien quickly nodded. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, I would.”

As Tamlin stood, Lucien startled awake.

For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. He was lying on something soft, but it was not the mossy velvet of the High Lord’s bed, nor was it a pile of fur pelts beside a bonfire. No, he was fully dressed, lying on silk sheets the color of snow, in a dark room with no stars, with moonbeams shining on the floorboards.

The Night Court.

The River House.

Solstice.

“Fuck.”

* * *

What of the wolf, the fox asked the others; It is winter, and he is hungry, too. The animals shook their heads and replied: The wolf would eat us if he could, so why should we feed him twice?

* * *