#it's one very specific patch of nose shadow

[onigirim1a]

yuki in milano

back to the pencils

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You've had a crush on your best friend for years, but you're slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: nice to see ya again!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Thor makes himself as permanent as the layers of sediment. Whether you’re in the dirt or looking over the charts and maps, making notes or sorting through your findings, he appears. Knowing he’ll be there keeps you coming yourself. Despite the short nights and long drives, thinking of him finding an empty site deters you from a day off, even against Sam’s pleas. 

The night before was filled with similar chiding from your friend. Sam is as persistent as ever. He always has a new account of his antics with Bucky and never forgets to tell you to take a break. You can’t stop though. You know if you do, you’ll have to think about everything you’re denying. 

The time away has given you time to breathe but it’s suffocated you in new ways. Along with that weight on your chest that has a name, there’s another you can’t quite understand. The one that sees you spending your spare hours alone and your working hours longing for anything but. You’re desperate to get out but terrified of the very same. 

When he arrives that day, you’re ready to give up. The tension in the air is giving you a headache and the dampness makes your skin feel sticky. You just feel gross. 

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d brave the weather today,” he muses as Thunder hops around his feet. You don’t look up, in a mood as grim as the sky. “You’d do well to stay in tomorrow. Trust me.” 

He’s always right about the weather. It must be the familiarity and yet it’s almost eerie how accurate he is. You might take his advice. You don’t like being wet and you’re starting to go cross-eyed from the hours and hours of concentration. 

Thunder yipes as you use your gloves to brush away clumps of dirt. Thor’s footsteps mulch patches of grass that sparsely carpet the dirt. He hums as his shadows looms in your peripheral. 

“Yes, my darling, I believe you’ve found the perfect spot,” he praises. 

You look over curiously. What is he talking about? You only notice then that he has more than the tiny dog with him. He has a basket on his elbow and a blanket under his arm. You sit up and watch him place down the former and shake out the latter.  

He spreads the blanket over the dirt and Thunder jumps onto it, rolling around on the fabric, digging her nose into the patched quilt as she wiggles across it. You clap off your hands and watch him as he gets down to his knees and flips open one side of the basket. He lays out several containers and two thermos’; one is the very same he brought you tea in.  

“I thought you could use a nice lunch before the weather turns,” he stands and nears the fence, “summer doesn’t last long here. You may as well enjoy it.” 

“Lunch?” You utter. 

“Brunch?” He suggest coyly. “Surely you can take a break. You are only human, you need to eat.” 

“You...” you lean to see around him, “you brought me lunch?” 

“I know it isn’t the most elaborate picnic but I thought it might be a pleasant surprise. I must confess I’ve been rather bored these days,” he admits, “so?” 

“Thor, that’s so... sweet,” you frown, “but...” 

“Work, work, work. Surely they can’t expect you to work yourself to the bone, pardon the pun,” he insists, “it will only be a bit.” 

“Yes, but...” you leave the sentence to hang. You don’t have a good excuse. You don’t know. It just makes you nervous. It’s a whole lot of effort for just you.  

“Oh, I don’t mind if you would rather stay over there. Only mean more for, eh, Thunder?” He asks the canine tramping around the blanket. “More than happy to sit here and enjoy my jelly cookies and hot coffee. 

“Coffee?” Your brows raise. 

“Freshly brewed. Promise, There’s nothing pickled. Though I don’t mind a nice herring,” he grins. 

Thunder bounces over and barks at you. She stands on her hind legs as she paws at the barrier between you. Now, how can you deny her? 

You stand and shed your gloves. You carry them over to the table beneath the tent and grab a wet wipe from the back. You come back under the open sky as you wipe your hands. 

“Sorry about all the dirt,” you scoff as you cross the dirt. 

“I don’t mind,” he assures you. He pulls apart the panels of the fence to let you through. It isn’t something you could ever forget but you can’t help but be stricken again by his sheer size. 

You bend to pet Thunder as she gets between your feet. She licks your fingers and you giggle. She’s cute. 

“Go on, pick her up,” Thor goads, “she loves it.” 

You scoop up the dog and stand. She squirms as she wags her tail incessantly. She swipes your chin with her tongue and you scrunch up your face. You carry her to the blanket and look over the spread. A leafy salad, pasta salad, sandwiches, cookies... There’s so much. Your protein bars and peanut butter and jelly can’t compare. 

“Oh gosh, this... a lot.” 

“Is it? Isn’t too much. We’re friends, yes?” 

“Friends?” You face him as you pet Thunder’s soft head. 

“Perhaps it is rather one-sided. You are obligated to be here, I just sort of haunt this place,” he chuckles. 

“No, no, friends,” you smile, “that sounds about right.” 

You turn away and lower yourself onto the blanket, sure to keep your boots off of it, as you hide your face. There’s a tinge of disappointment. You hear a far off echo in your head. How many times did Steve say the same; we’re friends, just friends, you’re such a good friend. Well, that’s all this is. No need to be so sensitive. 

“Do you ever take time off?” He asks as he gets to his knees. 

You look at him as you put Thunder down. He barely keeps her from chomping down on a rye crust. He lifts her easily and she kicks her legs. 

“Eh, you beast,” he points a finger at her snout, “be good.” 

He sets her back on her paws and she obeys. He tells her to sit and she does so. Her eyes continue to hungrily rove over the food. How can he resist them? 

“Like you said, the weather won’t last. Should get done what I can before the ground gets cold.” 

“Ah, yes, that is a concern,” he tuts, “how would you deal with that?” 

“Heat lamps, tiger torch... jackhammer if I really need but I’d have to put in a request for that...” you hadn’t thought too much into the inevitability of winter.  

“Ah, that’s...” he smirks, “I’m sorry but the idea of you with a jackhammer,” he snorts. 

“Hey,” you pout. 

“It isn’t to be mean but... you’re so gentle. When you dig, you’re so delicate about it.” 

“Am I?” You wonder. 

“Mm, is it a bit weird to say so?” He wonders aloud. “Yes, you are very precise, very cautious.” He takes out a set of plates and offers you one, “please, help yourself.” 

“It must be boring watching. Really, I’m the one digging and it gets dull,” you accept and pluck out one of the sandwiches. Salmon, you think. 

“You make it interesting,” he muses. “You talk to the bones.” 

“I talk to the bones?” You repeat, “what?” 

“Yes, I suppose you’re not aware of it. But your lips move when you’re focused. As if you’re chatting up the dirt,” he chuckles, “sometimes a few words do slip out.” 

“They do?” You blanch before you can help yourself to the salad. 

“You don’t say much. Usually something about the dishes, I’m not too sure.” 

“You never mentioned,” you look away shyly. 

“It’s... cute,” he shrugs. 

“You mean crazy,” you shake your head. 

“I say what I mean,” he counters. “No use in not. We can’t be happy if we’re not honest, not least of all with ourselves.” 

You’re quiet as you turn your attention to your plate. His words feel sharp despite his placid tone. You know it’s only because they’re true, especially for you. If you’d just accepted everything sooner, if you hadn’t been so dumb, if you hadn’t been so emotional, it would never have gotten so bad. No, if you’d just been honest. 

“I hope... I hope that didn’t come off wrong,” he says. 

“No, no, I’m... this all looks so good and I’m starving,” you assure him as you sit back with your plate. “Thank you again. This is... great.” 

“Well, I was thinking, you must miss your friends. I might be a paltry substitute but I thought i might fill that gap, even just for an hour.” 

“It’s really...” your eyes tingle but you push away the tinge of sadness, “it’s really nice.” 

“So tell me,” he scoops up salad onto his plate, “tell me about home.” 

“I...” you begin, surprised by the prompt. “It’s just home. New York. It’s busy and loud. Not like here.” 

“No, not that. Your friends. I want to know all about them. If I’m ever going to come up standards, I’ve got to know the competition.” 

You laugh. He speaks as if he needs to impress you. It’s nice to be somewhere where no one knows you’re not that special. You take a bite of the sandwich and chew, thinking out your question.  

You swallow, “well, my friend Sam, he calls every night to bitch at me. He’s great. Supportive but pushy. He likes to terrorise Bucky. He’s the strong and silent type, you know? Grumpy to boot but they’re... they’re awesome.” You smile without thinking, “before I left, they took me to this cocktail bar...” you blow out between your lips and roll your eyes, “real girly stuff.” 

“Ooh, cocktails. I’ve been known to indulge. I love finding new recipes.” 

“Really?” 

“Oh, yes, I love the sweet ones. I’ve only just perfected my blueberry basil concoction. I’m afraid I can’t share the secret ingredient unfortunately.” 

“Blueberry?” You ponder the flavour, “sounds yummy.” 

“Perhaps one day you can try it,” he suggest. 

“Maybe,” you say evasively. “Anyway, yeah, Sam and Bucky are... characters.” 

“They sound like it. How’d you meet?” 

“Oh, it’s boring. What about you?” 

“It’s not my turn,” he deflects, “tell me.” 

You don’t know why he cares. It’s as confounding as everything else about him. You still don’t get why he’s here watching you sit in the dirt. It sounds as grueling as watching a golfing tournament, in your opinion. Yet here he is, a man who looks like that, staring at you in your mud-stained khakis. 

“College. We met through a mutual friend,” you explain vaguely. 

“Ah, so you’ve been friends for some time. Yes, I see, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” he hums thoughtfully as he toys with the braid that hangs loose by his face, the rest of his hair twisted back as always. 

“Steve,” you say without thinking, your eyes drifting off into the distance, “he was my best friend. We met in art history. We spent almost every day together. Studying, whatever. He was more of a partier than me but... fifteen years, more than, and we saw each other...” You choke on your words and scoff darkly, “sorry, that’s... I’m homesick, I think.” 

You bat away the glaze in your eyes and focus on your food. You take a few bites as he sits quietly. Thunder stands up cautiously and crosses the blanket. She settles against your leg, leaning her head on your thigh. It’s comforting. 

“Yes, I think I would be very homesick as well. I lived in the city for a while but mother and father, they need me. And I love this mountain. It’s home. There was nothing in Oslo for me. I can work from here.” 

“Work? What exactly do you do?” You ask, happy to divert from your own painful past. “Oo, are you like a farmer? Or a shepherd. There must be sheep up here or something.” 

He laughs, “there are some sheep, yes, but those are protected by the government. We’ve not much of a choice where they settle. No, I’m not so savvy as all that.” 

“Hm, you... oh, what could do you here?” You look around, “on a mountain... oh, tours? Do you give tours?” 

He laughs, “it’s not a bad idea, but no. I’m a business owner.” 

“A business. You must sell fitness or something.” 

“Must I?” He narrows his eyes, “and what else do you assume about me?” 

“Oh, it’s only you’re so...” you cringe as you eke out the word, “big?” 

“Genetics,” he affirms, “not that but close, in a matter of looking at it. You recall that tea I brought you, with the cloudberry?” 

“Uh, yeah, it was sweet. Yummy.” 

“I’m happy you enjoyed it,” he smiles proudly, “I make superblends. All Nordic ingredients. There is a demand for wellness and organic products. I found the right niche and I’ve not done too badly.” 

“Must not if you can live all the way up here,” you remark. 

“Yes, but... it’s a reason I moved back. Business is a lonely venture. Now I’ve got it all figured out, I have my managers and my business plan, I break even, I realise how much I put to the side,” he mulls his sandwich and takes a glum bite. It’s the first time you’ve seen him anything but bright and beaming, “I feel like I’ve fallen behind. Like I’m playing catch up.” 

His words sink in and storm inside of you. You crunch on the crisp lettuce and gulp. You wipe your mouth with a napkin and clear your throat. 

“I know exactly what you mean,” you say breathily. 

“Do you? You’re out here, on an adventure all you’re own, how brave,” his voice is wistful and his gray blue eyes reminds you of the clouds above. 

“Yes, I know,” you say, “better than you. Trust me.” 

You smile, a bittersweet tug in your cheeks, and he stares back at you. Your eyes cling to each other and you feel as if the world is moving around you. He smiles and a glimmer of something unfurls in your chest. You make yourself look away. 

“Well,” you push the salad around your plate, “what about you? You must have friends, aside from the girl in the dirt.” 

He hums and scrapes up a bite of the pasta salad. He takes his time chewing before he answers. You scratch Thunder’s nose as she sniffs at your plate. 

“Yes, if you ever come to sample my cocktails, you might meet a few,” he coaxes, “I think you’d get along. Hogan and Vol, and Fandy. All good company. Sif’s not around so often when my brother’s around but he’s as fleeting as the sun.” He tuts, “I would call Loki a friend as well but he does scowl at the very thought.” 

“Loki?” 

“My brother of course,” he explains with , “yes, he is quite the dour one. He might get along with that Bucky.” 

[fairytales-and-folklore]

You Never Met A Monster You Couldn't Love

Fantastic Beasts » Newt x Leta

Title: You Never Met A Monster You Couldn't Love

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Fantastic Beasts (Masterlist)

Relationship: Newt Scamander x Leta Lestrange

AO3 Rating: Mature (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Torn between two brothers, Leta Lestrange ends up in the arms of her best friend Newt Scamander late one night, only to come away from the encounter with an unwavering clarity that her heart belongs solely to his older brother Theseus. She never expected that it would cause a rift that would end in her best friend's expulsion during their final year at Hogwarts.

The blunt finality of her words rips through him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, forever souring that seemingly wonderful night they had shared together. He does not want nor need her pity. Pity in the wake of a broken heart is just poison masquerading as a promise.

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The very last evening before the summer holidays finds two seventeen year old sixth year students sneaking out of the castle past curfew to watch the sun dip down below the horizon over the vast canvas of the Black Lake. 

Two ruffled silk neckties, one cast in crisp shades of silver and emerald, the other in bold stripes of black and yellow, lay forgotten in the overgrown tufts of grass that scatter the rolling hills behind them. 

Their owners dwell just ahead, perfectly at ease in brash disregard of their school's golden rules as they settle against the lush verdant slope of the grassy hill, features silhouetted by the shadow of the setting sun. 

Leta reclines on her back, propped up on her elbows, fingertips digging into the earth amidst dew-soaked blades of grass, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she revels in the simple delight of warm sunlight dancing across her skin. 

Newt, on the other hand, who has never quite managed the task of staying still, sits cross-legged on a patch of uneven grass beside her, drumming a steady beat against his knees as he sways in perfect rhythm with the balmy breeze, eyes alight with wonder, a goofy grin splayed across his face as he watches the giant squid splash and twirl in the middle of the massive lake.

Leta can't help the full-blown smile that blooms at the sight of him, sunlight no doubt adding to the crowded collection of freckles that dapple the bridge of his nose and the sharp curves of his cheekbones, hair the color of cinnamon and honey, as adorably windswept as it always is, lit up like a wildfire in the glow of the setting sun.

For a moment, Leta simply stares at him, transfixed by the pure, unadulterated awe and admiration etched into his every feature, by his genuine loving nature for every creature that has ever had the good fortune to cross his path.

Without warning, a bittersweet pang of longing erupts in her chest, and Leta finds herself desperately wishing that someone would look at her like that, that someone would love her just as passionately and as unconditionally as Newt loves his creatures. 

A very specific someone, to be exact. Someone she's managed to convince herself, after all the years she's known him, after all the time she's spent in his company at his family's home every Christmas, Easter, and summer holiday, would never return her affections, far too caught up in his life outside these castle walls.

Before she can bury these unwelcome emotions back down, rearranging her features into the carefully crafted, well-worn mask of pride and indifference she's learned to wear for years, Newt's eyes lock onto hers, and she can tell, by the subtle shift in his expression, by the searching concern and fierce protectiveness set into the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, that he's seen all he needs to, that she's been caught.

It's funny, Leta muses. From the very first moment she'd met him, Newt had this nervous habit of never quite being able to look anyone in the eye. Normally, Leta would delight in the fact that she is the rare exception to this rule, because it means that he feels safe around her, because it means that he trusts her, because it means that she is special. But in this moment, Leta feels she would do anything to escape his penetrating gaze, to pretend that nothing had happened, that she hadn't let a single detail about her damnable feelings escape.

Although…it's strange, the way he looks at her just now, with equal parts adoration, compassion, curiosity, and hopefulness, overwhelming in just how raw and honest it is, in how lovely it is, in how he manages to pour so much affection into one simple stare. She finds it difficult to look away from him, mesmerized by the warmth of the setting sun mirrored in his eyes, hues of gold and peach and grapefruit dancing across his irises like infinitesimal starbursts kissing the surface of the sea.

She allows herself the intoxicating impossibility to wonder if, perhaps, everything she's ever wanted, everything she's ever craved, nothing more or less than the deepest and most desperate desire of her heart, has been here all along…only, not in the way she'd been expecting. 

In this moment, Newt looks at her like she's a work of art, like she's Christmas come early, like she's the most beautiful creature he has ever seen, and the weight of what that might possibly mean overwhelms and consumes her.

Convinced for the longest time that her best friend's not-so-subtle glances, rosy cheeks, and nervous laughter were nothing more than mere puppy love, Leta starts to wonder whether it's actually more than just a silly schoolboy crush, whether Newt's alleged feelings for her run deeper than he's lead on. 

She wishes, oh how she wishes that she could return feelings like that for the boy she's always thought of as a brother, because if anyone deserves to be loved in the same way that Leta has always desired for herself, it's Newt. Sweet, wonderful Newt. Her best friend of nearly six years. The one man who's never led her astray. 

But maybe, she thinks, maybe she could try.

• • •

Leta doesn't quite know what possesses her to do it.

Perhaps it's out of sheer curiosity, to see what it might be like to be with someone so kindhearted and genuine, a striking contrast to all the silver-tongued, cocksure serpents she'd ever taken to bed, egos tainted by a collection of casual lovers singing sweet lies disguised as moans and sighs that tricked them into believing they were gods between the sheets. Someone with a clean slate, untouched by a complicated personal history and preconceived notions of what a night of intimacy should be like.

But then, it occurs to her, that's all just baseless assumption. Perhaps Newt isn't actually as inexperienced as she's been led to believe. After all, it's not like the two of them have ever broached the subject before. On the contrary, they've always carefully avoided it. For all Leta knows, Newt could very well have invited any number of Hufflepuff girls (or boys, for that matter) to his bedroom in all the time she's known him. If Newt's four-poster bed was big and cozy enough to support the pair of them sitting shoulder to shoulder, huddled over stacks of dusty, leather-bound books on all manner of dangerous magical creatures snuck from out of the Restricted Section, then surely, it was fit for…other activities.

An odd, unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling coils the pit of her stomach at the thought of Newt, naked and writhing, with some vague silhouette of another woman. She's startled to realize that this newfound feeling might very well be jealousy. Jealousy over some imaginary, likely nonexistent person who had managed to stake claim on Newt without her knowledge. (She won't even allow herself to think the words before I got to.)

Perhaps it's a test, though whether it's to figure out her complicated feelings for her best friend, or to solidify her unrivaled affection for his older brother, Leta isn't entirely certain. She's conflicted, torn between what she's always wanted and what could potentially be good for her. 

What's more, it's impossible to make up her mind between the pair of them when everything is so uncertain, when all she has to go off of are inferences and assumptions. Because, in truth, Leta simply does not know the depth of either Scamander brothers' feelings for her. After all, it's not as though Newt would ever work up the nerve to confess his affections for her aloud, and Theseus…well, it was only a kiss, just that one time, and Leta hadn't seen him again since. A lot could change in six months' time.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Leta manages to convince herself that someone as pure of heart as Newt couldn't possibly fall in love with someone like her. That his feelings for her, if they even exist at all, are merely the product of rogue hormones and the inevitable bond that growing up together in such close proximity brings. 

If he does have any kind of romantic intentions toward her…well then, Leta reasons, it's likely nothing more than a passing fancy or piqued curiosity. And maybe, if she indulges him, just this once, gives him a taste of what it's like, it would be enough to get this fantasy out of his system for good, and then everything could finally go back to normal between them.

Or perhaps it's because, in a moment of sheer desperation, born out of a fear of potentially missing out on what-ifs and what-could-have-beens somewhere down the line, out of a desire to simply take what she can get, to secure something good while she still has the chance, Leta tells herself that she could learn to love him, over time, in the same way she's always loved his brother. 

It's not exactly settling in the worst sense of the word if the person you're settling for is indisputably wonderful, is it?

And is it truly settling, when you're not entirely certain how you even feel about the person? What if the love that she feels for Newt really is the romantic sort, but she just doesn't know it yet? What if it's simply been lying dormant, all this time, buried beneath the surface of years of seemingly platonic companionship, waiting to be sparked into life by some pivotal moment? Perhaps, if something were to happen between them, something amorous in nature, and it felt right, Leta would finally know for sure.

Or maybe, it all just boils down to the primal ache of loneliness, and the girl who had spent her entire life shrouded in the shame her family name elicits in impolite conversation, who had never gotten anything but contempt and revulsion wrapped in cruel whispers traded by classmates and passersby, who had never felt genuine affection from her family, from insincere sweethearts and fleeting affairs, from anyone other than her best and only friend, simply wants to feel wanted, only if for one night.

She never saw the harm in it. After all, she had never really thought of sex as anything special, just an act of sharing physical pleasure, and nothing more. Determined not to let the abominable manner in which she had been conceived fuel any kind of fear or negative association to the act itself, Leta had sought to take control of her own sexuality, to make certain that equal pleasure and perpetual, enthusiastic consent was absolute on both sides, and ultimately, to never allow herself to develop any kind of emotional attachment to anyone she engaged with, convinced as she was that no one could ever truly love her the way she so desperately wished she could be loved.

It had been easy, because up until this point, no one had ever meant enough, been special enough, to break through the well-constructed walls she'd built to guard her heart. It wasn't until she had witnessed, first hand, the kind of emotional impact that such an act could have upon a person, that she fully understood and embraced it. Not until she saw the effect it had had on Newt. Not until she experienced the effect it could have on her. Not until Theseus.

How could she know, in that moment, that she would spend the better part of a decade looking back on that fateful night, running the same scenario over and over again on an endless loop in the back of her mind, mulling over a series of different reasons and excuses as to why she chose to pursue it? How could she possibly know that this one spur-of-the-moment decision would serve as a catalyst for a series of events that would irrevocably change their lives forever, fracturing the only friendship she had ever known?

In spite of all her musing, Leta truly does not know what actually inspires it in the end, (perhaps it's everything, perhaps it's nothing) but before she even realizes the full extent of why she's doing what she's doing, she's taking Newt by the hand and leading him back into the castle, through a series of winding corridors, up spiral staircase after spiral staircase, until they're standing in front of the Room of Requirement, a sea of stars bursting across the midnight blue sky, captured like a masterpiece on the canvas of the stained glass windows on either side of the doorframe, bathing the corridor in a silver glow.

Newt eyes her quizzically, lips poised on the edge of a thousand different questions, but Leta merely offers him a covert smile, before pushing open the massive oak doors. Only when Newt sees the makeshift bedroom, lit by a series of floating candles and covered in lavish silks, rose petals in valentine hues scattered across the plush merlot carpet leading up to the king-sized canopy in the center of the room, does he truly understand Leta's intentions. 

His heart somersaults into his throat, equal parts thunderstruck and thrilled. He's stunned to silence at the sight of her, eyeing him cautiously in the flickering flame of the candlelight, hardly daring to believe that this isn't all just another one of his private fantasies.

With a jolt, he realizes that she's waiting for his confirmation, for his consent. The last thing he wants her to assume is that he isn't interested, and so, with much difficulty, he summons the courage to ask her if she's absolutely certain she wants to do this with him, stumbling over a poorly rehearsed chorus of how brilliant and beautiful she is, how much she means to him. 

Leta visibly relaxes, offering him an encouraging smile as she guides him toward the bed, undressing them both in quick succession. He follows in her lead, allowing her complete control, never taking his eyes off of her as she wraps her arms around his bare shoulders, settling between his thighs with more grace and finesse than he could ever hope to possess. She's like fire and silk, and he's amazed by her every move.

• • •

Hard as she tries to focus her attention on the man before her, it's his brother's face she sees every time she closes her eyes. When Leta kisses Newt, all she can think about is the one and only time she'd ever kissed Theseus. But really, it should come as no surprise that these thoughts would sink their teeth in at this late hour, as she'd spent so much of the past few months replaying that magnificent moment in her mind.

Last Christmas Eve, after everyone else had gone to bed, Leta had snuck out of her room to find Theseus nursing a mug of cocoa by the fire. His smile had been like pure sunlight as he stared up at her, surprised but not at all displeased to see her. 

He'd conjured her a mug of her own and coaxed another plushy armchair to sidle up right beside his own, spending the night regaling her with tales of honor, danger, and adventure fighting alongside his fellow Aurors, reminiscing about their favorite classes and hideaways across the expansive map of the castle grounds, laughing as he listened with rapt attention to all of Leta's stories about the kind of mayhem and mischief she and Newt got up to after hours back at school.

As sunrise spilled over the tops of the snow-capped trees, Theseus had offered to walk her back to the guest bedroom that had long since become hers, but had paused, seemingly frozen, underneath a sprig of mistletoe. The two of them stared up at the bow-wrapped bouquet of holiday greenery with mirrored looks of amused curiosity, quite certain that it had not been there a moment before. And then, as if on instinct, in the same exact sliver of a second, their eyes had locked onto one another's, lips curving at the corners into a pair of playful smiles.

She'd burned every detail of that moment into the back of her mind, not knowing when or if she'd ever get the chance to kiss him again, not knowing if he was already promised to someone else, or if this was just a one-time whim and he'd simply gotten caught up in the moment. 

Whatever it did or didn't lead to, Leta was determined to revel in it; the feeling of his hands in her hair, the way he'd pulled her closer, flush against his chest, the way a soft groan had caught in the back of his throat as she'd trailed her teeth along the edge of his lower lip.

Now, when she pulls back and looks into Newt's bright blue eyes, all she can see, amidst the all-consuming awe and affection and reverence they hold, as he comes undone beneath her, is Theseus. 

In that moment, there is no more confusion, no question, no doubt in her mind which one of them her heart belongs to. There is no choice left but to tell him, to finally confess the only other secret she's been keeping locked away all these years.

Hours later, Leta lies awake, tangled in the sheets of the magically conjured king-sized canopy, watching the gentle rise and fall of Newt's chest as he sleeps beside her, blissfully unaware of the storm raging inside her mind. 

It's such a strange combination of emotions; giddy excitement at the realization that she's finally going to tell Theseus how she really feels about him, mulling over how exactly she's going to do it, what she's going to say, carefully crafting the perfect string of poetic words to write to him the following morning, versus overwhelming shame and guilt for allowing herself to get so carried away daydreaming of a potential future with the brother of the man she'd just slept with. 

Contrition churns like vile venom in the pit of her stomach, a miserable sob caught in the back of her throat. She'd never meant to hurt her dearest friend, never meant to get them both caught up in such a complicated web. She just needed to know, to sort out how she feels, once and for all. 

Her throat constricts with unshed tears, the deafening silence of the candlelit bedroom roaring like ocean waves inside her head. It's too much, too loud, too suffocating. She cannot stay here a moment longer. 

As carefully and quietly as she can manage without waking Newt, Leta slips from the silken sheets, wraps herself up in her school robes, vanishes what's left of her clothing back to her dormitory, and sweeps from the Room of Requirement, tears spilling down her cheeks as she hides from the caretaker among the shadows in the castle's corridors, and makes her way back down the long, winding stairwells to the Slytherin common room in the dungeons below.

• • •

Newt wakes to cheerful birdsong and sunlight dancing across his pale, freckled features, happier than he's ever felt in his entire life. 

He had never expected—

Though he had always hoped—

Not that he often thinks about his best friend in such an immodest manner, mind you. Honestly, the farthest he'd ever really gotten was imagining what it might be like to kiss her, to roam the hallways hand in hand as they made their way to class, doing everything they already did together, only without the crushing anxiety of trying to keep his affections for her a secret, lest he spill his heart out and effectively ruin their friendship if she didn't feel the same way.

But after last night—

Such a sacred, special act, shared between two people—

All of this history between them—

Surely, it must mean that she—

But are they…does this mean that they're together now?

Hope swells inside his heart like a burst of phoenix fire as he's swallowed in blissful memories of the prior evening, basking in the golden glow of a glorious future that had seemed like such a sweet impossibility only hours before. 

Heart in his throat, Newt rolls over to greet her, perhaps to press a gentle kiss to the top of her forehead, if she'll allow him the privilege, but finds the space beside him quite cold. His lips twitch, smile faltering as he stares unblinkingly at the expanse of ruffled sheets between his body and the edge of the bed, looking positively crestfallen.

No matter, he tells himself, though his attempted grin is admittedly less genuine than it had been a moment ago. She must've just gotten up early and gone back to her dormitory to pack. And the reason she hadn't woken him is because she was being courteous, didn't want to disturb his sleep. Of course, that would have to be it. It's not like it's the last he'll ever see of her before the end of term. He'll simply catch her at breakfast, or on the Hogwarts Express.

But when he finally makes his way up to the Great Hall from his dormitory, hastily packed trunk in tow, eyes scanning the length of the polished wooden tables that sit just beneath striking banners of silver and emerald for her house, and black and yellow for his, he cannot seem to find her. And when he boards the train back home, poking his head into every seemingly empty compartment, before finally setting up camp in their usual spot and waiting for her to join him, she's nowhere to be found.

No matter, Newt reassures himself as he plasters on a fake smile and clutches the stack of cauldron cakes and licorice wands he'd bought for Leta off the trolley. I'll see her at the end of summer when she comes to stay, just like she always does. Until then, we'll always have our letters.

So he writes to her, once a week, every week, just as he'd always done for the past five summers. All throughout the sweltering month of July, Newt tucks away under the shade of a lilac tree, watching his mother's herd of hippogriffs graze and scavenge in the backyard, quill tip poised over the space between Leta's name and an empty scroll of parchment. 

He isn't entirely certain what he's supposed to say to her, what the protocol is now that so much has changed between them in the span of a single evening. 

Is he meant to act casual, to carry on as though nothing happened? Surely that would wound her, make it seem as though he's embarrassed, or regretful, or disinterested in pursuing a courtship. 

But then, what if he says too much, and comes off as far too brazen or forward? This is a rather delicate matter, one that Newt is in no way prepared to handle. But he'd still like to try. In the end, he decides it's best to just be honest.

So he writes to her, and tells her how amazing she is, how lucky he feels to have met her, how freeing it is to finally be able to tell her how he truly feels about her, after all these years of keeping it secret, afraid that it would uproot the foundations of their friendship. 

He writes her these letters, no more than two or three pages at most, once a week, every week, for a little over a month. Rolls them up tightly. Presses them closed with a golden wax seal. Alternates between sending them off with his mother's, father's, brother's, and his own owl, just in case there's a hitch in delivery.

He never hears back from her. Not once, all month long.

• • •

Theseus, on the other hand, has apparently been writing back and forth with Leta rapid-fire all summer. 

Newt knows this, not because Theseus had confided in him, let alone bothered to reassure him of her well-being any of the countless nights he'd spent running track lines into the carpeting as he paced the living room floor, raking his fingers through his hair as he worried over whether or not Leta was in some kind of danger and that's why she hadn't responded to any of his letters.

No, Newt only discovers this delightful little nugget of information because he has the extreme misfortune to happen upon Theseus's owl one fateful day in early August as she's delivering his morning mail. 

Tucked among the Daily Prophet and a stack of commendations is a little emerald green envelope with a glittering silver wax seal and Leta's signature cursive scrawl stamped across its center. 

He does not dare open it. He does not pry. He does not say a single word to Theseus about having glimpsed it. But he does, most assuredly, stop writing to Leta.

Less than a fortnight from the start of term for their seventh and final year, Newt receives a little green envelope of his own. Inside is a letter, containing little more than a brief, vague paragraph informing him that she's been incredibly busy these past few weeks, and she's about to embark on a tour of Paris for the last week of the summer holidays, so she won't be able to come and stay with him this time. 

She ends her letter with her name, and a simple hope you are well. Nothing about receiving any of his letters for the past month, no reassurance that she's safe and sound, no apologies for leaving him worried sick about her.

The next day, Theseus conveniently lets slip that he'll be away on a business trip to France for a couple of days as he kisses their mother goodbye. He gives Newt little more than a cursory nod and a clap on the shoulder before he twists on the spot and vanishes from sight.

• • •

She knows it's absolutely horrible of her, but Leta just can't bring herself to respond to any of Newt's letters. Her spur of the moment decision had changed so much between them, more than she'd ever thought possible, and she's at a complete loss for how to even begin to go about repairing the damage it's caused. 

The worst part about all of this is how unnervingly kind all of Newt's letters are, genuine affection dripping from every single word, laced with sweet sincerities and dulcet promises that tear her heart to pieces every time she reads them. It's all she's ever wanted, sung from the wrong man's lips.

Countless times, she thinks about writing back and simply telling him the truth, losing sleep as she agonizes over the perfect string of words that could let him down gently, and still allow her to preserve their treasured friendship. But, skilled as she is in wit and wordplay, there simply isn't a pleasant way to break someone's heart, no magic cure-all to the woes of such a delicate, complicated situation. 

The guilt of it consumes her, threatens to destroy her. Frozen with fear like a river in winter, Leta finds it impossible to craft a reply, neither to lie to him, nor to tell him the truth. And so, determined to delay the inevitable, to prolong having to hurt her dearest friend, Leta simply says nothing. Lets her silence speak volumes. Lets it linger. Lets it fester. Sets fire to their friendship and watches, with all the power in the world to douse it, as it burns to the ground.

As a happy distraction, Leta throws herself deeper into her correspondence with Theseus, joyous over the fact that he had so enthusiastically returned her affections in kind. Terrified that the truth would turn his favor ill, she keeps the secret of that fateful night with Newt from Theseus, never daring to believe that when it all finally came to light, he would be nothing short of compassionate and understanding, promising her that this does not sour how he feels about her, that whatever happened before the two of them got together is none of his business, and that his only concern lies in seeing his loved ones hurting.

When she finally does write to Newt, upon his elder brother's insistence that, if she's not yet ready to break the news that they're together, she should at least assure her dear friend that she's alive and well, she's careful to keep it short and simple, worded in such a way so as not to commit herself to anything she won't be able to follow through on, so as not to lie and promise him anything she can't ever give, dressing the poison up in pretty ribbons.

Deep down, in spite of her happy pretense, Leta knows that this will all come out eventually, that it will be devastating and ugly when it does. For now, she simply wants to enjoy the future that she and Theseus are building together, as wholly as she possibly can, before it all comes crashing down around her. 

After all, how exactly does one administer the poison that breaks such a kind and gentle heart? Is it best to sip it slowly, or drink it down in one?

• • •

None the wiser of their one-night dalliance, Theseus writes to Leta late one afternoon on the eve of August, and urges her to contact Newt. He's grown weary of watching his little brother fret over the state of his friend's well-being these past few weeks, and although they may have their differences, Theseus wants only the best for him. 

He hasn't got a clue what's caused all this bad blood between them, what Newt could have possibly said or done to offend Leta so, but he knows it's not his place to pry, nor to meddle in the long-standing friendship between his girlfriend and his little brother, only to gently nudge them in the right direction.

He considers simply reassuring Newt himself, but doing so would mean revealing that he and Leta are in correspondence, which he fears would inevitably unravel the truth of their brand new courtship, and while Theseus would have no qualms at all about declaring his devotion to this magnificent woman to the whole of the wizarding world (and perhaps even the muggle world) he knows it is not up to him to divulge such information. That control remains entirely in Leta's grasp, and if she wants her best friend to know that she is seeing his older brother, then that is her news to share.

Additionally, (and for this, he feels a small surge of guilt,) Theseus has an inkling that Newt may in fact be sweet on Leta, and he would hate to wound his brother's heart, or come across as though he is bragging, or stealing away his little brother's best friend. Not to imply, of course, that Leta is a prize to be won, or an object to be stolen, merely an acknowledgment that Newt established a kinship with Leta first, and Theseus does not wish to trespass or disrespect. 

Again, he reminds himself, it is not his place to say anything. It is Leta's choice, and therefore, her news to disseminate at her will. In the meantime, he will do his utmost to avoid bringing attention to his upcoming Parisian holiday plans with Leta, lest Newt become suspicious.

• • •

The Hogwarts Express glides like a scarlet serpent through a sea of pine trees and floral undergrowth as summer dies on the lips of autumn's first breath, and seventh years begin their journey back to the hideaway castle in the heart of Scotland for their final term. 

Coasting on the high of her recent Parisian getaway, Leta boards the train with a cheerful skip in her step, luggage packed with stacks of love letters and French chocolates, her heart fuller than it's ever been. 

Mind made up to act as though everything between them is perfectly fine, as though it's possible to willfully ignore all of her problems into nonexistence, Leta searches for Newt in every empty compartment, excited to tell him about all of the exotic creatures she'd come across on her holiday, though she can't seem to find him anywhere. 

She settles into the very last section at the end of the train, and orders two bottles of pumpkin juice and a mountain of chocolate frogs from the trolley, just in case Newt decides to show up and join her. Disheartened, Leta spends the entirety of the train ride alone.

She searches the crowd of students and thestral-drawn carriages as she wanders onto the platform in Hogsmeade Station, scans the four long tables in the Great Hall at the Start-of-Term Feast, scours all of his usual hiding places in between shadow-swathed corridors and secret passageways on her way down to her common room, even going so far as to ask his fellow housemates if anyone has seen him, but Newt is nowhere to be found. 

Just when she starts to worry that Newt has not returned to Hogwarts for their final year, Leta spots a familiar mop of cinnamon and honey hued hair, sitting at the front of the classroom at her old desk from the previous year, quill held aloft over a half-filled scroll of notes. 

She makes a concentrated effort to wave to him as she passes him by, but he appears to not see her, eyes set straight ahead, boring holes into the chalkboard with a distracted, despondent expression on his face.

She chooses a desk at the very back of the classroom, stacks all of her books to the left, and rips a piece of parchment off the end of one of her scrolls, scribbling a quick note: Have you seen Prendergast's ridiculous new haircut? before transfiguring it into a miniature raven and sending it off in the direction of Newt's desk. 

A sharp paper beak pokes him in the back of the head, and his fingers clench momentarily around his quill, shoulders tensing as he flicks away the offending note and lets it fall to the floor beside him. After about a minute, he visibly relaxes, and resumes his quiet contemplation. 

Figuring he's probably just exhausted from a long first day of grueling N.E.W.T. level courses, Leta shrugs it off, and resolves to try again at the end of class.

She waits until everyone, professor included, has left the room, before making her way over to him, determined to catch him before he walks out the door and becomes lost to the bustling crowd. 

He doesn't see her at first, arms laden as they are with a towering stack of books on all manner of misunderstood creatures littered throughout wizarding history, as well as a fair few detailing the ins and outs of magical law enforcement, intending to find loopholes so that he may travel the world and rescue as many as he can from extinction, extermination, and experimentation.

Startled by the sound of her voice as she walks up behind him, taps him on the shoulder, and chimes out a cheerful hello!, Newt jumps, sending his mountain of leather-bound books tumbling from out of his arms and scattering all across the classroom floor.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to frighten you," Leta apologizes as she swoops down to help him.

"No matter," Newt mumbles, eyes glued to the ground as he fretfully shoves book after book into his already overcrowded school bag.

Leta rises, dusting off her hands on the hem of her robes and glancing around for something else to preoccupy the awkward moment, searching for some other way she can possibly be helpful.

"Oh! You've forgotten to close your desk," she says, eyes settling on the open lid. The inside compartment is covered in all of its usual engravings, plus one new addition that she's almost certain hadn't been there the last time it'd been hers. If she can just get close enough, she'll be able to read what it says. 

"Here, I'll just—"

"No!" Newt shouts in sudden alarm, school bag thudding to the floor as he springs to his feet and throws his arms into the air in a desperate attempt to shield the desk from view. But he's too late. Judging by the look Leta is giving him, the damage has already been done.

"Oh, Newt," she sighs softly, and the sheer sympathy that laces her voice is enough to make Newt recoil in humiliation. Scarlet paints his pulse points as he hastily splays his palms across the curious carving, but Leta stops him, placing one of her hands on top of his, gently nudging him aside. 

For a moment, she's silent, fingertips tracing the outline of the simple inscription, transfixed by the sight of their initials, forever emblazoned in oak.

"When did you—" she asks.

"Last day of term, sixth year," Newt admits around a heavy sigh. 

Leta's eyes flicker up toward his, her expression sharp. 

"The night we…I mean to say, just a few hours before you and I…erm…" he trails off, his blush growing impossibly deeper. 

Leta's smile drops, his words like daggers to her heart, barbed along the edges by the genuine gentleness of his tone, by the rosy tinge that stains his cheekbones, prickling reminders of the mess she's made. With a pang, Leta realizes that the moment she's been dreading all summer long has finally arrived.

"Newt," she says softly, his name falling from her lips in an agonized moan. "That night…it was…"

Newt says, "wonderful" at the very same moment that Leta says, "a mistake," effectively snuffing out the last remaining ember of hope he'd been clinging to.

"Oh," he says simply. "Alright, then."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, eyes crinkled at the corners, lips curved into a rueful frown. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Newt cuts her off with a curt reply, his voice oddly calm and detached as he stares unblinkingly at the cracks and grooves etched in the weathered classroom floor. "My mistake for assuming it would lead to anything more than…what it was."

"Newt, please listen to me. I never—" Leta tries again.

"And just so we're clear, I didn't necessarily intend for the carving to be a romantic thing," Newt interrupts with renewed gusto, determined to patch up the sinking ship before he's utterly drowning in her pity. "I just wanted to surprise you with something nice. Something to remind you, whenever you're in doubt, that you're not…that you've always got…that it's us against the world, Leta. But then we…that night…and I assumed it meant that you…that we were…so I wrote you all of those letters, and I—"

"I didn't know," Leta says around a strangled cry. "Everything you wrote to me this summer…all of those beautiful, heartfelt words, I…I had no idea you felt that way. I never meant to lead you on. I just thought…to be perfectly honest, I don't know what I was thinking that night. I was confused. I didn't know what I wanted."

I didn't know who I wanted, the unspoken words tangle in the air between them like wisps of smoke. Newt pauses for a moment, considering her.

"So you did get my letters, then," he says, his lips pressed into a hard, thin line.

Leta closes her eyes around a pained expression, one rogue tear slipping down the side of her cheek.

Soften the blow, she muses. You've administered the poison, now give him the slow-acting antidote.

"Newt," she says, eyes brimming with tears as she fixes him with an affectionate smile. "You are one of the most amazing, wonderful, kindhearted people I have ever met. You deserve to be loved as deeply and unconditionally as you love all of your creatures. And I wish…I wish that I could be that person for you, but I just…"

Leta's voice falters as she swallows back an agonized sob, hastening to brush back a fresh wave of tears just before they threaten to fall.

"All these years, you've been like a brother to me," she says, and the sheer sincerity of her words is like a casual twist of the knife to Newt's bleeding heart. "And in that sense, I'll always love—"

"Don't," he says, his voice trembling with equal parts heartache and tranquil ire, like the steady calm before an ocean storm. "Please don't do that."

The blunt finality of her words rips through him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, forever souring that seemingly wonderful night they had shared together. 

He does not want nor need her pity. Pity in the wake of a broken heart is just poison masquerading as a promise.

Of course, the logical, forgiving part of his mind knows that it's wrong to resent her for this. Knows full well that Leta does not owe him a damn thing. That she never truly promised him anything. That this was all just a fantasy he'd let himself get carried away with, assuming her affections, inferring her intentions.

But the truth of it is that it simply did not mean the same thing to her as it did for him. She's not required to love him. He couldn't possibly expect her to. No one can help how they feel, after all, and he knows he simply has to accept and respect that.

All the same, he can't really help how he feels, either; his heart wounded, his pride stung. Much as he desires to uphold the ideals of his beloved house, logic and rationale for the sake of fairness do very little to ease the pain of rejection.

The only thing he really can begrudge her for, Newt reasons, is the fact that she never bothered to reply to him all summer, if only just to let him know that she was okay. Given her family's murky history, and Leta's estrangement from her father, it's a fair thing to worry about.

For a moment, he truly considers turning on his heel and sweeping from the room, giving her a dose of the silent treatment he'd received all summer. But there's no resolution to be found in the wake of blatant pettiness, and so, with much difficulty, Newt summons the courage to come right out and ask her, to resolve it once and for all.

"I just want to know one thing," he says, trying his damnedest to sound far more confident than he actually is. "Why didn't you write to me all summer? I was worried sick about you. Why did you only write to Theseus?"

This last query tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it, but the effect is admittedly satisfying. Leta's eyes widen in shock, a delicate blush creeping across the curves of her cheekbones as she grapples with what to say.

"How do you—" she gasps, looking positively scandalized. Out of habit, she goes on the defensive, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "How dare you. Have you been reading our private correspondence all this time?"

"Not at all," Newt says calmly, in direct defiance of the acrid anguish that churns in the pit of his stomach at her harsh accusations. "I only know because I recognized your handwriting on a collection of envelopes in passing all summer. All addressed to Theseus. All delivered by his owl. Scattered across the breakfast table in plain sight. I can assure you I never read a single word of the letters contained therein. You know I would never invade your privacy like that."

At least she has the decency to look embarrassed.

"Of course you wouldn't," she relents with a heavy sigh, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "I didn't mean to lose my temper. I just thought—"

"I know what you thought," Newt retorts, finding it hard to keep the venom out of his voice just now. He's hurt, he's trying to be kind about it, and yet still, she's lashing out at him. For all the cold malice and clever lacerations that have ever fallen from Leta's lips, she'd never expected to hear something so clipped and accusatory coming from sweet, docile Newt. It momentarily stuns her.

There isn't anything she can do to fix this, is there? 

Though they could try to move forward, to sweep it under the rug and pretend as though everything between them is perfectly normal, it would still always be there, brimming beneath the surface on a low simmer, filling the cracks in their foundation with seeds of doubt and duplicity. 

All that remains now is the very thing she should have afforded him from the start: absolute honesty, even if it salts the wound, even if it paints her as a villain in his eyes.

"I'm sorry I didn't write to you sooner," she says with a defeated sigh. "I know it's no excuse, but I just…I didn't know what to say."

"And how could anyone expect you to," Newt says softly, offering her a grimace disguised as a smile. "When your heart belongs to someone else?"

Leta's lips part in surprise. Though really, she shouldn't expect any less from the man who spends his entire life observing. Of course he'd figured it out.

"Has done for years now, hasn't it, Leta?" he asks.

She isn't entirely certain how long she stands there, simply staring at him, their only companion the distant chirrups of late afternoon birdsong and the idle chatter of students echoing through the corridors on the other side of the classroom, sunset bathing its walls in a rose gold glow as it sinks beneath the mountains.

After a moment, Leta simply nods, not trusting her voice to remain unaffected.

"My brother," he says. It's not a question. He's suspected it for quite some time now, though he never wanted to believe it.

Leta nods again, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes as she stares determinedly at the soft patch of gingerbread curls that obscure Newt's face, silently begging him to look up at her, though his is eyes remain resolutely fixed to the river of grooves and nicks across the hardwood floor.

"Well that's...congratulations, I suppose. I'm..." he trails off, choking on the words happy for you because he's not. Of course he's not. How could he be?

He refuses to look her in the eye, and it's that little detail that breaks Leta's heart the most, because it means that she's no longer someone that Newt feels safe around, no longer someone that Newt trusts.

He stays until he absolutely cannot bear it any longer, silence deafening in the wake of this not-so-unexpected revelation. He mumbles something unintelligible about needing to pay a visit to his bowtruckles, plasters a pained attempt at a smile across his face, gives her a small cursory nod, and bolts out the door with his school bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder, leaving Leta quite alone in the empty classroom.

He's expelled not long after, secluding himself in the depths of the Forbidden Forest well past curfew, preferring the company of its creatures to the lonely confines of the castle walls. Official records will say that it's because he got caught experimenting with dangerous magical creatures and endangering human life. But everyone always forgets to mention one crucial detail: the only life his reckless, carefree adventuring ever endangered was his own.

• • •

All of it flashes across her mind in vivid detail, fresh as the day it had happened, nearly thirteen years ago, as Leta stands in one of her old classrooms, fingertips gliding across the curves of two initials carved into the underside of her old school desk.

L + N

Her childhood best friend's very last gift to her, before everything between them had changed forever.

[aishangotome]

[Yi Yu] Temporary Parting in the Rain (雨中暂别)

Meeting Incidents

Incident 1:

When Yi Yu and I went to the mall to buy groceries, we happened to see that the toy section was having a sale.

Yi Yu excitedly pulled me over there. After looking around, he picked up a box of jigsaw puzzles from a corner.

"I want this one."

His eyes crinkled as he smiled at me.

"Shall we put it together when we get back?"

"Okay."

-

These days, whenever Yi Yu comes home and has some free time, he pulls me to work on that puzzle with him.

This puzzle has over a thousand pieces, and there are no sections or hints. Yi Yu and I sit side by side on the floor, carefully examining the scattered puzzle pieces.

"I think this piece should go here."

I reached for a puzzle piece, and my shoulder and arm inadvertently brushed against Yi Yu's body, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Mm, let's finish this bottom left corner first."

Yi Yu suggested, sitting even closer to me.

....

A month later, Yi Yu and I finally finished the puzzle.

The puzzle depicted a starry night sky over a wilderness, with scattered stars reflecting on a mountain river and a small wooden house, creating a sense of quiet beauty.

Yi Yu carefully framed the completed puzzle and hung it on the living room wall. While doing these things, he always had a faint, gentle smile on his face.

Incident 2:

This day, on the way home past the mall, I saw a tie clip at the counter of a jewelry store. The decorative gemstone on the tie clip was polished smooth and round, shimmering with a faint light that reminded me of Yi Yu's eyes.

However, this gemstone tie clip was a promotional gift designed by the jewelry brand, and to get it, one had to participate in a couples' event.

After returning home, I mentioned this to Yi Yu.

Unexpectedly, the competition was specifically designed by the organizers for couples. Throughout the entire event, Yi Yu and I had to hold hands to complete the tasks set by the organizers.

After the event ended, I returned to my room, the heat on my face still hadn't dissipated. I couldn't stop thinking about the scene when Yi Yu received the gemstone.

He cherished it as he put the tie clip on his tie, his lead-grey eyes carrying a gentle color reflected from the gemstone.

"Thank you, I like it very much."

Incident 3:

Recently, the weather turned cooler, and I accidentally caught a cold.

Yi Yu took me to the hospital to see a doctor, stayed with me all day, and then brought me home in the evening. Feeling weak all over from being sick, I sat in the passenger seat, clumsily trying to fasten my seatbelt, when suddenly a shadow fell over me...

-

Yi Yu leaned over, supporting himself on his arm beside me, and lowered his head to fasten my seatbelt. With a "click," the seatbelt was fastened, but he didn't move away... He leaned in very close, and his profile was right in front of my eyes.

So close that I could even see the pulse in his neck and the movement of his Adam's apple. I raised my hand and tugged lightly at his sleeve.

"Being this close, be careful not to catch my cold."

Yi Yu sat back in his seat, his fingers touching his nose.

"I won't, I'm healthy."

I couldn't help but slow my breathing and turn my gaze to the window.

Incident 4:

There's a cake shop near home whose cakes are so delicious that every time I eat with Yi Yu, I can't help but order a slice.

This day, while dining with Yi Yu, he suddenly pointed to the corner of his lips, gesturing to me.

"There's some cream on the corner of your mouth."

I was about to reach for a napkin to wipe it off.

"Don't move."

Yi Yu took a napkin, stood up, and reached out to me.

-

Today, he was wearing a black shirt with the top two buttons undone. As he leaned over, the slightly open collar slid down, revealing a patch of skin at his collarbone.

While I was in a daze, a touch like a dragonfly landing fell on my lips, and then it was gone in an instant, so fast it felt like my imagination.

"It's okay now, it's gone."

By the time I reacted, Yi Yu had already nonchalantly returned to his seat. It seemed he really was just helping me wipe the cream off the corner of my mouth.

Incident 5:

On the weekend, Yi Yu and I had nothing to do and didn't want to stay home, so I asked Yi Yu if he wanted to go for a walk in the park together.

There were many white doves in the park, and during their leisure time, many children would bring feed to feed them. I felt a little tempted, so I asked Yi Yu if he had brought the bread we baked for lunch. Yi Yu looked at me, took out the bread from his pocket, and smiled at me.

"I originally wanted to keep it all to myself."

"...We can go back and make more together."

"Alright."

He smiled and handed me the bread.

-

The bread in my hand was quickly gone. I was about to ask Yi Yu if there was any more when I saw a pigeon land on the palm of Yi Yu's hand.

The sunlight was boundless and warm, illuminating the soft feathers of the pigeon, making it look like a delicate artwork.

I was so engrossed in watching that I didn't expect Yi Yu to suddenly look up at me. His lead-grey eyes instantly captured my gaze.

When I finally gave in and turned my head away, I thought I heard him chuckle softly...

----

Card Story

To celebrate finally clearing my name and to thank Guo Xiang for his help, I asked Guo Xiang out for a meal, and he agreed.

However, because I later became entangled with matters concerning "Mr. Yi" and others, and he also took on a new case, we actually never found the opportunity.

It wasn't until Yi Yu had revealed his true identity to me, and I was about to clear all the false accusations, complete my mission, and leave this world, that we finally found a chance to eat together.

Guo Xiang chose the place, by the sea, which was closer to his current workplace.

During the meal, we talked about the hardships and efforts we had gone through to clear my name.

We also chatted about the case Guo Xiang was currently working on, and before we knew it, time had passed.

Sometime during our meal, it had started to rain. The pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the eaves and window frames blocked out other outside noises.

Guo Xiang: It's getting late. I have a meeting with a client at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Shall we call it a night for today and meet up again next time?

Me: Sure.

Although I still don't know when I'll return to this world next time.

Guo Xiang: Let me take you back.

Me: No need. It's not on your way either. I'll go back myself. You should go back and rest early so you'll be refreshed for your client meeting.

-

Guo Xiang and I walked out of the restaurant one after the other, and I saw two black cars parked on the boulevard overlooking the sea.

Then the car door opened, and Yi Yu looked up at me, then walked towards me.

A bodyguard in black hurried to his side and held up an umbrella for him.

Yi Yu walked up to me and put his arm around my shoulders.

Yi Yu: It's raining so heavily, why didn't you let me pick you up?

The rainy day was chilly. He was wearing a dark grey overcoat, and there was a hint of depth in his eyes that I didn't usually see.

Raindrops were blocked by the umbrella, falling beside us with a pitter-patter, and some also landed on his shoulder.

This kind of rainy night reminded me of the day he said goodbye to me on the Boreas.

At that time, he turned his head and looked at me. Both I and the rain were reflected in his grey eyes.

He reached out and gently stroked the ends of my hair.

Yi Yu: It's all wet.

He exerted force on his hand, pressing down on my shoulder, pulling me into his embrace.

Being held by him, I was extremely close to him and could smell the faint scent of rain.

Perhaps it was the smell of the weather, or perhaps it was his scent.

I looked up at him and met his eyes.

The same as when we said goodbye on the ship, but with a hint of entanglement that I couldn't quite understand?

Yi Yu: Let's go, let's go back.

I nodded. He took the umbrella from the bodyguard beside him, held it up, and walked with his arm around me towards the car.

Beneath the sound of the rain, the surroundings were quiet and empty. It felt as if the only world that could be sensed was the space under the umbrella.

Yi Yu walked forward with his arm around me. Through our clothes, I could feel the warmth radiating from the parts of our bodies that were touching.

His body enveloped me, holding up this small world under the umbrella.

We quickly got into the car.

I remembered that I hadn't said goodbye to Guo Xiang yet, so I rolled down the car window and waved at Guo Xiang, who was still standing at the restaurant entrance.

He stared in my direction, dumbfounded, and instinctively waved back at me.

He's probably wondering how Yi Yu and I suddenly have such a grand display.

But no matter. When I come back next time, if there's a chance, I'll explain it to him.

.

.

.

.

.

BtW Masterlist

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[crimeronan]

ive decided to draw the oc quartet because i love them and nova has proved immediately difficult to get down because balancing the facial expression of "neurotic covid puppy" and "in control of All light goddess" is Very Hard. but also very fun.

(bonus: if u have any definite details (scars, specific jewelry, etc.) for the ocs i should add, i would love to know!! no pressure, of course)

:O :O :O!!!!

please let me see when you're done.... i would Love.....

as for details!! okay actually this got long so let me preface by saying you can take or leave literally all of this. this is not an instructional guide or anything, it's just me infodumping. FJSJJD

nova is INDEED the toughest of the four because she is basically walking photoshop. i often end up making two picrews of her when i'm concepting, one glamoured and one unglamoured....

fully glamoured public appearance nova is like. platinum blonde bombshell who looks like she's in her mid-to-late twenties, uncannily blue eyes, sort of literally glowing from within

fully unglamoured nova with NO magic (very rare) is like. less glowing. hair is a more natural blonde. eyes are a more normal blue. looks her age (in her forties). lines and shadows around her eyes. prominent malar rash (butterfly-shaped patches across her cheeks and nose)

but she's usually a blend of these things. full glamour is for public speaking & no glamour is for being with devin in private. everything else is SO open to interpretation

also i've written her having rainbow watercolor sleeve tats, but haven't actually designed said sleeve tats. there's definitely butterflies and maybe also fish on them, though.

as for the others! they mainly look how they do in varying posts in my picrew tag, though some useful details:

ruby is a natural redhead but her box braids are usually rainbow or otherwise brightly colored

ruby wears glasses like. 60% of the time. aka when she's reading or doing job work. (she mostly can't be assed to have eyes in other situations.)

ruby likes loud patterns and silly earrings

sol wears hoop earrings but Never wears necklaces. she won't put jewelry around her throat

sol May use hand jewelry that doubles as EDS-style finger braces. haven't 100% settled on it one way or the other

devin has as many ear piercings as one can fit. also schrödinger's eyebrow piercing, ie: it exists, but only when i remember it does

devin usually puts on mid-aughts emo raccoon style eyeliner. and then calls it a day makeup-wise

devin's skin is COVERED in circular scars of varying sizes, from where plants have dug into her in the past. her face is mostly unscathed; arms and legs are Very Scathed.

yeah i Think those are the main details that don't always make it into picrews. but like i said, you can take and leave everything, there is no Wrong Way to draw any of the quartet (except maybe making ruby and devin white. which i presume was not on the table to begin with. FJSJDJ).

i am!!! kicking my feet!!!!

[gotwcird]

zahra (badly) explains their character's gender-affirming care!

in honour of the start of pride month i'll try to garble out the many thoughts i've had about my trans/non binary characters, specifically the ones who use gender affirming care! this is kind of a sequel post to this post where i explain some of my non-binary character's genders and expressions. consider this a kind of expansion of that, especially since i have more non-cis characters now!

eden kerr-morrow, he/him, trans man

eden's on injectable testosterone, taken once a week on his day off training. eden's been on t since he hit puberty around fourteen, and puberty blockers for about four years before that. he's been on many different doses since starting because he started transitioning from a young age, since about ten-ish. (but he was socially transitioning since he turned 8.) eden got top surgery at 17, because his dysphoria around his chest had always been a big hindrance to him, especially when it came to moving up in artistic gymnastics. funnily enough, his improvement in the sport was massive shortly after he returned to the gym after getting the surgery lol. he was very insecure about the top surgery scars too, which made him careful around who he went shirtless around and was very intricate about his scar care. he's a lot more carefree about being shirtless now, especially since the scars have healed almost completely, and usually they can pass as shadows. eden didn't have to change his name, which he's always grateful about. he usually doesn't pack, doesn't feel the need to, but it's fun to do sometimes. he does have a hefty t-dick though... that being said, the transitioning since young helped him be stealth for most of his young life. he came out as trans after the 2024 olympics where he was a specialist gymnast, and so he's much more open to being more experimental about his style and presentation, which is why he's happy with the pink hair and nose piercing now versus feeling like he has to be in a strict Masculine Presenting box before.

lou racal, they/them, non-binary

lou's been going by they/them since they were in their early 20s, when they were finally able to separate themself from their very conservative family in the philippines. while their natural lanky build lends to androgyny very well, they always were ping ponging around the idea of getting on estrogen, just because they generally like being a little more feminine. but eventually (once they feel even more confident in their gender after therapy and being in a committed relationship with sylvia ko), they'll start on low-dose estrogen through pills! likes the way it softens their features/body, and enjoys the slower transition of doing it through a low dose.

ripley song-o'brien, they/them, transmasc agender

ripley got top surgery a little bit into their mid 20s, not too long after realizing they were definitely more transmasculine over androgynous non-binary. their dad and stepmom helped finance half of their surgery too! they like their scars a lot, and show them off quite proudly, but also it's not like they had much on their chest to remove anyway lolol. depending on the verse, they're also on varying levels of testosterone, usually on the lower end, either through the patch or through skin gel. it doesn't give them much hair, because their dad too is naturally quite hairless, and they only have to shave off like some fuzz on their face once a week. it's why they're proud of their lil happy trail, which is probably the most obvious indicator of hair growth. they're quite happy with not having too obvious of changes, though, often joking that their gender is "pretty boy". they've kind of been on the genderqueer spectrum since they were a late teen though, always been more masculine even as a kid. a huge point of tension between them and their mother. long story short, shortly after high school graduation, they ran away to live with their dad's family who were much more accepting and they were given a lot more space to explore their identity and played around with pronouns until they liked to use they/them pretty exclusively by the time they got into college (though they don't mind being 'misgendered' with he or she).

toby astley, she/her, transfemme intersex demigirl

toby's been out as a trans girl since she was quite young, maybe since about 6-7 years old? she's had a lot of resources at her fingertips because even though her celebrity parents weren't great at raising her, they were very good at throwing money at her, so that gave her the space and therapy to move forward with her gender very early on. her parents having a trans girl as an adopted daughter was also a lot of good (and bad, depending on who's writing the article) press for them, but they were never dismissive of her in that regard so that's one area of her life she can never fault them for. she got on estrogen as young as possible, which helped her pass very well. when she was around 15-16 years old, she was having a lot of hormonal issues that were exacerbated by her hrt therapy so she was put off it for awhile while her doctors could figure out what was happening. one mri scan in, they discovered that she was, in fact, intersex. she has a fully functioning penis, which is why they never flagged anything before, but she also has a somewhat functioning uterus too, and the dosage of estrogen she was taking sent her uterus on overdrive. so once they adjusted her dosage, it was all good, though it also threw toby into a gender spiral once she dove into her 20s lol. she'd always been a lil more feminine looking which worked to her advantage as a transgirl, so after some introspection she settled quite happily in the demi-girl area, which she feels is a lot more in line with how she feels as someone trans but also intersex.

[clochanam]

would she trust your muse to look after her children for an evening? / leo ??????

send in " the important questions " and aisling will answer the following in reference to your muse!

would she trust your muse to look after her children for an evening?: yes, immediately yes! but i also think she does it a lot without giving any thought about it. like this is aisling. she always prioritizes and overthinks things when it comes to the kids. but leo not only happens to be having a child with her, he's also proven himself to be beyond capable in so many different ways. aisling absolutely trusts him to mind the kids, to the extent that she's a little surprised when people who don't know him so well are skeptical of it.

would she invite your muse to family dinner?: she absolutely would! and i already know stanley and richard love him like a son, and the squad and the kids are also thrilled whenever he visits. i will say that i think the family dinner invitations happen almost without realizing, like one night she's patching him up and one of the kids arrives home after being broken up with, so the first time they have a family dinner together is actually just eating pints of ice cream in the kitchen at 2AM with the first-aid kit tucked beneath the table. that having been said!! leo's name is always in the pot!

would she advise her children to turn to your muse for help in the event of an emergency?: without a shadow of a doubt, but she's also very clear about the specific kind of emergency, like not "i broke the chain on my bicycle and i need you to fix it", but "holy fuck holy fuck RUN!!!!!" levels of emergency. and then she's like. very clear on the terms of that help, like she doesn't want leo to be forced into any conflict, she just wants leo and the kids to be safe.

how would she respond to the company making a threat against your muse's life?: we've already seen her break a man's nose for taunting leo, so needless to say she's going to see red when they threaten his life. like i think she wants leo to have a life that the universe keeps denying him, and the company making this kind of threat is something that stops it again, so she's immediately on the attack about that. i think, as a result, the company probably know not to threaten leo?? but sometimes people forget! and aisling's plenty glad to remind them.

would she call your muse in the event of an emergency?: yes, and her emergency isn't quite as specific or catastrophic as the emergency she advises her kids to call him for. like leo's phone number is in her favorites on the phone bc she calls him for everything.

would she tell your muse about the company?: it takes a few months and only because she wants so badly for leo to have the kind of life he deserves, aka the kind of life nobody gets to have once they learn about the company. but she does tell him because it's become clear that he's not going anywhere, and more to the point, she doesn't WANT him to go anywhere. so it's important to her that he understands what's involved in being with her, so he doesn't end up leaving in a permanent way.

would she tell your muse about her past?: listen, leo might have a LOT of questions after the company reveal, but aisling takes a longer time to tell him about her past, and it's primarily because the company is like. an immediate threat, right? she tells him about them because she knows leo's equipped to handle a threat once he's well-informed about them. her past, on the other hand, isn't necessarily something that threatens him. so he probably won't find out about her past until they find out about the baby, at which point it's more about parental anxiety (bc aisling's kids came to her with the youngest being 8, babies are DIFFERENT!)

would she tell your muse about eoin?: she would! but the circumstances have to be just right, you know? like it's an emotional conversation, she's not gonna land it on him after dinner. it's probably something she opens up about after a near-miss situation where one of them narrowly avoids getting killed, and then she tells him. it's never that she feels like she can't or shouldn't tell leo, it's always that she just wants so badly not to jinx it or live with the shadow of the past controlling every choice they make.

would she give your muse a copy of the key to her apartment?: absolutely, like i imagine he gets one for the diner at the start of their relationship, but after things evolve, she's giving him one for the apartment in addition to a mug with his name on it!

would she name an item on the menu after your muse?: absolutely she would! (we're definitely gonna discuss what the menu item should be tho bc the options are ENDLESS--)

what would she say about your muse to eoin's spirit before she became immortal and destroyed vormir?: "i met someone. after you... i met a man in new york. his name is leo. and i... i love him. it's actually killing me to think that what happens here is going to change things between us. either i go home now, and he'll always be in danger, always at the mercy of the choices made by those who come after i leave this place, or i do what i set out to do, and... and i risk what normalcy we might have had together. god, he deserves a good life, eoin. the kind of happy, ordinary life that most people don't know how lucky they are to have. pancakes and waffles and mowing the lawn. and yet... if he were here right now, there'd be no question. no hesitation. he'd have made the choice long before you ever realized he was here. how lucky the world is, huh? to have a man like him walking among them. you'd have liked him, i know that much. and he would've loved your band. if this goes wrong, you'll... you'll tell him i'm sorry? thank you. goodbye."

[1800duckhotline]

for your vtmb ocs, has vampirism affected them in other ways besides the traits given to them in-game? (for example a headcanon where them being undead gives them a foul odor, etc)

oooh this is such a good question... I actually have a couple of said headcanons which I will definitely expand upon the more I think about my OCs...

Temerice:

For her (and in general, Gangrels) I had the idea that despite the technically 'dead' condition of her body, she actually grew more body hair as a result of her affinity with canines specifically. As a result is fluffier than she used to be before, even if not by too much. That said, she doesn't care about shaving body hair in her new unlife, which means for her it's not that big of a deal.

Her nails also grow much faster than the average vampire's, and often grow sharp as talons, which means she needs to clip them very often if she's ought to handle business that requires her not to utterly shred something apart. (For example, this is not a thing Madonna has to deal with)

Instead of having just vampiric canines, Temerice's denture has shifted to be more similar to a hybrid between mammal and canine dental structure. This is something I think applies to all Gangrel that have higher affinity with canines and/or felines or literally most animals that are provided with different teeth. As a result, her feeding sessions tend to be messier than a regular vampire's, which is not an issue for her since she prefers drinking from blood bags...

Aligned with her more canine features, Temerice also has a much finer hearing, which means she can also sometimes hear sounds other kindred cannot. She also can hear heartbeats, and is quick to tell when someone's nervously lying.

Shifting to her protean war form for a while (she can sustain it for an hour max as a fledgling) may cause her to retain some traits of it when turning back in her human form. This means an uncanny anatomical facial structure, bigger hands than normal, bigger bat-like ears and body hair that looks more like fur in patches as well as retaining some kind of canine traits in her visage. Whenever this happens she tends to ride it out by relaxing in her haven, since she is kind of self-conscious of it... less for the appearance and more because she doesn't want to risk Masquerade violations.

Madonna:

Madonna tends to wear cologne often because turning into a Tremere has given her a permanent, lingering metallic odor. As Tremere practice blood magic, I would imagine them smelling like blood is par-of-the-course, but she isn't a fan of it, and thus she tries to cover it up. It's not a pungent scent by any means, but people with very sensitive noses might catch a whiff of it and wonder a thing or two.

Madonna has more or less developed a quasi-permanent pink-tinted vision. While she still sees colors and shadows just fine, everything is just a little bit redder. I would imagine this is not at all Tremere standard, but she could've inherited it from her sire, Desmond. Nothing incapacitating but it is why she tends to wear red-tinted glasses almost exclusively nowdays.

Her hearing has heightened similarly to Temerice as well, though it's less of a general finer sense of hearing and more specified on human anatomy. She obviously can't hear the smaller machinations of mammal biology but from time to time she's still getting used to hearing heartbeats, gulps, and decompressing muscles from breathing that are not her own. She figures it's part of a strange attuning with blood that Tremere have.

I think i'll figure out more as I go for my other girls as well... but these are the ones I thought of for now!! what a fun question I need to ponder further

[bokettochild]

For the requests if you're game?

Four and Warriors dynamic since we don't see it much?

Also you're awesome and absolutely don't have to do this if you don't want haha

So, words aren't nice to me today, and your prompt really helped with that. I'm sorry I didn't get to it sooner! But I'm glad I did it today. The verb tenses are a bit off and all over, but I really like the pretense.

For context, this is something that used to happen with me and my dad when he was in pain. I have no clue why it works, but it does somehow? For him anyway. Anyway, as I am the shorty of my family, I figured Four could take my place here :)

“Four, how tall are you?”

Don’t kill him. Green whispered, whether to himself or to his brothers none of them knew.

Why would he even need to know that? The grouchier voice in his head huffed out as hazel eyes shot up to meet the captain’s blue.

Was that particularly necessary? Vio groaned, and if he’d had a physical form the color in question would likely have just flopped over tiredly.

“Four foot four.” They answered curtly, turning their gaze back down to the sword in their hand as they continued to work over its length.

Warriors chuffed out a strangled sort of noise across from them, whether it be from pain, surprise or laughter they didn’t know, and as long as the captain didn’t push, they’d give him a little grace. The poor man was in enough pain as it was, and it really would be a shame to have him writhing on the ground if they kicked him in some... painful places.

“Really?” The man wheezed. “Please tell me you’re joking?”

They rolled their eyes.

Permission to kick him in the nuts?

One minute, let me think about it.

Pities sakes you two, we are not kicking the captain! Vio scolded. We’ll dye his hair while he sleeps or sew a patch on his tunic while he walks or something, not...oy vey.

“I’m four-foot-five.” They corrected aloud. “Happy?”

Sharp eyes met the captain’s again, four voices fighting over whether to cause harm or not. “Huh.”

Guys, look at him! Red huffed. He’s not even able to sit up straight! Give him a break, this one time?

Agreement rang in their mind. Wars was in pretty awful shape. The man had pulled his back while trying to heft a wounded Twilight through the forest the other day, and while he’d insisted the entire time that he had it handled, he’d come to regret it the next day when he woke up nearly too sore to move. They all teased Time about being an Old Man, and it was well known that Legend’s arthritis gave him trouble on some days, but neither the vet not their leader had ever moved as slowly as the captain this morning when they’d been on the road, and Time had had to call an early halt simply because Wars was clearly in so much pain.

The man currently lay on his stomach on the ground at the edge of camp, trying to stretch out his strained back and staring as Four with an odd look in his eyes. “Could you do me a favor?”

Could you not mock our height?

I thought we liked our height?

We do, but we don’t need to be teased for it!!!

“What do you need?” They eventually settled on, setting their sword aside and giving the captain their full attention.

“Stand on my back.” Warriors answered.

They blinked, startled. Once, twice, thrice, four times at the man. “Pardon?”

“Stand on my back.” Warriors repeated himself, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But-”

Is he bonkers? Captain, we are not cracking your spine to put you out of your misery? Blue frowned, confused.

We’d hurt him doing that, why would he even ask?

This is Warriors, he’s not known for having all the lights on a good day.

“Aren’t you in pain?” Red managed to take the forefront, worry spilling into his voice as he stared down at where the captain lay on the ground.

The man smiled, shaking his head slightly only to wince and instead offer one of his charming smiles. “It helps. Just trust me, ‘kay?”

And what were they supposed to do? Even Legend had stepped up to offer help with the pain this afternoon, not that it would do much good for Warriors’ specific problem, but it had earned the vet a warm chuckle and a head ruffle, resulting in much squawking and insults as the vet protested the action. Wild had searched his slate for supplies to make a cure, and Time had called a halt for the day’s travels entirely. Sky had even offered what little help he could provide, but while offers of aid had come from everywhere, there hadn’t been anything that had worked.

But Wars was claiming that actively stepping on the injury would help it, and as absurd as it sounded, the captain seemed utterly confident in it, eyes almost pleading as they shifted where they sat.

“It won’t, I don’t know, mess up your back at all? Are you sure-”

“Goddesses, Four! It’ll be fine.” The captain huffed desperately, just do it, please?”

Now they understood why Warriors could charm discounts and special deals out of merchants and inn-keepers, his royal blue eyes looked utterly pitiful and almost tearful as they stared up at them, pleading and wide. The effect was ruined though when Wars added a tiny little pout that sent Vio reeling with laughter as Blue and Green stifled their own, Red cooing softly in their head.

“Alright.” The laughter of three of the four colors spilled over in a light chuckle as the smithy pulled themselves to their feet, stepping over hesitantly and setting one foot on Warriors’ stretched out back.

“Go on.” Wars prompted, chuckling fondly. “It won’t hurt me, I’ll tell you if it does, okay?”

That didn’t help at all. They weren’t big, they knew that, but they weren’t as slight as they looked, they were smithies after all, and they were a solid little brick of muscle mass. Warriors may be certain it would be okay, but they sure weren’t.

“Four, I’m literally begging you. Step on me.”

The smithy’s nose wrinkled and they pulled back. “That is incredibly weird sounding.”

“Step.” Warriors ordered.

“This is so weird!” A nervous laugh fell from their lips. “How does this even help?”

“Just do it!” The captain groaned. “It helps, I promise. I can’t explain it, but it does.”

One tentative foot pressed against the captain’s back again, only for the smithy to back off, earning a huff in annoyance from the captain. “Four-”

“Let me take my boots off first.” They murmured, shivering off the awkward feeling that came from stepping on of their brothers. But they could only avoid Wars’ pleading gaze for so long and once their shoes are properly put to the side, they had no valid excuse to not ‘help’ the man.

How does this even help him?

Do we care? We have an excuse to step on him!

Vio, I think you spent too much time around Shadow. Stepping on people isn’t funny.

It’s funny if it’s Warriors. Vio sounded particularly satisfied with himself at the moment, and the others could only sigh at that, finally giving in to the captain's request as Vio pushed the body forwards until they are standing, fully, on Warriors’ back.

“Oh, yes, thank you.” The captain’s voice comes out in a relieved sigh. “A bit lower if you could- that's the- yes, right there. Oh gosh.” Blonde hair met the dirt as their resident “pretty boy” let his face fall to rest on the ground. A satisfied sigh escaping him, albeit muffled by the earth. “That is so much better. Thank you, Four.”

“How does this help?” They frowned, staring down at where the man spread out on the ground, utterly limp and incredibly boney under their feet.

“No clue.” Comes the muffled reply, no attempt made to explain as the captain continued to let himself melt into the earth. “But it always works like a charm, so I don’t question it.”

Always?

“Who do you usually have step on you?” They ask, standing awkwardly on a boney spine any trying their hardest to keep their balance so they don’t slip and tumble onto Warriors’ head and give him a concussion on top of everything.

“My kids.” Comes the easy reply, as if the words don’t send them reeling enough that they almost do fall. “Mask jumped on top of e once to try and wake me up. I wasn’t asleep, but it was a tough battle the day before. Come to find out having a smallish person stand on you does wonders! My younger siblings used to do it too, but then they all hit growth-spurts.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” They chuckled easily, finding a comfortable placement for their feet as Warriors’ back rises and falls with soft laughter.

“Believe it or not,” The captain rumbles, the vibrations trailing up their legs and making them stifle a giggle. “I’m the short one in the family. The eldest, but the Hylia forsaken shortest.” There’s very nearly a pout in the man's voice and they failed to hold back their laughter as they look down at him.

”You’re the shortest?”

“To my eternal torment.” Comes the groaned reply, and all the colors can do in reaction is laugh.

Later, when the others finally look over and see what’s happening, there are shouts and concerned looks from the heroes when they see their shortest standing on the previously sore and aching back of their tallest, but for now, Four gets to tease the captain for being short; something they never thought would ever happen.

Vio cackled madly in the background the whole time, leaving his brothers concerned after the first ten minutes when the color’s mirth failed to fade.

[mandoalorian]

Pain Is For The Living [Javier Peña x F!Reader] - Chapter 4 [SMUT]

Summary: Sex work in the heat of 1980’s Colombia was never going to be a walk in the park. Especially not when you had a crush on your number one client, agent Javier Peña. You’d been warned about him and his reputation, but after one very specific incident that would change your life forever, you find yourself attached to him like never before and you’d do anything to make him yours. Even if it means endangering your own life.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: SMUT: fingering, cunnigless, female receiving oral, (loss of virginity kind of), so much sexual tension. And more feelings! Unrequited love... or is it?

Word count: 3300

Pain Is For The Living Masterlist

* Reblogs appreciated and my ko-fi is linked in my bio if you wish to support my writing!

Neither you or Javier could sleep that night. At least, not at first. Javier’s bedroom was, although decently sized, pretty empty. You figured he wasn’t the type of guy to keep momentums anyway. His closet was small and you imagined the rainbow array of shirts that were neatly hung up, one-by-one. Staring at the ceiling at two in the morning doing your damn hardest not to think about what happened back at the brothel was proving to be very, very difficult, and you’d do anything to catch a distraction.

Sleeping in his bed though, meant you could seize the perfect opportunity to get to know him better without exactly confronting him. Everything in Javi’s room was brown, an ugly shade of brown too. He clearly didn’t care much for interior design, although you did find it odd that his front room was majorly decked out in nice furniture, and yet every other room in his small apartment felt… empty. Rolling over, you quietly opened the drawer on his nightstand. It was hard to see, being that all the lights were out and it was the middle of the night, but you could just about make out the contents. Half a pack of cigarettes, two lighters, many many condoms (which was strange since Javi almost always insisted that he go bareback whenever you two were intimate), sleeping pills and a passport.

Javier couldn’t sleep either, even though he’d drunkenly fallen asleep on that couch plenty of times. He was thinking of you; not only replaying the fact he said your name while he was fucking Nina, but also the fact that you wanted to kiss him. And honestly? He wanted to kiss you too. Javier balled his hand into a fist as he felt his chest tighten. He seriously wanted to kiss you too.

His thought process halted when he heard you shuffling down the hallway, your hesitant footsteps tip-toeing into the living room and turning on one of the amber colored lamps. Your shy frame was highlighted perfectly in the shadows and Javier simply couldn’t take his eyes off you, strictly in awe of your beauty.

“Javi?” you asked, tiredly rubbing your eyes. You had spotted him lounging on the couch, shirtless with the same crocheted blanket you had slept in, now draped across his lower half.

“Hermosa,” his voice was rich and rasp. “You’re still awake.” the statement came out as an observation, more so than a question.

You fumbled a little with your words before eventually sighing and nodding your head. “Yeah.”

“Is my bed not comfortable enough?” Javier enquired, leaning over to the coffee table and turning on another lamp, now illuminating his side of the room.

You chuckled lightly. “A lot more comfortable than the beds back at the brothel, that’s for sure.” you replied, and Javier nodded knowingly.

“Something on your mind?” Javier prodded further.

Yeah, him.

When you didn’t reply, Javier extended his arm and ushered you over. You sat down next to him, on the edge of his sofa, and remained silent. But the way you could feel his chocolate coloured eyes bore into you was enough to create a cluster of nervous butterflies in the pit of your stomach. He must’ve been up for a while, because the entire atmosphere stunk of tobacco. It wasn’t bad though, it was just… Javi. His honeyed voice interrupted the silence.

“I’m sorry about earlier, about the uh-- the whole kiss thing.” He said, shuffling upwards awkwardly, his hand remaining clutched on the crocheted blanket.

“Pay it no mind,” You replied maybe a little too quickly. You’d rather just forget about the incident, and not come to terms with just how upset his rejection had made you. “It’s um…” you looked up at the ceiling and then back at Javier. “...hard, to stay distracted, when I’m alone. I was fine with Connie and Steve. I was fine with you. But… sleeping alone is hard.”

Javier nodded understandingly. “I know how it feels to need a bed warmer, believe me,”

You came to the sudden conclusion that being a ‘bed warmer’ was all you ever were to Javier, no matter how much more you yearned for. That’s all you’d ever be.

“Although I suppose that’s not exactly what you meant,” Javier continued. “Is it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” you replied quietly. “I mean guys come to me all the time for that quick release. To feel less lonely. But I’ve never really sought out the same thing, you know?”

“Never?” Javier asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Not even a hook-up?”

You shook your head and scratched the back of your neck. “I uh-- I was a virgin before I moved to Colombia,” you laughed wearily.

Javier’s reaction was priceless. His eyes became apologetic and his jaw loosened. “You haven’t been here long,” he grumbled. “Tell me, have you only slept with the guys from the brothel?”

You looked down at your hands feeling slightly ashamed and nodded your head. Javier’s hand found your chin and he tilted it upwards, forcing your gaze to lock with his.

“I’m sorry.” he muttered.

You furrowed your eyebrows together in bewilderment. “Sorry for what? Working here was my choice.”

“No,” Javi said quickly, placing a hand over your thigh, his dark eyes not diverting from your face once. “I know what the guys are like there,” Javier said, shaking his head. “Hell, I know what I’m like. I had no idea…” Javier paused for a moment before continuing. “Was-- was I your first?”

You smiled at him and shook your head ‘no’, and Javier looked somewhat relieved.

“Tell me cariño, do they make you feel good?”

You thought about the question but practically knew the answer immediately. No. Because sex at the brothel was never for pleasure, it was for rent money. It was to put food on your table and to wear clothes that fit.

“Only you Javi,” you replied softly, your hand finding his as you began to trace circles into his skin. “Only you have made me cum.” you confessed.

It wasn’t necessarily anything he’d done, because you’d only ever given Javier blowjobs and let him put it in you. It was more so the fact you were in his personal company, and you were so deeply attracted to him.

Javier chuckled dryly and shook his head. “That can’t be true hermosa,” he sighed. “I’ve been so selfish with you. If I had known, I would’ve fucked you real good. I would’ve made it good for you. I mean it.”

He sounded mad at himself, even though there was truly no way he could understand your circumstances.

“I can make you feel good. I can… distract you, if that’s really what you need,” he promised. “Just say the word.”

His voice had lowered considerably, and his words alone were enough to create a pool of arousal between your thighs. You were almost scared to think about the wet patch you’d leave on the sofa beneath you as his large hand travelled up your thigh and underneath his shirt that he’d given you to wear.

“Please.” you nodded breathlessly as Javier fiddled with the hem.

“Tell me you want it.” he urged as he tugged at the bottom button.

You swallowed thickly and nodded your head harder this time. “I want it, Javi. Please. I want you.”

“Lay back,” Javier ordered, pushing you into the sofa where he had originally been laying.

Your skin flushed with heat as Javier carefully opened your legs and positioned his head in between your soft thighs. “Your cunt looks so sweet,” Javier praised, a throaty moan escaping his lips as he rubbed his thumb between your soft wet folds. “Have you ever let a man taste you before?”

“No,” you squeaked as his thumb found your clit. He rubbed small and tight circles over your bundle of nerves, but his movements were achingly slow. “No man has wanted to.”

Javier huffed. “That’s not true, I promise,” he replied, tapping his thumb over your clit. You gasped longingly, your entire body tensing up. He drew back from you and looked at you, wanting to make sure that you were okay. He could see the way your nipples had hardened and were poking through the shirt he had given you, and it made his cock twitch with excitement underneath the blanket. “Hey pretty girl, relax. I need you to relax.”

You whimpered understandingly and took a deep breath before closing your eyes.

“Look how wet you are.” Javier said, leaning back down and licking his lips. The richness in his voice alone spread through your body like wildfire. He pressed a kiss into your mound, his mustache tickling your skin before lowering his head even further down. The curve of his nose bumped against your clit and you felt yourself clench around nothing, needing him so desperately.

Then, without warning, Javier slid his tongue in between your wet folds, gliding it up and down. Obscene wet sounds filled the room and if you weren’t already seeing stars, you might have even been slightly embarrassed. Your hands, that were once clenched around the curve of a cushion, had instinctively wormed their way into Javier’s chocolate coloured hair.

Once Javier had you spread open, his tongue became more dexterous and began to flick over your clit; up and down, up and down. He was skillful, to say the least. Occasionally though, he’d stop his movements, bringing you down from your high, only to start again. He was teasing you so much, but he was completely right. No man had ever made you feel this good. No man had ever cared about your own pleasure, other than Javier of course. His lips latched onto your sweet spot and he began to suck on it longingly, groaning wantonly against you and pushing vibrations through your core.

“Taste so fucking good, fuck,” Javier cursed, pulling off your cunt with a pop as he regained his breath. “Better than I imagined.”

And just like that… the nervous butterflies came fluttering back. He’d imagined this.

Javier found the way you shivered adorable and it only spurred him on, wanting nothing more than to bring you to the greatest heights of your pleasure. Your perfect sweetness glossed over his lips as he lapped your wetness up like a starved man, and your writhing beneath him didn’t stop once. You tugged on his hair as you felt your climax build up.

Recognising that you were close, Javier, pushed two of his fingers inside of you, scissoring them and stretching you open. Finally you could clench around something. His mouth didn’t stop though, and his tongue became faster and faster as he pumped his fingers inside of you.

Javier curled his fingers and they pushed against your special spot, your body involuntarily arching with pleasure and a long moan of his name leaving your lips.

“Oh yeah, that’s it, isn’t it?” Javier asked, a wicked smile crossing his lips. “Right there huh? You like that?”

You couldn’t even fathom words, only his name leaving your lips in the form of a chant as he continued his movements. You weren’t going to last, and he knew it too. In fact, Javier was too busy focusing on giving you pleasure, he hadn’t even realised the way his cock was leaking too, desperate for some kind of attention.

It was incredibly erotic, every time you looked down and saw Javier’s fingers get lost inside of you as he ravished your cunt. He was so good at it, you had no doubt he’d done it a million times before. One last thrust of his two fingers sent you into a frenzy as your cunt clenched around his fingers, and you came undone.

You were a heaving, gasping mess, and Javier had left you unlike anyone had ever left you before. As he pulled his hand away from you, your cunt continued to clench around nothing and your thighs were twitching as the pleasure raced through your veins.

Javier’s fingers shone with your wet arousal and he brought them up to your own lips. “Look at the mess you made. Such a delicious mess,” he cooed. “Taste.”

You parted your lips and sucked your arousal from his fingers. “How was that, hm?”

You nodded wordlessly. “Th-thank you,” you mumbled, your eyes feeling heavy with post coital exhaustion. “Let me-- let me return the favour.”

“No sweet girl,” Javier said. “You need to rest.”

The agent pushed your hair out of your face and— fuck, he wanted to kiss you so bad. He wanted to kiss your pretty, swollen lips. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. Kissing you might only confirm these feelings he had been trying to push away. “Sleep tight hermosa.”

You mumbled something incoherent before you fell fast asleep, your smile not fading away once. Javier removed his blanket and wrapped it over your body. That was when he realised he’d came too. He hadn’t even done anything… nothing to pleasure himself, but he’d come just from pleasuring you. That had never happened before.

He cursed to himself, reaching for the box of tissues that he kept on the coffee table and wiped himself down. Padding into the kitchen, Javier made you a glass of water and set it down next to you, just in case you woke up thirsty during the night.

He remembered your words. ‘Sleeping alone is hard.’

Javier brought his pillows, duvet and blankets from his bedroom and set them down on the floor so he was laying next to you. The last thing he wanted was for you to wake up alone and be in a panic. He considered just lifting you up and taking you to his own bed, that way he wouldn’t have to take the floor, but he just didn’t want to risk waking you.

Javier barely slept that night, his mind active and his thoughts racing a million times an hour. Did he regret what just happened? No, absolutely not. He’d do it a million times over. But that didn’t make it right. Sure, he’d slept with his informants many times but you were different. He already had a past relationship with you, he already knew you. And he felt like he had some kind of responsibility for you. Romantic relationships never ended well for Javier, so he could only hope that whatever you and him had going on, would remain strictly sexual. No feelings. There was no need for feelings. No time for relationships in the middle of this mess.

———

Javier really didn’t want to wake you, but he had to go to work, and he wasn’t willing to leave you home alone. Besides, you were his informant. And the DEA needed information.

When you woke up, you were fine, much to both yours and Javier’s surprise. The bliss from the night before still hadn’t escaped your memory, and had set you on course for a pretty good day ahead. Javier couldn’t really cook (minus paella), and so you both swallowed down some dry toast and you finished your glass of water.

Javier got a phone call just before the both of you were about to leave. It was brief, and ended just as you threw over one of his denim jackets that he’d loaned you. “DEA sent a couple of guys over to your place to pick up your possessions. You’ll be able to get changed once we arrive at the office.”

You nod your head gratefully, but then stop as Javier heads out the front door. “Wait, I didn’t give anyone my key.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Javier replied. “They will have found another way in.”

You weren’t sure how much you liked the idea of a bunch of strange cops breaking into your tiny apartment but nonetheless, you were just glad to have fresh and clean clothes. Not that you minded living in Javier’s pale yellow button down, but if you were going to be visiting DEA offices and God knows where else, you at least wanted to be dressed appropriately.

Javier told you to wait in the car while he nipped inside to grab your clothes. He handed the duffel bag to you through the car window and waited for you to get changed so the both of you could walk into the office together.

His office was bigger than you imagined, and spacious too. Despite it being pretty early in the morning, all the desks were filled and it seemed like the agents were hard at work.

“This is Luisa,” Javier pointed at the receptionist. “This is where we clock in and out of work. If we ever go out on impulse stake-outs or find the need to follow a lead, we gotta sign our name. It’s dumb, really.”

“Only Agent Peña never signs his name. Neither does Agent Murphy. Both of ‘em are as bad as each other.” Luisa laughed.

Javier rolled his eyes. “Pipe down Luisa,” he replied jokingly, his eyes darting to her hands. “Is that a new nail colour? Hmph, suits you.” he charmed before whisking you to the next station.

“There is Messina’s office,” Javier pointed through a narrow hallway towards an opaque glass door at the very end. “She thinks she runs the place but she’s only just transferred here.”

“Here is where I work,” Javier sighed, tapping his finger on a desk which was stacked high with paperwork. The tapping had clearly alerted the blonde haired man, who you remembered from yesterday. “And this is my partner Steve, sleeping on duty.” Javier tsked and Steve’s tired frown only deepened.

“Olivia been keepin’ us up all night,'' Steve groaned before standing up and shaking your hand. “Nice to see you here,” he said politely. “Has Javier given you a tour of the place?”

You nodded and smiled, already not hating the environment.

“Yeah. Everyone seems nice.”

You must’ve spoken too soon because in that very moment, none other than CIA Agent Bill Stechner came waltzing over, his lips curled into a smug grin.

“Well well well,” he observed, looking you up and down with judgement in his blue eyes. “What do we have here?”

Before you could reply, the man turned to Javier. “Peña, you know we don’t usually allow whores to wander the office.”

You flinched at his comment, your eyes narrowing at the unwarranted attack. Javier though, saw red, his own eyes darting up to look at Bill.

“She’s my informant.” Javier snapped back, trying his damn hardest to keep it together.

“I know who she is,” Bill seethed.

“Get the fuck outta here, Bill.” Steve sighed, standing up, his chair scraping against the floor.

Bill raised both of his hands defensively, almost as if he had done nothing wrong, and laughed darkly. With an innocent shrug of his shoulders he walked away and left you standing there, speechless.

Javier didn’t say a word, only pinched the bridge of his nose and got his head stuck straight into some paperwork.

“Yeah, you don’t wanna fuck with the CIA guys. They’re assholes.” Steve informed, his eyes glancing back over to Bill who was now sitting at his own desk. It was like the confrontation had never even happened.

“Noted.” you gulped.

“Take a seat, grab a coffee. Make yourself at home.” Steve told you.

Home. I guess this was where you’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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[that-was-anticlimactic]

sk8 headcanons because i am Bored

autistic langa likes frozen fruit a lot—strawberries are his favorite—because he likes the cool texture

reki has lip freckles that really stand out after he’s been in the sun a lot ! there’s like four or five of them :)

just thinking about “all those friday nights / under the lights / under the bleachers together / you and i were meant to be something more than a faded memory / till you and i / something divided us” but matchablossom,,,

“but i’ve already lost it once / what i already won / i’ve lost too much now to care / but i know that something’s still there” ,,, matchablossom,,, ahhhhh

miya and shadow being besties,,, shadow being miya’s parental figure and miya being his adopted nb child,,,

shadow being the first person miya comes out as nonbinary to,,,

adam going to jail,,,

reki having a stuffed animal collection and letting miya name some and then realizing that miya never had a stuffed animal growing up so reki gives miya one of his older ones that he loved as a child and then buys them a new one too… and miya asks reki to name it for them because sentiments,,,

after seeing the girl he had a crush on kiss someone else, shadow takes out his feelings on the only thing he knows how to—skating at s but he’s not in a good mind and he feels sick because he thought he thought he thought he had a chance and he doesn’t pay close enough attention and gets hurt and miya calls him an idiot and patches him up and shadow feels like a kid again but it’s kind of nice to have someone else actually help with his wounds instead of just attempting to wash them and then cover them with makeup by himself,,,

joe and shadow bonding over hating the feeling of loneliness so they make up for it the only way they know how which is being loud and being extra because they don’t feel as lonely if they’re loud

reki, miya, and cherry = adhd club

cherry and reki drawing together… and reki teaching cherry how to be more loose and carefree when he draws and cherry teaching reki how to add more structure to his art,,,

langa stealing and wearing reki’s headbands,,,

langa with glasses

reki’s sisters doing cherry and joe’s hair,,, or even reki, langa, and miya doing their hair and shadow just watches and takes pictures and reki puts cherry’s hair in fishtails because he had practice with his sisters and cherry secretly likes it (and so does joe) and miya and langa just. completely messing up joe’s hair and putting hair clips in it and langa attempts a ponytail kind of like how cherry does his hair at s (and no cherry did Not find it very attractive shut up)

shadow being a scrapbooker and having like ten scrapbooks from his life,,,

shadow not being as good of an artist as cherry or reki but he does it because he enjoys it and when cherry and reki find out they invite him to draw with them

the crew / sk8 fam all going to shadow’s house and doing a couple scrapbook pages together and it’s a mess but it’s them and it’s one of shadow’s favorite pages because he’s never scrapbooked with anyone before

langa is just naturally beautiful and photogenic so the art squad always asks him to model for them if they want to draw people

joe has depression because i want him to

and shadow has anxiety

because i do Not want any of them to be neurotypical

yeah so joe has depression, shadow has anxiety, cherry has add and anxiety, miya had adhd and separation anxiety, langa is autistic, reki has tourette’s and adhd and depression ✌🏻

when miya gets old enough, shadow gets them a part time job at the flower shop

miya likes a lot of pillows

langa sleeps with no pillows (unless reki is partially his pillow)

thinking about after reki’s second beef with adam,,, joe after he tells adam off and they’re away from the crowd, he passes out because let’s be real—there is absolutely no way he didn’t get injured and the worse one is probably a broken nose and a huge gash at the back of his head with like skin peeling and stuff like need stitches so the gang all goes to cherry’s and they help patch reki up

somewhere in that time the love hotel gets brought up and by extension getting hit by the car and getting beat up and joe and shadow are on the verge of slamming their heads against the wall at reki’s nonchalantness

and reki’s p injured so he’s laying in the couch with his head resting in langa’s lap,,,

joe tells everyone embarrassing cherry stories from school like all the time (but joe was a foolish child so cherry gets revenge)

miya likes crime documentaries

joe unironically watched supernatural and that’s part of the reason why he and cherry broke up

(maybe joe just thought dean was attractive—sue him!)

lol wait what if cherry sued adam to pay for reki’s medical bills since they inevitably had to take him to the hospital

cherry constantly tells joe that he will sue him

joe may unironically watched spn, but cherry unironically watched glee

langa wrote destiel fanfiction once upon a time

langa wrote cas bakes dean a pie--

miya is carla’s favorite (after cherry)

cherry and langa with weighted blankets also

sometimes reki steals langa’s but only if he stays the night or langa brings it over and usually if he “steals” it, it’s them sharing it or reki needs the comfort of the weight if he’s not having a good time mentally lol

joe with depression,,, i just think about that a lot sometimes,,, sometimes cooking feels meaningless and, like langa, he only feels something when he skates but it’s only this temporary feeling of joy and life,,,

and shadow with anxiety,,, over-compensating his anxiety by being shadow at night and being over the top and sometimes mean because internalized ableism,,, and if he pretends he doesn’t have anxiety then maybe he won’t feel it late at night or when everything seems to go wrong during a shift at work and he keeps dropping flowers because his hands are shaking and girls don’t like guys with anxiety, right ??? so shadow thinks that he CAN’T have anxiety :/// poor dude

miya with separation anxiety pushing people away before they get attached because if they push them away before they become friends, then they wouldn’t be able to leave them,,,

langa always bouncing his foot in class and all the time because it’s his main form of stimming (look at that boy and try to tell me he doesn’t bounce his legs like there’s no tomorrow i dare you) and sometimes it makes his legs sore and cherry and joe once recommended using a heating pad if it got really sore and langa does sometimes and it makes him happy

reki with ts having anxiety when he has to speak in front of the class / do presentations because he’s hyper-aware of his tics,,, so he always meets langa’s eyes and watches langa the whole time and langa sometimes mimes taking deep breaths which really helps but honestly just seeing langa makes reki feel like he can do anything (because he would do anything for langa)

cherry doodling to stim as a child and always getting in trouble for it because teachers used to like get pissed when students doodled (or maybe they still do and it’s just always been pissy teachers and not specifically teachers when our parents were kids) and eventually cherry got fed up with getting points docked for doodling so he started writing lists and stuff and been realized he had impeccable handwriting (also joe let cherry doodle on his hand during classes they had together so cherry wouldn’t get in trouble)

cherry once had a dream that he was rachel berry and joe was finn uhh *insert last name here* from glee and joe had a beautiful voice when they sang duets in his dream so he managed to convince joe to sing in reality and turns out joe cannot sing and cherry’s glee dreams were never the same (look i am tired lol)

joe likes being the strong one in the group and he enjoys being able to mess around / show off by just casually picking people up (he also does it as an expression of love because they’re basically hugs depending on how he holds you) and one day cherry is like… done with it ??? and just strolls up to joe and just throws him over his shoulder or something and joe combusts because he did Not know cherry can do that and no his face isn’t red shut up he doesn’t find this attractive what’re you talking about

miya wants a sword and keeps trying to convince everyone to get them one for their birthday but no one will agree because ‘they’ll hurt themselves and everyone else it does not matter that all your favorite characters have swords that does not mean You should have one’

langa is the kind of person that puts peanut butter on a cheeseburger

reki’s love language is a mix of gift giving and acts of service, but he tends to lean more towards giving gifts. his receiving love language is words of affirmation but he does Not know that yet (langa does—hence his constant “you’re amazing, reki”—and eventually so does the rest of their gang lol)

shadow likes theatre

miya has internet friends,,, so does cherry,,,

joe posts those affirmations on his story all the time

reki’s texts are sometime hard to read because a) his hands get injured a lot and b) tourette’s but langa (and soon the others) learn how to read reki texts

langa sleeps with a fan on for white noise

shadow was worried (and feeling a little left out but if he doesn’t acknowledge it, then that emotion is not real… that’s how that works, right???) since he was in the hospital when reki skated against adam the second time, so when they all went back to cherry’s to tend to reki’s numerous wounds and also celebrate friendship, miya kept shadow on a face time call the entire evening

langa has an android phone

reki is super comfortable with periods because he lives with five girls—he also usually has a couple of pads and tampons on him at all times because he’s the older sibling lol

langa wears socks with sandals,,, so does shadow,,,

shadow’s feet get cold easily so he wears fluffy socks a lot

cherry keeps his fingernails at the perfect length to dramatically tap them against the table (also to freak people out by doing that)

miya is Not a morning person

miya also likes having the windows to shadow’s car rolled up because their hair gets in their face otherwise but shadow likes them down so it’s this constant struggle

i still stand by cherry suing ad*m and using the money he won to pay for reki’s medical bills (… and shadow’s… and langa’s if he needs any)

i just feel like many people have reason to sue ad*m

ponytail langa rights

joe had really bad acne as a child and teen and cherry helped him feel less self-conscious about it and helped him embrace having acne and that’s one reason why he exposes so much skin as joe because it’s a reminder of personal growth <3

also joe has acne scars on his chin and cheeks

joe has cherry’s calligraphy all over his walls

ik i already said so in reki with ts headcanons but he doodles pictures for everyone in the sk8 fam and they all keep each and every one and shadow even puts them in his scrapbook

let langa punch adam 2k21

let reki punch adam 2k21

actually they All deserve to punch adam 2k21

miya’s favorite movie is coraline

langa can’t snap his fingers

joe and cherry always argue over whether even numbers or odd numbers are best

miya does esports

joe was in marching band and was in drumline

cherry stays up late to look at the stars and he had those plastic stars taped to his ceiling as a child

reki eats tomatoes like apples and it makes joe want to cry

okay if the atla & and the sk8 characters became internet friends… these are who i think they’d be internet friends with…

cherry: katara

joe: suki

langa: sokka

miya: aang

reki: zuko

shadow: toph

note: suki, joe, miya, and aang are all actually besties. aang is the kind of person that would usually annoy miya but they just can’t dislike aang no matter how much he may want to and they somehow find themselves attached

but suki and miya would also get along really well because I know they would and aang and joe would just have fun and like it’s what they deserve so they are interchangeable / all besties

also sk8 characters if they were benders...

cherry: fire or waterbender,,, cannot decide

joe: earthbender

langa: waterbender

miya: firebender

reki: resident nonbender

shadow: earthbender

[pissfizz]

Miya’s family headcanons :)

Warnings: toxic/abusive (?) parents

His parents are high key shitty and are the type that see him as famous before seeing him as their child

In other words they care more about the publicity than about them, which is one of the reasons they can sneak out so easily

Miya doesn’t feel comfortable around them, like at all, so he tries his best to stay out of the house as much as possible

Once they’re asleep they feel freer which contributes to them not sleeping

His parents usually make them overwork themself because they’re very adamant about him always winning but also getting perfect scores etc

He has a cat named Water Bottle (in English. They thought it was fun to say so he chose it as her name). He got her when they were ten. She’s extremely fluffy and black with little white paws, white tips on her ears and tail, and a white vaguely heart shaped patch over her nose and mouth. Her eyes are the same color as Miya’s.

Water Bottle is a very important figure in his life, his best friend and main source of support and affection.

Once they meet our squad at first they starts out distant and kinda just...waiting for the moment they decide to leave because he knows it’s coming so he’s always on edge but it never happens

And so eventually he relaxes and starts thinking of them more and more as actual friends

And then of course he becomes more and more comfortable, and without even realizing it they start to think of them as their family.

Reki, specifically, is just like a real brother and he gets so attached. Like so freaking attached. He’s always doing things for his attention and praise (sometimes subconsciously too) and latched onto him like a tic on a dog

And then of course there’s Joe, whos like the proper father figure he never had, and Miya just feels so safe around him. They feel like nothing bad can happen to them when they’re with Joe.

Cherry is also like a father figure, and the two of them get along splendidly. They squabble a bit because they’re both sarcastic pricks, but they have a lot in common.

Shadow is his weird uncle

And they treat Langa like he’s actually their brother in law.

One day Reki brought him over to his house, and he and Koyomi recognized each other from school. At first they were both kind of stand offish (Koyomi was mad he was acting like Reki was his actual brother and Miya was mad cuz they thought she was irritating and trying to keep Reki from them)

But then the two of them hit it off and to Reki’s dismay they were acting like best friends and antagonizing him together

After Miya left that night, Koyomi asked if they could keep him like he was some stray cat they found. Their mother decided that yes they could keep the feral little catboy. With that Miya was (unofficially) adopted into the Kyan family. (Their grandma loves them)

Sometimes they come to their friend’s houses late at night with the request to stay over because that uncomfortable feeling from their parents wouldn’t go away even after they fell asleep (effectively making them feel very much not safe). No one has ever turned them down and they never will.

Miya is so attached to his new little found family that it’s almost concerning. He would do literally anything for them.

That’s kinda all I have for now but please feel free to add your own!

[grisailledreams]

Re: asking about fic: What's been your favourite thing to write for SoS so far? (Also, if you would spare this poor soul a tiny snippet I would be so happy :D)

Aww, thank you! T.T This is such a thoughtful question, omg. Not to be That Writer, but it's honestly been the Snow Queen. She's literally the polar opposite of my normal MCs, who tend to be balls of anxiety, depression, insecurity, and/or grief with identity issues (lmao same). Snow's not that at all (or she wasn't, at first, and isn't at heart). It's been a lot of fun and oddly less stressful to be able to write a person like that.

As for a snippet... well, I don't have that much of Chapter 18 written, yet, except for the ending. I think you might like the thing I wrote up for you, instead. It's so far in the future that people will probably forget about it by the time it gets posted... <3

(CW for blood, vehicular crash)

❄️❄️❄️

Two men drag the father, Ethan, through the front door and into the foggy, ice-cold air. The big man, the captain, carries the little one in his big gorilla arms. He pauses next to you to watch his underlings haul Ethan into the back of a military truck without realizing the snowfall is a touch too thick, the flakes a little too large in this very specific spot. You reach out and gently caress Rose’s cheek with your static finger.

“You could have at least told the poor man why you shot that witch,” you murmur. The captain can’t hear you. As he turns to walk off with her, you lean in and whisper, “Remember what I said, Rosemary. I will see you soon.”

The captain hands off the baby again to another squad member; perhaps he was checking her for signs of harm. He climbs into the front of the non-Ethan-loaded truck and slams the door shut.

“Mia’s” body comes by in a zippered bag, heading to cruelly join Ethan and Rosemary. The bees that make up your chest buzz tight, loud, begging you to let them sting. You stay their fury and growl at the false corpse, “You remember what I said, too.”

You resolve to cling to the top of the Captain’s vehicle as a pile of snow. The Winters’ transport will be the first to crash en route and being beside it will give you an extra second to react. At this point, it’s not a question of your patience. It’s Miranda’s.

At first, you wonder if it truly is taking her this long to regenerate, but then you realize that you know a certain stretch of road when the vehicles reach it. The curve of the highway around the mountain (his mountain, oh) is the same one you followed so long ago. There’s a snowbound dip that becomes the thin, most human edge of the forest. Without a moon visible beyond the ashen clouds, it seems more shadowed than you recall. Foreboding.

No. She wouldn’t take them this close.

Would she?

She answers you. The back of the vehicle beside you bursts into shrapnel and sends yours screeching against the guard rail on the other side. You let go and watch the Winters' bodies fly with a handful of the guard squad.

Snow whirls together into thick, hefty banks below as many of them as you can manage at once, but you fly down to catch Rosemary in your incorporeal arms. She wails amid the cacophony of a car siren, spinning wheels, and groans. You try to whisper a wind into her ears and rock her, a meager offer of comfort before you have to hand her over to that tyrant. Alas, Rosemary isn’t quite old enough to appreciate you directly. Her chubby little face screws up and keeps crying.

“Mommy’s here, sweetheart.”

Your head snaps to the shredded roof of the detonated vehicle. It shudders in the snow, then flies off of a woman climbing to her feet. Before she can see you semi-solid, you lower Rosemary into the snow and burst apart into the snowfall again. Miranda, still dressed as Mia, coos and cradles the baby close to her breast. She nuzzles her tiny nose with the warmest grin you’ve ever seen her accomplish.

“Let’s get you home.” She’s practically laughing.

You watch her stride off into the forest. Really, you should follow. Ensure Rosemary’s safety. But there is only so much you can do in Miranda’s proximity without setting off the old enchantment and you will never forgive yourself if the plan comes crashing down around you so close to the end. You sit, instead, beside the father. He looks like he was tossed out of the back, along with the guard bleeding out beside him. His arm twists in the wrong direction at the elbow. The Mold must have helped him survive the crash.

“Do not fret,” you sigh, briefly pulling yourself together again. “We are only borrowing your daughter. I will see to it that she is returned to you, Mr. Winters.”

He doesn’t say anything. A cut along the back of his shoulder oozes blood. The skin on the edge turns black, then calcifies and flakes off. The greyscale patch spreads.

Hell. “Oh, you poor man.”

Your fingers skate gently over the cut. The blood flow halts. He was supposed to help you. The more of them there are, the more they fight one another and Miranda both and the longer Karl has to prepare. The longer you have. Without Ethan, the Captain and his team are going to barrel in, guns blazing, and force Karl to redirect his firepower. You purse your lips. Your hand smooths out over his wound and sends the cold through his flesh. The calcification stops; he’ll never know it was there.

“I cannot save you, Ethan,” you murmur, “but I can borrow you some time. When you awake, follow the footprints up the hill. Find the village. I will keep the Captain off your back for as long as I am able. You go save your daughter.”

He doesn’t even know who you are, let alone that you’re an ally. Honestly, he's not even aware that you're beside him. What can you do? You’re desperate. You run your fingers through his wiry, blonde hair and leave behind snowflakes. The gesture brings you back a few years. You pull away, thoughts full of a different man who once slept beside you and lived to tell the tale. A woman who clutched you tight as if she were hanging on to the edge of the world.

“Save them all for me.”

[voidsentprinces]

I feel like I need to reiterate this. But FFXIV didn’t hook me until Shadowbringers because all the villains felt like villains for the sake of evil. There wasn’t a clear end goal. Zodiark was a vague concept. The Ascians were all just doing evil shit without rhyme or reason beyond “for the lulz and for Zodiark.” and even Post-Stormblood Emet still feels like, “Here’s your next Saturday Morning Cartoon villain like Lahabrea. Mustache twirling, long monologues, and bare bones.”

I remember seeing him for the first time Shadowbringers like, “Oh great. Its him.” but then the expansion spends its time shaking loose the archetype they molded him into for Stormblood and gave him depth, personality, the reason. Emet-Selch is the plot device best described by himself, “A war waged without knowledge of the enemy is no war--it is mere blood letting.” And Emet-Selch was there, to give us the reason behind the Ascians. Despite the Lightwardens and Sin Eaters and Vauthry being good enough reason to fight for the First. Emet-Selch gives weight and stakes to the Source and behind the mustache twirling. Here is the first Ascian who isn’t cloaked in shadow but snarky, conversationalist, he has motive, he has machinations, he has reason, he is fanatic not to the point obsuridty like Lahabrea but to a logical point of view specific to himself.

He doesn’t want to do evil for this God we’ve been given only vague accounts of. But because he wants to bring back his friends and their loved ones and their families. The moment he lets slip that Zodiark and Hydaelyn are Primals. We know he is flawed because as we saw with Lakshmi, even if Zodiark brought them back with his immense power. They would never be the same. But he is tempered, “As is his (Zodiark’s) wont.” and cannot see beyond his nose that where the Beast Tribes have been failing so too will the Ascians.

So, Emet falls and returns to the star. Leaving his legacy to us even after giving it his all. Elidibus arrives and what was once this cryptic, bland and conniving individual who pranced around as Emissary. Is now just this tragic figure, having lose his home, his friends, and now his memories and even the reason for his purpose. But just like Emet-Selch, he presses on. So long as his now vague duty is done, what should it matter? He is Elidibus, he is Emissary. He has warred and allied with his kin. He is whatever the world requires him to be and he to falls.

It almost feels dull to go back to Zenos and Fandaniel who both come off as the same token, mustache twirling, evil for evil sake, here’s a vague goal of their plan and what it is for. Fandaniel only becoming slightly better after we meet his original body that is inherited by Amon. Zenos doesn’t grow beyond coming to understand us vaguely near the end. He still does stuff, he has to have stuff to do. But by that end he’s pretty much a “tie up loose ends” fight at the very end. Endsinger and galaxy is saved. Its pretty much like if after Luke blew up the Death Star the first time, he has to fist fight Grand Moff Tarkin. The narrative has moved on from all that.

Endwalker is still like good in a sort of “This old band has returns for a final farwell tour, they’re playing all the classics one last time.” But Shadowbringers really was when they picked up the ball and did the most work with it. After three expansions of haphazardly meandering. Shadowbringers felt like it had a goal in mind and how they would see it through. Endwalker feels like a X.X Patch for its first half and then an expansion after the level 73 Trial. That now has the unenviable task of tying up ten years of story.

But still it gave more depth to the Ancients. Not leaving them as shadows at the bottom of the sea. Giving us a glimpse of how they were in the past. How their thought process and how they operated. It gave us answers to Venat. Gave us a drop more of Hythlodaeus. Gave final victory lap for Emet-Selch and then introduced the how and why of the Final Days.

But that’s enough of my rambling.

[one-boring-person]

How would stealing the lost boys signature clothes go- SO tries to take it when their boy isn’t looking

This is an interesting idea, thanks for requesting it! I hope you like this!💛💛

A/N: I've done this seperately for once, so I hope that's alright. I'm sorry that some of these are shorter than others, I just didn't really know how to expand on them effectively enough.

"Borrowing" Clothes.

Masterlist

David

It's nigh-on impossible to steal something that is never left alone, and David's coat? Well, he doesn't take it off for anything, even if it does reek of blood, motorcycle oil and cigarette smoke, though he does insist that he cleans it, so there is little to no chance of me ever getting my hands on it. It's not like I haven't tried - I made an attempt a year or so ago, but it was easily shut down by the platinum blonde, who seems to have eyes in the back of his head. I later found out that this is because of his super-hearing, which is an unfair advantage, and one that means my whereabouts around him are almost always known to him.

For this reason, I'm almost certain that he's pulling some trick on me when I find the long overcoat folded neatly on his wheelchair one night, as if the vampire has left it there to pick up later. It's position is almost too obvious and staged, so I approach it hesitantly, expecting the four of them to jump out at me from the shadows as my hand reaches out ever so slowly, fingers gingerly making contact with the worn fabric. Nothing happens, so I step closer and pick the coat up properly, enjoying the feeling of the black fabric as it shifts under my fingers, lifting it carefully to my face, burying my nose into it with a deep breath, relishing the ingrained scent that is David. Glancing around, I make sure one more time that no one is nearby, before quickly slipping it on, giggling quietly when I feel his long it is, the hem brushing the ground as my hands disappear into the sleeves, the smell of it enveloping me as I spin in a circle, my chilled skin soon heating up under the thick garment. Pushing my hands into the pockets, I feel around a little, locating his lighter, cigarettes, some spare change and what feels like a ring, which I pull out curiously, only to feel a burst of happiness when I notice that it's one of mine. I'd lost it a few months ago, and had wondered where it went. Now I know.

Smiling to myself, I replace it and go to one of the sofas, the coat dragging slightly in my wake, sitting down as I wrap myself in the comforting layer, burying my cold nose into the rapidly warming fabric. Laying back against the arm rest, I kick up my feet and turn up the collar of the coat, grimacing slightly as I get a whiff of what is probably blood, only to then find it is followed by an undertone of cologne. I settle myself down, intending to sleep until the boys come back, my eyelids just starting to droop closed when I hear a deep chuckle reverberate around the room, the sound making my eyes snap back open again, slight panic erupting in me. My eyes swiftly find the vampire hanging, upside down, from the ceiling rafters above me, his blue eyes glittering with mirth as he looks down at me, lips pulled into a smug smirk, the sight of which makes shivers go down my spine.

"David! I didn't notice you were there! I'm sorry-" I go to start, only to be cut off by another chuckle, this time sounding more amused at my attempt to cover myself up, his smirk pulling into a smile.

"Don't apologise, kitten. You look damn good in my coat." He compliments me, dropping elegantly from the ceiling so that he's standing beside the sofa, hair slightly dishevelled from being upside down, eyes roaming over my obscured figure with unconcealed admiration and pride.

"T-Thanks." I murmur, blushing a deep shade of crimson as he unashamedly stares me down, the vampire quite content to just watch me squirm under his intense gaze. His lips pull into a grin, before he gently reaches down to pick me up, briefly holding me against him as he lies back down again with me cradled against his chest, arms pushing under the coat as he manoeuvres me so that I'm on my front, hands smoothing against the planes of my back as mine rest against his collarbone.

"Don't get used to it, though. It's never going to happen again." The vampire reminds me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"Oh yeah? You sure about that?" I probe in response, lifting an eyebrow at him as he stares me down again.

"Very sure."

Dwayne

There aren't many occasions where Dwayne takes off his jacket, being shirtless underneath and all, so stealing it can prove difficult at times, but when I do succeed in nicking it, the result is always great. Over my time spent with him, I've come to learn the specific times when he will remove the piece of clothing: when he's working on his motorcycle, when cleaning himself up after a hunt and, more conveniently, when the two of us go skating together.

When the both of us figured out the other likes to skateboard, we quickly decided to spend time together at the skatepark, where we show off to each other and help each other learn new tricks, though it's incredibly rare that Dwayne needs help with anything, so it's more or less just him helping me. In a week, we can spend hours upon hours in the more secluded skateparks of Santa Carla, thoroughly enjoying our time there, especially when no one else is around. Somehow, however, I never really noticed that he removed his jacket to skate until a few weeks ago, at which point a plan started forming in my head, subconsciously observing his other habits and mannerisms at the park with a keen eye. By now, I have it mostly figured out.

My skateboard clatters to the concrete floor beneath me as I fall out of the flip, my arms flailing slightly as I travel at speed through the air, only to suddenly find myself face-to-face with a toned bare chest, dark eyes looking down at me in a mixture of concern and amusement.

"If you keep doing that in public, someone's gonna figure you out." I scold him teasingly, grinning thankfully up at him, "Thanks for catching me."

"If they figure it out, at least they'll know I don't let people fall into what is probably going to result in serious injury." Dwayne smirks, floating back to the deck a little way away, placing me carefully on the side of the bowl where we're skating, retrieving my skateboard for me.

"Oh right, I forget. You're a righteous vampire." I joke, laughing as he mockingly bows to me, lips pulled into a smirk.

"Only for you." He reassures me, before grabbing his board and dropping off the edge of the bowl, falling into an elegant series of tricks, which is normally pay close attention to. This time, however, I cast my eyes around elsewhere, knowing this is my only chance.

Quickly, I spot my target lying a little way away, out of the way of the lip of the ramps and bowl, a cunning smirk making its way onto my face as I stand and walk over to it, making sure that Dwayne is still focused on his run. Glancing over at him, I pick the leather jacket up when he isn't paying attention, slipping it on before grabbing my skateboard, standing in preparation to escape, noting now that the vampire has come to a halt, his eyes quickly finding me.

"I'm gonna need you to give me that back, (Y/n)." He informs me, starting to walk around the lip of the bowl towards me, lips pulled into a small smile.

"Oh yeah? Make me." I challenge, before kicking off on my skateboard, away from the bowl and towards the smaller features a little way away, intending to lead him on a series of twists and turns through the different obstacles.

Behind me, I hear a quick chuckle, the sound of wheels rattling on the concrete swiftly following as he gives chase, his longer legs giving him more momentum as he starts to catch up to me. Giggling, I veer around a tight corner, using a raised half-pipe as support as I go round, evading his reaching arms momentarily.

"I'll catch you, (Y/n)! Just you wait!" He calls after me, amusement lacing his tone.

Marko

Marko and his jacket are near enough inseparable, so taking it is an incredibly rare occurrence for me, and always results in a playful wrestling match between us, which he always wins. The only times he ever takes it off is either to add another patch, or to wash it if it got particularly bloody during a hunt, and he will not let anyone touch it at these times, not even me, who has offered to help him sew on new bits and pieces from time to time. Each and every time, he has declined, insisting that he does it himself, despite the fact that my sewing is clearly better than his.

One thing he can't stand, however, is when his pet pigeons decorate it with droppings, so he usually takes it off during the times he's caring for the small birds. He always keeps a close eye on it, but he can't always be watching it, so I've made several attempts to steal it at these times, only to be found pretty quickly by the fact that I always scare the birds away. Having realised this, I managed to figure out a way of grabbing the jacket without alerting the pigeons to my presence: befriend some of them.

Marko was delighted when I told him I wanted to help him care for the birds properly, knowing that David gives him all kinds of crap for having them in the first place, eagerly accepting and showing me how to look after them. Soon, the birds became used to having me around and didn't fly off when I came near, meaning it was finally time to put my plan in motion.

I carefully stand from my place on the sofa, eyeing the place where the curly-haired vampire is faffing around, my eyes finding the patchwork jacket quickly, calculating the distance between me and it. As silently as possible, I walk over in that general direction, smiling as a pigeon flies over briefly to greet me, flapping around me once before returning to the crop top wearing vampire, providing me with a distraction, which I gladly take as I go to the jacket and snatch it up. As discreetly as possible, I push my arms through the sleeves and shrug it on, the scent of Marko easily flooding my nostrils as I start to back away again, managing to get to the fountain before he notices me.

"What've I told you about stealing my jacket?" He remarks, tone amused.

"I don't quite remember. You should probably remind me." I respond, continuing on my way to the sofa, only to squeak when he suddenly pops up behind me, having used his abilities to get there in record time.

"Oh, I'd love to." He purrs into my ear, before his fingers swiftly find my side, brushing at the sensitive skin in practiced motions.

"Oh, no, no, stop! That tickles..!" I protest, laughing and squirming as he continues, his hands holding me in place as he continues tobtickle at my sides.

"That's the point, (Y/n)." He remarks again, chuckling at my attempts to break free of him, "You need to learn your lesson, missy."

Squealing now, I keel over onto my knees, clutching at his hands as I try to get away from his persistent tickling, my strength easily overpowered by his, his body falling over mine as he trips slightly, pressing us both into the ground.

"Fine! Fine, you can have it back!" I give in after a minute or so, writhing wildly underneath him.

"And?"

"And what?" Confusion floods me, until I realise what he wants, "And I promise I won't take it again."

"Not without my permission, anyway." His smirk is almost audible as he pulls away, helping me up, "Keep it on for now, it looks good on you."

Paul

Someone as irresponsible as Paul is easily stolen from, even by an amateur like me. And his clothes are no exception to this rule, often finding themselves thrown into the most random corners of the cave at the best of times, sometimes left behind at hunts and especially around my house, as if he leaves a treasure hunt for me to follow every day. It makes stealing from him simple enough.

Tonight is just another of those nights where I've come downstairs again to find a few scattered pieces of clothing around my own lounge, their positions apparently inexplicable in that they seem to be there randomly. Gathering them, I figure out that he's left a pair of his white trousers, a black mesh shirt and a few bracelets, too, basically creating a whole outfit, which I decide I will finally take advantage of after months of just returning them to their owner. Going back upstairs, I take off my clothes and pull on Paul's, smiling slightly at the sheer size of them on my shorter frame, pairing them with a leather jacket of my own and some knee high boots, admiring myself in the mirror before I leave the house for the night, heading for the Boardwalk. On my way, I receive a good few nasty looks, but I ignore them all, flipping one man off as he makes some snide comment, arriving at my destination in a pretty quick time for once, eager to see if Paul will notice my choice of attire.

On the Boardwalk, I quickly locate the boys and go over to them, Dwayne, David and Marko instantly recognising the scent littering the clothes I'm wearing, though they don't say anything, smirking at me as they choose to let Paul figure it out for himself.

"Hey, guys!" I greet them all, jumping on Paul's back as he forgets to turn around in time, giggling when he let's out a huff of air and stumbles forwards.

"Hey, (Y/n)." The other three chorus, smiling at me before turning their attention elsewhere, half-listening to us so that they can catch Paul's reaction to my clothes.

"What's up, sweet cheeks?" The vampire in question replies to me, carefully letting me go as he turns, leaning in to press a kiss against my lips.

"Not much. How about you?" I continue, amused that he hasn't quite slotted the difference yet.

"Likewise...is that my shirt?! And my white trousers?!" He exclaims, blue eyes roaming my fame as he takes this in, clearly not expecting this turn of events at all.

"Indeed."

"But...how? Why?" Is all he can manage, eyes still pinned to me.

"You keep leaving your clothes at my place, so I thought I'd wear them for once." I shrug dismissively, "They smell like you, so I'm quite enjoying this."

"Well, i guess that's fair enough." He muses, smirking at me, gaze darkening as he makes eye contact, clearly more affected by my clothes than I am, "Wanna go somewhere more private?"

[doctors-star]

u want prompts? i am going to make shit up. how about trying to outrun a horse or piggy back rides for cowboys

“Well,” Finn says cheerfully, patting Johnny’s chest with the flat of his hand as though to reward him for good behaviour. “This may just be our dumbest idea yet.”

“Then we ain’t doin’ half bad,” Johnny objects, shifting Finn’s weight on his back as he carefully picks his way through the grasslands. In the half-dark of the moon and stars, the prairie is as a great aquamarine ocean of shifting blue-green grass that brushes against Finn’s dangling ankles as Johnny walks, and it has the curious edge of unfamiliarity and unreality in the night. Finn ain’t that heavy, and he knows the lands around Danser well enough not to be worried about getting lost, but it’s more than just the occasion that has him pressing hard for home - there’s a distinct undefined weird at play tonight, and he’s keen for familiar sights and sounds to ground him. Bitchin’ at Finn goes some way towards that. “If me carryin’ you through the night is our worst, we got a good ways to fall.”

“Oh, sure, and we’re gonna,” Finn says, still irrepressibly bright. “But we are tryin’ to outrun a horse, so. Although, I guess you’re outrunning the horse - I’m competing with the rider.”

Johnny considers, not for the first time, the merits of dropping Finn, and finds them barely insufficiently compelling. “You’re being the horse next time,” he grunts.

“Never fear,” Finn says smugly and ruffles Johnny’s hair now that he’s too pinned down to wriggle angrily away - Johnny does toss his head crossly, but this just makes him stumble. “Next time we have to run for it on foot in the night on account of how everything’s gone wildly tits up and Ainsel’s accidentally made off with our horses, you can stick your foot in a gopher hole and I’ll carry ya home.”

“Too kind,” Johnny grumbles absently, pausing to make use of a small rise and reacquaint himself with his surroundings. The desert falls off to the south, the trees forming a sharp dark line to the north and east, and somewhere between ‘em, Danser. And, god willing, Ainsel and Tommy with the horses, Will with his bag of bandages, and Noel with some helpful words of severe disapproval. No matter what Johnny had said about having yet further to fall - this displayed a level of ineptitude Noel was not, exactly, going to love.

“We’ll have more cover in the trees,” Finn points out rather more seriously.

Johnny makes a face. “Too dark - ain’t no sense in us both busting our ankles and falling in the creek in the dark.”

Finn pauses, like he’s weighing the truth of that against how funny he reckons it’d be, but concedes the point. “Desert’s a bit exposed, though,” he says, sounding resigned.

“Yeah,” Johnny says slowly, and not without confusion, as he continues down the rise and on through the grass. He shifts Finn on his back again - all right, maybe Finn is kinda heavy, or at least, his weight is wearing on Johnny - and there’s a rustle in the grass on the tree-side of them. Johnny doesn’t figure it’s much they gotta worry about: coney maybe, or gopher come out to ogle the humans outta their natural habitat - but Finn flinches away from it like he reckons the gophers have all gone rabid, or something. “I figured we’d keep going in the prairie grass ‘til we hit town.”

Finn fidgets awkwardly and nearly sends them both arse over elbow until Johnny works a hand free and smacks him quickly on the thigh. “I just-” he begins awkwardly, giving off the impression that it is only a great deal of effort that is keeping him from fidgeting. “I don’t much wanna be on prairie lands after dark, y’know.”

Johnny does not know. “I don’t wanna be out here either,” he says, bewildered. “That’s why we’re heading on home.”

“Oh, sure,” Finn says, like he’d kinda forgotten that they were desperadoes on the run, “but - I don’t wanna be here, specifically. Desert’d be fine.”

“‘Cept how we’d be shot for morons without any cover,” Johnny points out, not very gently. He twists his head awkwardly and manages a good squint at Finn’s cheekbone and a crick in his neck. “What’s eatin’ you, huh? You ain’t never gone off the prairie before.”

“Hayfever?” Finn tries.

“So help me God, Finn, I’ll drop you.”

Finn clings a little tighter, ankle flinching away from the floor. “Awright, jeez. It’s just-” he sighs massively, breath gusting down Johnny’s neck like the touch of a ghost and making him shiver. “I don’t wanna come across the Coyote.”

Johnny shifts Finn’s weight again and ignores the twinge in his back, pressing on along his straight line across the grasses to the faint lights of the town. “Coyotes aren’t that dangerous. Will says-”

“Not coyotes,” Finn corrects, “the Coyote. He, uh, might not want me hanging around long after dark. Not my patch,” he says, as if that’s cleared everything up.

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got a feud with a coyote that’s landed you a curfew?”

“No-o,” Finn says carefully. “It’s not that bad. But. We might be better off in the desert.”

“Did you hear me about the gettin’ shot thing?” Johnny snaps, a bit louder than he had meant to. And then he stumbles forward a few more steps, emerging into a bizarre clearing of grass which he definitely had not seen from the little hill, or even one step before landing in it - this perfect circle of mown-short grass. Sitting in the middle of it is a coyote.

It tilts its head on one side.

Finn offers a sharp, nervous grin. “Technically,” he says to the coyote, “I am not on the prairie. So.”

The coyote does not so much as blink.

Johnny reckons he might be in over his head more than a little. “Desert, you said,” he declares firmly and begins trekking south.

Finn does not relax. There is a rustling noise behind them - quite a lot like the sound of a coyote following them through the grass. Johnny attempts to pick up the pace.

“I am sorry about this,” Finn says conversationally. “But can you go any faster.”

“Nope,” Johnny puffs. “You’re fuckin’ heavy.” He manages a slight increase in speed, which the coyote matches easily, and nearly trips over his own feet for it. This had not been so difficult when they’d started out - Finn seems to be getting heavier by the second, like every inch of him is slowly turning to lead.

It reminds him of a warm day when he wasn’t quite grown, but wasn’t a boy either - there had been an accident, and his Uncle Jack had died, and he was tall enough to be one of the men carrying the coffin. If, and only if, he could contain his excitement at being considered one of the men, said his mother, for long enough to behave decently, jeez. So he’d wrangled himself into solemn calm and taken up his place behind his father, and lifted when told to - and he remembers thinking, dang, why’d we need six men? Uncle Jack isn’t heavy at all. Until they’d started walking, and then Johnny had been glad of the others - but still, not too bad. But they’d kept walking. And kept walking. And by the time they’d reached the church his arms were shaking and his breath came fast and he couldn’t put Uncle Jack down fast enough, the corpse’s limbs all slowly petrifying and dragging them all down, inexorably, inevitably, into the dust.

Finn is heavy as a dead body on his back.

It is suddenly less difficult to push those last yards and hurl them both over the boundary, into the dirt. Finn is thrown from his back and rolls neatly; instinctively he tries to stand, and crumples into a small ball of hissed curses as his ankle makes itself known. Johnny himself manages to control his stumble to his knees and scramble backwards away from the grassland. He watches a black nose press through the leaves, white-glowing eyes the only thing visible in the shadows; after a considering sniff, all melt away. There is no sound, but he no longer feels eyes on him - and then there is a barking call far to the north, and the pound of hoofbeats drumming through the earth under his palms heading for the disruption, and then nothing.

He turns, very politely and calmly, to Finn. “What the fuck was that?”

Finn waves a hand dismissively. “You don’t want to know. But he’ll probably hold ‘em off for a while, as long as it’s fun to do it - we should keep goin’, though.”

“No no no-” Johnny says firmly, holding up one hand. “This - weird shit has gone on long enough. What in the god damn hell just happened to us?”

Finn narrows his eyes and tilts his head to squint thoughtfully at Johnny. In the darkness, sprawled out at the foot of the desert with limbs in every direction and propped up on his elbows, he nonetheless looks strangely alert - as though he might at any moment leap onto his twisted ankle and outdance the devil to keep them both safe. For all that the desert leaves them exposed, Johnny feels safer here than he did in amongst the prairie grasses, the same way a man feels safe from wolves behind a stock fence, for all that wolves can jump. This space has been demarcated, somehow, and called Finn’s, and Johnny don’t reckon anything else is going to come in and mess with that.

“Alright,” Finn says eventually, still with that considering tilt. “This town ain’t what you think it is. There are more things in heaven and earth, Johnny McPherson, than you ever dreamed of. There’s magic in these hills, in them stars above, in you - like as not - and definitely in me. Ainsel pretty much isn’t anything else. Sold his soul to them devilish fae.” Finn spreads his palms to the night and Johnny feels it pressing close like a crowd of people, wrapping him in the tangible darkness of a shroud, the cloying earth of the grave. “But this night - in this place - is mine. And nothing out here can hold me,” he says, eyes fixed on Johnny and black-dark in the moonlight, “not on my lands. No-one can touch me; nothing can stop me in any way that matters. Why should I fear the grave, Jonathan Elmer McPherson, when I’ve known it already? I felt its touch and it could not keep me. I am master of Danser Town, and I am chained to it like a dog. A dead-and-alive dog, black as shadow an’ the world beyond the end, and there ain’t none as can move you on without my say so. You, Jonathan Elmer McPherson,” Finn says, with a grin as cold as hard iron and as pointedly canine as a wolf - it sets Johnny’s teeth on edge, makes him shiver under his skin, makes the soles of his feet tingle with the urge to run like he’s being stabbed by a hundred tiny needles but he can’t move can’t run can’t look away from Finn’s terrible black eyes and shining silvered teeth - “you are my little lamb.” Finn raises an eyebrow in amusement. “And I will look after you.”

The desert is horribly silent for a moment. Johnny’s toes dig into the dirt. A breeze strokes through the hair at the back of his neck, and he shivers

“Well, you ain’t gotta pull my leg,” Johnny grouses, indignant more than cross. “I was only askin’.”

Finn snorts inelegantly and throws his head back to howl with laughter at the moon. Johnny feels around for a pebble and bounces it neatly off Finn’s drawn-up knee.

“An’ how come you know my middle name, anyhow?” he says, pushing up onto his feet to glower down at Finn as he snorts and tries to get his breath back under his control. “You been writin’ to my momma, or what?”

Finn unfurls, still wheezing slightly, and Johnny hauls him up onto his good foot. “Aw, never you change,” he tells Johnny fondly. “Anyhow, someone’s gotta know what gets written on your headstone. Gee up.”

“Oughtta leave you here,” Johnny grumbles, bracing for Finn’s weight. The man ain’t quite so heavy now - or not yet - Johnny reckons maybe he’d just needed a rest. They ought to make Danser, no trouble. “I thought I was a lamb, not a horse.”

“Nah,” Finn says with confidence. “I’m the lamb. You can be Saint John the Baptist.”

“I ain’t got the patience.”

“You out-walked a horse with marvellous patience,” Finn points out cheerfully. “And, as Saint John, you get to dunk me in a river and claim it was for the good of my soul.”

“Oh.” Johnny tilts his head and shift’s Finn’s weight on his back as they set out once more for home. “Well, when you put it like that.”