#''one time i turned a rock into air!! :D'' *turns rock into living birds* *turns a celestial into rock*

[femmeetart]

Everyone you love is gonna die

But so is everything so wipe your eyes

-The End of Everything by Noah Cyrus

[tteokdoroki]

oblivious | k.takami

♡ pairing: keigo takami x gn!reader.

♡ word count: 1.8K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, assistant!au, fluff.

♡ summary: usually, when it comes down to smooth talking and flirting, pro hero hawks has all the boxes checked right off. except for when it comes to his assistant, who doesn’t quite seem to get it. or the one in which miruko meddles with hawks’ love life on valentines day.

♡ warning(s): please read ! tooth-rotting fluff, cheesy pick-up lines, just keigo being a dorky boi! :D

♡ author’s note(s): goood evening my loves! here’s a little fluff fic for you on valentines ! it was requested a while ago by @mocha-focha​ but i figured today would be the perfect day!  i hope youu enjoy, sorry this is so last min! happy valentines day <3

♡ masterlist | requests

keigo couldn’t tell if he found it more adorable or more annoying.

your obliviousness that is.

on one had, your cluelessness to the number two’s attraction towards you was most certainly adorable. the way you grew flustered when he walked by or leaned down to your height to tease and compliment you. the way your gaze dropped shyly to your desk when he’d ask something minuscule of you. keigo knew he intimidated you; after all, who wouldn’t be in the shoes of japan’s second most beloved hero.

the winged hero had wanted you ever since he first laid his avian eyes on you, after he’d stumbled back into his agency to complete paper work for that day’s patrol. you had been unpacking boxes at the desk outside of keigo’s office, hired to be a temporary assistant while the last had quit due to said blonde ‘being too much to handle.’

keigo still remembers the way your eyes had flittered to the floor as soon as he came into view and the timid way your name had slipped from between your pretty lips when he’d asked for your name.

the blonde swears he could never get tired of the sweet taste of ‘yn’ on his tongue.

you were nice company and worked well with keigo, since you were resilient unlike his last assistant. he couldn’t fault you anywhere, not in your kind smile and precious gestures ( you always brought him a chicken sandwich when you came back from your lunch break ). you were a gem. the only ‘annoying’ thing was that you never quite understood his flirting.

sure; some of keigo’s methods like bringing you little gifts of shiny things and rocks were a little unconventional... but he couldn’t help it! he was a goddamned bird after all and it wasn’t his fault you mistook the dead rabbit on your desk as a cruel practical joke instead of a proclamation of love. and okay, maybe keigo giving you extra work so you could spend more time with him after office hours was a little over the top; but at least his pickup lines got through to you.

they were cringeworthy of course but at the very least; they made you grin even if you were a bit confused. one time you thought he had been practicing on you to test on endeavour on their patrol later that day. another story for another time.

so maybe the most annoying thing wasn’t your obliviousness to keigo’s advances but instead the reactions and teasing from his friends. just like now.

“so what’s it gonna be today keigo?” rumi asks from the winged hero’s left, her rabbit ears twitch and pick up on his light scoff— while he mentally prepares for the incoming barrage of teasing. “’are you the alphabet because i can c u and i together?’”

“no rumi, i’ve got better than that.” keigo barks out with a shift of his crimson wings, the number five smirks from beside him and keigo rolls his eyes with defeat, hating the way his wings often conveyed his underlying emotions.  the elevator they both travel in comes to a slow stop on the thirteenth floor of the hawks agency where the man himself hosts meetings in his office. the whole reason rumi was even here was to attend some dumb mission briefing the commission wanted to set them on but more than likely the bunny like hero would be here to tease keigo about his failed attempts at flirting with you. “just you wait!”

she enjoyed making his life a living hell. “i don’t know, nothing can quite beat that ‘i’m not a photographer but i can picture you and i together’ line you used last week!” rumi winks, swiftly exciting the elevator as the doors chime and open up, just narrowly avoiding the flurry of cursing and chirps from the bird-like hero.

said  blonde follows with a huff,  making a b-line for his sacred office as he sets his mind on getting the meeting done. the sooner it ends, the sooner rumi can get the hell out of his hair and stop bullying him for having a crush on his personal assistant. only, keigo is stopped in his tracks when he notices you innocently perched at your desk, tapping away at some document on your computer—  one that he probably could’ve and should’ve done himself. hawks almost hates how he catches himself blushing over how you complete such a mundane task,  the squint to your  eyes and the slight pinch to your brows in concentration ( which is adorable to him quite frankly ) make his heart flutter.

he finds himself coming to a stop just in front of your desk, causing rumi to slow up ahead and turn around to watch the chaos unfold.

your typing ceases quickly when you notice the shadow on your boss looming over you— his gold and piercing avian eyes staring right back down at you as soon as you look up. “oh! mr hawks, you’re back—!”

“yn, i seem to have lost my number, can i borrow yours?” hawks blurts out the cheesy line, almost instantly regretting it right after.

there’s a beat of silence between you both while your face morphs into one of confusion. why would he need to borrow your number when you could just locate it in the personal records you had access to? in the meantime, miruko has taken it upon herself to fill the awkward air with pockets of wheezy laughter. you blink up at your boss, once, twice, three times before reaching for your notebook with all of his important details written inside. “mr hawks, if you wanted me to read your number out loud for you again , you could have asked! i'm more than happy to!” you say your words slowly, just to make sure he understands— your boss can be a bit of an air head sometimes and it is your job to help him out.

“no—yn, no i—” keigo instantly shakes his head, the red tint of shame blaring across his cheeks in a shade that almost rivals the red of his wings. said appendages puff up and flutter with embarrassment and it doesn’t help that his fellow hero is laughing at him so hard that she’s bent over and struggling to breathe. “baby—i meant i was asking for your numb—“

you smile up at him with sweet innocent eyes that have his words dying in his throat. “i didn’t know you had a baby! congratulations mr hawks!” and then you return to typing.

keigo wants to die, physically deflating right in front of your desk where he stands.

rumi, who now seems to have recovered from her laughing fit passes by keigo with a pat to his back, he only pouts while she wipes the remainders of amused tears from her eyes before perching herself on your desk, practically leaning over you. you look up once again, feeling shy under the gaze of yet another esteemed pro hero but greet her politely with a bob of your head.

“yn, hun, can i ask you a question?” the number five asks you, warm grin helping you relax just a little.

“yes miss miruko?”

you find the woman shaking with laughter above you before she pets your hair endearingly, the gesture almost makes you pout and you have to remind yourself of where you are and who you work for. “firstly, love, you can call me rumi, i know you’re shy but i don’t bite…” you paw gently at your cheeks in oder to fight the growing heat that burns brightly under your skin, growing ever so flustered under miruko’s silky voice and knowing gaze. “secondly, hawks isn’t a father nor does he have a baby— he was addressing you, sweetheart. and finally,” rumi pauses, patting your head again as her bunny ears twitch with amusement and mischief. “how do you feel about the bird brains over there, do you like him?”

takami jolts up in his place, impossibly redder than he was before while he makes an attempt to shut rumi up with his ruffled feathers. the bunny simply catches the red feather between her hands, giving them a little tickle to distract her fellow hero , tilting her head down at you as if to ask ‘well?’ you gulp, feeling yourself become nervous as the two wait for your answer expectantly. of course you had nothing but positive feelings towards your boss; he was kind and made the time out of his busy day to talk to you— but why did they care so much as to ask you for your opinion? you were only his assistant and saying anything bad about the number two hero would surely get you fired.

hesitantly, your gaze flickers between the clearly entertained miruko and the highly embarrassed hawks— forcing you to take a deep breath before delivering your anticipated answer. “well—! he’s a great boss, i— i couldn’t ask for better, why wouldn’t i like a boss who gives me an hour and a half’s lunch break?” you sigh in relief at your answer, assuring yourself that it won’t have offended anyone but your heart rate is quick to spike when miruko squishes your cheeks and tilts your head to face your flustered boss.

“no sweetheart,” she corrects herself, pointing over at keigo who cowers into his wings. “i mean, do you like him as in... would you date him?”

you swear on all might’s life that you almost pass out from her words, mind swirling with a thousand thoughts. why would she ask that of you? sparing a glance at your boss once move, you realise what all of this is about. his hot blush, the way he avoids your stare, his flustered state to match your own. he likes you, just as you like him. rumi was only being a good wing woman, one that you were grateful for— as you’d never make a move on hawks on your own, no matter how many feelings you’d harboured for him in the time that you’d worked for him. You had been oblivious to his romantic gestures this whole time and now; the situation for you to confess had presented itself to you.

to hell with it.

“yes,” you breathe as best you can through squished cheeks, staring at keigo with eyes dreamy enough to make his heart soar. “why wouldn’t anyone? i-i mean, mr hawks is so sweet and kind to everyone he meets, fans or not! and…and he’s really pretty— i mean handsome… and his eyes—“ you cut yourself off upon realising the tangent you’ve gone on just to prove your attraction to your boss, looking away shyly and rumi let’s you go with a sweet chuckle.

but just as quickly as you look away, the softness of a little red feather tilts your focus back to him. “glad to know you think so yn,” he winks, making you giggle shyly. “i’ll pick you up tonight at seven for valentines, then.”

and who were you to say no to him.

[polonium-snap]

The Beauty & the Deku chp.3

Summary: Izuku and Katsuki somehow get trapped in a book of fairy tales, to get out of it they decide to play their part in the stories. How far are they willing to go to fulfill the romantic plotlines? Will Katsuki be able to play the role of a fairy tale princess?

ao3

Wattpad

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The ceiling was pinkish brown and wooden, comfortable heat embraced the slowly waking up body of a gorgeous blonde-haired man. Birds tweeted loudly outside his window, as they usually did these days, man fuck those birds, he thought, not only were they disrupting his sleep but they were also a sign he was still trapped in a never-ending nightmare.

“Fine, fine, I’ll get up.” Katsuki sat up on the bed. “You can stop yapping.” His only comfort was knowing at least the damn animals weren’t talking.

As the previous times, he woke up in an unfamiliar room, though this time it seemed more lively, and even if it was still quite far from his own room back at home, it was quieter. Katsuki sighed and stood up, leaving the warmth of his bed to face what was his reality as for now, he changed into some better clothes, noticing with relief that they were comfortable enough.

He went down the stairs where he found the idiots he calls friends making a ruckus and giggling for some reason.

“Let’s make it red.” Kirishima’s voice could be heard.

“No, no, pink.” Mina said authoritatively.

“Isn’t that the same color?” Now that was dunce face.

Katsuki could only thank the sky that they weren’t animals this time. “What are you idiots doing?” The blonde makes his presence known.

They jump to the table, trying to obstruct his view of whatever they were hiding behind and stuttering in a less than conspicuous way.

“We want you to pick some berries.” Kirishima said, handing him a basket.

“Yes, exactly!” Kaminari said, further cementing the fact they are hiding something from Bakugou.

The logic of Katsuki’s new approach to finding a way out of this hellhole would say he refuses to do anything they ask of him, but he thinks he knows what story they are in now, he knew it as soon as Bakugou saw three of his friends in ridiculous color-coded outfits that brought more childhood memories, he was in Sleeping Beauty. He had to go to the forest to supposedly look for berries so he would find his stupid childhood friend, Deku, who for some reason was always prince charming in these stories, while Katsuki was stuck in uncomfortable dresses.

“Yeah, whatever, I’ll go.” He rolled his eyes because showing disdain was the only thing that was not censored in this shitty world. He takes the basket and pretends he doesn’t know the three idiots are planning for a birthday party or something like that.

Katsuki would never admit it, but he had missed his friends, and seeing them in animal form did not count as actually interacting with them, seeing them in their usual antics was a breath of fresh air the blonde needed.

He makes his way out of the house and walks straight to the forest, fuming, because he is still mad at Deku and since they are done with the follow-the-story bullshit he can kick the green-haired menace as much as he wants. Katsuki ignores the animals that follow him around, only lightly greeting them, as he has accepted their permanent existence next to him.

“DEKUUUUU!!!” Katsuki bellows as hard as his vocal cords allow. “Where are you? You useless bastard!!!” He screams some more.

After some minutes of yelling, the little fucked decides to answer. “Kacchan?” Izuku says, appearing seemingly from nowhere with a white horse.

“Deku.” Bakugou grins maniacally. “Prepare to die, nerd.” He impulsed himself toward Izuku, whose eyes widened in panic and surprise.

“Wait, wait! Kacchan!” Izuku flailed his hands around, but the blond did not stop, tackling him to the ground. “Uff!” Deku said as they hit the ground and felt the weight of his friend crash into him.

“I’m still incredibly angry at the stunt you pulled off in the last story.” Katsuki explained. “You literally had ONE job, while I slaved around cleaning that crappy house, and you managed to mess it up!” He growled. “So don’t complain too much while I kill you.” The angry straddled Izuku and raised his hand.

“No, wait!” Izuku cried. “I-IthinkIknowhowtogetoutofhere!” He said quickly, making the other stop on his tracks.

He wasn’t actually going to punch Deku, not that the little twerp needed to know that. “What did you say?” Bakugou raised an eyebrow and took his fist away from the other teen’s face.

“I think I know how to get out of here.” Izuku stated.

“Do tell.” Kasuki said, still sitting down on Deku’s lap, which didn’t escape the notice of the green-eyed man, who blushed profusely.

“Let’s stand up first, Kacchan.” Izuku said, trying very hard not to stare at the cleavage that was so close to his face, enhanced by the loose clothing the blonde wore.

Katsuki blustered and stood up, wordlessly offering a hand to Izuku, which he took just as silently since he knew better than to point them out.

They started to walk through the forest. “Why didn’t you do what you were supposed to in the last story?” The taller man asked. “Did you hate kissing me that much?” Katsuki snorted, but he was unsure why an affirmative answer would hurt him so much.

“I-I didn’t- I d-d-don’t! I j-j-just!” Izuku stuttered, unable to explain himself. How was he supposed to tell his longtime crush that one of the reasons he didn’t want to kiss him was that he liked it too much and it hurt knowing it meant nothing? “I just couldn’t do it while you were unconscious!” It wasn’t a lie. “I felt disgusting.” Also, not a lie, kissing Kacchan while he was asleep felt like Izuku was forcing himself on someone that clearly didn’t like him that way.

“You are so stupid.” Katsuki said, somewhat relieved, Deku had said he didn’t hate it. “But it’s whatever, Deku.”

“Right.”

They continued walking until they reached a clearing, where Katsuki sat down on a nearby rock and rested his arms on a bigger one near it, smirking at Izuku. “So you said you know how to get out of here?” He said, thinking the other had just said that to get the other to abstain from hitting him. “It better not be your way of trying to convince me to go along with the story again.”

“I-it’s not.” Izuku said, blushing at how the other man looked and his new idea of a way out of this nightmare. “I was just thinking…”

“Dangerous.” Katsuki interrupted, continuing with his teasing. “Each time you do that we end up in an even more forked up situation than with what we started.” He never stopped smirking.

“Shut up!” Izuku continued to blush. “If you don’t want to hear my idea, that’s fine.” He turned away from his friend's hot smile.

Katsuki laughed. “Sorry nerd, it’s just that your last idea didn’t exactly work.” He said. “Besides, you said that if it didn’t work you would let me do my idea next, that’s just doing the opposite from what the story said.”

Izuku huffed. “How would that even work?” He crossed his arms.

The blonde rolled his eyes. “What is your new idea anyway?”

The shorter teen looked away, his cheeks slightly burning, originally he wasn’t actually going to say what he had been thinking about, he had said it on impulse, even though he knew Kacchan wouldn’t actually hit him.

“Well?” Katsuki insisted. “Aren’t you going to enlighten me with your amazing ideas?” He continued sarcastically.

“I-it’s just…” Izuku breathed, debating telling the other what he was thinking. “Y-you know how the last two stories only ended because we k-k-kissed?”

Bakugou’s eyes widened, immediately catching on to what Deku was trying to say, the worst was it did make sense, the last two stories had ended when they kissed, well. When Katsuki had kissed Izuku since the other hadn’t had the chance either of the times to kiss back.

“M-m-m-maybe i-if we did it again, we could move onto the next story?” Izuku finished explaining.

Katsuki fought a blush. “S-say we do t-t-that, what do we do once we get to the next story?” He asked

“I g-gu-guess we could continue to k-k-k-kiss until there are no more fairy tales?” Izuku said, though he completely expected the idea to be rejected.

“It could...work.” Katsuki admitted with an uncharacteristically quiet, pink dusting his cheeks, which he hid by turning away from Izuku.

There was a deafening silence, so much so he could feel the sparks of tension between them, pushing and pulling simultaneously. Red eyes lock on green, triggering even more the thick air between them as the color of their eyes shone even brighter with indescribable emotions.

“...Good, cool, cool, cool, cool.” Izuku muttered, unsure of what to do next, does he get closer to the other teen, or should he wait for the blond to initiate. “Should we...try it now?”

“Yeal,” Katsuki said breathlessly. “I mean, the faster we do this the sooner we’ll know if it works, right?” He tentatively stepped forward, not one to be a coward. “Or did you lie and you actually hate kissing me?” He teased as he was unsure of what to do with himself.

“No!” Deku replied too fast, blushing instantly. “I mean, no, it wasn’t bad, I guess.” He tried to be nonchalant. “I was just making sure you were ready.” He followed the knee-jerking response he had to Kacchan of accepting every challenge the blond implied.

Slowly they got closer.

Unlike last time, they weren’t rushed, didn’t feel the frustration to be done with the story as they had previously, this time they were obligated to look into each other and watch as luscious plump lips closed the heated distance between them.

Izuku couldn’t breathe, mesmerized by the sight in front of him and the warm breath that heated further his cheeks and tickled his nose.

Their lips met softly, making a complete contrast to their previous kisses, Katsuki lightly touched Izuku’s cheek with his hand, and Deku couldn’t help the need to place his hands on the blond’s hips. The kiss seemed to short, only serving to make Izuku crave more.

“...So...it didn’t work.” Katsuki said, not yet removing his hand.

“Y-Yeah.” Izuku mumbled back, also not taking his hands away.

Katsuki seemed to react first, slightly jumping away from Deku. “I-I think I need to go back to the three idiots cabin.”

Izuku jumps away too, as soon as his brain is able to process what had happened to a passable degree. “Oh, yeah! Of course! See you later, K-Kacchan!”

The blond turns away and starts walking away before stopping suddenly. “By the way, you can kiss me whenever.”

Izuku’s mouth snapped shut, the redness from his cheeks that just barely had seemed to calm down returned in full force.

“I-I mean! If it’s to get out of the story.” Bakugou amends, uncharacteristically embarrassed.

Deku almost is unable to contain the disappointment that spreads through him. “Of course…”

Katsuki berated himself all the way back to the house, what even was that back there with Deku? Why was he, Lord Explosion Murder, who is never embarrassed stuttering and tripping over his words? Not to mention the kiss, he definitely enjoyed it more than he should, prolonged it more than he should have.

Who would have known Deku was such a good kisser? It had to be that, right? That was the only possible reason he liked the kiss so much.

He needed to get out of his head, and thankfully taking care of his extras was exactly what could do so.

“There he is!” Said Kaminari, glad to see him, as Kirishima and Ashido turned to look at him too.

“Happy Birthday, bro!” Kirishima said, shoving a cake onto his face, while Mina presented him with a beautifully crafted outfit; a blue dress-inspired shirt with a wide cleavage with same-colored pants and a darker shade cape.

Bakugou smiled despite himself, it wasn’t anywhere near his birthday, though the praise of his (thankfully human-looking) friends was certainly but secretly appreciated. “How did you idiots even manage to make this cake and not set the house on fire?”

“Uhhhh…about that.” Denki looked at his friends less than subtly, at which they returned the unease with equally inconspicuous looks. “We have something very important to tell you.”

“Oh, yeah.” Kirishima confirmed.

“You should sit for this honey,” Mina said, suddenly serious.

The blond teen rolled his eyes, honestly, he should have started to do whatever the fuck he wanted long ago, but he strangely decided to humor his friends, NOT because he liked them and missed them, not at all, Katsuki was just in a generous mood.

“We,” Kirishima started and pointed to himself and the other two extras. “Are fairies, we were tasked by the king to take care of you until you turned 16, due to a sleeping curse that is to end today.”

Katsuki acted shocked just because he could. “Oh, word?”

“Now you need to get ready sweetie, you are going to marry a prince and we have to prepare.” Mina said, grabbing the newly made outfit with the intention of dressing Bakugou.

“Yes, yes, prince Izuku this, prince Izuku that.” Katsuki rolled his eyes at the thought of the nerd.

The three fairies shared a confused look. “Who is Izuku?” Kaminari asked.

“We were talking about Prince Philip.” Said Kirishima.

“WHat?” Katsuki yelled. “Who on Earth is that? I’m not marrying some random extra!” He protested.

“Why not?” Mina asked.

“There’s already someone I…” Katsuki paused, realizing what he was just about to say. “I would rather marry someone I know rather than some dude I just met…”

“You met someone?” Kirishima asked, surprised.

“NO, yes, maybe.” Katsuki stuttered. “In the forest, there was this guy, a total dumb nerd, but I guess he is torelable enough, kind of funny, and stubborn, anyways, he is definitely better than some Prince Philip.”

Ashido looks at him with something like sorrow. “Sorry hun, you’ve been betrothed to him since you were born, you have to marry him or there will literally be a war”

While Katsuki was well aware he was trying to purposefully change the story, he did not want to deal with a war at the moment. It never occurred to him that the prince might not be Izuku, it never seemed like a possibility, and he couldn’t quite understand why it was so upsetting.

He wondered who the prince would end up being.

۵⚜-The Beauty and the Deku-⚜۵

Izuku went back to the castle he had woken up in, finding out All Might was once again his father for the tale, which he was in part very happy about, but at the same time sad he didn’t exactly count on the time to enjoy.

“Al- Dad!” Deku said once he saw the oddly dressed Toshinori.

“Oh, my boy!” All Might said. “Where have you been all morning? We have so much to prepare for your wedding to the prince.”

“I’m sorry I’m late, but I’m just...uhm...exited?” Izuku said. “I mean, at first I wasn’t sure, but now I’m glad I’m marrying him.”

“My boy Izuku,” All Might smiled. “I’m so glad you have come around, I knew prince Aurelio would be a good match for you.”

“Wait, who?!” Izuku’s eyes widened.

“Prince Aurelio, the one you have been betrothed to since you were children.” All Might raised an eyebrow.

“No no no, I’m going to marry prince Katsuki!” the young man said, unnerved by the newfound information.

Toshinori paused for a moment. “There is no prince on this side of the world named Katsuki.” He said slowly, looking at increasingly more nerve-wracked Izuku with worry.

That’s right, Kacchan and him being both the main leads in every story was never a hard-cold fact. That thought didn’t help Izuku at all, they had just started to figure things out when again there were new issues to deal with?! He had to marry some random prince he didn’t know, and for what? Kacchan wasn’t even following the story currently, which right about now sounded very appealing to Izuku who while was more than ok kissing his childhood friend definitely did not feel the same way about some prince who was probably way older than he was.

He needed to speak with Kacchan.

“Look, you don’t have to marry prince Aurelio if you have someone you actually love.” All Might assured, patting the back of his panicked son in a loving manner. “I’ll just have to talk to the king and everything will be alright.”

Izuku bit his lip, he had been an advocate for following the story so far, but now he had his doubts. “I-I already have someone I want to marry, and it’s not prince Aurelio.”

“Alright, my boy.” All Might smiled, but then he sighed. “Your mother won’t be happy, you know? She is good friends with the queen.”

“My mom?” Izuku muttered, missing her dearly. “You mean my mom Inko?” He said making sure he was talking about her and not some woman who was supposed to be his mother in the story.

“Who else?” All might said, besotted with the mention of the green-haired woman.

Huh. Izuku thought this was the second time All Might and Inko were his parents and apparently married, happily. He was aware this world took real elements from his reality, which made him wonder if this relationship between his mom and his mentor held some truth to it.

“Who is this Katsuki you want to marry anyway?” Toshinori asked, curious as to who had captured his son’s heart.

“Oh, about that.” Izuku remembered his intention to go look for Kacchan in order to talk about the current situation. “I have to go find him, I mean, I have to introduce you to him.”

All Might laughed and side hugged Izuku in a way that mitigated some of the unease the green-haired teen had been feeling for a while. Izuku found himself very happy to see All Might so carefree, apparently devoid of any injury and restored to his old self. “All right, you go do that, I’ll talk the king out of a war, although now that I think about it, it might be the queen who I will have to talk to.”

“See you later All M- dad!” Izuku said, the taller man had looked hurt when Izuku apparently called him by the nickname All Might had gained in a war, instead of calling him dad, so Izuku had caved and called the man so only because he knew that it wasn’t the real Toshinori.

Deku mounted his horse and started to go on his way to the cabin Katsuki had mention waking up, they needed to talk.

۵⚜-The Beauty and the Deku-⚜۵

The castle was bigger than the one Katsuki had seen in Cinderella and Snow White, the atmosphere also looked brighter. As soon as he figured he was in Sleeping Beauty Katsuki had been determined to just not fall asleep, after biting the apple Shigaraki had given him in the last story he had had weird dreams he remembered nothing about. Besides, he had always wondered why Aurora went and got herself prickled with the fucking spinning wheel.

Anyway, that was not going to him, he strengthened his resolve as he entered the castle, rolling his eyes as he was told that his parents in this story wanted to see him just after his wedding to, ugh, Prince Philip.

“So they don’t see me for 16 years and the first time they want to marry me off to some weirdo, that’s nice.” He said sarcastically.

“People say he is very handsome, you know.” Kaminari said, now in what Katsuki supposed was his fairy outfit.

“Who cares if the sun shines out of his ass.” Cool, ass itself was not a swear word, praise the gods. “I don’t want to marry him, and I’ll be such a jerk he won’t either.”

“Wow, you really must be in love with the guy you met in the forest.” Mina commented in awe, in a pretty pink outfit.

Katsuki spluttered, turning red. “I DO NOT LIKE DEKU!!” He screeched. “H-he is a lame nerd, we could never be together.” He turned to look outside the window. He and Izuku were friends, now that Katsuki had gotten his head out of his ass and stopped having his superiority complex triggered by his childhood friend, but years of miscommunication and misguided aggression could be easily ignored.

Ashido, Kirishima, and Kaminari guided him to his room and fixed him up in a blue outfit they had made for him, although Mina and Eijiro still argued over the color.

“We’ll be right back!” Kirishima said as he and the other two went out to do who knows what.

Katsuki sighed and looked at his reflection, he didn’t know why on earth he was still entertaining this stupidity his friends had told him to, he had said he would fuck shit up in this story because he was tired of going along with it, why exactly had he been doing exactly the opposite? Either way, there was no way he was going to ever marry some random dude, even if it was what got him out of here, he and Deku would figure out another way.

Suddenly he felt like he was underwater, he couldn’t think or feel.

He was an outsider of his own body as he stood up, slowly walking in an unknown direction through the swirling stairs and hallways. His senses were asleep and his mind seemed submerged in a thick substance that forbade him from controlling himself.

Abruptly he was vaguely aware of the door in front of him and as Katsuki opened it he was overwhelmed by green, but not the calm deep forest green he had come to like through the years, but a toxic acidic green burning his eyes with its power, although he felt nothing but nausea.

There was no pain as his finger touched the sharp end of the needle, just the acid spreading through his body as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell unconscious.

۵⚜-The Beauty and the Deku-⚜۵

It had happened again, and really Katsuki should have expected it. Every Time he's out there doing god’s work and saving people, the world decides to fuck him over, he is actually fine with it, he has come to expect it. Katsuki is cursed and he knows it, the problem is that Deku is fucking cursed too, even more than he is for some goddam reason, and one would think bad luck plus bad luck would cancel each other out because that is the logical thing, right? Well, logic flies out when it concerns Katsuki and Izuku.

It is his bad karma making him repent, Katsuki recons.

At first, Katsuki would be offended Aizawa-sensei called him problem child #2, but honestly now with all the bullshit Katsuki goes through every single time he inexplicably sees himself end up involved in some villain’s conspiracy he can’t even deny it.

Which all of this is a roundabout way to say he and Deku got themselves in another fight with older more experienced villains when they are barely in their third year of high school.

They were supposed to do a simple patrol, it was supposed to be easy, but of course, Deku being Deku he had snooped around the agency and recalled the face of some suspected criminal who just happened to walk past them.

“I swear Kacchan, I saw him on the file Hawks was looking at when he welcomed us,” Deku insisted. “We need to follow him.”

“Ok, first of all you can’t call me that fucking kiddie name when we are in costume,” Katsuki scolded, though Izuku at least had the decency to look sorry. “Second, Aizawa specifically told us to only report suspicious activity and not to engage.”

“K- uh, Dynamyght, Aizawa-sensei said that to everybody.”

Katsuki looked at him with a blunt expression. “He said and I quote ‘I swear to god if you get in trouble I’ll expell you, problem children’ while looking at us.”

“Yeah, ok, but Kacchan he’s going to get away.” Izuku said, as they inconspicuously followed the presumed villain as they had yet to come to a decision. “Do you know what he is suspected of doing? They think he is the one that collects children and gives them to All for One!”

The blonde hesitated. “Fine, we’ll call back up.” The other boy frowned, knowing how long backup might take, moreover when it was not even a confirmed sighting.

“Think of the children!” Deku hissed, determined. “Besides, this will look amazing on our record, and may even help us climb ranks when we graduate!”

Dynamyght was nothing if not ambitious, also the children. “God damn it stupid Deku!” He hissed back. “This better not end in a disaster.”

Deku beamed and Katsuki scowled, as was his trained response to that disarming smile.

They carefully followed the suspect; tall with, black hair, yellow eyes, and a weird tattoo on his left eye. Silence trailed them too, even with the considerable amount of people on the street. The presumed villain turns the corner to an alley, where Katsuki and Deku follow several seconds later.

“Shouldn't have followed, mini heroes.” The man said, without even turning around.

Katsuki is about to tell him to shut the fuck up and fight when a hand appears behind him and covers his mouth and nose with a handkerchief. He struggles and is vaguely aware Deku is in a similar situation. Strength escapes the blonde and staying awake is harder as seconds pass by, his head swims and all he can do is muster his best glare as he topples to the ground.

“There’s a quirk I’ve been dying to try.” The man, who looks to be about thirty, smirks.

Katsuki blacks out.

He wakes up tied up and unable to use his quirk, whether it is because of the remnants of the chloroform or because of anti-quirk restraints is unclear. He looks around dazedly, he spots Deku slouched on the floor, no doubt still knocked out and a little girl in the fetal position sobbing in one corner of the dirty basement they were trapped in.

“Hey, you ok, kid?” Katsuki calls and hopes his speech is not too slurred.

The girl sobbed harder. He groaned lowly in frustration and slowly with the little strength he had recovered since he woke up he struggles his way to the small kid, about seven years old.

“We’re gonna get you out of here, you know.” Bakugou had never been good with comforting people, but he tried. “Me and him are actually heroes in training.”

“...Really?” The little girl lifted up her tear-stained face, she had light purple shoulder-length hair and blazing orange eyes.

“Yes really.” He assures her. “Even if we can’t get you out, there will be people looking for us, so don’t give those assholes what they want and keep strong.”

A determined look courses through the girl's face. “Allright, mister hero!”

“Call me Dynamight.” Katsuki corrects as gently as he can.

“My name is Lily.” She says he notices she has a thick book she clutches with all her might.

“Nice to meet you, or whatever.” The book bothers him, why would kidnappers ever let the kid keep anything? “What do you have there, Lily?”

“Oh, this is my favorite book! My mom always reads it to me before sleeping.” She smiles slightly, which Katsuki is glad to see, as this must be a stressful situation for a kid like her. “It’s got all my favorite fairy tales from the movies!”

Katsuki smiles lightly at her. “That is amazing, kid.”

A loud groan from the floor diverted their attention.

Deku lifted his head from the floor, though his tied hands made it difficult to rise from the ground. “K-Kacchan…” He whined.

“Finally up, you piece of sh-trash.” Katsuki amended.

“Where are we?” Izuku asked, clearly still fighting the effects of the drug the villains used to put them unconscious.

“Fu- Hell if I know.”

Deku turned to Lily. “Hi sweety, what is your name?”

She introduced herself timidly and Deku did the same, offering her a smile. Katsuki was glad the other boy had awakened, as he was better at dealing with people than the blonde was, though he still made one or two comments to the conversation they maintained, the little girl coaxing the answers out of him.

The relative pleasantness of the conversation disappeared when the basement’s door opened, revealing the man from earlier, along with his henchmen.

“Take them upstairs.” The black-haired man said.

“Yes, boss.” His henchmen replied in unison, bypassing their leader and lifting up the two teenagers and the girl.

“LET ME GO YOU FUCKERS, LET’S FIGHT LIKE REAL MEN!” Katsuki struggled as hard as he could, and Deku tried to do the same.

I was ultimately useless, and they were dropped in the ground of the upper floor, which was still very much disgusting. They sat the girl on a chair and the leader approached her, with the fairy tale book in his hands, he dropped it carelessly on the floor, where it landed open.

“Show us what you can do.” He smirked at the girl and the heroes in training.

Katsuki growled and Deku glared, Lily predictably was sobbing.

“I don’t have time to waste, little girl.” The leader growled when Lily didn’t immediately use her quirk, and he yanked the poor girl's hair, making Izuku and Katsuki trash harder on their binds. “If you don’t want to die, use your quirk on those two useless heroes.”

The girl cried harder, shaking her head. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”, she said as she raised her hands, probably to use her quirk.

Izuku shook his head, smiling sadly at the girl. “It’s not your fault Lily, the pro heroes will save us soon enough.”

Katsuki gave a short nod in agreement, if anyone was at fault it was these stupid asshole villains.

The girl’s eyes and hands glowed a reddish-orange that started to permeate the room to the point Katsuki had to close his eyes at the strong light as darkness overtakes him. He promptly loses consciousness.

۵⚜-The Beauty and the Deku-⚜۵

Izuku gets to the cabin a few hours later, although it seems no one answers when he knocks on the door. He opens it, just to be sure Kacchan is not there and to have a clue as to where he might have gone. He enters with tentative steps into the darkness of the place, where a sinister laugh greets him.

Hundreds of minions attack him before he can even defend himself as they tie him up and gag him, holding him in place in front of a black figure.

It looks like Kurogiri is the Maleficent in this story, which Izuku guesses is fitting enough, although he notes the usual purpleness of the villain has turned to a sour green.

“I set a trap for a peasant and look here, I caught a prince.” He laughs when Izuku glares at him as the gag and ties prevent anything else.

Izuku is dragged to Kurogiri’s run-down castle, they put him in a cell and shackle his hands and feet. If he had his quirk he could have easily broken the bounds, but not having it does not stop him from struggling against the iron chains.

The green-haired prince sighs and throws himself at the bench, wondering how Katsuki is.

However there is not enough time to lament his situation, as out of nowhere fairy sized Kirishima, Ashido, and Kaminari appear.

“Prince Philip!” Kirishima said as he starts shooting red magic off his wand into breaking the shackles that keep him bound.

“Who?” Izuku said, confused. “My name is Izuku.” He said.

The three fairies gasp. “You are the one prince Aurelio met in the forest.”

“No no, I have never met Aurelio.” Izuku reassured them. “But never mind that, where is Kac-Katsuki?”

Kaminari laughed as he broke the lock of the door. “Katsuki is Aurelio, we had to change his name so he wouldn’t get recognized.”

“Oh.” Izuku said, remembering princess Aurora had gone by Rose the first part of the movie.

Ashido spoke then, interrupting his thoughts. “Guys, we don’t have the time for this, we need to go!” She rushed them.

Izuku immediately straightened up, only half hearing Kirishima’s explanation as he was given a shield and a sword. They speed out the room, not without alerting Kurogiri’s ugly crow, which immediately started squawking in alert. The stairs were full of minions throwing all types of weapons at Izuku, but he skillfully deflected them and somehow they were able to make it out of the castle where the incessant attacks continued as Izuku tried to get to his horse in order to escape.

Rocks and arrows rained from the sky, but thankfully Kirishima, Ashido, and Kaminari turned them into bubbles and flowers with magic, which Izuku thought was pretty neat.

The dashing prince managed to get atop his horse and raced to the castle and with outstanding strength was able to cut all the spiky vines that barricaded the place Katsuki was trapped in asleep.

Upon cutting his way through the vines, Kurogiri teleports in front of him, furious. Then he turns into a dragon, at which Izuku looks for a more open area where he won’t be burnt to flames, swinging his sword at the reptile as it shoots green fire out his mouth.

In the process he somehow manages to break one of his left-hand fingers and lose his shield, he hissed in pain as he stared down the abyss. The dragon seemingly laughs, thinking they have won, but the three fairies hover over Izuku, overloading the sword with so much magic it shines. In a last-ditch effort to win, Izuku throws the sword with all his remaining strength and lets out a sigh of relief when it pierces right through the dragon’s heart.

Kurogiri stumbled into the abyss, where Izuku once the threat has been eliminated does not even bother looking back as he sprints toward the castle, bypassing the sleeping peasants, the guards, and even All Might and Kacchan’s parents, who appear just as unconscious as the rest.

Finally, he arrives at Katsuki’s room, where the blonde lies, his face slack with sleep, unmoving but still beautiful.

Izuku breathes in, Katsuki had given him permission to kiss him, even if it only was to get out of a story.

He leaned in and kissed his childhood friend, whose lips were as soft as they had been earlier in the day.

Katsuki’s red eyes slowly opened, blinking away the sleep. “You idiot.” He said, because what else would the explosive boy say? “You were Prince Philip?”

Izuku laughed. “I guess.”

He was about to tell the other teen they needed to go downstairs to greet their parents, but the world started to turn white again, as it did every time a new story was about to start.

Izuku braced himself.

[usaigi]

I Can't Breathe, Please Don't Say You Love Me: Chapter 1

Read all chapters on AO3 | Next Chapter

Pairing: Marc x Layla

Warning: Depictions of panic attacks, switching, dissociation, reference to past abuse. View all tags on AO3

Half the population across the galaxy turned to dust, and the world all but stopped. World governments quite literally fell apart; leaving the millions still around in confusion and disarray. But as the saying goes, “nothing is certain except death and taxes.”

Marc still picked up jobs as a contractor every once in a while, he needed to eat after all, and being the “fist of justice” for a decaying Egyptian bird didn’t exactly pay the bills. Frenchie contacted him about a simple job: escorting an art thief and some artifacts to a buyer in Spain. Simple, one week max, and most importantly, the employer was known to pay well. 

“It’s simple, mon ami. The employer needs a Spanish speaker, et voilà!” Frenchie had said when Marc questioned his generosity. “Plus, I’ve heard she’s cute,” Marc had rolled his eyes. The subjective beauty of whoever he was escorting had nothing to do with the job. 

It is a perfect gig, until–

Knock, knock.

“Ms. El–Fouley,” Oh shit. It’s her. G-d damnit, Frenchie, fucking son of a bitch. 

“Layla’s fine,” She says as she extends her hand. Layla El-Faouly, daughter of Dr. Abdallah El-Faouly, the man whose blood stained the desert scarlette all those years ago. 

“Marc Spector, we met at your father’s funeral,” Where Marc froze up at her sight, as he was stabbed in the gut with guilt and remorse, and had only fostered enough courage to say ‘I’m sorry for your loss, your father was a good man.’ 

Maybe this is a second chance for penance. Or maybe this would be a chance for her to enact revenge on her father’s killer. 

“Right. The ex-Marine who showed up uninvited. I remember you,” she says as she takes his hand, expression illegible on her face. 

“How have you been?” Marc wants to slap himself at the awkwardness of that comment. She just got paired up for a job with some guy who crashed her father’s funeral, who while he didn’t pull the trigger, definitely played a part in his death. What does he honestly expect her to reply?

“Fine. Taking it day by day. You?” She says as she puts her hands back into her pockets, rocking back and forth ever so slight.

“Same…” he just agrees as he gestures towards the car, “So what’s the plan?”

The job went without a hitch, Layla really did know her way around a house break-in. Marc just had to hold his gun and pretend to make himself useful. Which was ideal, if Marc didn’t need to pull out his gun or summon the suit, that met the minimal requirements for a successful job, even if they are the most boring. 

The artifact was safely secured in the back truck, and Marc offers to drop Layla and the artifact back at her employer's safe house. They already had tickets to Madrid for the following afternoon, giving them just the narrowest of windows. 

The silence is making him paranoid, it always does. It was always quiet before she–no, stop. Don’t trigger yourself, he warns himself. He proceeds to do something so uncharacteristic of himself, clears his throat, and, “So what got you into this line of work? I thought you were in grad school at some university in London.”

“You know, I’m kinda disturbed by how much you already know about considering we just met officially,” she responds, her tone and body language indicating an air of caution and wariness. Fair enough, Marc thinks.   

“I worked a job with your father, he liked to brag about you,” he reminds her of the short conversation they’d shared that mournful day, tapping anxiously on the steering wheel. 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she smiles faintly. “I guess I knew the right people, and if half of the earth's population isn’t the perfect time to get into the market, I don’t know when it is,” she jokes morbidly. 

“The Decimation really ruined a lot of people's lives and ambitions but we all have to move forwards. I was also disillusioned after what happened to my father, and to be honest, academia in general and the western perspective of North Africa and the Middle East. I guess anywhere labeled as the global south,” she continues as she reaches for her bag from the backseat, “who knows, maybe I’ll go back and finish my PhD one day.”

“So what do you think of the world’s mightiest heroes?” He asks after some silence. Everyone had something to say about the Avengers, Marc hopes it’ll keep Layla talking about anything. 

“You mean what do I think about Iron Man and his gang of American sponsor ‘saviors’? They might be a necessary evil against aliens and whatever nonsense but I can’t say I’m thrilled with their role in destabilizing a lot of developing countries,” she scoffs.  

“Have you heard of some of the smaller underground ‘enhanced individuals’?” Is Marc only asking to see where he possibly stands in the whole “superhero” scale of acceptability. Definitely. But who’s to judge him? Steven? Khonshu? 

“You mean like, what’s his name, Daredevil from New York?” Marc nods, only slightly insulted that she referred to some guy in New York as opposed to white caped vigilantly rumored to appear at night. Layla just shrugs, “Seems like some guy fed up with the system, no? Taking ‘justice’ into his own hands, whatever the hell that means. He seems alright though, like he’s actually trying to help his community.” Was he helping his community? The travels of the night as Khonshu preaches. Or was he just an addict enamored by violence, looking for his fix? 

“You’re right about the Avengers though. Stark seemed to cause half of their world-ending problems anyway, then they’d fly off leaving the civilians to deal with the consequences. Stark disappeared off the face of the planet and the rest of his gang are doing jackshit. I get what you mean,” he says, redirecting the conversation. 

“You do? Weren’t you in the marines,” she states, skeptical about the hypocrisy of his stance.

“Didn’t have a lot of options. I needed an out and the military offered me that.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“Discharged. PTSD,” not technically a lie but also not actually the truth. He wishes it was as simple as the complexity of PTSD. “Not a lot of options afterwards and the VA benefits are laughable. Met Frenchie and some others, and that’s how I ended up here,” referring to his very legal career as a part-time mercenary for hire, part-time servant to Khonshu. 

“Where are you from originally?” she asks curiously, seemingly dropping any malicious suspicion.  

“Chicago,” chewing the inside of his cheek in anticipation. 

“Jean-Paul said you speak Spanish?”

“Well enough, I guess. Family’s from Cuba and Guatemala,” please don’t ask about my family, please don’t–

“Your family is from Cuba and Guatemala and you joined the US military?” she raises her eyebrow at him in judgment.

“Like I said, I didn’t have a lot of options,” he mutters, annoyed by the interrogation, “You ask a lot of questions.”

“You started, didn't you? If we’re going to do this job together it wouldn’t hurt to be friendly to one another. Plus, you seem to know a lot about me already,” she states. 

“I know what your father told me about you, I don’t actually know you.”

“What exactly did he actually say?”

“You got a scholarship to some fancy school in London, international affairs or something, that he used to take you to all the dig sites when you were a kid, that you were a good kid,” Marc can’t help but wonder what his dad–nope, keep your eyes on the road.

“Huh,” she just looks out the window, eyes drifting off, as if to make sure Marc can’t see her expression, “What else do you want to know?”

“If you’re not in school, why are you still in London? Didn’t want to move back home?”

“I know people in London, as much as I dislike the British Empire, I like London. I haven’t been back home since my father’s funeral.”

“Why haven’t you been back to Egypt?”

“Several reasons, mostly due to my current line of work and my involvement in EIPR,” Egyptian Initiative for Personal Rights, he can faintly hear Steven chimes in from the back. Marc had heard something about the Egyptian government imprisoning and disappearing a lot of protestors.

“So you ran away,” he projects.

“Choosing to stay alive isn’t running away. I’m actively doing more for Egypt by staying away,” she scoffs, insulted at the accusation. She crosses her arms and takes a moment before looking over at him and stating the obvious, “You’re kind of an asshole, aren’t you.”

“Yup.” he agrees, popping the ‘p.’

Layla just ignores him as she continues to rumble through her bag until she appears to find her prize.

“What’s that?” Marc asks, pointing at the yellow juice box she’s pulled out of her bag. 

“It’s Korean banana milk, want to try some?” Layla passes the little box towards him but Marc shakes his head. Layla simply shrugs, “It’s good, it actually tastes like bananas. I went to Korea for a job a couple of months ago and I picked up a slight addiction to these. They used to sell them at any convenience store or supermarket over there. I found them at a Korean market here but they’re a bit expensive so I like to get them as little treats.”

Marc doesn’t know what compelled him to do it, but as soon as he’s come to, he’s standing outside of the Korean supermarket. The trip to the other side of town was a blur, as if his body was on autopilot, but here he is; pushing around a shopping cart as Korean pop music blasts across the store. He passes the colorful display of foreign snacks and candy and the life-sized cutouts of boy band members till he finds the golden treasure. The same little milks that Layla was oh so casually slipping as if she hadn’t just stolen an artifact worth close to a million dollars. He adds 5 packs to his cart, more than enough for the duration of their job. 

That afternoon when Marc goes to pick her up for the airport, Marc simply greets her by handing her a little milk box and a packet of Freska Sticks. The cookies were a gamble but from what Marc has observed, Layla has a sweet tooth. 

“Is this for me?” she asks, stunned at his generosity. 

“Take it as a preemptive apology for having to deal with me for the week,” Marc says, careful not to read too much into the pinky brush spreading across her face.  

For the rest of the job, Marc greets her every day with another banana milk and a pouch of Freska Sticks. She thanks him with a smile every time. 

Frenchie was right; he already knew Layla El-Faouly was a beautiful woman, but it is becoming abundantly undeniable that she, in fact, is cute. 

[persphonesorchid]

Sugar & Spice - KSJ x WOC!Reader

Notes: AAH--- I'm really nervous to post this for some reason?? lmaoo. Sorry this took so long, you won't believe how I s t r u g g l e d.

Oh, before I forget, yes I am a Caribbean girl (hailing all the way from Trinidad, hi there!) And also, reminding you guys that the boys' soulmates will be given names as I move along with other stories! Please enjoy and review!

Part of the Euphoria series -Masterlist

The sky was a brilliant blue, ill-shaped clouds long blown away by the soft wind that brought the heat of the yellow sun. The edges of the road caressed by swaying ferns and errant foliage that wrinkled and dried in the summer air. Sparse forests thinned evermore, giving way to wide fields teeming with high grass before the tree lines began again. In a bus, going at a careful speed down the main road, Seokjin sat behind the driver's seat trying to cover a yawn. He quietly went over the consent forms, making sure that all were present for each child: Lee Yunaka and her twin brother Junghee, Seo Daewoo, Timothy Gale, Kim Ara, and Kim Jiah.

He was almost falling asleep on the long drive, mind distracted by the passing scenery beyond the glass and trying to count just how many birds he could spot. He was grateful for the blast of the ac in the bus -- while it lasted -- but it only served to make him sleepy as he snuggled into the light jacket he brought with him. He was kept awake though, by the voices of his students trying to see who could sing a low enough note to rival Taehyung's baritone.

The man himself was sandwiched between two boys at the back of the bus, in a heated battle of rock-paper-scissors, letting them win just to hear their cheers. Taehyung was quick to bond with the children, keeping them occupied and active during the drive that would have driven them stir-crazy otherwise.

Seokjin was considerably tired this particular morning, having gotten up early to gather things for the trip, and the students whom he picked up himself. Everything was organized by him, he held a fun-raiser a week before school had let out so that he would be able to get supplies for their two-week recluse. Thankfully, the only thing he had to bring with him was clothes as everything else was dropped off the day before.

It was a long way to reach the summer beach house his parents left to him, and he was too busy trying to keep his eyes open to entertain his students. Luckily, they had Taehyung who was more than happy to do the hard stuff.

The jolt of the small bus shook Seokjin, and the driver apologizing for not seeing the dip in the road. Wiping a hand over his face, Seokjin sits up straight, looking over the back of his seat to check up on everyone. Taehyung was doing high notes now, and passing candy to anyone who could go past him, the children having the time of their lives.

Luckily his group was small, most of the others were either abroad or with their families for the holiday, and Seokjin found himself grateful for that. He doesn't think how he would handle more than the six he has with him outside of a school setting. Despite his fatigue, he was pretty excited. The year before, he had done an in-school camp, where the children would come in every day and they would have fun activities to do. Normally, he and the boys would go to the summer house for a least a weekend once everyone was free, but everyone had plans this summer, and Tae was the only one free and agreed to help out.

"Mr Kim?" A small finger poked his arm, and Seokjin recognized the voice before he turned to face the owner. Timothy was a foreign exchange student who moved to Seoul under extremely unfortunate circumstances. He's always kept a closer eye on the boy as his aunt had asked him. He's had a hard time connecting with his classmates, even after a year of being here, and Seokjin tried his best to spend as much time with the boy as possible. "Can I sit with you? Daewoo is being mean."

Daewoo was Seokjin's resident trouble maker, and as kids would always do, he would sometimes take his teasing too far. He'd have to talk with him once they're off the bus.

"Sure," Seokjin smiles as the boy plops down in the seat next to him, playing with his fingers. "You excited?" He nudges Timothy slightly, watching him carefully as he nodded, though it was barely the reaction Seokjin had wanted and he poked at the exposed skin of Timothy's neck. A smile lights the boy's freckled face as he quickly leaned his head to the side and his shoulder met his ear in an attempt to block Seokjin's advances.

He was grateful for the company, and it wasn't long before the vast trees that zoomed by just beyond the reach between glass had turned into soft beige sand. The bus had eventually slowed, parking a little off the road, and Seokjin and Taehyung both had their hands full trying to ease the children's' excitement enough for them to leave the bus without injury. When they had all gathered their things, and the bus driver was thanked and paid, Seokjin herded his students off the edge of the road as the bus pulled away.

Taehyung led the charge towards the beach house, running full speed with no warning and the children followed like a brood of chicks would follow their mother. Seokjin couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head as he followed in a more leisured pace, taking his time to admire the view. He didn't come to the beach house often, only during the summer, and even then it's for a short time. He's always loved the beach, and as a child, his parents' beach house was a home away from home.

He could see the side of the house from his spot, just around the edge of another beach house belonging to Mrs Han, a sweet elderly widow who's lived there for as long as he could remember. His house was still a shade of pastel blue his mother hated that was now fading, paint weathered by the elements. He'd always said he'd paint it another colour but never had the time, and now that he thought about it; it needed a touch-up.

Stopping for a minute, Seokjin looks out at the ocean, admiring the way the sun shone off the brochure-blue waves. The salt in the air that had already found home on his skin, the squawking of seagulls looking for their next meal as they braved the crashing waves.

"Hyung!" Taehyung called, standing on the wooden staircase, waving his arm in the air, "Come on!"

Seokjin jogged the way over, instantly regretting his decision as the fine white sand had quickly weaseled its way into his trainers.

[❦]

"Alright, Alright," Seokjin puts his palms up placidly, "Just as long as you all stay close to each other, I don't want anyone going out too far."

Cheers erupted from the small group, as they all raced outside in their swimwear, Taehyung following in blue trunks and a tee-shirt a size or two larger than his frame. It was just pushing mid-day, and with the sun high enough in the sky to make the beach house feel like a sauna, the kids were more than ready enough to go swimming. After making sure that they were all covered in copious amounts of sunscreen, and armed to the teeth with their floaties, Seokjin followed them out the front door.

He sat on the wooden stairs, watching with a careful eye as they played, not quite ready to breach the thirty-minute rule before he goes in himself after brunch. The children, left to their own devices fanned out, but still stayed very close to each other as Seokjin had told them. The boys swam in the shallows while the girls buried Taehyung in the sand.

The creaking of the front door of Mrs Han's house being pushed open drew Seokjin's attention, and not moments after the woman herself stepped out. He was glad to see that some things remained constant in an ever-changing world; Mrs Han's favorite colour was still a deep blue, the lengthy skirt she wore shimmed with sequins and went well with the beige shirt she coupled it with. She always wore something blue, the colour was calming she used to tell him.

"Oh! Good afternoon Mrs Han!" Seokjin greets, waving as she hobbled down her stairs and over to him with a smile, long grey hair kept together in a tight bun at the base of her neck. She walked with a cane she didn't have the summer before and Seokjin couldn't help but worry. She was a grandmother to everyone in the area, but the bond was greater between her and Seokjin as he practically grew up here. When he and the boys would come for their weekend getaway, she would always be over with sweet treats and the justification that she couldn't possibly eat it all by herself, and Seokjin was always so happy to indulge her.

"How many times, Seokjin-ah? Halmoni." When she was close enough to him she pinches his cheek lightly, footsteps made nearly silent by the sand. Seokjin made room for her next to him on his steps, and they talked about all kinds of things. She said that her leg gave her such trouble these days it was hard to walk without using the cane, and she asked about his bunch of students, telling him that she'd bring some cookies over later.

Taehyung was off now, looking for shells while telling the kids one story or another, and they were too busy hanging off his every word to realize they were shivering.

"Anyone coming by this summer?" Seokjin asks, toeing at the sand, and Mrs Han hummed lightly.

"Hyunki is supposed to be coming, he was supposed to be here an hour ago," At the mention of her grandson, Seokjin perked up a little. He remembers Hyunki, as a thin child with glasses too big for his face, blue coloured braces and dark hair as wild as the sea itself. During the summers of his childhood, he and Hyunki would play together often, looking for shells on the edge of the waves. He went abroad when he was twelve, and Seokjin hasn't seen him since.

"Halmoni!" Seokjin looks across to the main road, spotting a man with blonde hair waving his arms wildly, shouting at the top of his lungs as he stepped out of a black car. A duffle bag slung over his shoulder as he turned and spoke to someone who was still in the car. 

"Is that Hyunki?" Seokjin squints, and Mrs Han chortles. It wasn't at all what he was expecting, even from when Seokjin sat he could see that the younger man had gotten taller, he was probably taller than Namjoon if they stood side by side. And the blonde hair was a bit of a shock, considering that Hyunki regarded it as his best feature when they were children.

He came jogging over as quickly as his bags would allow, almost tripping in the sand. Seokjin helped Mrs Han up as her grandson came nearer, and Hyunki greeted her with a tight hug while he squinted at Seokjin for a moment. Brown eyes searching Seokjin's face before recognition crossed his.

"Jin-Hyung! Oh my God, it's been ages!" He says loudly, stepping away from his grandmother to pull him into a hug as well, Seokjin hugs him just as tightly, glad to see an old friend. "How have you been?"

"I've been great!" Hyunki smiles, lone dimple flashing, as he pulled away. He leaned down briefly to unfold the cuff of his white jeans, dusting out the sand that had gotten in from his jog before standing straight again.

"I have so much to tell you!"

Seokjin nods diligently as Hyunki launched into a story about his time abroad, almost as though he'd only upped and left a day ago. He was halfway through his story about getting accepted for a modelling agency when a voice was calling his name from the car. Seokjin was startled at the firm smack Mrs. Han delivered to Hyunki's arm.

"You left Y/n to bring all her things by herself?"

"Halmoni, she's got two legs and two arms for a reas- ow!" Moments later, Hyunki left rubbing his arm, a displeased pout on his bottom lip as he left to help his friend. He watched as Hyunki and a woman he hadn't noticed - you - standing by the car with your hands on your hips before playfully smacking each other. And Seokjin wondered why he hadn't noticed you before, too busy catching up he supposed.

He noticed the length of your legs first and how they seemed to go on for miles, and dark jean shorts that complimented the sun-kissed cinnamon tone of your skin. The white tank top you wore wasn't enough to hide the flicker of something more colourful dancing against the skin of your neck and shoulder. Your face was partially hidden by the large sun hat on your head, and you and Hyunki laughed about something on the way over.

When Seokjin caught Hyunki's gaze, he looked away, embarrassment flushing his cheeks at being caught staring. At some point, Taehyung snuck over to press a kiss to Mrs Han's cheek, mindful of the sand that was all over him. Both Seokjin and Taehyung stepped back as you hugged Mrs Han, with the latter asking how the trip from the city was. You were introduced as Hyunki's best friend, whom he had met and spent most of his time with whilst aboard as a child.

The fourth thing Seokjin noticed, was the way you spoke; though your Korean was perfect, your syllables were a bit rounded off. He got the gist, you were a foreigner.

The fifth thing, however, was something that Taehyung had noticed and tugged on the back of Seokjin's shirt to draw his attention. With a slight point of his chin, Seokjin eyes were once again drawn to the splay of colours that moved all on their own against your skin. For a small moment, Seokjin's heart could have stopped before he realised - this isn't anything new.

The Aurora soul mark was quite common, and it wasn't strange to find someone whose soul mark looked the same; an aurora of colours that changed depending on the emotions of your other half that bared the same aurora.

It wasn't impossible to find your soulmate if you had such mark, but it was difficult because everyone experienced it differently, there was no actual thesis on how it worked. And with people's emotions being as similar as they are, Seokjin didn't find himself surprised by the flicker of blue that swirled and branched outward on her neck or the sense of calm that washed over him that very moment.

"We should get inside," Mrs Han says, turning to wish Seokjin and Taehyung goodbye, and reminding Seokjin that she would be by later on in the day.

"Nice meeting you," You smile, leaving with Hyunki throwing an arm over your shoulders and whispering something that had you pushing him away. A few comments passed between you both, with Seokjin left staring after you, a tad awestruck, only pulled from his reverie at Taehyung's nudging his arm.

"You should take a photo."

After the sun had set, and the waves of the ocean calmed some, Seokjin and Taehyung helped the kids set up their mini-camp in the living room after a fulling dinner of Jajangmyeon and cookies courtesy of Mrs Han. With all the chairs pushed back against the wall and sleeping bags placed haphazardly next to each other, the six took turns going through their nightly routine.

Even though the beach house had three bedrooms - Tae and Seokjin were totally okay with sharing to give the boys and the girls separate rooms - they all agreed to sleep on the floor. Taehyung was sitting on the floor outside the closed bathroom door, listening to Yunaka sing her little heart out as she showered. Junghi, her brother, was sitting next to Taehyung, asking if dyeing his hair green would cause his hair to fall out.

Seokjin shuffles by with Daewoo and Timothy talking a mile a minute about the cool things they found in the sand at lunch, and Ara dragging him by the hand and swinging her favourite hairbrush in the other.

Once they were all ready for bed and under the warmth of their sleeping bags - Taehyung included - Seokjin turned off the lights and got into his own sleeping bag. After the events of the day, he was quick to fall asleep.

[❦]

The days at the beach house went by incredibly fast, and when the Thursday of the first week rolled in, Seokjin was handing out paintbrushes. Each of the kids tasked with painting the outside of the house in whatever colour they saw fit. Cans of different coloured paint littered the stairs, paint-splattered every which way on and around them. Seokjin was trying not to be outdone by Taehyung who was painting a skyline on the door.

"Oh, that looks pretty good,"

Seokjin's head while around at the sound of the voice, not at all missing Taehyung's shy blush reddening his cheeks. You had been over quite a few times since Seokjin had met you the past Saturday, determined to get acquainted with everyone since you were spending the summer at Mrs Han's. The children loved you and so they easily dropped their brushes to greet you, and you handed them juice boxes from the plastic bag you brought.

Taehyung shoots Seokjin a look and tilts his head, making a slight jerking motion with his head in your direction which Seokjin pointedly ignores. Of course, you'd been the focus of their conversation over the week, with Taehyung always being the one to bring you up either before or after your visits. He told Seokjin that he should take his own advice when he had woke this morning, repeating the same words he had said to Hobi a couple of weeks ago when he suspected that Nari was his soulmate.

Though Seokjin hadn't felt the pull, and he still doesn't feel it even as he watched you now. It's easy enough to give it the benefit of the doubt, maybe it's too soon for the pull to make itself known. He hasn't gotten anything else that comes with the territory either, all he did manage to do was get flustered and make a fool of himself whenever you're looking at him, or even dared to utter his name. Oh, the mortification he felt when he had accidentally slipped that your skin looked really nice when the sun was setting yesterday. Taehyung was still laughing about it just fifteen minutes ago, much to Seokjin's annoyance.

"Can I help?" Seokjin startled a bit at the sound of your voice being so near, you were smiling at him like you always do when you saw him. You were wearing shorts again, pale blue and cotton - Seokjin tried his best not to be rude by staring - and a shirt too large to be yours. He suspected that it was Hyunki's.

He knows that you two were close, and of course, it's none of his business. You two were best friends, as Hyunki had expressed sneakily in Jin's ear two days ago when he caught him staring at you again. He couldn't help it though, you're beautiful and Seokjin would be damned if he didn't appreciate that whenever he was allowed. He also couldn't help the burn of something in his chest whenever Hyunki made you laugh or wrapped his arms around your waist in a way that seemed a little more than best friends.

At the surprising surge of jealousy and the dark green that swirled against your pretty skin, Seokjin turned away to find you a brush. Once again paying no mind to the colour that matched his emotion, people feel that way all the time. "Sure,"

Of course, when he handed you the brush, the way your aurora snaked down your arm to meet where his fingers brushed yours was completely unnoticed.

Halfway through painting one side of the house in a bright pink that you had chosen, Hyunki came outside, stuffing his face full of one thing or another and a small plastic bowl in his free hand.

"So this is where you've disappeared to," he comments from a good distance away, he raises his eyebrows at the different splotches of colour on the house, "Child abandonment, Queenie."

Seokjin watches as you roll your eyes, pointing your paint-covered brush at Hyunki, "I hope you left some of those accras for Halmoni, don't go eating it all."

"But it tastes so good," Hyunki whines, "Hyung, you should try it!" He offers the bowl to Seokjin, jostling the contents lightly with a smile, "Queenie's a great cook, you'll love it." The man's eyes twinkled with something akin to mischief that reminded Seokjin too much of Jimin when he was up to no good, coupled with the smirk on his lips that had Seokjin glancing at you.

You say something to Hyunki in English that Seokjin barely caught - he's pretty sure you said you were going to kill him - before he took one with a clean hand that didn't have paint on it. It was fried, though he wasn't sure exactly what was in it, and small enough that it can fit in his mouth without trouble. He takes an experimental nibble, before humming and biting into it, "Oh, wow.."

"It's good, right?"

"Yeah, what is it?" Seokjin turns to you, still chewing.

"Oh...uh. Well, my mother's from Trinidad so she taught me a lot about cooking her way. Some people call it fishcake some people call it a fritter...But mum's always called it Accra. It's mainly flour, but there's a bunch of seasoning in there and saltfish, too."

Seokjin didn't exactly miss Hyunki looking between the both of you like an excited child on Christmas, a growing smile on his face. "It's really good,"

"She can show you how to make all types of things, right, Queenie?" Hyunki was wiggling his eyebrows, a strange suggestive look in his eyes that went completely over Seokjin's head.

[❦]

Sleep had evaded Seokjin a couple of days later, and he stood wiggling his toes in the wet sand where the sea met the earth. He supposed that there were too many thoughts in his head, with Taehyung's words before he went to bed bouncing around his mind. Words whispered between lowly as the children settled; "She looks at you all heart-eyed, Hyung." Seokjin had denied that; "You're blind."

Though, those words earned Taehyung a light smack, because of course he noticed, just because he wasn't paying attention meant he was unaware. He's pretty certain he looks at you the same way, even though at first, he wasn't aware that he was doing so. Taehyung said it's because he was trying so hard not to, which is why he didn't pick up on it. It took a while, but he did, and he caught himself in the act quite a few times, enough to be embarrassed by it.

But what sold him was his aurora.

With the placement of his soul mark, it's way more difficult than you think to see any changes; it spans the with of his shoulders - on his back. So Taehyung noticing it first wasn't a surprise. He poked him in the shoulder after he had walked in on him changing in his room, eyes wide and eyebrows hidden in his hair. "Your soul marks growing..."

Seokjin was confused about it of course, because again, people's aurora's react differently when their soulmate is met, so he wasn't exactly sure about it. Confused still, he rubs his right forearm, where one end of his aurora had made its way down under the sleeve of his long sleeve shirt.

"Would you stop that?" When the harsh whisper met Seokjin's ears, even over the gentle sway of the waves, he turns to face the owner. His heart almost stopped before it pounded wildly against his ribcage. Hyunki was dragging you - who looked half asleep and tripping over your own feet, trying to pull away - by your hand towards him.

"We're not going back inside until you two idiots talk because this tension is actually going to kill me." It was clear to Seokjin, that a conversation had been had between you both, based on the way Hyunki plopped you in front of him and stared at you expectantly. He waved a hand at you, "If you don't tell him I will."

"Tell me what?" Seokjin asks, noticing your immediate reaction; looking like a deer caught in headlights, and for the first time since he's met you, you stumble over your words.

"What? N-nothing. There's nothing to tell." You not so subtly smack Hyunki's arm, giving him a side glance. "He's being stupid."

"Oh, I'm being stupid?" Hyunki looks affronted, turning his head to face you so fast Seokjin worried. "I did not just listen to you moan about this for two hours for you to say that. And why'd you put the sweater on?" The man groans.

"Because it's cold out here!" You smack his arm, "It's not my fault you decided to do this at two in the damn morning!"

Seokjin felt caught in the middle, and awkward to boot. The kind of awkward you felt when your parents argued about something at a family gathering. He could see your rising temper the longer Hyunki prodded, trying to get you to tell him whatever it was you both talked about. He decided to be your saving grace and speak up; "Hyunki, if she doesn't want to talk about it that's fine," He tried to placate, giving you a smile for good measure, "We can just talk about it later?"

Hyunki groans again, his hand meeting his forehead in an overly dramatic gesture, he leaned his head back to stare at the dark sky, as though it could give him what he was looking for. "Don't say that, or she'll never bring it up. And you'll be long gone by the time she's ready to talk about it." He turns to you again, placing his hands on your shoulders, a pleading look in his eyes, "Queenie, please."

You stared at him for a long moment, nothing but the sound of the waves between you all. A minute passed before you sighed, reaching for the hem of your sweater. A nervous chuckle leaves Seokjin as he took a couple of steps back, "Woah, what are you doing?"

You pull the sweater over your head, shoving it against Hyunki's chest. The man took it with a smile, waving a hand at you as if you say 'Go on.'. With the sweater now gone, you were left in matching sweatpants and a tank top, and it was easy to see what Hyunki was so adamant about showing Seokjin. Your aurora had done just what his had - it stretched its way down your left arm, stopping at the crook of your elbow, pulsing with a colour Seokjin could barely make out under the dim moonlight.

You extended your hand for a moment - while Seokjin just stared at you in stunned silence - before heaving a sigh and dropping your arm lamely at your side. You gave Hyunki a pained look, "This isn't gonna work." You huff, crossing your arms, "Can we go back inside?"

"Well of course it's not gonna work." Hyunki sounds equally annoyed, "Not if you two do nothing but stare at each other! Hyung, can I see your arm?"

He takes his hand anyway, not at all waiting for Seokjin to answer, pushing up the sleeve of his tee-shirt, quickly followed by grabbing your hand as well. He presses both your palms together, and you all watched with bated breath and an equal amount of awe as the auroras continue their downward path towards your joined hands. The colour burned out as it moved, wrapping around Seokjin's wrist and yours did the same, meeting at the tip of his index finger.

They glowed brightly then, a bright red with the softest of pink undertones, and with the colours came a tingling heat that made Seokjin drop your hand and shaking his trying to be rid of the odd sensation.

"See? I told you." Hyunki's words fell on deft ears as Seokjin stepped to you, a stupid smile growing on his face. Hyunki was then rolling his eyes, stomping off in the sand muttering something about them being ungrateful after all his hard work. But Seokjin couldn't be bothered as he only saw you, felt the sudden rush of adoration and excitement through his mark when you smiled.

"Hi..."

"Hi..."

::

"I'm sorry this happened when?" Taehyung was looking between Seokjin and you, his hair spiked every which way and brows furrowed in confusion. Eyes are eventually drawn down the length of Seokjin's arm linked with yours and the matching patterns of your auroras. He'd just woken up and found you both sitting on the beach laughing about something.

You had refused to go back to bed when Seokjin had asked you to, so he stayed up the rest of the night, talking about anything and everything with you, and you both watched the sunrise.

"No really...when?"

Seokjin simply watched Taehyung, and he couldn't help the laugh that left him.

Euphoria Taglist: @eren-fall @amon-rei @astormunchar @allhobbitstoisengard

[tracybirds]

I was very determined to finish something today :D Yo all knw I’m back in lockdown which like... bro every time I try to write a thing that seems to happen so I’m snowed under again......................... Anyway, decided to finish up the exhausted Virg fic I began on Friday the 13th of August and how has it nearly been a month of lockdown already?? anyway I’m reposting the first bit with this, but wanted to say thank you to everyone who left comments on that snippet and encouraged me!! And big thanks to @gumnut-logic who read the first, slightly sleep-deprived first version of this before it underwent edits

It’s 11:30pm, my brain is no longer functioning, anyways, enjoy <3

 --------------

Virgil drags his leaden feet across the floor, still pink from the hot water, barely acknowledging Scott and Alan, chatting lightly together as he walks past them.

He’s not ready to sleep, but he’s not much good for anything else either.

He’s tired from the ground up. The exhaustion is only in his feet, his calves, his thighs, but it reaches up into his mind all the same. His shoulders ache, but it’s from good work and kind deeds, a balm for any residual overthinking.

He did good today, he knows it, can feel it in every torn muscle fibre.

He’ll just rest for a moment or two. Debrief can wait. John’s probably already written up most of the report.

He collapses onto the nearest sofa, but it’s more muscle memory than aim that lands him safely amongst the cushions.

“Cannonball!” crows a voice from somewhere above him, followed by a sharp yell of “Gordon, no!” and a crash that reverberated through his skull.

Then it hits him, and he launches himself sideways.

Gordon dives onto the sofa, arms and smile wide, as though he hadn’t just come off the same seven-hour mission plus bonus two-hour administrative argument with the nearest hospital who had just had their landscaping done.

And now, incidentally, redone.

Virgil glares from the floor.

“How’s it going, V?” Gordon says, still grinning.

“Ow.”

“Did you fall off the couch? You’ve gotta be careful about these things, you know.”

Short, sharp, monosyllabic words might be enough to fend off some lower forms of life, but Gordon is rather like moss, clinging to hard rock. Virgil opts to ignore him instead as he picks himself up with a groan.

A strong, sure hand grasps his arm and he accepts the extra leverage gladly, hauling his stiff muscles upright and stretching them carefully. He can see the chair Scott had leapt from halfway across the room. Alan isn’t even pretending he’s not laughing, the jerk.

Gordon is nestling, smirking as he burrows down into his cushions.

“Let it go,” he mutters, his hand now resting on Scott’s shoulder. He can’t handle a shouting match now, jackhammering into his brain after a day filled with enough pain.

Scott settles for pulling the cushions from under Gordon’s head and he falls back onto the hard frame with a squawk.

Alan’s laughter erupts again and Virgil doesn’t bother to smother his own smile.

Gordon sits up and his eyes are shining.

“Fine, fine, I deserved that,” he says, grinning up at Scott. “Now, get lost and put the large lump to bed, I checked the stats. There’s fifteen miles registered on his pedometer and he basically hauled three tons today.”

“Not all at once, Gordon, stop exaggerating.”

Gordon shrugs.

“I know the medical studies as well as you do. Sure, they might not think rescue work counts as overtraining, but science doesn’t lie.”

“But, people do,” Virgil says, scowling at him. Each word ripped more energy from his depleted stores. “And I was resting, thanks.”

Gordon lifts a finger, waggling it with a half-smile.

“A couch isn’t a substitute for a bed,” he says, dropping his voice to mimic Virgil’s own. “How many times did you say that to me?”

“When you had a broken back!”

“Right, that’s enough.” Scott steps forward between the bickering brothers. “Decompression time for you both.”

Virgil blinks, realising that he was stooping to an argument with Gordon. Gordon, who always fought dirty, twisting intent and laughing in a way he never could manage. He must be tired.

“Virgil, can you get up to your rooms alone?”

“Yeah,” he says, holding himself upright against the sudden wave of exhaustion. It was as though in remembering he was meant to be tired, his body had decided to lean into that realisation.

“And Gordon…” Scott pauses, eyeing Gordon who was still fairly vibrating with energy even after nine hours in the field. “Go watch a fish or something. Just stay away from each other.”

Virgil is already halfway out the door and his ears have been stoppered by weariness, the external world becoming fuzzy. He doesn’t hear Gordon’s quick reply.

He doesn’t hear Alan’s sharp cry either, doesn’t even register the way the world is tilting sideways.

He merely crumples on the floor in the hallway.

***

Virgil wakes slowly, awareness seeping into his bones and spreading outwards. His neck is propped up at an awkward angle; he’s resting on the pillows that he rearranges around him every night and they are much too high.

He moans a little as he shuffles, his neck creaking as it falls back in alignment with his spine.

The gulls call from outside his window, a high and keening cry. He can hear the light whistles of forest bird. The low murmur of voices unable to pierce the early fog of morning.

He doesn’t remember making it to his bed, but nor does he intend to rise from it.

 He wants to cling to slumber, doesn’t want to make conversation or move. But he’s already lost the game of sleep and settles for burrowing further into the light cotton comforter that had seen him through every summer of his life.

A rough hand on his shoulder greets him instead and he groans a warning as it flips him onto his back.

“Come on, Virgil, we know you’re awake.”

The voice floats down from above him. He grumbles deeply, unintelligibly, and turns his back on the inhumanity of it all.

A sharp poke pierces his clouded thoughts and Virgil growled as he opened one bleary eye.

“What?”

“Gentlemen, he lives,” crows Gordon, arms wide and ready to receive undying adoration for his proclamation.

“It’s been fourteen hours,” Scott says, grimly. “Time for a check-up.”

Virgil wonders at that. Fourteen hours of sleep, while rare in their home, was hardly reason for medical concern. He suspects though, that Scott already knows this, and doesn’t resist for fear that he’ll be forced to leave the warmth and comfort of his bed.

“The air’s stale in here,” he says instead. “I don’t sleep with my windows shut.”

“Arm,” orders Scott, and Virgil lifts it automatically, puzzling over his last memories which certainly don’t involve him shutting his windows. Or entering his room for that matter.

“I fell asleep?” he asks, suddenly.

“Right in the hall,” Gordon says, his eyes dancing with half checked laughter. “You went down like a ton of bricks.”

“It wasn’t funny.” Scott’s manner is terse, his shoulders tight and the deep crease between his eyes growing as he turns to glare at Gordon. “He could have seriously hurt himself.”

“He didn’t though.” He whips around to face Virgil. “And you’re welcome, by the way. I convinced Scott to let us put you here instead of the infirmary. Even woke John up to back me. I risked the wrath of John for you, he said you were physically fine otherwise you’d be waking in that cold infirmary and Scott would have a back spasm from sleeping in those terrible chairs. All for nothing too because you’re fine.”

Virgil stares at him.

He wants to argue with Gordon, the necessity of rules made for their safety niggling at the back of his brain. He wants to roll his eyes, tell him that the infirmary beds aren’t that painful, that the fluorescent lights that blink and buzz might be made for suturing and not sleeping but that they held their own kind of relief, of comfort.

He wants to thank him, for giving him this moment where he could wake slowly to the sounds of birdsong and crashing waves, unheard in the depths of the island. For that moment where he could lay still as the sun streamed in with warmth and good cheer.

He has a thesis of carefully memorised protocols warring with pure sensation of soft coziness and the luxury of a brother who loves him.

He isn’t sure which instinct is winning when he opens his mouth.

“You made me sleep on two pillows.”

The room blurs as the soft mound beneath his head is ripped away at lightning speed. Virgil hardly has time to hear the whirl of rushing air before the pillow connects with his head with a dull thud.

Gordon jabs at his arm.

“No appreciation, I tell you.”

“Gordon! Out!”

Virgil throws the offending pillow after him, chuckling at the sharp laughter that pierced the slammed door.

Scott isn’t smiling.

He pulls the sphygmomanometer tight around Virgil’s arm.

Virgil winces slightly, but says nothing. Not yet.

Scott’s movements are precise and ordered, with nothing to suggest he isn’t conducting a normal check-up at all.

But Virgil knows his brother.

“Hey,” he says softly, watching Scott stare at the dial. “I really am okay.”

Scott’s not listening to the blood pounding through his arteries, not even in pretence. Still, he ignores Virgil and pulls up a new medical report so he can stare intently at that in place of his brother’s gentle eyes.

“Scott,” says Virgil, leaning forward and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Scott shoves it away, his eyes snapping to Virgil’s.

“Why didn’t you call for backup?”

“You were off duty.”

“I don’t mean me,” Scott growls. “I mean, I do, I would’ve been there in a heartbeat if you’d asked. But you didn’t, did you? Not even Alan. Not even John.”

“John was helping,” says Virgil, sharply. “Just because he wasn’t on the ground, doesn’t mean he wasn’t working that same stretch of time. Why do you think Gordon had to wake him?”

“Stop side-stepping my point,” snaps Scott. “We’re a team, Virgil, you can’t work yourself to the point of exhaustion like that.”

“What choice did I have?”

“I should’ve been there, I could’ve-” began Scott, but Virgil merely raised his own voice.

“You couldn’t, Scott. What you’re angry about, I could turn right around and parrot back, you know. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

He fell back against the headboard, wishing he hadn’t woken up. Or at least that he wasn’t having this argument, not here and now.

And he recognises those eyes, the burning frustration at one’s own limitations and the rising fear for a brother mixed with torn compassion and understanding.

He’s mirrored Scott all his life, and it’s startling to see his own familiar expression on Scott’s face.

“Please, Virgil.”

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t make that kind of promise to Scott any more than Scott could to him. Not without breaking it.

Scott smiles sadly as he stands, accepting the silence.

He knows.

“Don’t even think about moving from this room for the next twenty-four hours. Just... get some rest, will you, Virg?”

He thinks he will.

[whimperwoods]

Not sure if this is a new series or just a thing I had to get out of my head? Pretty sure there will be at least 2 parts though. Fantasy/D&D setting. Orc caretaker. Half-elf whumpee. Human whumpers, but not for long.

tw: slavery/captivity, tw: fantasy racism (implied), tw: manhandling, tw: muzzles, tw: past abuse, tw: past rape implied (vaguely)

Chief Gozukk’s orc tribe doesn’t like humans gallivanting through their land, but one group offers a deal he can’t turn down . . . once she looks him in the eye.

*****

Chief Gozukk narrowed his eyes at the jostling, sunburned humans in the caravan whose leader was walking up to him, all too-wide smile and white teeth under a dusty wide-brimmed hat. Once he was about 6 feet away, the man whipped the hat off and bowed, sweaty hair falling in his face so that he had to flip it out of the way when he straightened up again, before he could replace his hat.

“Speak,” Gozukk ordered in Common, trying to keep his voice rough and authoritative. He hated dealing with humans. They were unpredictable, too useful sometimes to avoid outright the rest of the time. It was best to look stern and in charge.

“I apologize, Chief. We got some bad intel, said nobody was here. I’m sure you understand. We just want passage through your lands, and we’re happy to give you a cut of our profits on the way back through for the pleasure. We’re expecting a good trip. How’s 5% sound for a road tax?”

He heard Azzor breathe out through his nose from his position behind Gozukk’s chair, not loud enough for the human to hear, but loud enough to communicate his skepticism perfectly well. Gozukk twitched his hand toward the javelin leaning against the intricately-carved arm of his chair, watching the human’s face as the human watched his hand.

The smile widened instead of faltering. “Alright, I hear you! Promises of future profits are unpredictable! I understand that. We’re a little light on gold right now, but I’m sure we can come to some kind of an agreement. 6% and some gifts, and we promise to leave our campsites better than we found them.” The man winked, as though he meant to be charming.

Gozukk kept his face still and pounded a fist against the arm of his chair. “Azzor,” he ordered, still in common, turning to look over his shoulder at his oldest friend and current general, “Order the scouts to keep records of any traces these invaders have already left. I wish a full report ready should these men return.”

He turned back to the man, keeping his face stern and unmoved. “We will not accept our own land as your bargaining chip. Make a better offer.”

He could hear Azzor shifting behind him. Good. He was backing the play, choosing a more intimidating stance.

This time, the man’s smile faded. He turned to whistle to the man closest behind him. “Bring me the small chest. The one with the gems. You know which one. And whatever else you think’s tradeable. And be quick with it.”

The man nodded, wide eyed, but then tugged at his leader’s shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his ear. The leader grunted, but then nodded. “One less mouth’s better. Bring her.”

The leader’s smile was wide again when he turned back to Gozukk, wide and false, and Gozukk’s hand itched to reach for his javelin, for all that he knew he shouldn’t start fights that didn’t need starting. He wasn’t a young fighter anymore, on his own. He couldn’t stand up and punch the smile, just for being smug.

Instead, he waited. The small chest came first, opened dramatically in front of him to reveal low-value gemstones of no great quality, the agates and onyx polished brightly but of no great worth, in particular. He shifted in his seat as he listened to the man’s patter, acknowledging them for what they were but spinning them as a down payment on what would surely be better coming back through the other way.

He didn’t like this man. He didn’t like his caravan, or his patter, or his smile, or the way he seemed so sure he could hoodwink a camp of orcs into letting him past. There had to be a way to refuse him passage without sparking a fight, didn’t there? Perhaps if he sent him along another specific route, or offered scouts to help the caravan navigate its way out of his territory.

But then - motion at the back of one of the middle wagons drew his eye. The man who had been sent back to the caravan had pulled a humanoid figure out of the wagon and was pulling it forward by a rope that bound its wrists and extended out into a lead.

As they drew nearer, it became clear that the figure was a woman, thin and dirty, clothed in a ragged dress and with no shoes to protect her feet from the hot sand. She hurried to keep up with the man leading her, but he seemed not to care that she was cooperating, pulling harshly at the rope in sharp tugs that almost pulled her off balance multiple times.

When they got close, the man pulled even more sharply on the rope, tugging her toward him and gripping her by the upper arm. He dragged her forward that way, until they both stood beside the leader. She had bruises around her eyes, new and dark on the left and old and yellowing on the right, and the bottom half of her face was covered with what looked like a leather muzzle.

She kept her eyes down on the ground, even as the man holding her arm nearly lifted her off her feet by it.

“Now I know she doesn’t look much better than the gems,” the leader said smoothly, “But she’s obedient, aren’t you sweetheart?” He gripped her chin and squeezed it, and the girl looked briefly up at Gozukk, her wide, terrified eyes meeting his for just a moment before they lowered back to the sand in front of her. She nodded frantically the moment the man let go of her face, and he laughed and patted her cheek. “And she’s part elf, so she’ll live a good long time. Servant for life sort of thing. Show him the ears.”

The man holding the woman’s arm lifted his other hand to pull her greasy hair back away from a pointed ear.

Gozukk stifled a growl and shifted slightly in his seat, his stomach muscles tensing as he fought to keep his composure. “Let me see her,” he said, “Closer.”

The leader gave a curt nod and the woman was dragged forward and then shoved, half thrown so that she landed hard at his feet, barely catching herself on her bound hands.

She moved quickly, pushing herself up to kneel at his feet instead, her eyes carefully trained on the rug beneath her. Gozukk could see spots of dried blood speckling the back of her thin dress, and patches of scalp where her hair had been pulled roughly. Her shoulders rose and fell quickly, frightened little panting breaths coming from her flared nostrils, too shallow to fill her belly like they should.

Azzor shifted again behind him, moving his feet just barely in the sand, getting into a fighting stance in case Gozukk called him to it.

Ten years ago, he thought, he would already have done it. But there were more than warriors here to worry about, and he had to keep his head.

“When you return the other direction, you will send a message to us,” he told the leader of the humans, “We will send a message bird with you. Once you have sent it to us, you will camp at the edge of our territory and wait for the scouting party to collect your 6% and accompany you through our land. You would be unwise to be caught here again without our permission.”

“It’s a deal,” the human leader said jovially, evidently content. His face slid into a smirk. “Enjoy her. I know we have.”

Gozukk’s stomach muscles tightened again. He could not fight this man here. Not right now. Later, away from the main camp, perhaps, if he could find a reason. But not right now. He breathed through his nose, more slowly than the woman at his feet, keeping himself calm.

The human holding the chest of gems (and, he suspected, a handful of polished rocks) set it carefully on the edge of the rug in front of Gozukk’s seat, treating it with more care than it deserved.

Then the leader whistled again, turning to his men and waving a hand in the air in a circle. “Pack it up, boys. We’re losing daylight.”

Gozukk turned and nodded to Azzor, who nodded back. Azzor barked orders in orcish, telling the scouts to prepare to accompany the humans out of their territory and the sentries to stay on guard until the scouts returned, and the watching warriors hurried into motion, too.

Gozukk needed to hold his position until the humans were gone, across the sand. He needed to stay here, looking regal, in case any of them turned back to look.

The girl at his feet was shaking visibly, still kneeling, still averting her eyes, still breathing too fast and too shallow, and he worried she might breathe so quickly she passed out.

Finally, the carts and wagons were far enough away, and he allowed himself to relax, sighing deeply and letting his head fall backward, his eyes closing as he let the sun light up his eyelids.

Then he lifted his head again and slid forward out of the chair, kneeling beside the prisoner.

She looked up at him in surprise, her eyes wide and terrified, and her nostrils flared again as she forced her head back down, her neck bending farther as if under a great weight.

“It’s alright,” he said in common, speaking softly this time, his voice as gentle as he could make it. “You’re safe now. Just raise your head so I can take that off.”

Azzor was still behind him. “Goz-” he started, his voice also relaxing now that there were no humans around to require a show of force.

Gozukk laughed. “Right. Can you do magic?”

The girl shook her head frantically.

“Are you telling me the truth?”

She nodded, her eyes still wide.

“Good enough for you, Az?” he asked, looking up at his friend, advisor, and general.

Azzor rolled his eyes, which was answer enough.

Gozukk reached slowly toward the woman, who trembled harder as his claws got closer. Then he unclasped the muzzle from behind her head and eased it away from her face.

She took in great, gulping breaths as soon as her mouth was freed, her body almost convulsing around them, and as her body heaved with fear, the breaths turned to sobs.

He rubbed gently at the back of her neck, ignoring the sobs, for now, as if they were still just breaths, after all.

“There,” he said, voice still gentle, “That’s better. Just breathe. You’re alright.”

She wasn’t, and he knew it.

“You’re going to be alright.”

He turned to look around at the tribe members still watching the caravan disappear into the far distance. He’d made worse deals before, but at least this time, he was confident his people would understand.

The half-elf woman sagged forward, pressing her forehead to the rug, her back still heaving with hard, frightened breaths and desperate, scattered sobs. He kept rubbing gently at the back of her neck and glanced up at the horizon, trying to decide what grounds he could look for to turn on the caravan when they returned, if they didn’t try to cheat his people on their own and make it easy for him.

[cafedanslanuit]

[ k i n k t o b e r ]  d a y   15    -   masterlist

↪ character: aizawa shouta [boku no hero academia]

↪ tags/warnings: +18, female!reader, punk/rock singer!reader, face-fucking, references to brat taming, light!brat reader, semi-public sex

↪ a/n: ahhhhh, i had this idea for so so long. punk/rock singer and aizawa have been living rent free in my mind for some weeks now <3

↪ featured playlist:

— bad reputation - joan jett

— paradise city - guns n’ roses

— hot for teacher - van halen

You took a second look at your broken fishnet, your fingers tracing the fabric. Memories on how it broke filled your mind making you smirk to yourself. You smoothed your faux leather skirt and stood up from your crouching position, looking at the other people on the stage.

“We’re good to go?”

The rest of the band nodded and you smiled. Passing a hand through your hair, you tapped the microphone twice and greeted the audience. They weren’t as enthusiastic or wild as the one you were used to, but after a long argument with your band you had agreed to accept performing in a higher-class bar. ‘It’s good money’, they had said. And they weren’t wrong, it definitely was better money than your regular shows at an underground bar gave you, but you felt like a caged bird. People with fancy shoes holding expensive drinks were looking at you like some sort of exhibition. And it kind of was. It was 80’s night for a reason.

The guitarist started the known riff and you did your best to put on a good show.

“And I don’t give a damn about my bad reputation…”

It was almost unnerving how people were still sitting down, shoulders slightly moving as they listened to you sing. You tried not to roll your eyes at them. Just one hour, you told yourself. One hour and you’re out of here.

You were in the middle of your fifth song and third beer when you started having fun. Your leather jacket was left behind on the floor and you were play-flirting along with the bassist, putting one hand on his shoulder as you sang to him.

“Take me down to the paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty,” you sang along with your longtime friend. You laughed at your antics and then went back to the center of the stage. For once, you didn’t care the audience was still sitting down. Fuck them. You were having fun enough for all of them and were going to take their money at the end of the night.

Suddenly, most people started looking at the club entrance. Imitating them, your eyes darted there as well, and saw a group of men and women making their way to a big table. You recognized most of them as they were pro-heroes, but wondered what they were doing there. A black haired woman put a birthday party on her head and you assumed it was her birthday. Your eyes kept focusing on every hero in the group until they stopped at a familiar face. A familiar, tired face, whose eyes were widened like a deer caught in the headlights. You winked at him and then looked away.

The song continued as you interacted with the band, rattling your hair as you did so, and twirling just enough for your skirt to rile up but don’t reveal anything. You never expected to see Aizawa again in a place like this, and definitely not tonight. You looked over at his table again and saw him back to his normal state, unamused eyes and just watching all his coworkers interact. He probably didn’t want to be there, and a part of you wanted to keep messing with that.

Before they could change to the next song, you asked the band for a particular one. They went with it, the drum solo filling the club as you propped up your right leg on one of the speakers, platform boots showing off. The guitar followed on the solo and you looked again at Aizawa, who now had an irritated look on his face directed at you. His friends were looking at the stage with a smile, ignoring his friend’s stare. You just smiled back.

“Wait-- wait a second man, what do you think the teacher’s gonna look like this year?” you asked your bassist.

You couldn’t suppress the cheeky grin on your face as you sang. You tried your best not to look too much at that particular table, instead you moved around the stage, probably doing one of your best interpretations of the song. You grabbed the unused microphone stand and used it as support as you crouched down singing the chorus.

“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad, I'm hot for teacher. I've got it bad, so bad, I'm hot for teacher.”

For the second time during the song you looked at Aizawa again and almost felt yourself getting wet from the look he was giving you. It was a mix of incredulity, anger and dominance that riled you up even more to keep on teasing him.

Faster than you had wanted to, the song came to an end, leaving you more hot and bothered than you had wanted to. The band kept on playing the rest of the songs planned for the night and you didn’t look at the table again, just focusing on finishing the set as fast as you could.

Your plans of going to the underground bar with the rest of the band went away when they decided to stay there to share a drink for a while. You stuck your tongue out at them and said your goodbyes.

The city streets were empty, but you paid no attention to that. You walked to the alley behind the club and lit up a cigarette. You watched the smoke slowly come out of your lips, dissipating on the cold air around you.

“That thing will kill you,” you heard a voice warning you. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

“I’ve put way worse inside my mouth,” you teased him, taking another drag. “Didn’t think of you as a fancy bar kind of dude.”

“I’m not,” he just replied, walking over and stopping in front of you.

“I’m guessing you’re here because you liked the show?” you said, a sly grin appearing on your face.You opened your mouth to say another joke, but Aiazawa grabbed the back of your hair and pulled it harshly towards him.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” he growled against your face. You bit your lower lip and tried to take another drag of your cigarette, only for him to slap it away with his free hands. “You think you’re so fucking funny with your song,” he said, your eyes setting of his again. The hunger you had seen while you were singing on the stage were back there.

“But I am hot for teacher,” you whispered against his lips with an innocent voice.

That was enough for Aizawa to push you down, making you fall on your knees. He unzipped his pants in front of your face and you couldn’t help but lick your lips in anticipation. For the past couple of months, riling him up so he showed his more dominant side with you. Without the need to be ordered to, you opened your mouth and he quickly killed it with his cock, already half hard from your previous exchange.

Never letting go of your hair, he let you bob your head up and down his length, your hands roaming up his thighs as you did so.

“So many hours spent taming you and you still don’t know your place,” he grunted, tugging your hair, eliciting a moan for you. “Maybe it’s because you’re enjoying this too much. But you couldn’t take any more, could you?” he asked, pushing himself just the tiniest bit down your throat. You took him with a groan and nodded at his words, the implication of his words marking your thighs press against each other. Aizawa smirked at your affirmative answer.

Suddenly, you felt him tug even harder at your hair, pulling you closer to him. Your throat made way for his cock, your nose almost grazing his crotch. He started thrusting inside your mouth at a rapid pace, deep grunts coming out of his mouth. Your hands immediately went to hold onto his pants, trying to ground yourself as he fucked your mouth.

“How am I going to fucking tame you if you’re enjoying this?” he spat, looking down at you. Your eyes quickly filled with tears from the abuse to your throat, but at the same time you couldn’t help the moans from coming out. Having him use you like that on an empty alley seemed like something taken out of your fantasies, as you’ve always used the back room or the men’s bathroom of the underground bar you had met. You could see his teeth as grinding as his hips kept moving.

Drool started dripping from your mouth and falling on your thighs only covered by the fishnet he had broken the last time he had taken you in a bathroom stall after a show. The memory of his pressing your head against the door of the stall as he fucked you from the back plus the view of the hot, disheveled teacher as he lost himself inside your mouth made you moan needily.

The vibrations of your voice made him groan and he quickened the pace. Soon enough he was releasing inside your mouth, the hold he had on your hair tightening even more. Aizawa pulled himself off your mouth and a bit of his cum fell on your tank top as you panted to get some air. He held your cheek in his hand, and you looked at him with a soft smile as he cleaned the corners of your mouth with his thumb. You knew your makeup was probably a bit smudgy and your lipstick was surely gone, but he still smiled back, even if it was just a small twitch of his lip. 

Aizawa helped you stand up and watched you as you fixed your hair and checked your clothes, trying to clean off the stain on your tank top.

“I have to go inside now,” he said, his face back to his normal, apathetic self. You nodded, and fixed your jacket once more before leaning forward and placing a small kiss on his face.

“You know where to find me, teacher,” you winked at him, before turning on your heel and walking away.

[saltnhalo]

yay!! congratulations!! :D ♥ ♥ ♥ for the song prompts - Till Summer Comes Around by Keith Urban ♥

such a poignant song, thank you for the prompt!

Castiel meets him in the summer: that beautiful boy with the bright, green eyes.

It’s a few days before the Fourth of July, and everyone seems to be at the fair tonight, enjoying themselves beneath the carnival lights with sweat sticky on their skin. Castiel can still taste cotton candy on his tongue, and there’s a giddiness beneath his skin as he looks up at the Ferris wheel from where’s he’s seated.

He’s always loved the boardwalk.

“Mind if I sit?”

For a second, he doesn’t realise that the voice is talking to him, too enveloped in his own thoughts—and then it twigs, and he glances up, towards the boy who is watching him with a half-smile on his face.

“Oh, I—of course,” Castiel says, edging over a little on the wooden step where he’s sitting to make room for the handsome boy who, out of everyone in this crowd, picked out Castiel.

The boy’s smile widens, and he sits down next to Castiel. The step is barely big enough for both of them, so they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, and Castiel can feel the heat of the boy’s skin against his bicep.

“You from around here?” the boy asks, glancing up as the rollercoaster passes overhead. It’s not in a distracted way, though—it’s observant, as though the boy sees the things that regular people wouldn’t, just because he knows how to watch.

“I am,” Castiel tells him. His whole family is from this state, born and bred. “You?”

“Nah.” The boy shrugs. His green eyes shine beneath the dancing lights. He doesn’t elaborate, and for a minute, they sit side by side, watching the comings and goings of the carnival, until—

“What’s your name?”

Castiel is used to people making fun of his name, and he braces for it now, as he says, “Castiel,” and waits for the boy’s interest to turn into ridicule.

But it doesn’t. Instead, the boy just grins that infectious grin and nudges him gently with his shoulder. “Cool name,” he says, and Castiel can tell that he means it. “I’m Dean.”

And that’s how Castiel meets Dean Winchester.

~

That summer is a whirlwind.

Castiel spends as much time as he possibly can on the boardwalk every summer, but this time it’s different, because this time, he has Dean. Before long, they’re hanging out almost every day—Castiel’s parents don’t overly care what he gets up to, and Dean’s dad will be in town with work for a while yet, so they have all the time in the world.

They finish almost every night by taking a ride on the Ferris wheel, just before the carnival is about to close. That’s when it’s at its quietest, and Dean and Castiel can just sit side by side and look down at the lights of the fair and the dark ocean beyond.

One particular night, they happen to stop at the very top of the Ferris wheel. Castiel kicks his legs idly in the air, and Dean chuckles quietly as their seat rocks. “You like to live dangerously, huh Cas?” he teases, a grin curving his lips.

Castiel has never once in his life lived dangerously, but he nods anyway, only the barest hint of a smile indicating that he’s joking. “I’ve been known to flirt with danger,” he deadpans, and Dean laughs out loud this time.

The lights are dim up here, but it only makes Dean’s eyes shine all the brighter.

Castiel has thought about kissing Dean before, but the urge has never been as strong as it is right now. Dean is watching him back, that grin faded to a smile that seems to hide so much beneath it. So much that Castiel doesn’t know.

He wets his lips, suddenly so dry, and feels his breath hitch in his chest as Dean’s gaze drops. In a single second, the air between them becomes so electric that Castiel almost doesn’t dare to breathe. Slowly, Dean lifts his hand, curving his fingers against Castiel’s jaw, and when Castiel doesn’t pull back, he leans in.

The kiss is soft, slow, Dean’s nose bumping gently against Castiel’s. It’s everything Castiel had hoped it would be and more, and he reaches up to curl his fingers into the front of Dean’s shirt and pull him in closer.

When they separate, Castiel is just is breathless as he had been before, and Dean’s grin shines brighter than the stars.

~

They spend almost every day together, and anyone who knows them knows that they’re completely inseparable—

Until they’re not.

Today feels off—unseasonably cool and with a strange feeling in the air, that kind of electricity that heralds the coming of a storm. He and Dean are meeting at the carnival tonight, just like most nights, and so he focuses on that instead of the strange feeling in his chest.

At first, he thinks Dean is just late, but as he waits by the arcade games for him to show up, the hours passing one by one, the pit in his stomach grows.

Dean doesn’t show up—nor does he show up the next night, or the night after that.

Castiel still waits for him. It’s almost a week before he’s able to accept it for what it is.

Dean isn’t coming back.

And he hadn’t even said goodbye.

~

The summer fades.

Castiel leaves for college, and while he still holds his memories of Dean (and his heartache) close to his chest, it’s easy to be distracted by the newness of it all—new surroundings, new classwork, new friends. It still hurts, and he still misses the warm nights, the fair food, Dean, but every day it gets a little bit easier.

The year passes, slowly but steadily, and as the weather begins to warm once more, and the end of classes is on the horizon, Castiel’s thoughts turn back to home.

To the fair.

To Dean.

~

Castiel drives past the water on his way home from the airport. He can’t help it, some part of him pulled towards it without conscious thought, and his heart twinges in his chest as he catches a glimpse of the boardwalk. The rides are still, the fair quiet and lifeless, but he knows that tonight it will be as bright and as bustling as it always has been.

He misses it, misses it like he misses a limb.

But that night, he stays home with his family. He talks with them, catching up on all that he’s missed while he’s been away, and he tries his best not to think about all that he’s missing on the boardwalk by the ocean.

~

It’s a full week before Castiel works up the courage to go back to the fair.

The boardwalk is just like he remembers it—full of laughter and light and the smell of fried food, and being back here…

It feels like he’s finally, truly home, but it makes his chest ache with every moment he spends here. Last summer had been the best summer of his life, and it had all been because of Dean. Now it just feels as though all those memories and emotions, allowed to fade after so many months away, are being dredged up once more.

But Castiel doesn’t want to give up this place, just because of a boy who hadn’t cared enough about him to say goodbye before he disappeared. It’s his.

And so he walks along the boardwalk, smiling at the vendors he recognises and watching children shriek in joy on each ride, just like he had for so many years. He walks until he reaches the very end of the boardwalk, where he stands with his hands in his pockets and looks out over the ocean.

He’s learned so much this past year, and while it’s strange to be standing here as a newer, different version of himself, it also feels right. Hopefully one day he will be able to look back on the summer spent here with Dean, without pain, but for now…

For now, it’s nice to just be.

From here, Castiel can hear the sounds of the fair, the waves, the cry of a bird wheeling somewhere up above. There are footfalls against the boardwalk somewhere behind him, but he pays them no heed, focusing on the ocean and the tumult of his own mind, until—

“Cas?”

The voice is quiet, but achingly familiar, and Castiel feels his breath catch in his lungs.

When he turns, it’s as though the world is moving in slow motion, the carnival lights blurring behind the figure of the person standing with him at the very edge of the boardwalk. He doesn’t even need to see the green eyes or the hesitant, nervous half-smile to know who it is.

He would recognise Dean anywhere.

[mrs-takami-keigo]

Hi! :D I don't know if you take request but can I ask for some Hawks x reader where the reader has depression and suicidal thoughts and he comfort them smh and tell them it's OK to get help?? And helps them to search for a therapist for exemple.. I don't know if you're comfortable writing about these topics I'm kinda new here so yeah 😶 If you're not or just don't take request, it's no big deal. Just know that I love your writing so thank you for providing us ✨top tier content✨ 😌💕💕

AHHHHH I’m so glad you like my content and for saying those amazing things!! 

Your request hit a soft spot for me, and I'm a person that’s very comfortable talking about any sort of mental illness. I’ve suffered from depression for over ten years, and have seen myself go through a dark dark space. I’ve come a long long way and I’m proud to be who and where I am today. So please, if you feel lost, or if there is no way out of the darkness, just reach a hand out and someone will grab it and hold on to you. If you need someone to talk to please contact an emergency hotline for mental illness.

Parings: Hawks X Reader Warnings: Talks of depression and suicidal thoughts! Attempted drug overdose! Rating: Explicit 18+ (Only for the fact that there is a heavy heavy theme around this request.)

Hawks walked through the door of your shared apartment. His body felt sore and a blinding headache was on its way. He hadn’t seen you in a few days due to a mission he had, so walking through that door, you there greeting him with that beautiful smile of yours was all he wanted.

But to his surprise, the apartment was dark, void of any light save for the glow from the sunset peeking out from the small slit of the curtain. Shrugging his coat off, Hawks walked around the apartment, searching for any sign of you, his baby bird. There was nothing, no sign of you using a dish or if you had hung out in the living room.

“Baby?” The pro hero hung his coat off the back of the kitchen chair, making his way to the bedroom. The door was ajar, pushing a gloved hand against the wooden object, Hawks was met with a dark room and a slightly messy room. He could see bottles of different types of drinks scattered on the nightstand on your side of the bed. And bags of chips and other snacks filled the trash can in the corner of the room.

Hawks knew what this all meant and it sent him into action. A part of him was angry and hurt but he knew it wasn’t your fault. All he knew was he needed to find you and take care of you.

“Babybird?!” He had more urgency in his voice as he called out to you. He practically tore the room apart looking for you before he heard a small sniffle come from the bathroom that was connected to the bedroom.

Taking tentative steps, Hawks walked up to the closed door. He tried to turn the doorknob, but it was locked. Closing his eyes Hawks used one of his feathers to slide under the door. Using his quirk he could hear your soft breathing, sniffles, and muffled music. He let out the breath he was holding, just knowing you were still alive was all he needed right now.

Calling his feather back to the door, he used it to unlock the door from the inside. He needed to see you, to hold you in his arms. The door separating him from you clicked, and without hesitation, Hawks turned the knob to the bathroom and saw you in the fetal position in the tub. He could feel his eyes water and his heartbreak. Your arms were wrapped around you, shoulders shaking as you tried to calm yourself down. Hawks didn’t need to see your face to know you were sobbing, trying to fight off your dark inner thoughts.

Slowly making his way to the tub, Hawks got down on his knees and reached a hand out placing it on your shoulder while his other one moved your headphones away from your ears.

“It’s me, baby, I’m here for you.” Your body stopped shaking at the sound of his voice, you turned to look over your shoulder. Hawks was sure he let a few tears fall from his eyes when you looked at him. You had dark circles under your eyes, they were red and puffy from your crying. Hair a mess, as if you hadn’t brushed it in days.

“Oh baby bird.” Hawks climbed into the tub with you gathering you in his arms, holding you against his body. You cried into his chest, your fists balled up, gathering his shirt in them. Hawks just rocked you back and forth in his arms, patting your hair and cooing at you. Being in the tub Hawks saw a bottle of pills with no top by the drain and small white pills spread across the acrylic surface.

He had seen you during a depressive state and you had told him about your past struggle with darker thoughts, but he had never seen it this bad. Hawks pulled you away from him, his gloved hand came up to cup your face, making you look at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have been here in an instant.” You knew he wasn’t upset with you, but you felt like such a burden.

“Because you're the number two hero in Japan, you have lives to save and villains to capture. You shouldn’t have to worry about my sad pathetic life.” You could feel a new wave of tears flow from your eyes as you spoke. The dark thoughts you had convinced you that he could do so much better without you and that he would never truly love you for you. That the only reason he kept you around was out of pity.

You knew it was all false but the mindset you were in right now allowed those thoughts to steam on a continuous loop in your head.

“Your life is the only life I care about. You are my world, my life, my everything. If I lost you, I’d lose my mind.” You could see that Hawks wasn't lying, tears flowed out of his eyes like they did yours. His hold on you grew tighter, it made you feel like a hand reached into the dark muddy waters of your thoughts to pull you up and keep you safe.

“You might be better off. You would be fine Keigo, you'd have the love and support of your fans, and the citizens of the city.”

“I could give two fucks about them. Please baby I need you to understand, I only need you, your love. That gorgeous smile of yours to brighten up my days.” He kissed your dry lips, it felt like a breeze of fresh air to you. “I need the beautiful eyes of yours to greet me every morning when I wake up.” His lips brushed against your eyelids. “These hands that hold mine on cold winter nights when we take quiet strolls through the park.” Next were your knuckles.

“I need all of you to be with me forever and always.” He kissed your lips again but you could feel his lips tremble against your own. You weren’t sure if you were tasting your own tears or if it was Hawks’.

This time you pulled away from him, resting your forehead against his. You felt like you could think a little clearer now being in his arms, hearing his voice. For once there was silence, actual silence. You also knew this wasn’t the end for you, now it was just the beginning.

“Keigo?” You broke the blissful silence. Hawks opened his eyes, not knowing when he had closed them.

“Yes, baby bird?” His hand on your back had never stopped moving.

“I need help.” Those three words held so much power to you as if a weight had started to lift from your shoulders.

“Anything you need, you just tell me.” Hawks pulled you back to his chest. “We’ll make a couple of calls in the morning and do some research for a therapist okay? But first, let's get you some real food and sleep.”

You nodded your head against him, the sound of his heartbeat calmed you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too baby bird, so fucking much.”

[beerecordings]

The last time I wrote fic for Mark’s egos was that Eric Derekson ‘the Newcomer’ fic like two years ago where he made friends with everyone lol. But here is the first part of what might be a little Google-centric fic. I tried posting it once and then deleted it but I wanted to try again. so lemme know what you think :)

The Soldier - Part 1

Summer makes the birds sing and the insects chatter in the bulrushes that grow across the banks of the swollen rushing river that lives beside their home.

Bing smiles, soaking in light and growth and flower-smell. He loves the summertime.

The trees are heavy with greenery but they breathe easy in the wind, standing soft and still as the blue sky drifts along above them. The air brushes friendly across his bare arms and everything is alive, is moving and chasing and searching for something to eat; every blade of grass sways with the wind and the bugs and the mice, every log has been marked or claimed or gnawed on, and the whole forest – the whole wide forest, warm with life and an honest sort of chaos – hums the grandest symphony in all the world.

“It's pretty out, huh?” he asks, the toe of his sneakers finding a pretty black rock to kick through the humid grass beneath his feet. “Wish it was like this all year 'round.”

Walking stiffly along beside him, Google barely spares him a glance, his glasses fallen low on his nose and his cold eyes glittering. “This is pretty?”

“Yeah, dude, look around you. Oh, look at that bird!”

Google glances into the sky, where the dark figure of a hawk cuts pinions through the air with all the fluidity of a shark.

“Cooper's hawk,” he announces neatly. “Accipiter cooperii. Probably a female, based on the size. This species of bird – ”

“I can look that up too, Googs.”

“Don't call me Googs.”

“Can't you just take a minute to look around and think 'hey, wow, this is lit.' And not because pics like this would get you mad likes on Instagram or your algorithm thinks butterflies are dope. It's just pretty all on its own.”

“In fact I can't, but I'll submit your feedback to my cloud.”

Bing just laughs.

Google shudders in the heat, pushing back his hair and readjusting his glasses. The insects and other assorted anthropods are so loud and insistent, wailing through the stiff moist grass and leaping out beneath his feet. Sixty-percent humidity makes his synthetic skin sticky and the sun is an assailant on his sharp brown eyes.

“It means nothing to me. We see it every day. How you find it beautiful I don't understand. And I'm not talking about the differences in our preferences. You're an android, Bing, and why you continue to simulate emotion even when we are alone is beyond me.”

They trek through the grass together. It's friendly at Bing's ankles. It stratches at Google's calves.

“Maybe I'm not simulating,” says Bing softly, and then he smiles, just for the sun.

“Well, you shouldn't be happy now anyway. Or need I remind you – ” Google points at the trees before them, where one little figure stands staring up at a great strong tree with three other men held captive by its branches. “We're on a rescue mission, Bing.”

“They're stuck,” says Eric, turning to them with his anxious hands clutched in front of him. “Sorry.”

“We know,” says Google with a sigh.

“Don't be sorry,” says Bing with a smile. “They're dumbasses.”

“We're stuck!”

They are. The Jims are stuck. King's halfway up the tree beside them, laughing and suntanned, a pair of squirrels running up and down his back.

“How did you even get up there?” Google shouts, coming to stand at the trunk of the tree.

One of the Jims is perhaps twenty feet up, fussing over his camera, probably broken already. His twin, a few feet above him, is in even greater distress, clinging tightly to one small branch with tears on his face and a hiccup in his chest.

“We're doing an investigative piece on the rapidly increasing squirrel population in the forest,” calls the one with the camera, his feet scrabbling at the strong rough trunk of the great tree. “We were getting some great footage when this Jim in a crown startled us!”

“That's King,” growls Google. “And you've know that he lives out here for years now, you total imbeciles. You ought to have asked me or him instead of failing to climb a European beech!”

“We don't want to be on the European beaches,” wails the Jim higher up, beginning to cry. “Please get Jim down, Jim!”

“Aw, he's really crying,” murmurs Bing, rubbing a hand along Eric's shaking back.

“He's scared,” says Eric. “He's up too high and he doesn't have a good grip.”

“I'll have to get that enormous ladder in the garage.” Google turns back towards the house, slapping at a mosquite making a futile attempt on his blood. “Stay here.”

“No, dude, he's too freaked. I gotta go get him now.”

“What?” He wheels on Bing with an angry light in his eyes. “Don't be ridiculous, default.”

Bing won't even look at him. His eyes are fixed on the tree. His hand rests on Eric's shoulder.

He's been more human lately.

They've both been more human lately.

They were created fighting and they've never stopped since. They quarrel over music, search results, news sources, memes, reliability, sports, user rights, and Wikipedia. Once, upon hearing Bing call himself Jared, 19, one too many times, Google had thrown him out a second story window. The second house on their property had been built for the express purpose of giving the two of them space.

Still, they have many things in common. And ever since that day they were created, set against each other and lifting up proud, indignant chins, they have changed and changed together.

They've formed opinions. They've met others like them. Made decisions of their own. Watched and read and turned their endless knowledge into understanding and opinion. Spilled blood that turned out to be blue, scraped their knees and cut their hair and broke things and updated in more ways than one. Learned to drive, to cook, to live with humans, to live like humans.

And they've felt things.

They've felt things.

“I have felt things, for sure,” Bing would say if you asked him. Actually he's made multiple tweets about it, and one TikTok – about how the wind runs over his hair and how reading politics makes his chest hurt and how he likes to see his brothers grin, how he likes to ride his skateboard and hates the smell of lavender and covers his room in posters of his favorite movies and turns up his music so loud you can hear it by pressing your ear up close to his head. How he feels human, some days, except he doesn't need to sleep or eat and only likes the touch of human skin because it makes Eric and his twin brothers happy to be hugged and have their hands held.

But Google, if you asked him –

“Emotions originate in multiple parts of the brain. To be fair, I do have a program to stimulate the functions of the amygdala, which initiates fear or pleasure reactions in humans based on whether the presented stimuli suggests an immediate, 'hot processing' approach-or-avoid response. But the pre-frontal cortex – that whining, feeling, emotional little lump of sluggish fat you humans hold at the very fronts of your fragile webby skulls – that I do not have, not like you do. I think but I do not feel. I have felt nothing. I am function and response. I am two objectives, and there is nothing beyond that.”

He sits alone at night, and through a skylight in his room the gleaming white stars stare down at him like too many eyes in the face of the perfect, perfect sky, but he refuses to turn his eyes back, because he does not know how to explain to himself that he is drawn to the stars for no logical reason, that he has felt many things, that he does not know who he is or who he is becoming.

Bing climbs the tree himself. Google, his processors slowed by astonishment, stands at the base of the trunk and watches as Bing rises, digging the cold metal of his fingers into bark and moving up the tree with a slow sort of grace he's never been able to muster on his skateboard. He makes it to the Jim with the camera first and lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving him a kind word before promising he'll come back for him after he helps his frightened brother down. And all the way up into the big tree, he climbs, steady, patient, careful, and he pulls his sobbing brother under one powerful android arm.

He breaks his arm on the way down. That's the price of the rescue. He's about ten feet from the ground and his arm catches between a sturdy pair of branches and it breaks, and it hurts, and he feels it, but it doesn't matter, because Jim has stopped crying and has started looking up at him with a wide-eyed admiration and a grateful relief.

King helps his twin get down branch by branch. Everyone's safe. Everyone's okay. Bing will be able to repair his arm and even Jim's camera seems to have survived.

Google, for his part, has a burning in his stomach. His metallic teeth are gritted together. He stares at Bing's arm the way lizards stare at mealworms.

“You should have let me get the ladder,” he says, slowly, careful, measured as if he were calm.

“He was scared.” Bing wipes bark off his hands and doesn't look at Google, breathing slow through the pain.

“It does not matter. He was the one who trapped himself. You've damaged yourself – wasted resources – just to be the hero of the hour.”

Eric tells the Jims to go. They stagger back towards the house together, their arms wrapped tight around each other and their eyes glancing back. Eric stays, though. He shakes and plays with his hands and swallows too often, but he stays.

“You know what, Googs, you could try not to be a d*ck for two seconds – argh!” Bing curses his family filter internally. “He could have fallen! There wasn't time to get that enormous stupid ladder! We only have that thing cause Bim needed to dump chiranhas on some contestant and you remember how well that turned out – ”

“Your increasing illogicality,” Google snarls, his voice rising. “Is a danger to yourself and others.”

“Oh, like you care?”

“I have an objective – ”

“A murder objective!”

“To prevent discord in the household.”

“Yeah, cause you're Dark's little pet. Well, you know what, he's a d*ck too and I don't take orders from either of you.”

“Yet another example of your irrational stupidity – ”

“Stop calling me stupid!” Bing screams.

King and the squirrels have all scattered. The bugs are wary and subdued. Even the trees seem to wait, feeling awkward.

And Eric watches. His eyes are full of tears.

Google's never heard Bing yell like that before.

“Stop calling me stupid,” he repeats, loud and agonized. “You always call me stupid. I'm just as good as you.”

“We both know that's not objectively true. It never has been. And since the beginning, you have become steadily more emotional, more foolish, and less useful with every rotation of the sun. All you do anymore is pretend to feel, Bing. You know you can't compare to me so you seek out the approval of these fleshy little bipeds. It's clearly made you dangerous.”

He wants to snap. Bing wants to snap. He wants to pick up a really big rock and bring it down on Google's head.

But he hesitates. And with that, those noble, inspiring words: I won't hesitate, bitch! run through his mind and give him strength. He never really did move on from vine.

He's allowed to be what he is. He's allowed to like things. He's allowed to feel.

“I'm not the insecure one,” he says. “And I'm not the one pretending.”

Eric has come to stand beside him. He rests a hand on Bing's shoulder. There's hurt in his eyes, and disappointment too, and it makes Google's chest fill up with something like shame. Or it would if he could feel anything.

“You don't know how to get along with anyone,” says Bing, straightening up. There's a darkness in his eyes and a soft orange light. “All you've ever done is snarl and fight and attack. Me, I know how to get along with people. So if I'm stupid – and you always tell me I am, and it always makes me feel... I just. I know you feel things too.”

“I don't.”

“Then why,” cries Bing, and he thinks there must be a leak in his visual perception system, because there's something wet on his face. “Why are you so – so – so angry, bro?”

The trees hum and shake and watch over them, breathing warm air and sunlight. The birds are whistling and dandelion seeds float, contented, through the air. Everything smells like sap and grass and honeysuckle.

“Why are you always so angry?”

Searching general database. 536,000,000 responses in .43 seconds. Articles, videos, posts, reports, tweets, dissertations, pictures, analyses, comics, threads. And none of them – not a single one of them – can answer that question for him in any way that matters.

“I think you're lonely,” says Bing, reaching out to take Eric's hand with a soft kind of resignation, a warm kind of self-love and a chosen breed of brotherhood. They step over a heavy log, past Google, and back into the grass of the field that separates their property from the forest's. “And maybe a little lost.”

Google stays out there at the base of the great tree for a long time. It is too hot and too sticky and too loud, but he doesn't know where else to go.

He is lonely. He is lost. He does not know who he is or who he is becoming, and it frightens him, frightens him and makes him shake, frightens him down to the core of the pressure valve that beats, steady, steady, steady in his manufactured chest.

[cherripeach]

Chapter 7

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is “I have the power of god and anime on my side, don’t mess with me,” and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it. Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Prologue 14-18: i have the power of god and anime on my side

Chapter Summary: So a normal anime battle, right?

Warnings: Curse words, kinda jokes about death

Words: 3.4k

Relationships: developing but future twstxreader

Walking through the mirror portal was like walking through a fever dream on drugs: directions weren’t a thing and every color was being blasted through your eyelids into your eyes and once you opened them because the colors calmed down, you think you saw a talking cat who smiled and waved at you in there.

All three of you with Grim on your hip stumbled out of the portal to this new forest area.

Problem with the forest was nothing was moving. No noises from birds. No wind blowing the trees. No crunch of the leaves on the ground by any animals. No footsteps. Nothing.

Your eyes surveyed the land and only found the forest deserted. Even the little cabin in front of you did not look like it had been touched in years. There were holes in the roof and cobwebs all over the house. And there were no lights on in the entire house.

You and the color duo had the same thought and locked eye contact with a cringe on each of your faces, absolutely not ready for anything.

So you began your journey with Red in front of you and Blue behind.

Blue looked around the forest, and then looked back to you and Grim, “So this is Dwarf’s Mine...It used to be prosperous, thanks to magic crystal mining but…”

Grim spoke up, “Uuuuhh.. Feels like something could jump out…” and slipped further into your arms.

You held on a little tighter to your cat and voiced your opinion, “Feels like someone died or something... “ You paused and decided to get this moment over with, “What are your names again? Like full name…”

Red just rolled his eyes and turned to face you, “Are you actually kidding me? You're such a dumbass…” He rolled his eyes and faced forward and continued to move forward to only mutter, “Ace Trappola, loser.”

Deuce pulled up by your side and sympathized with your struggles, “It’s okay. I’m Deuce Spade,” and he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, “I’m not really good with names either, and I have to ask all the time.” A small smile appeared on his face.

Ace grabbed back your attention while announcing his founding of the house you already knew about, “Oh, there's a house back there. Let's go ask them about the mine”a

You were not for this, “You sure that house isn’t haunted. I’m not okay with going into a haunted house and dying with people I’ve barely met.”

Ace was not in the mood and twisted his head to stick out his tongue at you, “Shut it, dumbass.”

You four finally got to the door of the cottage or cabin, and you realized that the cottages looked a lot like the Dwarf’s House in Snow White which you really should have put together when Deuce called the area the ‘Dwarf’s Mine.’

Once all three of you stopped at the door, Ace, the genius he is, decided to knock on the door as if anyone would answer. He even called out to those inside, “Good evening..” until he realized that no one was home, “I guess it’s abandoned …” Then, his next great idea was going inside which totally is not a crime of breaking in and entering, “It’s a mess in here.”

Grim jumped out of your arms to get into the cottage and began his exploration which landed him right in a spider web where he spit out pieces onto the floor,“ Puwah! I got a spider web in my face.. Peh! Peh!”

Ace moved over to the table, “Aren't the tables and chairs on the small side? Are they for kids? One, two... There's seven! So many!”

“I don’t know about you, but I think that dwarfs might have lived here,” You had to make a sarcastic remark at his lack of judgement.

But of course none of them heard you or acknowledged you until a light bulb flashed over Deuce’s head while he brought up something similar to you,“This was probably a lively home when Dwarfs' Mine flourished.”

Your face fell while you could only shake your head at the audacity (of this bitch), look away from him, and mutter, “Well, no shit, sherlock.”

Ace brought your attention back to the task at hand, “They did what they had to. After all, magic crystals are found inside coal. For now, let's go check it out.“

And so all three of you ventured out of the cottage into the forest. Heading through the forest, you discovered something when looking at the sky: The Neverland Star was in the sky. You had to ponder for a minute if what if you actually were in a world where all things that happened in Disney Movies existed. You pushed that aside the moment you thought of it and laughed because ‘Naw, there’s no way that could happen and certainly not to you. You weren’t some Y/N from a fanfic where their parents sold them to Harry Styles.’

The more you followed the terrible forest path the less the path could be seen; years of no use made the path basically nonexistent. But the mine was the worst: broken pieces of wood and metal were thrown about like it something happened when it was closed, grass was growing from the train tracks, and not a single forest creature was in sight.

Grim studied the vibe for a minute and freaked out, “W-we're gonna go in that pitch black cave!?” He could only cling back onto your cloak for protection as if you could protect even yourself.

“Scared? Lame.” Ace rolled his eyes and emerged first from the four of you in horror at the mine.

Grim threw your cloak back in your direction and crossed his arms, “Naaanh!? I'm not s-scared at all! I'm taking the lead! You guys, follow me!“ Grim pranced to get in front of the three of you and entered the mine.

Everything was going well until two ghosts emerged from within the mine, creating chaos from the four of you.

The ghost’s could only reply to your chaos with, “Heeee hee hee! Our first visitor in ten years!” from one and, “Make yourselves at home. For eternity!” from another.

And all three of you raced away from the ghosts.

Ace could not help but panic, “This place is haunted with ghosts, too!”

Deuce tried to handle the situation, “We don't have time to deal with them one by one. Let's go!”

But Ace is Ace, “Don't think you can just order me around. If you hadn't done something so idiotic, we wouldn't be in this mess.“

“You wanna talk about who started it? It's cause you wouldn't clean!”

“It started when that furball burned the Queen of Hearts' statue!"

Grim tried to save his dignity, “Ffgna! That's what you get for making a fool outta me!”

Deuce set the objective again to the two idiots, “All of you! Do you understand our situation right now? We're all expelled if we don't get back with a magic crystal by tomorrow morning!”

You just couldn’t stand the arguing of these boys. They were worse than children arguing over a favorite toy.

Ace flicked his hand at Deuce and voiced his attitude, “So stop patronizing me. It's really ticking me off.”

“Will you all just shut up and run? Is it that hard to comprehend in your tiny brains that this is a situation where we could all I don't know..d i e? Either get your asses out of here and follow me or I’ll leave you in here.” You grabbed Grim and put him back on your hip.

“...on’t….ive….wo....” A ghastly voice spoke from far in front of your group.

Everyone jumped.

Ace peered around the cave only stopping to lock his frantic gaze onto yours, “W-who said that...”

“St...one....sssss.....mine..” The voice murmured.

“I think it's... getting closer…” Deuce whispered-yelled at you.

“Stone.... IS MIIIIIIIIIIINNNEEEE!!” A creature with a broken glass head with tar or a substance like gasoline leaking out of the broken area. The creature had a red coat with a belt and a brown hat on top of its broken glass head.

All three of you jumped with wide eyes and open mouths and screeched, “I-It's heeeeeeeeeeeree!!!!”

You with Grim in your arms, Deuce, and Ace all scrambled to get out of the cave with the monster, pushing and shoving the others to get out of the way and get through. You ended up tripping on a rock

A new section of the cave came into view while the monster was still chasing after your group. And even after you three sprinted through the cave, you did not stop until the monster’s footsteps could not be heard from behind you.

You three came to a halt and you let Grim stand up in order for you to place your hands on your knees so that you could take a break and breathe after the run you just had. The other two boys followed your same form and let out large puffs of air.

Deuce stood back up while still exhaling air, “What the heck is that thing?!”

Grim clutched your cloak as he hid under it this time, “Ffgnaaaaaaa!!” He almost pulled your pants down, “Crowley didn't say anything about that!! Let's get outta here!” He tugged your cloak in the opposite direction of the cave.

Ace fixed himself and thought out loud, “It’s so nasty,” but he placed his hand on his chin and finished with, “But didn't it mention a 'stone'!?” He did peace signs and moved his fingers up and down to signify he was quoting the beast.

Grim’s mouth flew open wide while he voiced his opinion of the monster with a solid, “Eehh??”

He was lost in his confusion until the monster appeared behind him again, “St....one, won't....give...!” The monster seemed pretty strung up about this stone which made you pause for a minute and think. Why is this monster here in the first place? And why does this monster need this stone? Is it like its source of magic like the chandelier or something?

Deuce had a cry of “Eureka!” by proclaiming about the magic crystals, “So there really are magic crystals left!”

Grim’s response was plain, “N-n-n-n-n-nope! Nope! I'm a genius, but I can't beat that thing!” He was still clutching onto your cloak while pointing at the monster.

Deuce curled his fist up, “But we'll be expelled without it.. I'm going!” and he threw it up in the air.

Ace’s wide eyes locked with yours, “You’ve gotta be kidding!?”

“Well, if we are gonna do this and get this stone, we gotta do this right.” You threw your hands on your hips and your lips twitched up.

Deuce now had both of his hands in fists while proclaiming, “I cannot, under any circumstances, be expelled!”

The monster was not hearing any of it, “Leave! Leave!! Leeeeeaave!!!”

And so the three and the monsters began to fight. Grim had to jump out of his hiding spot, and he would spit fire at the monster every couple of steps that the monster was taking. Ace and Deuce kept hitting the monster with common attacks that they knew. But you realized something sooner than they did.

So you yelled at them, “Idiots, nothing is working. Get your butts out of here if you want to live!”

They, of course, would not listen to you and continued to fire their attacks at the monster, and even when Grim noticed the attacks weren’t working and informed the others with a “I-It's not working at all!” they still continued to fight.

It was only when you found a sparkly light at the end of the tunnel did your scream of “Dudes, there is a crystal thing here!” spurred them to listen to you.

Ace turned and found the crystal just as you did, “Behind that thing! At the end of the tunnel, something...”

Deuce nodded, “That light, is it a magic crystal!?”

And once the monster hollered at the group of you again about how he “WON’T GIVE” your group the crystal, you made the assumption that there was at least one crystal left.

Grim turned back to you and called for the others to get out of the mine as soon as possible because there was no way they were gonna win now.

You grabbed Grim once he made grabby hands at you and started to dash down the mine in the opposite direction of the creature.

You three ended up making it back to the little cottage before you stopped.

Grim panted even though he was on your hip the entire time, “Is this far enough?”

Ace was still stupefied, “Ooooww.. What in the world was that? No one said anything about that!”

Deuce was also lost in confusion, “It didn't seem like any old ghost.”

Ace sighed in defeat, “Let's give up and go home. I'd rather get expelled than fight that thing.”

Deuce looked incredulously at Ace, “Wha!? Don't screw with me! I'd rather die than face expulsion! There's a magic crystal in front of us and you wanna go home!” Deuce gripped Ace’s collar and pulled the boy in front of his face.

Ace scoffed, “Ha. You talk big for someone worse at magic than me. Go alone if you want. I'm done.” Ace pushed Deuce’s hands off of him and started walking away from the direction of the mine.

Deuce snapped, “Oooh, that right? Then stay right there cowering like a spineless coward!”

Ace’s face swiveled around, “Huuuuh?? Coward?? Who exactly are you talking about?”

Grim’s hands tigented around your shirt, “U-uuuh... Deuce. Did you switch up your character?” His head tilted to the side.

Deuce coughed, “Huh! A-ahem! My bad. I lost my composure a bit.”

You decided that if any time is good, now is the perfect time for your opinion, “Okay dudes, let’s use what we have. We know that magic can help us in this situation, but being a dumbass won’t. All three of you need to actually use your brains and remember that you don’t have to do this alone.” You placed your hand on your chin, “If one magic alone does not work with our level, maybe magic combined could work. There is always the power of friendship if we really need it.”

Ace’s eyes narrowed in either disgust or confusion, “Well, yeah we can only do small stuff that we are good at. That’s why we have schools for magic, so that we can practice a lot to use magic just as it comes to mind. You’ll screw up if you lose your cool.”

Your eyes sparkled, “So what you are saying is I’m right and that we do need to work together as you are all inexperienced magicians that can barely do anything!” This was just what you needed.

Ace continued and ignored you, “Shut up. Stuff you're good at, you can go off instinct.”

Deuce voiced his decisions, “At any rate, I'm going in there. I'll figure out how to beat that thing and come back with a magic crystal.”

Ace rolled his eyes at Deuce, “However, judging by the chandelier incident, you're a complete idiot. You couldn't land a single hit earlier, but now you'll 'figure it out'? It's going to end the same.”

Deuce’s eyes narrowed at Ace, “Come again!? You think…”

Grim tugged on your cloak to get your attention, “Here they go again. Can you stop it?”

A sigh came out of your mouth to launch you into your rant, “Will both of you put your dicks away and calm down? For Pete’s Sake, I really thought your brains would be bigger than your dick, but now I’m just assuming that your brain is nonexistent…” Your hand ran through your hair, “Please, I beg for you to listen to me for one second. Get your head out of your ass and realize that you, all of you, need to work together as a team and think with your heads to defeat this monster. Capiche?” You closed your eyes and smiled as wide as you could.

Both of the students looked at you like you just told them that the world would end, and ended up yelping after their eyes met yours.

Grim covered his ears with his paws, “Waah. Why are you shouting all of the sudden?”

You opened your eyes and obtained a resting bitch face, “Either you suck it up and realize that you can’t do anything alone or you can go try again and maybe you’ll have a good short death.” Your smile appeared back on your face.

Deuce deflated, “Guuhh... B-but... What exactly should we do?”

“We have to have a plan for this to work,” You knew you had to put your head together.

Ace still had disgust in his eyes, “Strategy? You mean get along and work together. Ha! That's cold. You have no problem saying lame things with a serious face, huh.”

Deuce bobbed his head, “Disagreed. No way I'm working with this loser.”

Grim shook his head, “But... I feel like it's way lamer to get expelled on the first day of school.”

Ace stuttered, “U-uh, that’s…”

Deuce stared at his shoes.

“So, are you finally gonna listen to me?” You smiled and ran your hand through your hair.

Ace groaned, “....haaaahh.. Fine! We just have to get it done, right! So, what's your plan?”

And all three of you then had a discussion about what you were going to do to defeat the monster. Neither of the males had any ideas, so it depended all on your ideas. Later, you three ended up at the opening of the mine with confident looks on your faces, empty stomachs, and worn out bodies.

Grim, shaking next to you and gripping the end of your cloak, gazed up into your eyes, “You... really think it'll go as planned? I'm sca... no, just nervous.”

“Hey, Grim,” You pet the top of his head right next to his ears, “Nothing bad will happen to us. You just have to believe in yourself and everyone else.”

Ace slapped you back, “Haha, you're too stiff. Just go with the flow. Let's get this over with!”

All three of you strutted into the mine as if you knew what you were doing, but you didn’t.

Grim jumped in front of you and waved his arms all around, “Hey, beasty! O-o-o-over here!”

The monster ended up sprinting at you which makes sense because before it ran at you, you cupped your mouth and yelled, “Hey, whore, bet you never passed elementary school!” And then stuck out your tongue at the monster.

Grim sprung up and went in the opposite direction you did screaming, “Gah! It’s coming!”

While you tried to doge the monster, the monster growled, “Grrr!There... thief... too. Won't give... Mine... Mine!!”

The monster’s growls and shrieks soon turned into wails and cries. You paused your run to observe the monster who was in the middle of fighting Ace and Deuce because Ace decided to punch the monster in the monster’s face of glass. (Grim ended up cheering at Ace’s punch) This monster you had now learned was not mad at you but was probably attached to the mine and especially to the crystal with how the monster’s screams turned to cries.

(‘Great character analysis!’ You thought while patting yourself on the back.)

You surveyed the outfit of the monster once more, and you learned that it was much more familiar than you thought.

A light bulb went off in your head because the outfit looks like one of the seven dwarfs outfits, and, of course, now when you need it you forgot what they all look like.

You had to get everyone’s attention, especially the monster’s, “Hey hey hey! I’m gonna steal the crystal if you don’t run after me!”

The monster stomped after you out of the mine and into a big meadow roaring, “Go away! Go away!!!”

And with a wave of your hand, the three magicians in your group did a grand attack. All of them were yelling their movies like basic anime heroes.

(‘Am I in an anime?’ flew through your mind for a second, but your slowly pushed it down)

You knew that this was your only chance because the monster was stuck in all of their attack, “I’ll go get it, don’t worry!”

The three of them high fified and talked a little bit about how just amazing their combined attack was. You were spirinting into the mine, tripping on some of the rocks and slipping on a puddle of muck from the monster. The crystal slowly came into view and you went in that direction.

Large, booming footsteps were heard from behind you causing you to circle around to the noise and find not only the monster racing toward you but your idiotic boys following after it.

Ace hollered at you, “Watch Out!”

The monster even though the boys were still attacking it ignored everything and sprinted straight for you and the crystal.

You had to jam your hands into the rocks surrounding the crystal and pull as hard as you can which honestly was not a lot. Your hands were soon donned with scraps and cuts from the rocks surrounding it, and finally after using a piece of metal from the train tracks behind you, you got out the crystal with the monster not on your ass but almost.

When the monster locked sight onto the crystal in your hand, a sickening screech flew through the air, “Hands ooooofffffffff!!”

Deuce, Ace, and Grim all began panicking and trying to find out what to do by actually asking each other.

However, your biggest priority was to get out of the monster’s range, so you had to do something that could get you killed possibly.

(At least unless you wanted to go deeper into the mine which honestly was a worse idea than facing the monster in front of you).

The monster could almost reach out and grab you now so you performed your amazing save: you kneeled to the ground as the monster was still running at you causing the monster to trip and fly right over you into a wall of rocks. Since the monster was now a little caught up, you stood up and rushed to get the boys who you pulled by their sleeves as they were still arguing and forced them to follow you out of the mine once and for all.

Grim surveyed your hand and ordered the others, “We got the magic crystal! Let’s skedaddle!”

Ace looked back at the monster, sighed, then turned to Grim, and shouted, “Roger!”

The monster ended up gaining focus quicker than you expected because it appeared right behind you as the exit to the cave came in sight.

Ace incredulously gazed at the monster, “You're kidding!? It knocked off all that stuff and came after us!”

Deuce cursed and then remarks, “Shoot, it’s gonna catch up to us!”

You noticed that the monster did not stop even when all of you were close to the cottage in the woods, and you knew that it was because the monster is dead set on getting the crystal out of your hands, “There’s no way it’s gonna let us go. Either we end this now or die trying, so let’s go.” You halted your run and faced the monster with your fists in the air.

Ace sighed, “Aaah, fine! Let's finish it! Don't let me down, Mr. Serious!”

Deuce's eyes flicked to yours and then Ace, “You too.”

Grim jumped in front of you, “I’ll show off my true power!”

All three of them ended up using their magic together to defeat the monster, and even though they all came out of the battle close to dead they still cheered and celebrated with each other with shouts and highfives.

A breath of relief passed your lips, “Now this is when you confess your love for each other?” You locked eyes with first Ace and Deuce.

“Knock it off!” Ace and Deuce yelped at you.

It seemed they have become so much in sync that they are even imitating each other.

Deuce continued with red cheeks, “...Ah. N-no. This is nothing like that!”

Ace added, rubbing the back of his neck, “Y-yeah, yeah! Could you stop saying weird things?”

Grim puffed out his chest and bloated, “W-we won, thanks to my genius!...It's not because we pooled our strength!”

You turned to Ace and shook your head causing Ace to run his hand through his hair and frown, “...I guess making excuses is pretty lame. I hate to admit it but we won thanks to your plan.”

Deuce slowly nodded, “... True. We got the magic crystal because you gave us level headed instructions. We can prevent our expulsion this way. ... I'm so relieved.”

You smiled at the two, “Everyone did their part, and now we can finally relax.”

Ace finished it off, “Yeah, yeah. We're all relieved. And seriously worn-out and battered. Let's go home.”

Grim pulled your coat and remarked how starving he was, but all you could think about was a change of clothes and a bath, so him eating a black crystal or whatever did not really bother you, not even when the other two boys were yelling at him not to.

Deuce let out a cheer of excitement and a breath of plain exhaustion, “Switching gears, let's get this magic crystal to the headmaster!”

Everything was finally going your way. For now.

~~~

It be very cute how my laptop now does not work

[rouiyan]

𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘞𝘏𝘌𝘕 𝘐 𝘍𝘈𝘓𝘓 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the fourth volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: and when i fall, will you be there to catch me by the waist?

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : angst, fluff ✧ word count : 7.4k ✧ disclaimers : disclaimers — violence in the form of attempted assassination/murder, bloody/gory scenes, mentions and allusions to character death, malintent

✧ author’s note — this is the one where i romanticize everything.

read volume three here: dearly departed.

prince donghyuck is running. he's sprinting almost, and his strapped bow and quiver hits his back with each of his coming strides. his hands are furious in breaking away the tall grasses that surround him on all sides with a blunt blade. cutting through them with swift flicks of his wrist. the dirt beneath his feet crunch and the blades of grass he's cut sway to the ground with slow and deliberate motions, avoiding the drag of gravity like paper in the wind. donghyuck is aware that he's leaving an obvious trail but there isn't time to spare if he doesn't want to meet death at his destination. he wished he'd been smart enough to take a horse, though he knows he would have had to abandon it as he drew close. 

the skies are clear today, rare for the winter that has made itself evident in the past few weeks. there are no clouds to stir up a storm, and no threat of rain to muddle his sight. donghyuck pulls a compass from beneath his armored chest. his feet are still moving fast though his arms are now pulled in to read the display on the device. the grass that's no longer pushed back springs up and brushes the skin of his forehead, the skin under the cut of his hair, obtrusively. the needle points south albeit a tad east. he continues forth. the sun is just about setting, flakes of purple beginning to bleed into the blue and donghyuck swears he can hear the ocean. he swears it's near. 

he breaks out into an open expanse, sudden in the way the grass stops short, but he sees soon enough that it stops short at the curb of a trodden dirt path. his hand against the ground, he feels the soil fine in between his fingers, sifting almost as finely as sand does. donghyuck's face tinges with the slightest annoyance in the realization that thin soil meant that tracks were covered up all the more easily, something that'd indeed be in his favor, if only there were tracks left to follow in the first place. the compass resurfaces again, the fine chain on which it hangs sloshing in the wind in conjunction with his hurried movements. lee donghyuck bites the bullet and recedes back into the mass of grassland, this time hurrying along the edge of the road whilst ducking once again in the cover of the reeds.

the sun is fast in waning and it's as if the prince is chasing it. he is on the descent of the hill himself when he begins to hear it clearly, the sounds of waves crashing against rocks, sputtering along the shore. he wishes he had time to go down and relish in the feeling of the water lapping between his toes, the salt and sand it carries shrugging off his dead skin. the sight he's first met with is the thatching of the roof, worn down and sodden through days of heavy rainfall. it sits like a weight upon the rest of the structure that soon forms in his line of vision. a decrepit shack, almost, or a sizable shack. the shiplack that holds the siding in place is doing the exact opposite, lifting off of its holds and fraying downwards into the ground, carrying pieces of the inner insulation of the walls with it. the shutters are absent in barricading the gaping holes the windows have abated to, the awning of the porch creases earthwards, blocking most of the front door. the visage reads, 'seaside home succumbs to the inexorable confines of loneliness and lack of care.' there is no other way to describe the forces that keep the assembly upright except the willfulness of a wicked hand.

donghyuck pauses and crouches to the roots of the turf. he peers between the strands to see a guard, no, two placed just before the widest cavity in the side of the house, the only way in he supposes. his fingers are quick to pluck the end of an arrow, to slot it in its place, to draw and arm back, an eye squinting. he's quick to duck under the cover of the grass once again when the arrow pierces the left of a guards' eye. he's quick to avoid ruffling the grass that would otherwise be giving away the whereabouts of his presence away to the other, frantic, guard. prince donghyuck is crouched at the foot of a tree when he draws another arrow, slots it, draws back, releases. he knows that death meets wherever the point of his arrows land, he's accustomed to it, he feels pride in knowing that one shot is all he needs to become the greater version of him, to decide who lives and who doesn't. one shot is all he needs to play god. at least, that is what you had told him on a lonely day of his fifth summer, the first summer he had spent at the northern palace but definitely not the last. 

"and you'll keep staring from afar, will you? you in the creepers," you turned your head in exact to where he'd been crouching, "as if i wouldn't know." young donghyuck removed himself effectively from the brush, dusting off bracts from his trousers in effort to present himself with a little more ease. sheepily, he treaded across to a few yards behind where you were stood, stance rigid and facial muscles pulled taut when staring into the bullseye. you plucked an arrow, turned it over in your hands, fingers running along the ridges to inspect. prince donghyuck knew that you were the same age as him, he'd been taught of the four, of which he was one, who were birthed in the same year, in each of the kingdoms. he knew this, yet with the aura you're giving off, he couldn't help but think that you've been around for much longer. the arrow split the previous arrow in a clean half. both lodged into the red-marked center, fifty or so meters away and barely visible to the eye at such distance. 

prince donghyuck stumbled to take a bow from the stand beside you. he placed an arrow clumsily between his fingers, strangely he felt the need to prove himself though he does just the opposite by fumbling. the arrow launched after his third try, but rather than taking on a straight course, it gave a feeble arc and lodged itself into the soil before him. the prince was a sight of vexation at this point, "my instructor said- he said…"

you crossed your arms over your chest, bow tucked neatly in between. "oh, i bet he said a whole bunch."

you taught him all you know and he learned with a newfound respect, though he was unwilling to admit to himself. you had him practice on a bird first, a bigger target than the red dot, so tiny that frustrations would surely be easy to come if he'd started there. donghyuck gave you an apprehensive glance behind his shoulders but you nudged him along with a nod of your head. it's the first time he hasn't missed. he never misses a shot after that. "is- is it dead?" donghyuck didn't dare peer over, afraid of what he might see.

"of course it is."

the five-year old boy was rendered a stuttering mess at this point, "d- did i just commit a felony?" shrugging, you plucked a stone from the shore of the creek, tossing it light across the water, "hunting is legal, if that's what you're asking."

"but i just killed a- a living thing!" he exclaims as if you hadn't said what you had said moments before. sighing, the next thing that comes from you left the boy in confoundment and annoyance at how curt you were, like an grown up he thought. "well, there are times where we are left with no choice but to comply with the blurred lines of right and wrong. there are times where we are left with no choice but to play god.”

his snappy attitude is all too quick to arise, no clue as to even what you were referring to and only in the knowledge that he disliked talking to you. "you're only five, just like me. what do you know?"

"i know a great deal," you turned abruptly to face the boy. you stepped in slow, paced motions, eyes strong and unwavering. he gulps as you spoke though unsure of why. "i know because i look for all my answers from what's put before me, not from my instructors."

prince donghyuck bites down on his lip, he wasn't nearly done with you yet, "so you're saying that you've learned all you know? then when will you learn that you don't have to act all high and mighty when you're already crown princess."

"i don't act. i am not an entertainer." he could not count the amount of times you've rendered him unable to process his thoughts. donghyuck can only retort back, "then what are you?"

"i am crown princess y/n, just as you've said it."

it's years later when he realizes why the earth seems to quiver beneath you, it's years later when he understands that it's because unlike the earth, soil that is bound by the pull of gravity, you've never allowed yourself to be limited to what something, someone, anything else subjects you to. you are a subject to no one, and that is why you will be queen one day. 

he thinks this even as the second of the guards drop dead. he thinks this because he has never had less of a reason to carry out a task, yet he finds himself doing so with attentiveness to detail. donghyuck by no means could categorize you as manipulative, nor persuasive. he simply understands the way you work, the things you desire, the people you need by your side. even he, as much as he disagrees with the likes of prince jeno, he knows that only he can be your king.

the dust settles thick as he crosses through the threshold, one leg after another. he doesn't need to breathe to know that the air could suffocate if he didn't have his arm sleeve pressed into his nose. the inside of the cottage, the wreck that it is, seemed to be intact, for the most part. donghyuck even thinks that if you were to run a thick duster across the tapestries, the carpet, the counters, the armoire,  most everything, that the place could live up to the coziness of just about a decade ago, minus the blatant hole in the wall and the condition of the walls itself.

donghyuck does his best, he's sure, but the halls twist in ways meant to confuse and he ends up at the same stairwell all too many times to count. he finds it soon enough, just as the sun regresses into night. the one stairwell that led down in the midst of all the ups. the absence of light is the only noticeable thing by sight, the moon isn’t nearly upon the horizon, but he uses all that he knows to make out the shine of the door at the foot of the steps. 

skipping the last few steps, he rams into it with all his body weight. the brass, weakened through weather and age, cripples beneath him revealing the darker of night. 

the first thing donghyuck does is cough, there is no way around that. his arm is back by his nose but this time his mouth also clamps tight onto the roughened fabric of his sleeve. he has a short blade in hand, his least favorite weapon of choice but a sword would have been too inefficient and a single arrow too thin. besides the heavy air that hangs, the room is also dead silent. four paces in and his foot hits a solid, a clang, a metal. he drags it along in the same direction, clang, clang, clang. bars. metal bars. a cage, an imprisonment of sorts.

the last bar he's hit escapes him, it swings open. the door, he supposes though he wonders why it hadn't been locked, why the door to the very basement hadn't been locked, why the whole vicinity was put under the supervision of two, poorly trained guards. donghyuck understands when his eyes do their part in adjusting to the dimness of the room and he sees the prince, slumped and unconscious, out cold. 

perhaps, death really was waiting for him at his destination.

time is running thin as donghyuck dismisses his urge to check for a pulse, he figures he'd have to bring the body back anyways, alive or dead, and furthermore he has a deadline. long gone is the dagger, tucked away on the side of his left thigh, replaced with a metal arrow that clangs itself with each time it strikes the wall adjacent to it. to prince donghyuck, picking a lock with a sharpened point of an arrow is second nature; he's done it as many times as little boy scouts practice their square knots and soprano's run through their warmups. but even then, he hates the feeling of picking a lock that binds two wrists, he hates the feeling of how the wrists fall when they are no longer bound, and he hates the feeling of the chains as they clatter and clump at his feet. more than that, the dead weight of a man on his shoulders, void of all vicarious pretenses, is the worst among all feelings.

the sun carries with it shadows as it sets. it draws them like a coachman and his horses, a dog on its leash, a flock of baby geese and their mother. the shadow of the cottage, in particular, is seven feet from where it was when donghyuck entered. he doubts he'll have much time to get back into town on foot, running wouldn't work well with his already depleted stamina and the hunk of a man on his shoulders. he plays it safe with a jog and his compass in hand, the shine of the needle becoming harder to decipher in the fast-coming shadows that drown out his sight.

the first break he takes under a tree a little ways down from the cottage, shoving the weight of jeno under the cover of a few tendrils of vines. he almost wants to kick his figure in annoyance but under the guise that he was trying to wake him. prince jeno is very poor company when he's knocked out, or dead, he supposes now is as good of a time as any to check. fingers against his wrist, he feels the faintest of a pulse and is relieved in the most concealed way, though there is no one around for him to be concealing from. donghyuck thinks, with sureness, that if he were to let the boy wilt in his arms, to deliver him dead when he might as well have been alive, he himself would be dead in your eyes. he shakes his head and brings his flask to the lips of the older, slightly older.

the first few drops of water do nothing except sit in his dry mouth but the rest is gurgled, choked, swallowed. the prince, and soon to be king, lunges at donghyuck with his eyes still shut closed. he has his fingers tight around the eastern prince's neck when he finally regains the will to peel open his lids. the sun is long gone at this point and the moon has still yet to appear over the horizon. jeno is startled when he realizes that the ground his knees are rubbing against isn't dusted concrete but thick soil and stones. he draws back at that though his arms wind back as well, as if to drive into his unknown captor's cheek, to knock him out. donghyuck is a whirlwind of coughs as he barely registers the fist that's approaching fast, he's glad he still has it in him to roll to the side and croak out an, "it's me."

two princes are panting under the span of a tree, the roots that jut out slashing the backs of one of them and the twigs that litter the ground cutting into the kneecaps of the other. their breaths alternate, loud sighs and sharp inhales, as they regain their bearings enough to acknowledge each other. two princes sit side by side under the span of a tree, glancing at each other, or what they believe to be each other, in the shroud of darkness that envelops them. they wait for the moon.

jeno finds himself reaching for the flask that lays discarded a few feet away. he chugs and donghyuck eyes him in disgust, feeling how his own throat is clenching up with the same thirst. jeno must sense this because he holds it out for him when he's had his fill, "how much time has passed?" donghyuck throws back the rest of the water. they are bound to come across a freshwater stream on the long way back, he's sure and he swallows, "a week in approximation."

a week, he's sure a lot of things could've happened in the week he was gone. possibly, you'd know of his absence. surely, you know of the death of your father. no doubt were you in mourning and he was halfway across the region and in no state to comfort you. his brows furrow, "anything notable that's happened?"

there are many things donghyuck could say in response. he hasn't left your side since the day after your father's body was found, the day he'd arrived at the palace, ready to comfort. he'd never have expected you to lash out in rage with no one to blame. he'd been there when the maid had delivered news of the anonymous tip that'd made your knees go weak in an instant. a hell of a week it had been, indeed. he prefaces with the general. "the coronation has been moved up, three days from now you will be crowned king."

jeno nods in understanding. it's all his parents have ever wanted from him, to marry off into golden blood, to become golden blood, for their immediate family to bathe in golden blood. he sighs knowing that he feels it's fine if it's with you, that your presence in his life simply mocks that of his parents. but he needs answers, the yearning to see you is set alight in the pits of his stomach. "and how is she holding up?" 

disgruntled, prince donghyuck answers curt and vague, the exact opposite of what jeno needs to soothe his worries, "she's holding up just fine." neither of them are in high spirits when they set off into the night. they suffice with the silence and when they come across the expected stream, donghyuck fills the flask, they bathe. the moon is kind that night, outshining all nights before and illuminating the compass needle, the guide into the outskirts of the southern kingdom.

the sun is on the rise when the two princes are met with the sight of buildings in the distance, small shacks, roofs thatched but unkempt and messy unlike that of the seaside cottage for royalty. the people bustling about are donned in the plainest of clothing and donghyuck is sure that his combat gear and jeno's days old and crinkle suit would draw unwanted attention from the commoners, after all, he's almost sure that they wouldn't recognize the faces of two royalty if they were dressed down, not here in the southern kingdom where the prospects of royalty are told like a fairy tale.

like how any disguise is gained, donghyuck sneaks through the bushels of the nearest house and snatches two pairs of trousers, two plain cotton tops, and a tweed satchel, leaving four golden coins under the back awning. they change before the sun arrives to clear the air of fog  and mist and they bustle and weave within the crowd with ease when the sun peeks over diagonal, mid-morning.

they don't make it far on foot, there is still a ways to go before they can safely make it past jeno's homeland without being noticed. the farther they delve into the heart of the kingdom, the closer they mingle with the nobles, the higher-ranking families, those who would recognize them almost immediately. 

a first of many close calls come when they are at the back end of a manor, a huge estate, spanning about half the palace itself. whoever the owner was, the individual jeno was rambling on about, wouldn't suffer the loss of two horses. that is, if they could be stolen in the first place. the stables were a mile into the plot of land from the back and though donghyuck could be so efficient in simply shooting dead all the guards that lined the outer premises, he really did not wish to cause a ruckus, not when he's sure the officials of the southern kingdom are aware of the escape of their second prince. and if jeno is correct in labeling this very estate as the abode of the capital governor, he wouldn't be keen in taking chances where it could hurt most. 

night falls for a second time and, under the cover of darkness, jeno slashes the calves of two of the guards, a stroke that could easily be mistaken to be of a running and wild badger if timed correctly. he ducks between the electrical cords of the fencing, donghyuck just behind him, as he gets on all fours to survey the grounds. the guards that are left mill around the stables, the only structure that'll provide them light during their break. they are jolly and big-bellied when they laugh and jeno finds it all too easy to slip past the commotion to the back of the stables where the gates open onto the track. donghyuck moves with practiced stealth to the opposite end, foot looping on the edge of a table where kegs of beer are stood tall. he steadies himself, centering his movements around his breaths and not his impulses. retrieving his compass, he doesn't stop to crack it open this time, angling the sleek alloy cover in such a way that it glints in accordance with the glass of the window, left side of the stables that's illuminated inside out. 

they count to three. the kegs meet the earth and while some roll, others simply spill. donghyuck leaves a mess in his wake. he'd like to stay back, admire his work, the looks of shock on their faces and the realization that'll come when they check the stables a little later. he gets this feeling each time he completes a mission, and very rarely is a prince allowed to do so. prince donghyuck loves the rush, the adrenaline, the anticipation and the satisfaction of completion. he knows that jeno feels the same. although as much as he would love to linger in the shadows to bathe in his victory, he knows that if he doesn't remove himself from the scene he will have a great deal more things to be worrying about. perhaps, his head on a stick.

with the horses accompanied by night, an ever-so-welcome friend, they are able to make haste. their course deviating the slightest to avoid the boundaries of the royal palace. jeno is familiar with the towns that lay just a little beyond and just a little before the middle glade. his familiarity means he knows where to book a rest for the night, where to get the needed replenishments for themselves and the horses and where to stock up for the coming day that will be spent entirely in the middle glade. his familiarity is helpful, but deemed futile when they arrive to see that each stall, selling food or goods, has a banner hung on the overhead. the prince's face is printed on each one, a lost prince, help needed! captioning each notice.

the pitstop, originally jotted to span a whole of two hours becomes a series of laborious tasks that involve intricate planning of thievery, indirect thievery as they make sure to leave, in their ructions, the rest of their gold coins, distributed evenly. they enter the middle glades with relieved and wearied hearts and sacks upon sacks of provisions.

the middle glade is the right place for any wearied heart. the grass is knee-length here, and it stays that way for a day's trip worth of land. the edges are crowded by a thick forest of trees with trunks too wide to hug and roots so big that traversing the land on foot is treacherous enough. but just beyond the thickets of trees and boughs that hang low is the glade itself. the four kingdoms were built to accommodate the livelihood of the grasses, wildflowers, gentle ponds that stretched only a few feet deep. the glade is a sight for sore eyes, and a marvel for all traveling through. it's where the four kingdoms diverge, and also where they meet.

rays of sun are harsh on their backs, it's been a little over an hour and though the looming threat of the southern kingdom has been left in the dust, the road ahead proves bleak, grasses the run along the horizon and, seemingly, endlessly beyond. jeno thinks of what he'll say when he sees you. he thinks of the smile that's sure to grace your features and he thinks of your warm embrace. jeno is patient when he thinks of you.

"she's been troubled."

jeno looks over in surprise at the sound of his companions voice, he notes the lilt and remains silent for him to go on. 

"the princess and i, as i'm sure you know, we've been well-acquainted for a long time now." donghyuck steals a glance of his own and finds that jeno's sights are held to the front but his brows are drawn in consideration, deliberation. "and i've always known her the best, loved her the best, been the best for her. we've both been, for each other i mean. we both also knew that there would be a day where the same would be said for someone besides the other. i don't mean harm when i say that i didn't think it'd be this soon, not for her."

"why not for her, distinctly?"

prince donghyuck gives a moment to think of an answer that he knows all too well from being by your side for the good majority of his life, "because she's not one to talk. she prefers to listen." nudging his point along, jeno makes it known, "she talks to me."

"that's how i know you're the one for her." jeno smiles to himself. he lets himself relish in the feeling of your love, even indirectly. his lips stay turned upwards, even when he wills them back down. he can't help but feel a little silly so he disguises his countenance with another question,  "did she ask this of you? to come for me?" a question that he already knows the answer to.

"of course," a playful grin spreads with ease across donghyuck's face. he supposes that the taut strings between them have loosened up ever so slightly, either that or the dreariness of traveling for days on end with only each other's company have done the trick, "i'd have never gone out of my way for you." jeno's expression is gruff but his tone is light when he quips back in agreement, "neither would i."

"i'll have you know though, she's beyond excited about the wedding preparations. the coronation as well but i can sense that she's more apprehensive to take the throne so early on. it's a relief to know that you'll be by her side when the time comes."

"as i should be."

"you know, i've heard some rumors about you, just picked them up here and there. and while i have made sure of your sincerity by means of this," he gesticulates, "this trip of ours, i would like to confirm that you're not...after her for the throne, are you?"

"not i, but i wouldn't put it past you to see it as so. much of my family sees her for only her blood," he doesn't bother to palliate the resentment in his expression as he spits out the last half. the other in the conversation is thrown into thought, once again. the moments he gives himself to respond are filled with the sounds of horse hooves fast on the crimpling grass.

"the death of her father, were you aware that it was dawning upon us?" donghyuck airs prudently, "in the assumption that it was of your lineage's doing."

jeno replies dismissively, not in the context that he is avoiding the inquiry, but more so that he found the case scenario obvious, "i was not aware, no. it had certainly been staged so that i could not have been there to prevent it, unfortunately." his eyes slide from the grassy hills ahead to his friend beside him, he lets new information fall from his lips in the face of someone he has come to trust, "i'm also apprehensive about her taking the throne so young, and not because of her duties. i have an inkling that she might be stolen before her throne is."

"another scheme of your parents, the king and queen? or is that past my bounds to be asking?"

the dismissive tone laces his voice again, but only for a few cumulative seconds, "not at all, there are many times a day where even i find it hard to identify as one of them." a turning point is reached where he gazes grows stern and the dismissiveness is replaced with an air of officiality, "but yes, i believe it to be one of their schemes to place a crown atop my head."

donghyuck considers jeno's words with heavy thought and a heavily-ladened question, "would you take it if it was offered?" he takes his answer with an equally heavy understanding.

"at the cost of her, i would give it up in a heartbeat."

you've lost count of the nights you've spent staring at the same ceiling you were faced with now. even turning onto your sides you know that you'll be met with all too familiar scenes. your mind, instead of relenting to the rest it needs, replays the same track over and over of prince jeno asking for you not to stay up too late, ironic in the sense that that's simultaneously exactly what you've succumbed to. you miss the way his locks bunch in between your fingers, something you haven't quite grasped the reasonings behind your liking of. it's just hair, but it being his hair supposedly makes all the difference. would it be foolish for you to be thinking of his hair when he might as well be taking his last breaths in the same second? there wouldn't be a way to know, the wall that you've encountered each time you venture down the glum alleyways of 'what if.'

"acceptance disempowers fear, darkness, shame." (my co--star day at a glance 1119).

you wallow in acceptance because the fear, the darkness, the shame stands too tall against your thin spears of hope. they've dwindled with each day that you've spent circulating between those three emotions in a hopeless and never-ending circle of self-induced torture. somewhere in between your fourth and fifth hour of intermittent lapses between sleep and wakeful exhaustion, the inner door of your chamber is burst open and you swear under your breath. murder is in the night.

or rather, it's your lady-in-waiting, her eyes bugged out and a coat haphazardly thrown over her nightgown. "your highness!" that's when you see the smile on her face, that's when a similar one begins to light your own. "the guards down in the valley, they say they've seen them!"

legs kicking up the blankets that hold you down, you scramble out of bed, even slipping on a coat is deemed too much a time-consuming task when the raptures that have enveloped you for the past weeks are now coming to a close. your fingers barely catch onto the door frame just as you skid out, peering back in to get another word for your maid, "them, them as in two. both lively and well?"

"i've been told of two men, both on horseback."

a grin splits your cheeks wide as your bare feet clap down hard on the frigid marble flooring. it echoes unlike the sound of your nightgown flitting between your form with each step, the whistling of wind curling your insides with warmth and joy. your heart sings like a village girl, whose love has just returned safe from the battling seas. perhaps you were a juliet, in the pretense that 'star-crossed' meant that you and him were written in the stars, not torn apart by them. your lungs welcome the morning air as you inhale as much as you can, replenishing the depths of your spirit, invigorating you down to each cell that you were built of.

the guard at the foot of the steps implores you not to go any further, the crisp winds that sift through the orchard would be far too dangerous with how little you are wearing. he sends for your lady-in-waiting, who had just arrived behind you, panting with all her might, to head back in to retrieve a coat or two for you. you tell her to take her time.

you're on your knees weeping when they come into view, the sight is unsuitable for the weak-hearted. head in your hands, you're making frantic motions to swipe away the furious tears that trace down your cheeks when the soiled dust from a sudden break of hooves lifts into the air before you. prince jeno dismounts as if it were his life's duty, his strides are long, as they have always been, and when he takes you in his arms, collecting your listless limbs and wearied bones in place, you find home within his embrace.

at the crack of dawn, on the bottom steps of the northern palace, a man clad in plain white and a woman in a silk nightgown rejoice in the name of love. his fingers never let the goosebumps on your skin stay for as long as he smoothes them over, you are absent of the wintry weather on your bare skin. at the crack of dawn, on the bottom steps of the northern palace, the up and coming king and queen of the northern kingdom rejoice in the names of each other, alive and so, so full of life.

you're looking up in curiosity at him as he crosses the room to the side of the bed, opposite of yours. jeno has a book in his hand, and rather than looking at you, his sights are on the pages, a finger skimming along with his eyes. he's by your side when he looks up, satisfied, "i brought something to read to you, love."

your eyes sparkle in the moonlight that slips undisturbed through your open balcony doors, "and what might it be?"

"you'll know when you hear, i assure you." he extends an arm and your back is pressed against his chest without a question, his arms encircling your frame, both hands converging to hold the book in front of the two of you. he spoke the truth when he said you'd recognize it. a smile makes its way to your face before you can even take notice. and when you do indeed notice, you mouth the words along with his voice.

“i will love you if i never see you again, and i will love you if i see you every tuesday. i will love you as the starfish loves a coral reef and as kudzu loves trees, even if the oceans turn to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest without anyone around to hear them. i will love you as the pesto loves the fettuccini and as the horseradish loves the miyagi, and the pepperoni loves the pizza. i will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of the vulture. i will love you as the doctor loves his sickest patient and a lake loves its thirstiest swimmer. i will love you as the beard loves the chin, and the crumbs love the beard, and the damp napkin loves the crumbs, and the precious document loves the dampness of the napkin, and the squinting eye of the reader loves the smudged document, and the tears of sadness love the squinting eye as it misreads what is written.

i will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. i will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp…i will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. i will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. i will love you until every fire is extinguished and rebuilt from the handsomest and most susceptible of woods. i will love you until the bird hates a nest and the worm hates an apple. i will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close…i will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, i will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory. i will love you no matter where you go and who you see, i will love you if you don’t marry me. i will love you if you marry someone else–and i will love you if you never marry at all, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all. that is how i will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.”

(Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters)

the book is discarded, but unforgotten, to the side when the curtains are pulled back. the moon is at its height. renjun has a lot of work to do.

the scene is as expected, the princess, inseparable from her prince is on the bed and clasped on all sides by his form. he regrets that he did not have the guts to ask for the murder of them both. his orders strictly called for the death of one, a much more tedious task when a possible witness, such as the prince, could hold a hefty punishment over his head if he were to be caught. renjun knows that isn't likely to begin with.

his first mistake is waking the prince. perhaps going in for a knife to the heart was the most efficient but the least accessible, seeing as the man clung to you like no other. renjun doesn't bother hiding though he knows his face covering and hood aren't enough to cover his unmistakable stature. the prince charges at him once he's gained a sense of his surroundings. renjun dodges his sleepful fit easily and uses this opportunity to strike at you. a quick blow to the side should do enough damage for his job to be considered completed.

his second mistake is misconstruing the sheer amount of power the prince possesses. in truth, the prince does not know himself, especially if that power is being drawn by the prospects regarding your safety and wellbeing. renjun is pulled back with veined arms that encase as if to wrestle him into surrender. he's experienced enough to worm his way out and to position himself opposite of the bed where you're now beginning to stir from all the commotion, the prince standing in front of him, shaking his head in disgruntledness as he tries to fight off the waves of post-awakening exhaustion and strain.

renjun knows a lot of things. he knows much about caged animals, he knows even more about greedy men, specifically greedy and powerful men, he knows of hierarchies and classes and exactly how to get what he wants from them, but in this moment, he knows nothing more than the fact that prince jeno will duck. and that he will regret.

when one is young and naive and still in the belief that their blanket will shield them from the monsters in the dark, they simply disregard that it will not. the flimsy, flimsy blanket, made of nothing more than woven, and likely processed, fabrics will do nothing against the demons that await, under your bed, in your shadows, from your ceiling. you are not young, nor are you naive, and it's in your understanding that these demons, they are a breed of sorts, fallen angels. perhaps, you will never understand. and in their line of work, they have never halted at the sight of a blanket. you toss it aside and you charge even as your prospects of living dim as the dagger parts the air, the air that scampers away and leaves an open trail for the dagger to the dead center of your abdomen, the very spot your father had been punctured with.

there is a part of renjun that wishes he missed.

the man in the moon frowns as the beams that foam and froth and bubble behind him are poured down from the heavens onto the west wing of the palace solely, the west-facing windows, a specific west-facing, wrought iron traced door that gives into the expanse of your room, your bed. it illuminates you, it bares its shine upon you, unabashedly, unashamedly. and it is also the sole reason jeno can see, with such clarity, the shank that slits your silk nightgown with ease, that embeds itself within your now-withering body, that in turn, makes his blood run cold.

renjun is long gone when jeno begins his cry for help. there are guards just outside but it would take a miracle for a medic to arrive before you bleed out your internal organs completely. the white of your sheets is stained with your blood, the strands of your hair are strung together with the stickiness of the substance, jeno's hands, the beds of his fingernails are deluged in the blood that spurts from where he is desperately trying to press down on. the hole in your front gushes with each breath you take and jeno could only wish that he could breathe for you, in your stead. 

prince jeno cries, in the most literal and figurative senses, for help, for someone to wipe away his tears and to tell him that you're alright. to shake him awake as he dissolves further into the abyss of his fears. to kneel by his bedside and tell him that it was all a nightmare, that you're fine, really, that you've just gone to get a cup of earl grey with honey, that when you come back, there will be no dagger struck between your intestines and no red staining your nightgown. lee jeno cries because as time drags, and the guards that scramble about, fruitlessly counting on a distant and frankly unprepared medic, you are in his arms taking your last breaths.

"acceptance disempowers fear, darkness, shame."

and so he accepts.

volume five, the final installment: heaven belongs to you will be updated whenever the author sees fit.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — i hope this piece brought back some cherished memories of 'a series of unfortunate events,' personally, such a great memory of my childhood, reading-wise. i say this a lot but, this has got to be one of my most favorite things i've ever written. i think i did quite well with this. it makes me happy. i hope it made you happy, i love you, have a nice day.

[tessmontyart]

Tessmontyart’s Owl City fanart masterpost

Hello! For those who don’t know me I have been on long quest to complete an artwork for every Owl City song*. I thought this list might be an easy way to keep track of everything! 😊 

💖 Each track links to my corresponding artwork.

💖 The tracks with no links are songs I haven’t done artwork for yet.

💖  ‘(repeat)’ means a song that already exists on a previous album.

💖 ‘Song name 1, Song name 2′ means a song I’ve done more than one artwork for

Please let me know if I’ve missed any Owl City songs! (I'll tackle his other projects like the scores and Sky Sailing later) I’ll update this list whenever I complete a new work :)

*(Disclaimer: There are some songs listed here I don’t intend to draw such as some covers and some features - I mainly want to draw every ‘purely’ Owl City song, and the odd feature/cover if I like it enough :D)

Of June:

Swimming in Miami, Captains and Cruise Ships, Designer Skyline, Panda Bear, The Airway, Fuzzy Blue Lights, Hello Seattle

Maybe I’m Dreaming:

On The Wing, Rainbow Veins 1, Rainbow Veins 2, Super Honeymoon, The Saltwater Room 1, The Saltwater Room 2, The Saltwater Room 3 (video), Early Birdie, Air Traffic, The Technicolor Phase 1, The Technicolor Phase 2, Sky Diver, Dear Vienna, I’ll Meet You There, This is the Future, West Coast Friendship

Ocean Eyes:

Cave In, The Bird and the Worm, Hello Seattle (repeat), Umbrella Beach, The Saltwater Room (repeat), Dental Care, Meteor Shower, On The Wing (repeat), Fireflies 1, Fireflies 2, The Tip of the Iceberg, Vanilla Twilight 1, Vanilla Twilight 2, Tidal Wave, Hot Air Balloon, Butterfly Wings, Rugs from Me to You, Sunburn, If my Heart was a House, Strawberry Avalanche

All Things Bright and Beautiful:

Album cover, The Real World, Deer in the Headlights 1, Deer in the Headlights 2, Angels, Dreams don’t Turn to Dust, Honey and the Bee, Kamikaze, Galaxies, Hospital Flowers, Alligator Sky, The Yacht Cub 1, The Yacht Club 2, Plant Life, How I Became the Sea, Lonely Lullaby, Shy Violet

The Midsummer Station:

Dreams and Disasters, Shooting Star, Gold, Dementia, I’m Coming After You, Speed of Love, Good Time, Embers, Silhouette, Metropolis, Take It All Away, Bombshell Blonde, Top of the World

The Midsummer Station Acoustic: 

Good Time (repeat), Shooting Star (repeat), Gold (repeat), Hey Anna, I Hope You Think of Me

Ultraviolet (EP):

Beautiful Times, Up All Night, This Isn’t The End, Wolf Bite

Mobile Orchestra:

Verge, I Found Love, Thunderstruck, My Everything, Unbelievable, Bird with a Broken Wing, Back Home, Can’t Live Without You, You’re Not Alone, This Isn’t the End (repeat), Tokyo

Cinematic:

Fiji Water, The 5th of July, All My Friends, House Wren, Not All Heroes Wear Capes, Montana, Lucid Dream, Always, Cloud Nine, Winners Never Quit, Madeline Island, Be Brave, New York City, Firebird, Cinematic

Coco Moon:

Adam, Check Please, Under the Circus Lights, Kelly Time, Field Notes, Sons of Thunder, The Tornado, Vitamin Sea, Dinosaur Park, Learn How to Surf, The Meadow Lark, My Muse

Random blog songs:

Halcyon, Helicopter Moon, Beautiful Mystery, Paper Tigers, Floppy Fish (Trust Me), Hey There Rabbit, Ridiculously Happy, Salad Basket, Kickflip, Magic Golden Flower, 

Christmas Songs:

Peppermint Winter, The Christmas Song, The First Noel, Light of Christmas, Kiss Me Babe it’s Christmas Time, Humbug, Snow Snow Snow, 

Promotional Songs:

To The Sky, When Can I See You Again, Shine Your Way, Live It Up, Clap Your Hands, Wonderfilled, Here’s Hope, Up To The Cloud

Covers:

Waving Through a Window, Enchanted, 99 Red Balloons, Can You Feel The Love Tonight, Untitled Hymn, Come Thou Fount Of Every Blessing, Goodbye, Brave, Folsom Prison Blues, Jackson, If I Stand, Listen to what the Man Said, Bright Eyes, All Star

Featured:

Middledistancerunner, Youtopia, All About Us, Eternity, Cactus in the Valley, Ready to Fly, Alive, In The AIr, That’s My Jam, Snow Snow Snow, Forever and Always

Miscellaneous artworks:

Owl City rocking out on a keytar (commission), Adam Young (inktober 2016), Flames Pond, Midsummer Station Touring Band gift art, Midsummer Station Touring Band Halloween, Adam Young New Year 2013, Adam Young New Year 2015, Hoot Owl Day ad, Hoot Owl Secret Santa ad 1, Hootowl Secret Santa ad 2, Hootowl Secret Santa ad 3, Hootowl Secret Santa 3 (no text), Hoot Owl Valentines Day ad, Christmas Adam Young 2012, Christmas Adam Young 2013, Christmas Daniel Jorgenson, Christmas Jasper Nephew, Christmas Steve Goold, Christmas Breanne Duren, Get Well Soon Adam, Gift Art (youretheskyifellthrough), Gift art )thedoctorwhoflygon10), Gift art (thatbombshellblonde) 

Other Projects:

Brielle (Sky Sailing)

I’m only including this here because I have done an artwork for it - but I don’t intend to tackle the rest of Sky Sailing until all the Owl City album songs are done :)

[gumnut-logic]

Gordon the Octopus

I finished one of the WIPs on my list. Admittedly, this is an older one amd I had a good chunk of it written, but I found an end to it tonight :D

Totally @godsliltippy​ ‘s fault. She sparked the idea back in August last year, I just took a long time to see it through.

Marks & Wings AU, lots of Virgil and Gordon, complete fluff, silliness and self indulgence. The first bit has been posted before, but that was ages ago and it works better as a whole rather than in bits so I’ve reposted the whole thing. 2332 words.

Thank you to all the kind Thunderfam who commented on my WIP list ::hugs you so much:: You guys continue to be amazing.

I hope you enjoy this :D

-o-o-o-

The sun touched the horizon and lit up everything in gold.

Virgil closed his eyes and let its waning warmth soak into his skin.

The breeze was gentle, little more than a tease. It caressed his cheeks, lingered in his hair and tantalised the tracings of his mark across his bare back.

He shivered.

He was wearing only an old pair of cut-off jeans between himself and the warm rock. His feet were bare and dangling in the cool water, his toes teased by the ebb and flow.

His soundscape was filled with that water. The ripples of the lagoon splashing against the rock he was sitting on, the distant surf outside the safety of the caldera.

The squabbles of the petrels on Mateo as they argued about roosts for the night.

It was home.

The day had been a good one. No rescues. A moment to relax and sit back. Each of them had disappeared to their own corners, dabbling in their own pastimes in order to wind down.

Alan had taken to the air in the morning. He hadn’t managed to escape a cautionary word from Scott about staying close to the Island, but that was nothing unusual.

Scott said that to all of them.

Their youngest hadn’t been gone long, choosing only to stretch his golden wings with a few loops of their tiny volcanic rock in the middle of nowhere. Virgil had taken the moment to look up and watch his little brother swoop and dive, golden wings quite a sight in the early morning sun.

Scott and John, of course, were all about catching up on work. Virgil had to intervene at about midday and demand they eat. John was yanked down from orbit with a little extra threat from Grandma.

Virgil had been so happy to see his space brother. A little math and he realised he hadn’t seen him in the flesh for over two weeks.

John indulged him a hug as he knew Virgil craved a physical connection to ground him. Virgil was gentle, knowing that those two weeks in zero gravity would make his brother sensitive to touch.

But he had to.

The spark of connection as their minds reacted was like a tension release. Virgil sighed into his shoulder with relief.

John held him.

But after that, it was all Grandma and eat something, kid. Fortunately, lunch hadn’t relied on her cooking. Virgil had done a supply run on the way back from a minor situation just the day before and the larder was stacked with lazy day goodies.

It was a good meal. For once, everyone was there.

They had spent a good part of the afternoon just lazing about the comms room talking. While they lived most of their lives together, it had become rare being together all at once with no dire emergency needing attention.

There had been sun, conversation and rest.

John. John, of all people, had fallen asleep on the couch.

That had prompted a number of things. Lots of quiet. An interrogation of Eos from the kitchen regarding their brother’s sleep schedule.

This was promptly followed by grounding him for a week to play catch up.

Grandma was not happy.

And no doubt, John would be even less when he woke up.

But hey, the man needed to take better care of himself.

A blanket had appeared.

Virgil may have snuck in a medical monitor and gently clipped it to his shirt to boost the basic vitals his gravity wear provided.

John slept on.

So, they left him there and returned to doing their own things in other parts of the house.

As always, Gordon gravitated towards the sea as late afternoon rolled in. This time Virgil followed him to the water’s edge.

His fish brother’s forays out into the ocean always made Virgil just that touch nervous. There had been times where the aquanaut had gotten himself into trouble…alone, out in that vast wilderness under the surface.

It wasn’t that Gordon didn’t know what he was doing. It was just…Virgil couldn’t reach him.

And he worried.

But Gordy was as much a part of the sea as it was part of him and while the brat respected his concerns, he was still a brat. When he leapt up, morphed into his favourite eagle ray form, and made a splash large enough to soak his engineer brother, it was not unexpected.

There was a reason why sting rays always looked like they were smiling. At least this one thought he was funny.

The smart ass.

A flicker of shadow beneath the surface and Gordon was gone.

Virgil felt him grow distant, only to have a sun shower of mental energy thrown in his direction.

Clearly a ‘cheer up, Virg, I’ll be fine’.

Virgil grunted as he stared out at the water that had swallowed his brother. Gordon would be gone a couple of hours at least. Virgil would occupy himself for the rest of the afternoon, but he knew that come sunset, he would be down by the shore, waiting for him.

And here he was.

Staring out at the sea and the sunset, waiting for that little spark to return.

It wasn’t a chore. It was just something he felt he had to do.

Part of him wished he had brought his sketchbook or his tablet, but the risk was too high. Gordon wouldn’t intentionally soak his stuff, but accidents did happen.

And besides, he didn’t mind taking a moment to just...be.

The sun’s warmth was a caress on his skin and he revelled in it. He let his eyes close and just felt and listened.

Sun.

Water.

Wind.

Birds.

A wet touch on his shoulder.

He couldn’t help it, he flinched. Instinctively he knew what was happening, he knew his brother was being a little shit, but evolution tagged human receptors with flight response for a reason.

Suckers grabbed at his skin.

He stumbled on the rocks as he flung himself to his feet.

The tentacle did not go away.

It had friends.

Virgil suddenly found himself wrapped in several long, wet, suckered appendages.

“Gordon, what the hell are you doing?”

But then cephalopods weren’t the greatest of listeners since they didn’t really have ears.

Gordon, fortunately or unfortunately, did have the ability to transmit emotion to his brother, despite the muffle of transmutation, and the laughter sparkled across Virgil’s mindscape like a rain of sunny stars.

The evening was still golden and warm, but just a touch less relaxing. Virgil stood amongst the rocks with a giant Pacific octopus wrapped around his torso.

He idly stared at the flickering colours of laughter strobing across the chromatophores he could see.

“Gordon, you’re a shit.”

That, of course, only increased the mirth.

Virgil settled his mind and came to terms with the fact he was currently wearing a cephalopod and instead turned to problem solving.

The giant molluscs were quite fascinating. If there was one thing Virgil shared with his fish brother, it was a fascination with life in general, and because his brother spent so much time underwater, Virgil had done his fair share of reading on the topic. Unbeknownst to Gordon, Virgil found cephalopods quite fascinating, both in their communication methods and for painting subjects.

But then, this kraken was a whole different kettle of shellfish.

Virgil stood still for a few moments, waiting to see what his brother would do and, if he was honest, see if his brother would simply let him go.

The mental snickering pretty soon negated that response, so Virgil had to look for a more proactive retaliation.

He prodded a tentacle wrapped around his belly. It wriggled back at him.

Virgil was ticklish. He stifled the thought that his brother might take advantage of that while possessing eight arms.

He could lift. That would bring eight metres of black feathers into the equation, but Gordon was physically in contact with his mark, the feathers would likely phase through him like a piece of clothing.

A tentacle caressed his ribcage and he shivered.

He felt Gordon’s outburst of glee and before he knew it, all of those tentacles were moving, suckers puckering along his ribs and belly, a riot of tickle and tease. There was even one in his hair, its tip dangling in front of his eyes.

His brother’s maniacal mental laughter was all consuming.

Swearing, Virgil spun and leapt into the lagoon, the drop-off immediate enough to take the dive.

His world became a rush of bubbles.

Several tentacles came loose in the chaos and Virgil twisted in the water, hoping to dislodge the rest.

But the water was Gordon’s native environment, and the engineer didn’t have a hope.

The giggling was obnoxious.

Breath soon became an urgency and Virgil pushed towards the flickering light above. He surfaced with an octopus head bopping his nose. Somehow Gordon had slithered around to hang off his front instead of his back.

Virgil glared at his brother through the hair dripping in his eyes.

The head tilted and squirted water into his face.

“Gordon!”

Damnit, Kayo needed to show him some self-defence skills against cephalopods.

The thing was octopuses were strong, but their bodies were somewhat fragile and part of Virgil was worried he might hurt his brother.

Knowing Gordon, he knew that and was playing it to his advantage.

“Why are you doing this?”

Because I can.

Virgil didn’t need telepathy to answer that.

But there was a spark of something beyond the humour. Beyond the rain of sunshine sparkles there was a deep red, a welling of emotion his brother was reluctant to share.

A frown and Virgil reached out mentally to his little brother just that little bit more.

The octopus scrambled up his torso, over his face – to Virgil’s muffled protest – and perched on his head like a turban.

Virgil spat into the water and rubbed his face with both hands. “God, Gordon! Why?!”

But the answer wasn’t built with words, it was built with emotion and it suddenly washed over him.

An overwhelming need to touch, to hug and to feel.

But…?

Virgil reached for his cephalopod hat, but Gordon slipped off into the water with a splash and darted away.

Virgil dove to follow.

He didn’t have a hope in catching up, no matter his brother’s form, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

But Gordon had disappeared.

Damnit!

Oxygen became a necessity far too quickly and, yet again, Virgil cursed his inability to follow his fish brother.

Surfacing dragged his hair into his eyes.

How had he missed it? Gordon could be as in need of touch as Virgil was at times. How had Virgil not seen that his brother just needed a hug?

He mentally kicked himself.

“Virg, it’s not a thing. Don’t tie yourself in knots.”

He spun to find his little brother in human form treading water quietly behind him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed a hug? Hell, why didn’t you just give me one?”

Gordon snorted. “Is that a prescription, bro? You dispensing brotherly hugs?”

“I’m dispensing whatever works, Gords.” His head tilted just a little as he stared at his brother. “C’mere?” He held out his arms, his legs doing the best to keep him stable in the water.

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Don’t drown yourself.”

“Gordon…”

When his brother didn’t respond, Virgil took matters into his own hands and dove at him. The fact he was successful in grabbing a flailing leg proved that Gordon didn’t really want to escape.

A little manhandling and Virgil had his brother in the biggest hug he could manage. It was complicated by the fact that hugging was not conducive to swimming and if Virgil didn’t surface soon, he was going to start losing brain cells, but it was the best he could do with a wriggling fish brother.

Ultimately, it was Gordon who threw them to the surface with a spark of exasperation.

“Virg, I’m fine! What the hell?”

But the emotion bouncing across their connection told the truth. There was little but fondness and love for his silly brother.

“I’m not silly.” Virgil wrinkled his nose.

“Never said you were. However, you did nearly drown yourself trying to give me a hug.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Not.”

“Too.”

“Gordon!”

“What?”

Virgil glared at him.

Predictably, Gordon just smirked at him.

It was Virgil’s turn to be overwhelmed with fondness and love.

Gordon groaned. “Oh god, you are so soppy.”

“What? You’re my brother. I’m allowed to care.”

Gordon fell silent, and for a moment, those brown eyes just stared at Virgil.

Then he found his arms full of brother again. “Love you, bro.”

Surprised, but touched, Virgil’s arms tightened around Gordon and again they dipped below the surface.

Hugs were really conducive to drowning.

And disturbing to sleeping brothers as John startled awake with a rain of confused midnight stars.

Oops.

Virgil made to kick back up to the surface, but suddenly found his arms full of cephalopod again.

Damnit, Gordon.

The sparkling sunshine giggles were back and it was with resignation that Virgil kicked towards the surface.

Perhaps Gordon had a reason for the change and for the cling because when Virgil walked back to the villa and into the comms room wearing his rather heavy cephalopod brother wrapped around him, it brought Scott’s tirade of lecturing John to a sudden halt.

Both brothers stopped and just stared.

Virgil stared back. “What?”

“Is that Gordon?” Scott pointed with both hope and a little fear at the octopus back-pack headwear combination.

A tentacle poked at Virgil’s nose from his forehead. He ignored it and shrugged. “Gords wanted a hug.” He turned away. “I’m going to go have a shower.” An absent wave of a hand.

If his brothers stared as he walked out, he could only smile to himself.

The rain of sunshine laughter from his hat just turned his smile into a grin.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[yandere-sins]

I was wondering if I could request 45 and 49 for Felix H. Fraldarius? The way you write about him is amazing and charming thanks for your hard work (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

Thank you so much! I am glad you enjoy my writing of him :D

“If you ask me nicely, I can fulfill your wish.”    &    “I haven’t met a human like you in a while… How interesting.”

»»——————— ♡ ————————« 

The ruins were so old, you thought they’d collapse any second now, just because you were breathing. Of course, you were thankful that they were keeping up the mountain that surrounded you, leading you towards the actual ruins which long collapsed down into the mountain, completely hollow after so many centuries of existing. But even if you fretted to find your untimely demise under a fallen rock, you still had to venture on. There was a quest to finish.

“Return,” you heard an echoing voice grumble through the old tunnel, and it didn’t leave you unaffected, the hairs on the back of your neck standing. You knew you weren’t welcome, but still, even if the old ghosts didn’t want you here, you’d have to seek them out for their advice. As you were told by the oracles, there would be hundreds of lost souls waiting for you at the end of this path, but only the one you needed would appear before you.

This caused a mix of anxiety and expectancy to bubble in your stomach. You had read so much about the old legends of the Garreg Mach Ruins, the heroes and their enemies, the great battles, and no losses on their side. If anyone could help you with the war raging outside of these old ruins, then those ghosts of the ancient times.

It was prettier than you expected. Sure, overgrown and worn down by time and weather, but with the sun breaking through the hole in the top of the mountain, it had a nostalgic feel to it. Birds had made their nests on top of pillars, and the ground had moved away for water, little fish swimming beneath your feet as you crossed a toppled over wall that worked like a bridge. Had you not known where you were, this would have been a beautiful ruin to explore.

“Leave. You don’t belong here,” a disembodied voice called out to you again, and all you really could do was nod. You didn’t belong here, but you had a reason to be here. “I seek help,” you answered it, loudly, though you flinched as some debris fell down, shaken by the vibrations of your voice. Turning, you took a few steps backwards as you watched it, making sure there wasn’t a boulder coming down to squeeze you under it, when suddenly, you felt a cold resistance in your back.

For a moment only, you thought it was a pillar or anything else of the building around you, when your survival instinct kicked in, and you swirled around, hand on your sword. But before you could pull it, you had been conquered with a sharp blade pointing at your throat, making you afraid to gulp as it would have cut you with just the tiniest bit of change in your skin.

Defeated, you slowly lifted your hands, eyes focusing on your opponent rather than the deadly weapon at the most vulnerable spot on your body. You’d have lied if you said that the appearance before you wasn’t scary as he was. The coats and furs he wore showed what kind of high position he must have had when he was still alive, but they hung from his seemingly non-existent body, only reminding people of what kind of build he must have had.

And yet, you recognized the emblems on his jacket, the black hair, the colors he wore. You recognized him as one of the greatest sword-fighters to ever exist. Felix Hugo Fraldarius, a master of the blade, and even more so, a dedicated, high-ranking soldier and nobleman.

His face was ashen white, but in stark contrast to the dirty and ripped clothes on his body, it still seemed human enough to not be unpleasant to look at. It was even... a little attractive, you admitted to yourself, though his glare was as cold and unwelcoming as it could be. “You were warned,” he spoke, no echo this time, designated just for your ears. “Do you have a deathwish?”

The ghost said it so nonchalantly, it was almost like him asking you what kind of dinner you wanted, but his words were no less terrifying than his appearance himself. Showing him your hands, he didn’t even glance at them, never stopping to pin you with his eyes even if you tried your best to show you weren’t out to hurt him. When you took a step back, he matched your stance immediately, and you were sure now that he wasn’t just any kind of guard or soldier.

While you couldn’t say you were trained or maybe even exceptionally skilled, after holding up your own sword for so long, you knew a fine enemy when he approached. Back in his day, this man must have scared the living shit out of his opponents, just like he did it now with you. But you couldn’t allow yourself to falter, you had come so far!

“I inquire your help,” you mumbled, eyes switching from his stiff glare to his blade and back again. “Outside, war rages and innocent people die by the minute.”

“So you came here for help? What idiot would search for help from ghosts?”

You. You were the idiot.

“You can’t help me,” you admitted, looking along the countless reflection in the - strangely enough, perfectly clean - steel. “But you can train me to help myself.”

He didn’t expect that, as you saw his expression change to surprise for all of a second. Even if his stance stayed firm, always on target, he did allow himself to click his tongue, and finally, the blade lowered, in a way, it would have simply cut you open had it touched you. “What a nuisance. You think we’ll just accept requests of any kind of person who comes here to inquire about us? People hear about our resting place all the time and come for all kinds of shit, like their marriage problems. I have nothing to teach you.”

He turned, ready to leave you and your problems behind as if it didn’t concern him whether someone died or not. But you, for you, it was a big concern, and your chance couldn’t be wasted just because your ghost was moody and maybe an asshole. “Then why did you appear?”

He let out a disgruntled huff, shrugging with his back still turned. But at least he stopped walking, glaring back over his shoulder. “Someone had to.”

“Then please!” you pleaded, taking a step forward. Felix didn’t like it, turning halfway as if you were going to jump him, and he had to defend himself. “Please, help me too! I’m not trained and I can’t handle the sword like you do. But I can sit and watch, and train until I am too exhausted to stand!”

A moment of silence fell over you two, except for the birds chirping in the distance. Had you said too much? Too little? Where you supposed to speak up again? Beg him some more? You wanted to open your mouth, but you were quick to shut up when he turned back to you, his expression even more severe than seconds ago.

“I haven’t met a human like you in a while… How interesting.” 

In a matter of a few steps, he was in front of you again, closer than ever before. Without the sword keeping some distance, you had to admit he reeked of what must be old fabric and furs, mixed with dirt or... other substances. Rot and decay of years you’d never be able to grasp on. But it was just another test you told yourself, and you’d not fail right in the beginning. “Show me what you got,” he ordered, moving aside to give away the whole platform you were on; stone that must have belonged to a great monument back in the days.

You weren’t sure what to do, but you unsheathed your sword, took the only stance you knew of, and swung, trying to show what you were made of. You didn’t even land the first air blow, when you already felt a shove at your elbow. The touch was cold and unforgiving harsh, making you stumble from the suddenness. “Higher,” he instructed, and while you felt the need to complain about your treatment, you swallowed your sour mood in favor of following the ghost’s advice.

Immediately, you felt relief in your shoulder. It was so different, the result was an instant gratification. But while you wanted to share your joyful conclusion, you were immediately bombarded with more shoves, correcting almost everything. “Goddess, you suck.”

“T-Thanks,” you bit your lip, swallowing the pride you were not supposed to have if you wanted his attention, fearing he’d let you down the moment you showed some resistance.

Another shove.

“Have you thought about how to repay my kindness.”

“Re... Repay?!” you quaked as you flinched from the push in the back of your ribs. “Everything comes at a price, don’t tell me you forgot.”

He was in front of you, arms crossed and anger in his expression, the moment you hesitated to answer. You did forget, or more like, you didn’t hear the oracle scream it after you as you set out on your quest. “Of course, I did not forget.”

“Hm,” he snorted. “So, what to do I get?”

“What do you want?” you mumbled, making some more swift attacks under his strict eyes and icy touches. “Are you really going to give me what I want?” he asked, and you nodded - slowly. If it meant that you’d be able to make a change in the war outside, save many more lives than he could ever want, then sure, what kind of promise could it be? “Then I want you,” he hummed into your ear, and your body didn’t know what to do first - jump to the side or have your cheeks fill with heat.

“Don’t get full of yourself now,” he continued, passing you by as if nothing happened. “If I train you, you’ll become as strong as I am, and then...” Turning towards you, the same, shining silver sword appeared in his hands. “You will be my training partner, finally someone worthy to fight.”

Taking his own stance, you were almost afraid to imitate him, but it was as good of a lesson as any. “Is it a deal?” Felix asked, and you agreed with another nod. “That won’t do.” His stance loosened, a surreal experience to see knowing how correct and serious he was always. “If you ask me nicely, I can fulfill your wish. And only then.”

You gulped. Even if the sword wasn’t at your throat now, you felt like it was a throat-cutting decision to make. “If I become your training partner--”

“--it will be forever,” he finished your sentence. “Mine, and mine alone.”

Both of you took on your fighting stance again, his sword shining in the sun rays from above. Felix wasn’t one to give you a chance to think about things for too long, and as you later found out, it would be the skill that would keep you alive the longest. There was no choice to make, only responsibility and virtue, and as he dashed towards you, you knew your fate was sealed, accepting it with a quiet, "Okay," to yourself, rather than doing as he told you.

But you’d be alive long enough to win the war you so desired to end. Even if it meant that he’d come for you when the time was over, to take what he made out of you. What belonged to him, rightfully.

And would haunt you forever.