#Don't tell strangers where you live children

[dykepuffs]

How Do I Make My Fictional Gypsies Not Racist?

(Or, "You can't, sorry, but…")

You want to include some Gypsies in your fantasy setting. Or, you need someone for your main characters to meet, who is an outsider in the eyes of the locals, but who already lives here. Or you need a culture in conflict with your settled people, or who have just arrived out of nowhere. Or, you just like the idea of campfires in the forest and voices raised in song. And you’re about to step straight into a muckpile of cliches and, accidentally, write something racist.

(In this, I am mostly using Gypsy as an endonym of Romany people, who are a subset of the Romani people, alongside Roma, Sinti, Gitano, Romanisael, Kale, etc, but also in the theory of "Gypsying" as proposed by Lex and Percy H, where Romani people are treated with a particular mix of orientalism, criminalisation, racialisation, and othering, that creates "The Gypsy" out of both nomadic peoples as a whole and people with Romani heritage and racialised physical features, languages, and cultural markers)

Enough of my friends play TTRPGs or write fantasy stories that this question comes up a lot - They mention Dungeons and Dragons’ Curse Of Strahd, World Of Darkness’s Gypsies, World Of Darkness’s Ravnos, World of Darkness’s Silent Striders… And they roll their eyes and say “These are all terrible! But how can I do it, you know, without it being racist?”

And their eyes are big and sad and ever so hopeful that I will tell them the secret of how to take the Roma of the real world and place them in a fictional one, whilst both appealing to gorjer stereotypes of Gypsies and not adding to the weight of stereotyping that already crushes us. So, disappointingly, there is no secret.

Gypsies, like every other real-world culture, exist as we do today because of interactions with cultures and geography around us: The living waggon, probably the archetypal thing which gorjer writers want to include in their portrayals of nomads, is a relatively modern invention - Most likely French, and adopted from French Showmen by Romanies, who brought it to Britain. So already, that’s a tradition that only spans a small amount of the time that Gypsies have existed, and only a small number of the full breadth of Romani ways of living. But the reasons that the waggon is what it is are based on the real world - The wheels are tall and iron-rimmed, because although you expect to travel on cobbled, tarmac, or packed-earth roads and for comparatively short distances, it wasn’t rare to have to ford a river in Britain in the late nineteenth century, on country roads. They were drawn by a single horse, and the shape of that horse was determined by a mixture of local breeds - Welsh cobs, fell ponies, various draft breeds - as well as by the aesthetic tastes of the breeders. The stove inside is on the left, so that as you move down a British road, the chimney sticks up into the part where there will be the least overhanging branches, to reduce the chance of hitting it.

So taking a fictional setting that looks like (for example) thirteenth century China (with dragons), and placing a nineteenth century Romanichal family in it will inevitably result in some racist assumptions being made, as the answer to “Why does this culture do this?” becomes “They just do it because I want them to” rather than having a consistent internal logic.

Some stereotypes will always follow nomads - They appear in different forms in different cultures, but they always arise from the settled people's same fears: That the nomads don't share their values, and are fundamentally strangers. Common ones are that we have a secret language to fool outsiders with, that we steal children and disguise them as our own, that our sexual morals are shocking (This one has flipped in the last half century - From the Gypsy Lore Society's talk of the lascivious Romni seductress who will lie with a strange man for a night after a 'gypsy wedding', to today's frenzied talk of 'grabbing' and sexually-conservative early marriages to ensure virginity), that we are supernatural in some way, and that we are more like animals than humans. These are tropes where if you want to address them, you will have to address them as libels - there is no way to casually write a baby-stealing, magical succubus nomad without it backfiring onto real life Roma. (The kind of person who has the skills to write these tropes well, is not the kind of person who is reading this guide.)

It’s too easy to say a list of prescriptive “Do nots”, which might stop you from making the most common pitfalls, but which can end up with your nomads being slightly flat as you dance around the topics that you’re trying to avoid, rather than being a rich culture that feels real in your world.

So, here are some questions to ask, to create your nomadic people, so that they will have a distinctive culture of their own that may (or may not) look anything like real-world Romani people: These aren't the only questions, but they're good starting points to think about before you make anything concrete, and they will hopefully inspire you to ask MORE questions.

First - Why are they nomadic? Nobody moves just to feel the wind in their hair and see a new horizon every morning, no matter what the inspirational poster says. Are they transhumant herders who pay a small rent to graze their flock on the local lord’s land? Are they following migratory herds across common land, being moved on by the cycle of the seasons and the movement of their animals? Are they seasonal workers who follow man-made cycles of labour: Harvests, fairs, religious festivals? Are they refugees fleeing a recent conflict, who will pass through this area and never return? Are they on a regular pilgrimage? Do they travel within the same area predictably, or is their movement governed by something that is hard to predict? How do they see their own movements - Do they think of themselves as being pushed along by some external force, or as choosing to travel? Will they work for and with outsiders, either as employees or as partners, or do they aim to be fully self-sufficient? What other jobs do they do - Their whole society won’t all be involved in one industry, what do their children, elderly, disabled people do with their time, and is it “work”?

If they are totally isolationist - How do they produce the things which need a complex supply chain or large facilities to make? How do they view artefacts from outsiders which come into their possession - Things which have been made with technology that they can’t produce for themselves? (This doesn’t need to be anything about quality of goods, only about complexity - A violin can be made by one artisan working with hand tools, wood, gut and shellac, but an accordion needs presses to make reeds, metal lathes to make screws, complex organic chemistry to make celluloid lacquer, vulcanised rubber, and a thousand other components)

How do they feel about outsiders? How do they buy and sell to outsiders? If it’s seen as taboo, do they do it anyway? Do they speak the same language as the nearby settled people (With what kind of fluency, or bilingualism, or dialect)? Do they intermarry, and how is that viewed when it happens? What stories does this culture tell about why they are a separate people to the nearby settled people? Are those stories true? Do they have a notional “homeland” and do they intend to go there? If so, is it a real place?

What gorjers think of as classic "Gipsy music" is a product of our real-world situation. Guitar from Spain, accordions from the Soviet Union (Which needed modern machining and factories to produce and make accessible to people who weren't rich- and which were in turn encouraged by Soviet authorities preferring the standardised and modern accordion to the folk traditions of the indigenous peoples within the bloc), brass from Western classical traditions, via Balkan folk music, influences from klezmer and jazz and bhangra and polka and our own music traditions (And we influence them too). What are your people's musical influences? Do they make their own instruments or buy them from settled people? How many musical traditions do they have, and what are they all for (Weddings, funerals, storytelling, campfire songs, entertainment...)? Do they have professional musicians, and if so, how do those musicians earn money? Are instrument makers professionals, or do they use improvised and easy-to-make instruments like willow whistles, spoons, washtubs, etc? (Of course the answer can be "A bit of both")

If you're thinking about jobs - How do they work? Are they employed by settled people (How do they feel about them?) Are they self employed but providing services/goods to the settled people? Are they mostly avoidant of settled people other than to buy things that they can't produce themselves? Are they totally isolationist? Is their work mostly subsistence, or do they create a surplus to sell to outsiders? How do they interact with other workers nearby? Who works, and how- Are there 'family businesses', apprentices, children with part time work? Is it considered 'a job' or just part of their way of life? How do they educate their children, and is that considered 'work'? How old are children when they are considered adult, and what markers confer adulthood? What is considered a rite of passage?

When they travel, how do they do it? Do they share ownership of beasts of burden, or each individually have "their horse"? Do families stick together or try to spread out? How does a child begin to live apart from their family, or start their own family? Are their dwellings something that they take with them, or do they find places to stay or build temporary shelter with disposable material? Who shares a dwelling and why? What do they do for privacy, and what do they think privacy is for?

If you're thinking about food - Do they hunt? Herd? Forage? Buy or trade from settled people? Do they travel between places where they've sown crops or managed wildstock in previous years, so that when they arrive there is food already seeded in the landscape? How do they feel about buying food from settled people, and is that common? If it's frowned upon - How much do people do it anyway? How do they preserve food for winter? How much food do they carry with them, compared to how much they plan to buy or forage at their destinations? How is food shared- Communal stores, personal ownership?

Why are they a "separate people" to the settled people? What is their creation myth? Why do they believe that they are nomadic and the other people are settled, and is it correct? Do they look different? Are there legal restrictions on them settling? Are there legal restrictions on them intermixing? Are there cultural reasons why they are a separate people? Where did those reasons come from? How long have they been travelling? How long do they think they've been travelling? Where did they come from? Do they travel mostly within one area and return to the same sites predictably, or are they going to move on again soon and never come back?

And then within that - What about the members of their society who are "unusual" in some way: How does their society treat disabled people? (are they considered disabled, do they have that distinction and how is it applied?) How does their society treat LGBT+ people? What happens to someone who doesn't get married and has no children? What happens to someone who 'leaves'? What happens to young widows and widowers? What happens if someone just 'can't fit in'? What happens to someone who is adopted or married in? What happens to people who are mixed race, and in a fantasy setting to people who are mixed species? What is taboo to them and what will they find shocking if they leave? What is society's attitude to 'difference' of various kinds?

Basically, if you build your nomads from the ground-up, rather than starting from the idea of "I want Gypsies/Buryats/Berbers/Minceiri but with the numbers filed off and not offensive" you can end up with a rich, unique nomadic culture who make sense in your world and don't end up making a rod for the back of real-world cultures.

[neil-gaiman]

this may come off very blunt and out of the blue, but i need an answer and i can't ask anyone i know, so i apologise profusely if you find this derogatory in any way possible.

i'm 14 and i found out what death means when i was 3 and living with my grandparents. i figured that when someone dies, you can't see them anymore. you can't talk to them, you can't laugh with them. they aren't there anymore. and i cried. i cried so hard i vomited.

ever since i've struggled to think about death and what lies beyond. i'm scared. of growing up, of dying, of seeing people around me die. and i don't know what to do.

i know this will likely get lost among the hundreds of thousands of asks in you inbox, but if by fate you read this, please tell me

how does it feel when someone you know dies?

hank you, and i apologise once again if this is disrespectful. i know it's a pretty deranged thing to ask, especially to a well-known writer who has gone through life. i'm sorry if this brings up sad memories, but i need an answer.

all the best to you and everyone around you, mr neil.

Mostly it feels terrible. It even feels terrible when it’s someone who has been in a lot of pain for a long time or has not really been there for a long time and you know that Death has in some ways been a blessing: suddenly you are mourning the whole person.

It doesn’t get easier as you age. It gets stranger. The point where you realise how many people you used to know and like who aren’t there any longer, and you cannot talk to them or see them or laugh with them is painful in a way that I had never expected. The first time that someone you had a romantic relationship with dies and you realise that there had been moments both of you shared and now you are the sole custodian of those moments and one day you will be gone and they will be lost forever is peculiarly strange and hard.

But there is a comfort. And it’s the realisation that you aren’t alone in any of this. Everybody who lives will die. And we are here and doing things because other people died to make room for us, and we in our turn will die to make room for our children and their children and on and on.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

Green| Part 01

A good idea not thought through.

Tags/Warnings: Rabbit hybrid!Jungkook, Fox hybrid!Reader, Single Dad!AU, strangers to lovers, Fluff, romance, angst, suggestive, mentioned smut but sfw

Length: 3.7k Words

-> Masterlist

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When Jimin had set this whole date up, Jungkook had expected.. Nothing, really.  

As far as he knows, he’s supposed to meet you at the restaurant right here, and you supposedly know exactly which table he sits at- but what he did not expect, was for you to be so.. Pretty.  

You’re clearly a fox hybrid, distinctive hybrid features standing out, very much well taken care of. The second you sit down, he notices even the shape of your pupils being the same as a common fox’s, though they don’t make him feel intimidated at all. Not as they should, at least.  

Jungkook remembers the teasing jokes back in school, or the struggle to earn his spot even later in life as a prey hybrid. Many people still believe that he’s not a good fit for a leading position in his company as a rabbit, unable to apparently make important decisions with a realistic view on things or not mentally strong enough to withstand the stress of responsibility. But he’s not just a meek little bunny.  

And from the looks of it, you’re not a dangerous predator either.  

“Well, Jimin wasn’t lying when he told me you were.. Cute.” You say, and Jungkook takes in a deep breath- and you take it as a bad sign, instantly going back on your words. “Not as in, not-to-be-taken-seriously-cute, but like- uh.. Your ears just look.. Pretty?” You tell him, and at that, his eyes move to look at you from the rim of his wineglass, one of his mentioned black rabbit ears slowly standing up.  

Silver piercings are decorating it. It’s an uncommon sight- but you decide it fits him.  

“...thanks.” He nods, before he licks his lips, and averts his eyes. “I apologize, It’s been.. A while since I’ve been on a date.” He shamefully admits, but you wave him off.  

“It’s not a problem.” You deny. “I don’t go on dates often either.” 

“How come?” He wonders, seeing an opportunity to spark some smalltalk, so he can find out a little more about you.  

“Just.. Not the time. And no partner to go on one with.” You giggle, thanking the waitress for your glass of wine. “I’m usually pretty busy with work.”  

“Work?” He asks, and you nod, your pretty fox ears suddenly standing tall with pride, tail swinging behind you. It’s pretty cute, in his humble opinion.  

“I’m an author!” You beam happily. “I write children’s books, and fantasy novels.” You explain, and Jungkook’s thoughts instantly go back to his daughter, currently in the care of Jimin at his house. Did you write a book she’s seen before?  

“Children’s books?” He wonders, feeling a bit stupid for just asking you, and never giving you anything in return.  

“Yep.” You chirp. “Mostly.. Very simple one’s. Ages 4 to 7.” You explain. “And you? What do you do for a living if I may ask?” You wonder, resting your chin on your hands.  

“I’m.. The vice president of HLC at the moment. Hopefully I might get a promotion at some point.” He chuckles, and your eyes widen.  

“Wow.. That's. Okay, that’s huge.” You laugh a bit uneasy now.  

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” He wonders, a bit confused. Both of his ears are up now, his body becoming more and more comfortable with your presence.  

“A little?” You admit. You’re honest, it seems like. He already decides it’s a very positive point. “I feel a little.. Out of your league, so to say.” You say a bit jokingly, taking a sip from your wine. He shakes his head.  

“Don't worry about it.” He denies, reassuring you. “We both have our places in life.”  

“So it seems.” You nod, while you wait for your dinner to be served.  

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A place Jungkook had not seen you in his life, was beneath him, in his bed.  

But that’s exactly where you’ve ended up, most of your clothes already having been stripped from your bodies, lying somewhere in the bedroom. He honestly blamed his attraction to you on his hormones at first, and the fact that he’d neglected his natural need for physical intimacy for so long due to his single-father situation, but in this moment, he knows that it’s more than just that.  

And that just screams trouble.  

But right now, Jungkook can’t make himself think of anything other than you beneath his hands, skin warm as you push your bare behind right into him. He’d technically wanted to drive you home, a simple act of chivalry since your date had honestly been very nice, but somehow, you ended up agreeing to at least let the night come to an end in a more relaxed atmosphere at his apartment, since you told him that you’ve always dreamed to live in a apartment high up with a view of the city skyline.  

He really just wanted to show you the view. He really doesn’t know when you both started to make out.  

But he knows that it’s something you both clearly want- your hands holding onto his bedsheets almost impatiently, while he’s busy wrapping the condom over his length. If the situation was just a little different, Jungkook could see you both getting along a lot longer than for just this- but he’s got responsibilities, and he can’t just bring someone into his life without thinking about it long enough.  

And also, with his daughter still at such a vulnerable age, there’s just no way she’d accept you. 

Initially, he’d keep it at this. You’re in perfect breeding position, face in the pillows, behind pushed into him- but he has to see you. It’s not some magical connection type of thing, just simple attraction, and maybe, just maybe, his inner need to at least pretend for a moment that he’s just a young guy being together with his girlfriend- even though that’s never going to be the truth.  

Just for a moment, he wants to pretend.  

Just for one night.  

On your end, this is just an adventure you’ve never been on before. Jimin had told you to come out of your shell a little, be a bit wild for once, and meet his best friend who’s got a ‘just as dry’ intimate life as you did. And you can’t deny that this friend- Jungkook- is anything but charming, and attractive. Despite being a prey hybrid, he’s oozing a certain sense of confidence that’s not overbearing, but simply comfortable to be around.  

But all good things must come to an end- and to spare the poor young man the awkwardness, you get up in the middle of the night- early morning, barely three AM.  

Putting on your clothes, and somewhat fixing your hair, you carefully make sure to write a small note to leave on his kitchen table. Your face is already bare, since you both did shower yesterday before going to bed- so you don’t have to worry about that.  

Maybe he’d like to meet you again? Well, you surely left your number on the note for him to reach out to, if he so decides to do so.  

However, just as you try and walk out, you notice something.. Odd.  

A small, childrens-size pale green wintercoat, hanging on the wall next to the entrance. Tiny shoes, green, frog-themed rain boots, and an equally themed little umbrella hanging on the wall as well, next to what you assume must be Jungkook’s clothes. These things clearly belong to a child- and now that you pay more attention to it, you do smell the uniquely scent profile of a kid in the apartment.  

And the scents are too alike to deny that it must be his.  

Panic starts to bubble up inside you. If he has a child, there must be a mother to it as well, right? Maybe not, but the chance is too high for you to really take any chances. Jimin didn’t mention that at all- if he’d told you that this rabbit wanted to cheat and not just ‘go on a date’, you would’ve never agreed to it!  

Did you just become a homewrecker?  

You’re taking a step to take your note with you again, but you instead hear Jungkook move around in his bedroom, sleepily calling out your name- and that makes your instincts go haywire, as you instead basically rip the door open after somewhat slipping into your heels, and fetching your small handbag from the floor near the way too cute rainboots staring at you oh-so innocently.  

The door snaps shut behind you, and you don’t look back as you rush down and into the elevator, leaving the fancy apartment building and this whole mistake behind. 

Already fuming as you call Jimin, uncaring about the time. 

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“I’m so sorry!” Jimin apologizes to Jungkook, who just sighs as he washes Minji’s plastic dishes in the sink, while the little girl is occupied on the couch, watching her favorite show before bed. “I didn’t think you both would end up here though-” 

“It doesn’t matter anyways.” The young father denies, putting every piece of cutlery on the side to dry later. “It’s not like it would’ve worked out anyways. I just wish she knew that this was just a huge misunderstanding.” He clarifies, turning off the faucet before he grabs a towel to dry the dishes.  

“I tried explaining it to her, really.” Jimin whines, feeling incredibly guilty for screwing this up so badly for his friend. “But she doesn’t believe me at all.” He sighs, sitting down.  

“Like I said, it’s not like it would’ve worked out.” Jungkook shakes his head. “Minji already got nervous when Taehyung dropped her off this morning already just because her scent lingered.” 

“But.. Isn't there, like, any way of getting her used to it?” Jimin wonders. “Like, I swear I’ve seen predator-prey couples with a prey child, and they looked fine to me.”  

“Rare.” Jungkook just shrugs, putting the plastic cutlery and dishes away in their respective places. “It’s really fine. I just hope she doesn’t feel guilty about things, or believes that she was just some sort of.. Body for me to use.” He says, ears low against his head, simply flopping down. It’s obvious that Jungkook is upset about it all. Because from what Jimin had told him, you’d felt horrible, believing that you were some part in him cheating on the mother of his child- unaware that she’s not even in the picture, and hasn’t been for years.  

“I’m gonna try and convince her one way or another.” Jimin sighs. “Really, this is so fucked up. The main reason I tried setting you both up WAS Minji!” He whines to himself, thanking Jungkook for the glass of water he offers him, before the young father sits down across from him at the kitchen table. 

“What do you mean?” He wonders.  

“She loves kids!” The human reveals. “She really does, but she herself can’t have any. Which I think might be why she feels so strongly in this situation.” He explains, making Jungkook sigh.  

Well, that just makes him feel so much worse.  

“There’s got to be a way to make this right somehow.” Jimin complains to himself, while looking over at Minji, who’s busy watching the TV with her favourite plush toy in her lap keeping her company. “I’m really sorry. I thought.. I don’t know. I forgot that because you’re two different hybrids, you might not get along too well..” He says, but Jungkook shakes his head.  

“I.. We got along very well, actually. I really liked her. Or rather, still like her.” He chuckles a bit bitterly to himself. “But I guess finding a partner is out of the question for me, at least until Minnie is a bit older.”  

“A bit older? Jungkook, you said she probably will stay scared of predator hybrids until she’s what? Twelve?” His human friend reminds him.  

“...generally, yeah.” He shrugs.  

“Jungkook, no. That can’t.. I refuse to accept that.” He shakes his head. “I’ll explain it all to her, I promise, and you’ll try and make this work with Minji when the time comes. Please.” Jimin says. “I don’t want to see you so lonely all the time.” 

“I’m not lonely- I have Minji.” Jungkook refuses.  

“You know what I mean.” Jimin presses.  

“...alright.” Jungkook sighs. “If- IF- you somehow work it out with her, and she wants to.. Talk, give her my number. And not the office phone, please.” He runs a hand over his face, before he gets up with his friend to bring him to the door. “But don’t pressure her. If she doesn’t want to see me again, that’s fine too.”  

“I won’t.” Jimin promises. “Promise.” 

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You’re sitting in front of Jungkook again, in a public cafe, a hot cup of milky coffee in front of you, while he seems equally as nervous with his own iced americano in his hands, fingers tracing the pearling condensation a little.  

“So.” You start, looking at him, nervously licking your lips.  

“So.” He nods. “I have a child.”  

“So I’ve noticed.” You answer him, legs swinging a bit back and forth, due to the chair being a bit too high for you. 

“Her mother.. Left, pretty much a few weeks after she was born.” He explains in a neutral tone, staring down at his beverage. “No one really has an answer why. But she just.. It was as if she was disgusted with her own child, pretty much right after birth.” Jungkook recites the events. “Didn’t want to hold her, got angry when she cried, refused to take care of her. We thought it might just.. Be postpartum depression?” He leans his head to the side a little. “It happens more than one might think, after all. But it never got any better.” He shakes his head. “So.. We decided to split up, and I took care of Minji by myself.” 

“Did she ever.. Maybe reach out?” You wonder, but Jungkook shakes his head.  

“She re-married again. Lives in Italy now, with her new husband and stepchildren.” He chuckles a bit. “I’m happy she’s happy, you know? Just wish it went a little different.” He honestly reveals.  

“How old is Minji?” You wonder, dreading the answer. Because from both the scent and the size of the clothes and shoes in his home, she must be young. 

“She’s three and a half.” He reveals, and both of you become quiet.  

Oh. 

Well, it was nice while it lasted. With his daughter this young, there’s just no way you could ever move forward with your friendship even- considering you’re still a predator hybrid at the end of the day, something that surely will scare the poor little bunny half to death. Why do you always have to get crushes on the worst possible people? 

“Well, I’m sure.. She’s very lucky to have you as a dad.” You nod to yourself, swallowing hard. “And you’ll soon find a proper partner as well. You’re very likable after all.” You praise, praying that he can’t see the way your eyes begin to water.  

���I’m sorry.” He answers, and his voice sounds just as dissappointed as he feels. “I.. Wish we would’ve met under different circumstances.” 

“Then you wouldn’t have Minji.” You deny, spotting two drops of your tears having fallen onto the table. “Sorry, I’m a crybaby...” You say, fetching a tissue from your handbag.  

“We could still try-” He starts, but you shake your head.  

“No, she’s gonna be terrified of me, I don’t wanna scare her.” You refuse, drying your cheeks with a good amount of embarrassment, large fox ears pinned back in shame of it all.  

“Minji is a lot braver than one might think.” Jungkook chuckles, reaching out to help you wipe off your slightly smudged mascara from beneath your eyes. “She just.. She might just be a bit shy. Or very shy, most likely.” He adds, and you giggle a bit.  

“Jungkook.. I’m sorry I’m me.” You say, but he shakes his head, smiling at you.  

“Don’t ever apologize for something like that.”  

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You decide to meet up again at Jimin’s birthday party- the human having invited you both, and Minji as well for the dinner he’d organized at his favourite restaurant in town. You’ll have the whole venue for yourselves to make it both easier for the staff, and everyone attending.  

Jungkook is nervous in his seat, Minji next to him in her seat, happily coloring in her little book that he brought with him to keep her occupied, different shades of green crayons all over her spot at the table.  

It’s then that the door to the restaurant opens, and you step in, together with Min Yoongi- a coworker and fellow predator hybrid whom you’ve befriended a few years ago, or so Jimin said. The big cat hybrid is apparently a tiger- though his ears and tail aren’t even slightly orange, instead monochrome white and black, his light eyes proving the fact that he’s not a standard.  

But, Jungkook can’t look at him for too long, because he’s too busy blatantly staring at you instead, with your pretty face, dressed up for the occasion. So much so, that Minji has to pull on his sleeve to get his attention back, looking at him before she tilts her head, small bunny ears in between her hair moving on a constant, since so much is going on.  

This will be it. If she gets too scared, he’ll have to go home early- and basically bury his hope of ever building something with you.  

But even though she does seem nervous, she’s not yet scared- instead clinging to her father by instinct, who’s calm, mostly that is. “Come, let’s say hi to everyone, yeah?” He offers her, and she reluctantly gets up with him, clinging to his hand while they both walk towards Yoongi and you, who’s just hanging up your coat.  

“Long time no see.” Jungkook offers Yoongi, who nods and shakes his hand politely, before he leans down to make himself as small as he can, in hopes of maybe getting at least something out of the little girl- but she instead steps behind Jungkook, the predator hybrid too intimidating. “I’m sorry.” 

“Oh don’t be. She grew quite a lot in a year.” Yoongi dismisses, while you reluctantly walk closer, politely moving to shake Jungkook’s hand as well- but the rabbit hybrid instead moves to give you a hug, despite his daughter being so close. And much to your surprise, this action alone seems to spark Minji’s interest- her head poking around Jungkook’s legs, just to look at you curiously, especially your fluffy tail that’s nervously swaying from side to side behind you.  

“Say hello, Minji.” Jungkook urges her, but as if snapped out from her trance, she shakes her head, instead running back to her seat at the table where she picks up her crayons once more.  

“She’s cute.” You say, earning Jungkook’s attention back. “Looks.. A lot like you.” You mention, and he nods.  

“I know. A lot of people tell me she’s like.. A mini-version of me.” He chuckles, walking towards his own spot next to his daughter. “Do you.. Want to sit next to me?” He wonders, and you nod, accepting happily. Sitting next to him will get Minji used to your scent, while also putting a safety barrier between her and him, so she can figure you out from afar.  

Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea.  

Something you’re very much surprised about, is that throughout the entire evening, the little hybrid girl does not seem to complain whatsoever. Not once does she get fidgety, or whiny about sitting in one spot for too long- and once she does, Jungkook is quick and skilled in handling her well, calming her down or occupying her attention for a moment.  

Though, at some point, she does get up and roam around a little, under the watchful eye of her father of course.  

You’re currently talking to Jungkook about your work, when you notice something on your tail, one slight look from you revealing that it’s the little girl, carefully running her small hands over the fur, interest too great to really let her inner fear control her. You know she’s on high alert- ears standing tall and completely turned towards you, motions freezing entirely when she notices that you’ve noticed her.  

Jungkook smiles at his daughter. “It’s pretty, hm?” He asks her, and nods, before she reaches out to have him pick her up and sit her on his lap, where she stares at you, now a lot more bold in the arms of her father. She’s visibly taking your entire appearance in, before she looks at Jungkook again, attempting to pull one of his jet-black rabbit ears, making him laugh and gently prevent her from doing so. “What do you want with dad’s ears, huh?” He jokingly scolds. “You’ve got your own, right there!” He reminds her, gently pulling her own equally dark ears, which makes her laugh.  

You can’t help but smile fondly at the interaction.  

That is until suddenly, the little girl boldly reaches out for your ears now- something that makes you both surprised and excited- your head leaning closer so she can clumsily grab at your ears, laughing most likely at how soft they are. It clearly makes Jungkook hopeful, his own tail wiggling around without his own knowledge as he watches the short but warm interaction with you two.  

It’s obvious that while Jungkook is around, she feels comfortable and safe enough to interact with you- but as soon as his attention is somewhere else, she becomes more withdrawn and suspicious again, which is natural. But the fact that she’s not panicking at least, is already a great sign.  

Maybe there’s a chance.  

Maybe this could really work.  

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥ 

[haeryna]

i would give up heaven if i had to ↪ gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru ✶.ೃ࿔*.

← previous | ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | next →

summary: sugar melts saccharide sweet on his tongue, and yet the taste in his mouth is so very bitter. the look in suguru's eyes tells him more than any words could. they'd messed up; badly.

tw: angst but melancholic? mentions of illness, mentions of abandonment, reader has a healthy relationship with their parents, author uses switches between "gojo/geto" and "satoru/suguru" to denote emotions. food as a metaphor for love. not proofread. author is extremely tired

notes: title taken from enhyphen's "sweet venom (english version)." a shorter chapter to kind of fill in the gaps. banner from @/cafekitsune

It's been a week since Gojo and Geto showed up at your doorstep and ever since then, you've been filled with a pervasive sense of anxiety. After the whole six hours they spent pleading outside your door (you shudder just thinking about it), they had been uncharacteristically silent. It had gotten to the point where you felt almost a bit insane, peeking your head out the door to check outside if anyone was waiting for you, before you left for work.

It didn't matter if it had been five years, or five days. You knew them better than you'd even known yourself. The freckle on Suguru's collarbone. The barely noticeable scar on Satoru's arm. How Suguru preferred tea, black, and always expensive, while Satoru's guilty pleasure was instant coffee with ungodly amounts of syrups and sugars added to it. You knew them, and therefore you knew that the silence was suspicious. Even as children, whenever you'd get into fights, they would be even clingier than usual, as if they were desperate to reaffirm that you were still there.

So why was it so quiet?

The scream of the tea kettle startles you out of your thoughts and you flinch, hastily moving to remove it from the stove. Why should you care? The audacity they'd had, coming to your doorstep on a whim, before claiming they had no choice. Your thoughts are more bitter than the medicine you mix into your parents' tea. Satoru had been undoubtably hysterical once his parents had found out. You couldn't blame him for that. But Suguru had been the one to call all the shots, buying two plane tickets instead of three.

What if they couldn't afford a third one?

You shake your head, as if you could physically shake the thought. It doesn't matter now, you think viciously, as you stack the cups on a tray. Five years was a long time to go without seeing someone for. Fame and wealth changed people, and you were no stranger to the heavy influence they both exerted upon the music industry. Besides, it's not like your address had changed since they'd left. They could've found you whenever they wanted to.

"You never left?"

The cups rattle dangerously as you carry them to your parents' room. Your mother is sitting up in bed, staring longingly out the window. Your father must be outside, soaking up the last few rays of sunshine before the sun started to set. Gently, you set the tray down on the nightstand. "I have your medicine, Mom."

Your mother smiles, but there's a fragile kind of sadness to it. "When were you going to tell us?"

Heavy resignation falls over you as you sigh, shoulders slumping. "I didn't want to worry you and Dad while you were away at the hospital. It wasn't that big of a deal-"

Your mother cuts you off, eyes firm but gentle. "Dear, please. I saw how happy you were when all three of you were together, and how devastated you were when they left. I just..." She hesitates before continuing. "I don't want you to live your life with regrets. Especially because of your father and I. You deserve to be happy too."

"I am happy," you protest fiercely, but she shakes her head. "You had such lofty dreams. And now, your father and I are the ones holding you back. Life is too short to have regrets like yours at such a young age."

"It just hurt so badly," you whisper, as you take a seat at the end of the bed. Your mother reaches over to intertwine her fingers with yours.

"I know, dear. But which is greater; the love for the things they did do, or the pain for all the things they didn't?"

Your mother's words ring through your ears as you blearily stare into your coffee cup. While the insurance helped, there were still bills to pay, and food to put on the table. You'd stayed up all night finishing work for your remote office job, before taking the short bus ride to the cafe you worked at during the day. The world spins briefly. You would kill for a good night's sleep.

The door chimes and grimacing, you down the rest of your coffee, before pasting a cheery smile onto your face.

"Welcome, how may I help..."

Sator- Gojo stares at you from the other end of the counter. Even with the cheap medical mask he's wearing, the blue eyes and white hair are enough to have your coworkers whispering behind you.

"...you," you finish lamely, immediately looking down at cash register. Why was he here? Especially in the town over? More importantly, why hadn't he gone back to Asia yet? Cursing, you study the bills lined up neatly in the till. Gojo says your name, softly, and the whispers behind you intensify.

"That's me!" you chirp, forcing yourself to point at your nametag. The tips were nice here, and you couldn't afford to find a new job. The pitying stares from everyone back in your hometown was already suffocating enough; gaining the attention from Gojo's rabid fangirls would probably push you over the edge. "Is there anything in particular that you like? Our customers really love the caramel crunch latte."

There's a tone to his voice that you can't place when he finally speaks. "Yeah, I'll take one of those. Extra sweet. Do you happen to have any tea here?"

The words slip out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. "Unfortunately, we only have one drink that features black tea."

Fuck.

You can feel Gojo's gaze, searing into your face as you stubbornly continue to stare at the counter. "Sure, I'll take one of those."

Numbly, you recite the total to him. As he hands you his credit card, you can see your hand shake as you reach out to grab it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You should've forgotten everything about them when they left.

But you couldn't. You never could.

You hand his card back, but a firm hand on your wrist forces the air out of your lungs. Eyes wide, you peer up at Gojo in shock. His eyes are filled with an intensity that you've never seen before. "How much do I have to tip you in order for you to be the one to make our drinks?"

His grip is firm but not bruising, even as you try to tug your hand back. "I can assure you, our baristas-"

"I don't care," he interrupts. "I want you to do it. You're the only one who can do it." The final part of his statement is so soft that you barely catch it. "It's only ever been you."

You have the horrible feeling that the two of you are no longer talking about extra sweet lattes and London Fogs. The whispers are getting so loud now that you yank your hand back and give him a strained smile. "I suppose I can." At this point, you'll do anything to stop talking with him.

As you busy yourself around the cafe, you hate how easy it is to make the two drinks. Extra caramel; Satoru always loved when his coffee was practically infused with it. You grab the filtered water, running it through a filter several more times. Suguru always insisted tea tasted better the more filtered the water was. You heat the water as you crush up small caramel candies. Satoru enjoyed when his drinks had a little something he could chew on. The tea was steeped for five minutes, exactly. You added lavender and vanilla syrup. When Suguru had made you try a London Fog for the first time in ninth grade, you'd teased him for the "oddly pretentious taste." A splash of milk. An extra large heaping of whipped cream.

Wiping your hands on your apron, you can feel the pain in your heart form the salt of your tears. "Lizzie," you call out. "Can you deliver this to the customer? I'm going on my ten minute." Not waiting for a response, you dash into the bathroom, barely slamming the door behind you as you let the first of your tears fall.

"Toru! Toru!"

"What?" he snaps. Undeterred, you rush up to him, bright pink lunchbox clutched in one hand. "Sugu said you forgot your lunch at home, but it's okay! We pooled our allowance together, so Sugu's in line for the cafeteria right now"

A rush of warmth fills his chest. "You shouldn't have," he protests, but you wave it away. "Mama always says that food is meant to be shared, especially with people you love! And it wouldn't feel right eating without you."

The school onigiri had never tasted good, but that day, Satoru had savored every bite.

Satoru stares at the teenager who'd called his name, wringing her apron nervously, before taking the offered cups. "Thank you." Where had you gone?

"Can I get your autograph?" she blurts out, and Satoru winces. His cover had been completely blown. Suguru's not going to be pleased, he thinks wryly. Yet as he dutifully signs his name on the provided paper, his mind wanders to you. Your hands had been shaking. Were you cold? Tired? Or was it his fault? Briefly, he considers sticking around, before quickly dismissing that idea. You clearly wanted to avoid being associated with him, and although the thought makes his stomach twist, he understands it as much as he hates it.

The walk back to the hotel is short. Satoru's mind is a mess. The bags under your eyes rivalled Shoko's. Were you taking care of yourself? You seemed thinner, too. The sick feeling inside him only grows, festering into something ugly. He dutifully ignores it (like he has been the past five years) and takes a sip of the latte you made, freezing.

Every time all four of you had gone over to your house after school, you'd always insisted on making snacks for the three of them. The coffee tastes like sunny afternoons, and bright laughter, of your voice teasing Satoru for the sheer amount of sugar you'd have to put in his drinks. Caramel seeps into his system, and unbidden, he thinks of your eyes, watching him with a hint of apprehension and exhaustion.

When had it gone so wrong?

Suguru is lounging on the couch as he enters. "What took you so long?" Suguru grumbles, reaching for the other cup. It takes Satoru a moment to respond.

"She was working at the cafe."

"Is that so?" Suguru murmurs, taking a sip of his own drink. Immediately, he tenses, eyes stunned. "Did she-"

"Yeah."

"It tastes kind of like-"

"I know."

The two lapse into silence. You'd had so much love to give that it had practically overflowed. Food was just one aspect of it. Some days, you'd even give up parts of your lunch, insisting that Satoru or Suguru take a bite. He thinks of the way you'd hold him, the way you'd leave him encouraging notes in his locker, how you'd save up allowance to buy small things that reminded you of them. How you'd keep extra hair ties on your wrist for Suguru, and how you'd always keep a plastic water bottle in your bag for Shoko. How many times had they taken it for granted, taken you for granted?

"She looked so exhausted, Sugu. She's got these real dark bags under her eyes, like she hadn't slept in a while. Her hands were shaking. Her eyes were so dull, and so lifeless. I..." Satoru closes his eyes. "I think I would give up anything for her. Music, fame, money. I forgot what it was like, being with her. I felt alive, even though she could barely even look at me."

"I think the worst part is that she really thought we wanted to leave her behind," Suguru says, miserably. "It's all my fault, I was in such a hurry to get us out of there that I didn't say goodbye at all."

"You're not the only one to blame." Satoru's voice is sharp. "We both knew where she lived. We could've called her house phone, saved her number to our new phones from her parents."

"Will she ever forgive us?"

The way they'd heard you wailing from behind the door had torn their heart in two. They never wanted to hear you make those noises again, especially with the agonizing knowledge that it had been their fault.

"I don't know," Satoru says, truthfully. "But I can't even think about returning to music until she knows just how much we really love her."

[punkshort]

Can You Remember Who You Were?

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Summary: When you struggle to stop obsessing about the handsome stranger you met at a coffee shop who ghosted you after one date, fate eventually forces you back together.

Warnings: language, possessive behavior, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, oral sex (f!receiving), omegaverse dynamics, alcohol consumption, minor physical altercation

WC: 9.1K

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

A/N: For @burntheedges's Roll a Trope challenge I got reincarnation. I also mixed in some a/b/o stuff because I've always wanted to give it a try. Go easy on me, I'm nervous about this one - hope you enjoy. And thank you to @txtattoostark for holding my hand.

When you first met, it was happenstance. An awkward run-in at your favorite coffee shop where he thought your coffee was his until he read your name written on the cup aloud and had the grace to look bashful when he handed it over. A moment later, his own order was ready and you caught the name Dave scrawled on the side. He smiled and raised his cup to you before taking a sip and wishing you a good day before disappearing out onto the busy street.

It was a simple interaction. Nothing terribly special. But you couldn't stop thinking about him the rest of the day.

Dave, Dave, Dave.

Dave, with the soft, gentle brown eyes. Dave, with the chiseled, clean shaven jaw and strong, angular nose. Dave, with the broad shoulders that strained underneath his blue button-down shirt. Dave, with the bare ring finger that still had a visible, yet faded, tan line.

Something about him stuck with you. You felt drawn to him. Connected, somehow, yet you didn't even know him.

After the weekend passed, you managed to clear him from your mind, if only because you stayed as busy as possible. You cleaned your apartment top to bottom. You went to a concert for a band you didn't even like with your friends. You even called your parents and suffered through another phone call where you heard about your brother and sister's lives, how their respective children were, how your brother got a promotion and your sister was thinking of having a third baby. The unspoken question hung heavy in the air, your parents already knowing the answer and predicting your negative reaction by now, so it remained unsaid. But it still stung to be compared to your siblings in that way. Your parents had a skewed notion that maybe it would encourage you to try a little harder if they kept pointing out your brother's success and your sister's natural instinct for motherhood, but it only made you draw into yourself tighter.

Once it was Monday again, you dragged yourself to work. You were so tired from your overly busy weekend that you didn't even think about Dave when you entered the coffee shop. You stood in line, zoning out and in desperate need of caffeine when the door swung open and shut behind you and the sound of dress shoes tapping on the hardwood floors neared.

"Promise not to steal your coffee again."

You swiveled around, eyes wide and heart rattling in your chest when you fixed your gaze on none other than Dave. And much to your dismay, he looked even better than you remembered.

"Oh," you squeaked, subconsciously fixing your hair and glancing around to buy yourself a moment to recover. "Hi again. Two days in a row, what are the odds?" you chuckled dryly, hoping you didn't sound as stupid as you felt. Dave shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled down at you.

"Could've been four but I guess you don't come here on the weekends."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and you struggled to respond. Dave took that to mean he caused you offense and quickly rectified it, not wanting to sound like a stalker.

"I'm just kidding."

You laughed and rubbed the scar on the back of your neck, your head spinning. Was he just kidding? Did he come here over the weekend? And if he did, was he hoping to run into you?

"I work around the corner," you explained, telling him the company you worked for. Your mother would have scolded you for telling a stranger where you worked, especially one who might have just admitted to coming to the coffee shop in the hopes of running into you, but you knew it was safe. You didn't know how you knew, you just knew.

Dave nodded and was about to speak when the barista ushered you forward so you could place your order. Before you had a chance to pull out your wallet, Dave leaned over you to tell the barista you were together and added his order before handing over his card.

You couldn't stop the shudder that went down your spine when you heard him speak so close to you, the vibrations of his voice sending a current of electricity through you. At this distance, you could practically smell him, too, and it wasn't just his cologne. It was something else that you couldn't identify but had you weak in the knees.

To be polite, you turned to deny his offer, but he spoke first. And when he did, telling you not to argue and he was happy to do it, his voice deepened and the timber alone caused your body to weaken and your eyes cast down obediently.

"Do you work around here, too?" you asked once you got your coffees and you thanked him for the third time.

"No, I don't."

He walked towards the door and held it open for you, a fourth thank you slipping from your lips. You got the feeling he liked hearing you so thankful and sweet. He smiled every time you said it.

"What brings you out this way, then? Do you live nearby? I don't think I've seen you here before."

Dave walked you to the corner where a shiny, black BMW sat parked.

"Let's just say there's something about the atmosphere I like at this place."

Your face flushed and you took a sip from your coffee, burning your tongue in the process, while you tried to think of something to say. Then you heard the bells from a nearby church and you were stricken with panic.

"Oh, shit! It's already eight?" you asked, yanking your phone out to check the time. You were already late and you still had a ten minute walk ahead of you.

"Come on, get in," Dave said, holding open the passenger side door. "I'll drop you off. You said it's just down the street?"

You contemplated his offer for about three seconds before nodding and jumping into his car. In only took him about two minutes to drop you off in front of your building but you couldn't stop thanking him the entire way, something that continued to delight him.

The rest of the week followed the same pattern. You showed up at your usual time and mysteriously, Dave would appear within a few minutes. He would insist on buying your coffee and on nice days, he would walk you to work. If it was rainy or windy, he would drive you.

By Friday he finally asked for your number and by Saturday you were getting ready for your first date.

Shannon was your age but she always seemed to be so much wiser and grounded. She had a very different view on life, but she was sweet and fun and you got along the moment you met. While you were used to going out to bars on a Friday night, Shannon preferred to stay in and read about horoscopes, take stock of her essential oils, do some light yoga, or scour eBay for rare crystals. You thought she was a hippie, she preferred spiritually inclined.

Regardless of your differences, she still was a wonderful person and was always there for you. Whether you were going through a bad breakup or upset about something your mom said, she would always be there to listen, rub your back, and kindly suggest a way to unblock your chakra.

You had a handful of other friends who would gladly come over and drink wine while you tried on outfits and help with your makeup, but that wasn't what you needed. You had something else entirely on your mind and you couldn't think of anyone else who might be able to help besides Shannon.

"I've been having dreams."

Shannon raised an eyebrow so far up, it got lost under her curly blonde bangs and thick rimmed glasses.

"What sort of dreams?"

You sighed and sat down on the edge of your bed, your dress partially zipped. "About Dave. And me. And it's just... strange."

Shannon shifted a bit on your mattress, her clunky jade bracelets knocking together in the process. "Go on."

"It feels like a reoccurring dream, but it's not exactly the same. The feeling is the same, though."

"I see," she said thoughtfully. "And what are you doing in these dreams?"

Your face warmed up and you stared at the floor when you said, "Well, we're having sex. But it's not just sex. It's different. Like," you waved your hands in the air as you struggled to come up with an explanation. "I know this will sound crazy, but it feels like in my dreams, we have more of a connection. Like, a purpose or something? And in my dreams it feels so much more intense compared to other guys I've slept with."

"How so?"

You had to give her credit. Shannon was too kind to ever tease you.

"Intense like... if we don't fuck, I'll go certifiably insane."

"Oh," she said, nodding her head, completely unphased. "Interesting. It kind of sounds like something I've read about once before. Have you ever heard of -"

Your doorbell buzzed and you leapt off the bed. "Oh, my god! Zip me up! He's here!"

When you flung your front door open, Dave spun around with a smile, one which widened when his eyes drifted appreciatively up and down your frame.

"Hey," you said breathlessly, feeling that magnetic pull low in your belly again just at the mere sight of him.

"You look beautiful," he told you, and just as he was about to lean in and kiss your cheek, he spotted Shannon emerge from your bedroom behind you with a little wave.

"Oh, this is my friend, she was helping me get ready," you said, turning to introduce them while you grabbed a leather jacket and your purse.

"Have a great time, I'll lock up when I leave."

You both thanked her before heading outside towards Dave's car. His arm naturally found its place protectively around your waist and you practically glowed from his touch.

Dave picked a restaurant that you'd never heard of and when you walked inside, you quickly figured out why. It was easily the fanciest place you had ever eaten and if it wasn't for his reassuring touch or warm smile, you would have felt out of place. But once you sat down, the rest of the room melted away and it was just the two of you in your own little world. The entire time you both were leaning across the table, bodies pulling closer and closer on their own accord as you absorbed every little detail about each other. You learned Dave used to be in the military and now works as an operative in the CIA, something that should have intimidated you but it just made him more attractive. He was a protector, he knew how to handle himself and he was smart, qualities which turned you on and had you yearning for more.

When he admitted to being recently divorced, the hairs on your arm stood up and jealousy bloomed hot in your chest. The sudden idea of him with another partner unlocked something inside you that screamed mine, mine, mine.

By all accounts, your first date was perfect. There was never any lack of topics for conversation, you always felt perfectly at ease and safe, and it went by way too fast even though you were the last table to leave the restaurant.

But when he dropped you off and walked you to your door, something changed from that point forward. He kissed you, gently and sweetly at first, but when your lips brushed together for the very first time it set something on fire inside you that you couldn't ignore. You had no idea how it happened, but the next thing you knew he was pinning you up against your door, your wrists captured in each of his massive hands and held next to your head while his tongue licked aggressively into your mouth.

Then you released a little whimper, a little cry against his mouth and it nearly brought him to his knees. The needy sound reverberated through his entire being and had him forgetting who he was, where he was, what planet he was on because that little sound had his body and mind responding in a way he couldn't explain.

And it frightened him.

He pulled away and put some distance between you, palm dragging over his wet mouth, eyes hungrily devouring your wrecked state. Still leaning against the door, you panted heavily and stared at him through heavy lidded eyes.

He scratched at something invisible behind his ear and took a deep, steadying breath.

"I should go."

You frowned, still trying to catch your breath. "W-what? Was it something -"

Dave quickly shook his head and stepped further away.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," he promised, then turned on his heel, practically running back to his car while you stood there, completely dumbfounded.

As it turned out, you did not hear from him the following day. Nor did you see him at your coffee spot the entire fucking week. By Tuesday, after sending a few pathetic texts that went unanswered, you forced yourself to accept reality.

Dave ghosted you and you would never see him again.

It was just one date. You only knew him for a week but it felt like so much more and you couldn't help but be torn up about it.

On Tuesday night, you called Shannon to tell her. You did your best not to cry but she could hear it in your voice.

"It felt like such a strong connection, you know?" you said sadly, plucking at a loose thread on your sweater.

"Well, what do you think happened?"

You shrugged and tossed yourself backwards onto your bed. "I don't know. The date went great, he dropped me off at the front door, we were kissing and things were getting heated and then all of the sudden, just -" you snapped your fingers. "He had to leave. Said he would talk to me the next day and I never heard from him again."

You heard her hum on the other end and clink a spoon in her mug. "Suppose my silly theory was wrong, then."

"What theory?"

"The dreams you were having and the feelings you were describing sounded like something I've read in one of my books, I wondered if it were real."

One of her books. You rolled your eyes, knowing she had a very strange collection of reference material spanning from meditation and Hinduism to books about Karma and the Kama Sutra.

Even so, you humored her and let her continue.

"Do you believe in past lives?" she asked. You hid your scoff behind your hand and cleared your throat.

"Uh, can't say that I do."

"That's okay, I know it's a bit out there, but it sounds very much like you might have a connection with this man that supersedes this earthly plane. And what I mean is, you may be destined to be together."

"Like, soulmates?" you asked dubiously.

"Mmm, not exactly. What I'm thinking is a little more physical. I have a book that talks about reincarnation and the ability to imprint on another person to the degree where the link follows you throughout all your lives. If it's at all possible, you will always find each other. Although it's usually pretty rare..."

"What do you mean, if it's possible?"

Shannon flipped through some pages of a book, humming under her breath before she said, "Well, if one of you comes back as a bear and the other a human, odds are it won't be a happy reunion."

You couldn't help it, you had to laugh. Shannon wasn't offended. She knew you didn't mean any disrespect and her beliefs were a little more difficult for others to understand.

"Okay, thank you. I needed a reality check," you said with a smile. "I hear what you're saying: we just met and there's zero reason for me to be acting this way."

"No, that's not at all what I mean," Shannon replied. "I haven't actually known anyone personally who went through something like this, but I've read about this phenomenon online."

"Alright, this is getting a little too weird, even for me," you said, sitting up in bed.

"Just Google it!" Shannon told you before you finished your call. "Read what others have said and see if you can relate."

You promised her you would give it a try the next day but you never got around to it. Instead, you went back to moping and staring at your ignored texts to Dave for the rest of the week.

By the time Friday came, you were ready to blow off some steam, refusing to spend another night wasting away over some man who just happened to be an insanely good kisser and whose scent you couldn't erase from your memory.

You agreed to go out with a small group of girls after work. The alcohol buzzing in your veins and the loud music in the bar helped you forget about Dave, but when other men approached you to dance, you just couldn't do it. You politely turned them down and stayed with your co-workers, Dave's rejection still leaving its mark on you. You listened to them complain about a team lead they couldn't stand who got a promotion she didn't deserve and then, as they began to drink a little more, discussed the finer qualities of the cute guy in the mail room.

In retrospect, leaving by yourself when you became too tired wasn't the best choice. You had a longer walk back to your bus stop than usual and it was eerily quiet out, but you wrapped your arms around yourself and kept your head down. And it almost worked, too, until you heard a familiar voice behind you.

"Need a ride, pretty girl?"

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up and you kept pushing forward after tossing a no, thanks over your shoulder.

"Don't need to be rude," the voice replied, now much closer. You glanced around nervously and didn't see another soul on the street. Only parked cars.

You moved faster but it wasn't good enough. A hand clasped onto your shoulder, grip firm and frightening, and fear shot through you. You broke out into a cold sweat when he pushed you against a building, caging you in and leering down at you, his sour breath poisoned by alcohol. You recognized him as someone from the bar but before you had a chance to process anything else, two massive hands dug into his shoulders and yanked him away in the blink of an eye.

You shirked away when you heard a fist meeting soft tissue, then the clattering of teeth and a pained groan. Your savior's voice growled threateningly, warning the man to get the fuck out of here before I put you in the goddamn hospital, then you heard the squeaking of shoes against concrete and hurried, retreating footsteps down the street.

You were scared. He could sense it. He could fucking smell it. It made his skin crawl and his stomach turn.

Dave's voice was so deep and gravelly, you didn't even recognize him. Not until he crouched in front of you on the street, his dark eyes filled with worry as they scanned your face for any injury did you realize it was even him. Tears welled up in your eyes and he cupped your face. He looked like he was in extreme pain as he watched your tears begin to fall. He then stood, scooping you up so he could carry you to a nearby parked car.

"I'm going to take you home," he said when he placed you gently in the front seat. You had about fifteen seconds to gather your thoughts while he hurried around to the other side of his car.

"Why are you here, Dave?" you asked when he turned his key in the ignition. He paused momentarily before putting his seatbelt on and merging onto the empty street.

"Right place, right time," he muttered. He was gripping the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles turned white. You watched him closely from the passenger seat, not believing him for one second but for some inexplicable reason, it didn't frighten you. In fact, you liked it. The idea of Dave being nearby, possibly watching you, made you feel safe and protected, although you hardly knew him.

You took a deep breath, about to muster up the courage to ask him why he had ignored you all week when you were suddenly overwhelmed with his scent. You couldn't describe it but it was a smell uniquely tied to him. You made a little noise in the back of your throat and squirmed in your seat, desperately trying to stay focused and present, but your body had other plans.

Dave's eyes shifted to you, his nostrils flaring at the way your legs rubbed together and your breath picked up and then he smelled it: the first scent of your arousal in the air. That was all it took for him to forget who he was and succumb to his baser instincts.

His cock throbbed painfully hard in his jeans and his molars were practically ground to dust by the time he arrived at your apartment. You fumbled with the seatbelt, desperate to disappear inside and pretend this embarrassing interaction never happened, but you weren't fast enough. Dave had gotten out of the car so quickly that he was already yanking your door open and violently pulling the seatbelt away from your waist. You blinked up at him as if you were trying to clear your vision and jumped out of the car.

Something felt wrong.

You had an ache between your legs that was growing impossible to ignore and your brain was a hazy, swirly mess being so close to his scent. Did someone spike your drink at the bar?

"Thanks," you whispered, chest rising and falling faster as you tried to drag in more air. Your skin was far too sensitive. All you could think about was getting inside before you tore your clothes off in the middle of the parking lot. "I'll, um, see you around, I guess."

He nodded, his neck and cheeks tinted pink as he stared down at you hungrily. "Wait," he croaked when you made a move to leave, eyes burning red hot into you. "Can we - can I explain - fuck," he winced, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to block your scent from his nostrils so he could take a second to fucking think. He felt like he was going insane and he had no idea why.

"You wanna come inside and explain why you haven't talked to me in a week?" you asked bitterly, your arousal temporarily forgotten. "Why you've been ignoring me? Why you made me feel terrible? I was out tonight trying to forget you, Dave. I was hoping it would be the first night all week I didn't cry, but it's too late for that."

He swallowed thickly, eyes all wide and filled with despair as he gazed down at you. "I made you cry?" he asked softly. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him that he failed, that he did the one fucking thing he shouldn't have done.

You huffed and crossed your arms before looking away. "You hurt my feelings, Dave," you mumbled.

His heart lurched in his chest and he took a step forward to gently cup your face. Despite your anger, you gazed up at him with glassy eyes and almost immediately melted into his touch.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm so, so sorry. Will you let me explain?"

Reluctantly, you nodded and allowed him to trail after you to your front door.

You flicked the lights on in your kitchen and living room before turning around. Dave stood there looking too big in your average sized apartment, gaze drifting over your walls, your pictures, your plants, your life.

With a little distance, he could feel the clouds clearing and his senses returning, so he took a steadying breath before speaking.

"About last week," he began. You were in the middle of closing your curtains when you turned around to listen. "I didn't want to scare you, but something happened to me that night." You frowned, pulling the curtains closed the rest of the way and took a few steps towards him. Almost instantly he could smell you again, the wetness between your legs practically calling to him, and he quickly held up both hands so you would stop.

"You gotta stay over there," he warned. Hurt flickered over your face but you obeyed and stepped back until you were by the window again. After a moment, the air cleared enough so he could focus and he slowly dropped his hands back to his sides. He was so hard, it almost made him sick.

"I'm sorry," he said once again. "That's part of what I'm talking about. When you're close to me," he pursed his lips and dropped his chin to his chest while you patiently waited for him to continue. "When you're close to me, I can't fucking think straight. And I know it sounds dramatic," he chuckled, looking back up at you across the room. "I know it sounds like I'm making it up but I promise you, I'm not."

"I think I know what you mean," you said softly after a quiet moment. His eyebrows raised a bit, curious for you to elaborate. "It's like... your scent."

"Yes!" Dave exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "I don't understand it but you're giving off a scent and it's doing something to me. Something that frightens me."

You swallowed nervously and took a small step forward.

"Would you... hurt me?"

Dave's eyes went wide and he vigorously shook his head.

"No," he whispered, "never."

You took another step forward and his eyes flickered down to your feet.

"Then what would you do to me?"

His eyes slid shut and he crossed his arms over his chest. What wouldn't he do to you? He would bury his face between your legs until you screamed his name. He would stuff you full of his cock over and over, as many times as you could take it. He wanted to leave love bites all over your body so anyone looking at you would know you're his.

But that would be absurd. You just met and only had one date.

Without even needing to open his eyes, he knew you were closer. The thick smell of your slick filled the air, swirling around him, driving him to the brink of insanity until he was convinced the only cure would be to fuck you senseless.

"I feel it, too, Dave," you whispered, your hands coming up to pull lightly on his arms, unknotting them from their protective place over his chest. You nipped hesitantly at his neck, your lips puckering over his tanned skin, and he felt his resolve crumble.

"Fuck, what is this?" he breathed, his body pulling him forward. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. His mouth pressed into your hair, deeply breathing in your scent, then he dragged his mouth lower. His tongue flicked out to taste your skin, the burst of flavor - you - making his head swim the closer he got to the back of your neck. Before he reached the scar you kept hidden by your hair, he pulled back, gasping for air.

"Come with me," you said with heavy lidded eyes and wet, parted lips. He nodded and followed you, logic and reason fading with each step. He had never felt like this before. It felt like he was being driven by pure instinct, like some kind of animal.

Dave swallowed when you pulled your shirt over your head as you walked, your bare back teasing him with what he could not yet see. Then you worked on your pants, unbuttoning and shimmying out of them as you approached your bed. His cock strained against the metal zipper of his jeans, begging to be touched, begging to be buried deep inside your soaked cunt. And it was soaked. He could see your dampness darkening the fabric of your underwear when you bent forward.

Finally, you turned to face him wearing nothing but your panties and a nervous smile. A low groan escaped from the back of his throat while his gaze drifted slowly down your body, taking in every soft curve and slope while he began to unbutton his shirt.

"You're perfect," he said lowly, shrugging off his shirt before his hands found his belt. "I want you so fucking bad, sweetheart, it hurts. I want to make you mine, make you scream my name til it's the only word you ever remember. I want to fill you up so you're feeling me for days. Want to give you everything you could ever need. Then I want to do it all over again."

Your knees felt weak as you felt another wave of arousal spread through your stomach and between your legs. Shakily, you crawled onto the bed as Dave approached like a predator from the doorway, shedding his clothes and pinning you with an intense stare that, if it were anyone else, would make you nervous.

"You want all that?" he asked you. You were nodding but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the bulge straining in his boxers now that he stepped out of his pants. "Say it," he commanded, and something about his tone made your eyes snap up to his and your spine immediately straighten.

"Yes. I want it. I want you," you replied, then reached your arms out for him to join you. A pleased look passed across his face at your invitation as he kneeled on the bed with you, towering over you with his broad frame, making you feel so small.

He leaned forward with his hands brushing lightly over your shoulders and his lips parted as he admired you openly. Then he murmured, "Lay down and spread your legs," and you felt your stomach flip as you did what you were told.

Dave palmed himself through his boxers when his eyes locked onto the wet spot spreading in your underwear. His long fingers hooked around the fabric and pulled them down, slowly exposing yourself to him. You watched, squirming impatiently, as his eyes turned from brown to almost black when he took a deep breath and spread your legs wide into the bedding.

"I need you," you whimpered. Your skin felt like it was on fire and you were so aroused it almost fucking hurt but you were certain Dave would be able to fix it. You didn't know why or how, but you just knew.

"I know, baby," he said, shifting down so he laid between your legs, his angular nose nudging against your folds and his hot breath fanning over your leaking cunt. You shivered and whined but his big hands held you in place.

"I'm gonna take good care of you, don't worry," was the last thing he said before he placed a sweet kiss on your mound. Then he kissed you again except that time, his tongue flicked out, catching your clit, and the noise that came from your mouth was borderline embarrassing.

"God, you're so wet," he whispered in awe inbetween plunging his tongue in and out of your opening, reveling in the taste of your pussy. The way your scent had engulfed him made him feel insane and the only thing he wanted to do was pull more sweet noises from your lips.

There was no explaining that night. At least, not rationally. The two of you fell into something neither of you experienced before but somehow was all too familiar. You found yourself being far more submissive than you ever were with anybody else, like your body had taken over and knew just what to do. Anything Dave asked of you, you did it, trusting him implicitly.

It was a combination of your sobs and whimpers that drove him forward like an animal, unable to stop eating at your cunt until you came twice from his tongue. You finally had to tug on his hair to pull him away, your skin coated in a thin layer of sweat and chest heaving beneath him.

"Could smell you all fucking night," he admitted hoarsely, wiping his palm over his slick covered mouth. "Drove me crazy, couldn't stop thinking about it. Christ, I- I've never needed someone this badly, baby," he told you as he pushed his boxers off and gripped the base of his cock in his fist. "'M sorry, can't explain it-"

"I know," you croaked before hauling yourself up from the mattress. You moved towards him on your knees, legs still wobbly but you managed to hold yourself up. "I feel it, too. I don't want to leave this bed for a week," you murmured before pressing your lips against his and groaning at the taste of you on his mouth. Again, all you could think was mine, mine, mine. You were consumed by the thought, overwhelmed by the idea of Dave smelling like you so everybody would know he was yours.

Your tongue dove into his mouth greedily, a sentiment he easily returned. You dragged your fingers through his hair, down his neck, over his broad shoulders and down his soft stomach until you found his cock standing at attention between you.

"I- shit," Dave moaned when your lips nipped and sucked down his jaw until you found a tender spot behind his ear you seemed to like while your fist slowly pumped him up and down. "I don't have a condom, I didn't think... do you have any?"

You did, but you paused and thought about it. Even though you were on birth control, you still always used a condom, just to be extra safe. But the idea of having a barrier between you and Dave just felt wrong. You wanted to feel him bare, you needed it. So, you decided on a non-answer.

"I'm on birth control," you whispered, and Dave seemed just as relieved as you at the prospect of taking you raw. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the way you continued to suck and bite at the spot behind his ear while stroking his cock. He wanted to tell you there was a scar there, one he couldn't remember getting, but he was struggling to form a coherent thought.

When your teeth grazed his skin too harshly, he growled and bared his teeth like a goddamn animal, but not because it hurt. Because it felt good.

"Think you can take it, baby?" he rasped, fingers pressing into the softness of your hips.

"Mhmm," you hummed, finally tearing yourself away from his neck, proudly leaving a little red mark of your own before letting go of his cock and twisting around to fall onto all fours.

Dave moaned at the sight of you presenting yourself to him on a silver fucking platter before crawling forward.

He took hold of himself, all heavy and leaking, so he could notch at your entrance. He hummed a little, enjoying the way your warmth spread over his engorged tip, using it to spread your slick around to make it easier to first enter you.

Impatiently, you wiggled a little and tried to spear yourself on him, but he chuckled and grabbed your waist, making you still.

"Want it that bad?" he taunted, voice dropping low, the lust in his veins pumping hard and fast through every inch of his body.

"Yes," you whined, tilting your head back as if you were in pain. "Yes. Please, Dave, don't tease me."

And how could he deny you? He simply wasn't strong enough, his need for you so hot that it burned through his resolve in a matter of seconds.

His eyelids fluttered when his tip slipped past your folds, jaw dropped when he first pressed a few inches inside, face twisting and breath growing ragged when his hips finally came flush with your ass.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, blinking away the tears that suddenly burned his eyes. Shaky hands found your hips and he braced himself, taking a few deep breaths while he waited for your walls to relax and your whimpering to quiet down.

Dave swallowed and looked down, nearly coming apart right then and there at the sight.

"God, baby, you oughta see the way you stretch for me," he breathed, still staring down where you were connected. "That feel good? Hm? Talk to me," he pleaded before drawing back an inch just to watch more of your arousal get pushed out when he slid back inside.

"Yes," you hissed, "I'm so hot, Dave, it feels like I'm on fucking fire, please fucking move."

"Are you sure?" he asked, but his hips had already begun to rock into you without his permission. You nodded and let your eyes fall closed so you could focus on the way each one of his thrusts and grunts soothed the flames roaring inside you.

"Harder," you whispered, not even sure he heard it, but then a moment later his grip around you tightened and his hips snapped faster, the sounds of his skin slapping against your ass filling the room and making you dizzy.

You heard him whispering something to himself but you couldn't make it out. You craned your neck back, bleary eyes trying to find his but every forceful thrust of his hips jolted your entire body and sent you halfway up the bed just to have his massive hands drag you back down.

"Fuck it," he murmured before grabbing you by the shoulders and yanking you up so your back was pressed to his chest. You gasped in surprise and cried out at his relentless pace, never once missing a beat. One of your hands reached around to grab the hair on the back of his head, pulling him close so his mouth was directly next to your ear.

"So - fucking - tight. Want you so - fucking - bad," he whispered through clenched teeth. Both his arms circled around your middle in order to keep you steady, sweaty skin sticking to sweaty skin. You twisted your neck, seeking out his mouth so you could swallow down those words and have them echo like the beat of a drum inside you.

Your lips crashed together, messily licking and biting at one another while he grunted and growled, hammering into you with everything he had. The tip of his cock reached a spot deep within you that forced all the air from your lungs just to be followed by a sharp gasp. It was making you lightheaded, the persistent pattern - grunt, thrust, gasp, grunt, thrust, gasp - and then his hand traveled lower.

"Oh!" you cried out, your fingers slipping through the thick hair on the back of his head and body slumping a bit but he kept a firm hold around your ribs, still pressing you against his front while his fingers rubbed fast, precise circles over your clit.

Your thighs began to shake and your hips sunk lower, unable to keep yourself from giving into the pleasure mounting low in your belly. Your muscles fucking burned from the effort to stay upright, even with his help it was becoming impossible to do.

"Dave," you whimpered, eyes squeezed shut as your head came to rest on his shoulder. It was all you could remember to say, Dave, Dave, Dave. Just like he said. And it was perfect because that was all he wanted to hear.

"You're close," he murmured, lips pressed against the shell of your ear, fingers working expertly over your clit and hips still snapping tirelessly against your ass. You just nodded, slack jawed, as you focused on your release. So close. So fucking close, you wanted to say, but no words came out.

"Give it to me," he growled, voice sounding like a command. Your eyes flew open and a moment later, you came. You bore down on him, pussy clenching around his thick shaft still slamming inside you, in and out, in and out, while you wailed his name over and over until you grew weak and your muscles threatened to give out.

Dave made a pleased sound before pushing you forward onto the bed. You fell onto your forearms with a huff, still in a rosy haze from your orgasm. One hand gripped your hip, the other your shoulder, and he used you. He fucking used you to get himself off, slamming into you as hard as he liked, chasing his release, puffing and growling above you until he finally stilled and you felt his spend slowly fill you up.

"Fuck!" Dave groaned, gaze pinned to the way he spilled out of you when he pulled out. "Fucking beautiful, baby," he whispered hoarsely, still panting for breath as he continued to watch. You whined and your hips began to drop, so he collapsed next to you and tugged you against him, spooning you with his face pressed into your shoulder and his hands soothingly stroking any part of you he could reach.

"I'll... I'll get you something in a minute," he muttered, chest still heaving as he held you close. You just shook your head and closed your eyes.

"It's okay," you whispered softly.

There was so much you wanted to say, but fear held you back. You wanted to tell him how incredible it was, how you never came that hard before in your life, how amazing you felt now that he finally gave you what you needed.

Once his breathing evened out, he began to nose gently at your back. He trailed up through your hair, pushing it aside until his tongue found the skin on the back of your neck. It felt so good, melting in his arms and sharing in a warm glow while he bit and licked at the back of your neck. It didn't even strike you as an odd thing to do, the pair of you were too deep to recognize it.

With a sigh, you lifted his left hand from your stomach and examined his long fingers, your own slowly tracing his as he continued to mindlessly suck at your neck.

"What's the story here?" you asked bravely, tapping twice on the tan line of his ring finger. "You never really said much."

He grunted into your skin and forced himself to unlatch from your neck.

"Was married," he said simply. "Didn't work out."

You hummed and laced your fingers with his while he watched from over your shoulder. His cock twitched alive against your thigh when you wiggled in his grasp.

"Why?"

He shrugged, lips dragging over your shoulder. If someone had asked him that six months ago, he would have had a much more emotional reaction. Anger mixed with pain, most likely. But you had somehow managed to dwindle it down to a light shrug.

"Don't think it was just one thing," he admitted.

You nodded solemnly, thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles.

"Does it still hurt to talk about?" you asked him. You wished you knew more but you feared you might burst the perfect little bubble you had found yourselves in.

Dave smiled and, with his free hand, lifted your leg so your ankle rested on the outside of his knee.

"Not anymore," he said right before sinking back inside you.

It was the dreams that finally made you both snap out of the lust filled stupor you were lost in.

Dave had spent the night and entire next day with you, only giving yourselves enough time to eat and rest in between the countless times you found yourself impaled on his cock. It was sometime in the mid afternoon when you had fallen asleep on his chest that you awoke with a start, unable to shaky an eerie feeling.

"Dave?"

His eyes snapped open and found yours, looking slightly rattled, himself.

You breathed a sigh of relief and nuzzled into his bare chest. "I had such a weird dream."

"Me, too," he said, voice thick with sleep. He swiped a palm over his face before stretching both arms above his head. "What was yours about?"

You went on to tell him about the very vivid dream you had about him, although the man in your dreams didn't look like Dave nor did he have the same name, you just somehow knew it was him. With your face heating up, you glazed over the part where you fucked like animals in heat for a week straight and all together left out the end where you had a full blown family together, figuring it would be a bit too much and it would most definitely scare him off. But much to your surprise, he detailed a dream of his own that was so similar, it gave you goosebumps.

"Maybe we need to get out of this apartment for five fucking minutes," you joked, yet still couldn't shake the lingering feeling of familiarity.

After a few moments where you both remained quiet and lost in thought, Dave spoke again.

"There was something else."

You tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

"I think we had... a family."

Dave closed his eyes as if he too felt like saying it would be too much too fast, but you shot up excitedly in bed.

"We had kids in my dream, too," you confessed, and the both of you stared at one another in shock. "And this isn't the first time, either," you added. Embarrassment was the furthest thing from your mind now as the words came tumbling from your lips. "I had them before we even had our first date."

Dave's eyes went wide and he sat up, as well.

"Shit," he muttered, "me, too. Thought I was crazy."

"Maybe we are," you huffed, still in complete disbelief. Then you remembered what Shannon had said when you poured your heart out to her and your brow furrowed before digging in the sheets for your phone.

"What is it?" he asked as he watched you.

"My friend, the one you met the night we had our date," you said as you busily focused on your phone. "She knows a little about this stuff. She's a little strange but -"

"Let's go talk to her," he said before you even had to ask. You sent your text and looked around your room.

Could you really have known one another in a past life?

You weren't sure how you got there, but in just a few short days you found yourselves standing outside the old Victorian house of Talia Carter, a friend of Shannon's whom she recommended the minute she read your text about your shared dreams.

Talia, or 'Duchess' as she preferred to be called, claimed to be clairvoyant and promised she would be able to do readings on you both to find out if your hunch was right or if you were both just certifiably insane.

Despite all the evidence, you still had your doubts as you climbed the old wooden steps of her porch. Talia swung the door open, her bright red lipstick laid on thick and stretched into a wide smile framed by her very long, straight dark hair. But her smile faded almost instantly once she saw you and she gripped the doorframe for support, alarming you both. She quickly shook her head and refocused her gaze on you both before apologizing and ushering you inside.

You hesitated for a moment and glanced up at Dave.

"My friend Shannon called, I'm -"

"I know, sweetheart," she said as if it were clear as day. "I know exactly who you are."

Dave's hand fell to your lower back and he peered inside her house before determining she wasn't some kind of obvious psycho before nodding to you and taking your hand. Talia bit back a smile and she stepped aside, holding the door open wide for you both.

"If you would like to follow me, I have a study where I do my readings just off the kitchen. Can I get you anything to drink?" she asked over her shoulder, leading you past a dark cherry wooden dining room table and matching China cabinet, as well as countless green plants stuck on every flat surface.

"No, thank you," you said, gaze roaming around the room, temporarily stunned by the very unique Elizabethan style she chose. It seemed as though she liked her wallpaper dark and oriental rugs mismatched. The woodwork appeared to be all original, or at least it was made to look that way, and it was all meticulously cared for.

"I prefer to model my home after my own past life," she said when she caught you gawking at the beautiful wainscotting and then the glittery chandelier above her desk.

The two of you sunk down into a soft velvet sofa across from her.

"You remember your past life?" Dave asked, his hand falling to your knee, body curling protectively around you when he crossed a leg and leaned forward. Talia noticed but she didn't say a word. Not yet.

"Yes. I believe Shannon mentioned I preferred to go by Duchess," she explained as she pulled out some tarot cards as well as a few books from the built in bookshelf behind her. "I was the Duchess of Argyll and I still very much connect with that lifestyle, so I have tried to recreate it in my home."

"Well, you've done a beautiful job," you told her honestly. She paused and gave you a sweet smile before opening one of her books and flipping through the pages.

"You are very kind, thank you," she said, "but we are not here to talk about my past life. We are here to talk about yours."

You bit your lip and leaned closer to Dave. Without even looking up, she asked, "Hundreds of years ago, the human race was suffering and on the brink of going extinct. It's believed Mother Nature took over and created ranks among human beings in order to boost the population. Have you ever heard of Alphas and Omegas?"

You both frowned and shook your heads. When she found the page she wanted, she lit up and turned it around, pushing it across the desk so you could see.

"I could do a reading on you both, but it's simply not necessary," she said. You were about to lean forward to look at the page when you froze.

"Why?"

She grinned and sat back in her chair, looking at the two of you like she couldn't believe her eyes.

"I sensed it the moment I saw you. You were mates in a prior life," she replied. She pointed to Dave's hand on your knee. "You're very protective of her, yes?"

Dave shrugged and scooted closer to the edge of the sofa. "That isn't unusual."

"No, you're right," she said, then leaned forward to rest her elbows on her desk, lacing her fingers together. "But tell me, do you have any noticeable scars? Maybe ones you have trouble remembering how they came to be?"

Your hand immediately came up to rub the back of your neck and Dave noticed. Visions of him licking and biting in that very same spot swam in your memories and you glanced up at him once again, watching as he came to the same realization.

"How did you get that?" he asked you softly. Your eyes darted wildly back and forth between his before answering.

"My mom and dad always told me different stories, I'm not - I was never really sure."

Then you recalled how fixated you were on the spot behind his ear the first time you had sex and you lunged forward, brushing his hair out of the way with a gasp.

"Where did -"

"I don't know," he said immediately, the energy in the room shifting as you both stumbled into something inexplicable. "I grew up in an orphanage. No one was ever able to tell me."

Your eyes watered for a moment at the thought of a young Dave growing up scared and all alone, but you forced yourself to put it out of your mind for now. You turned back to Talia, who was watching you both with an unreadable expression.

You told her everything. You told her about your dreams, the extraordinary pull between you, the intensity and passion when you had sex, the hopelessness you felt when you thought he rejected you. And most importantly, the calm and secure feeling whenever he was near.

She gave the book a little nudge and you took it on your lap so the two of you could read, but you were hardly absorbing any of it. The words knot, glands, scent marking, heat, imprinting floated across the page while she spoke, explaining everything she knew. And as crazy as it all sounded, neither of you could deny the signs.

You stayed for over an hour, asking question after question. She explained how your scars were most likely remnants of the scent glands that each of you pierced, which bonded you forever as mates. How the dreams that you both had were memories of your past life and the unbreakable bond you shared was what drew you together. When you mentioned the way your body felt like it was on fire, skin hot to the touch, she explained in more detail about heats and ruts and how it was your body's response to finding one another.

When you finally stood to leave, exhausted and unable to think of another question, she refused to take Dave's money. When he tried to insist, she held up her hands and shook her head firmly.

"You have no idea how rare this is for someone like me. Meeting the two of you is an experience I will never forget."

She even let you take home the book you had still open on your lap, your minds racing as you tried to keep up with the whirlwind of information thrown at you.

When she walked you to the door, the sun dipping low in the sky already, she placed a hand on each one of your shoulders and looked at you both intently.

"Promise me you will not squander this gift," she said. "You have no idea how unusual it is for mates to find one another again. The odds are astronomical and yet here you are, reunited by a twist of fate."

You had no idea what to say. You looked up at Dave sheepishly and he smiled warmly at you before saying, "We promise."

Once back in his car, silence surrounding you even though your minds were buzzing with activity, he reached for your hand.

"Do you believe her?" he asked. You bit the inside of your cheek and stared straight ahead down her long driveway before slowly nodding and turning to face him.

"I think I do."

A big grin stretched across his face and he brought the back of your hand up to his lips. "I think I do, too."

You giggled and ran your fingers through your hair, a rush of adrenaline burning through your veins.

"Now what?" you asked him, letting him drop your hand so he could shift his car into drive.

But before he pressed on the gas, he gave you one final look and said, "I don't know, but whatever it is, we'll do it together."

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Ok love your thoughts on Animorphs tv series pacing. Hear me out: episode 1? Starts with *David’s* POV finding the cube, being attacked by Visser three and “rescued” by the animorphs, and given morphing power. Episode 2 starts with book 1 and progresses normally through the series from there

I think like “Machete order”, this really reframes the slow escalation of paranoia, and in episode one when these strangers show up and are like “Yes david you have to abandon your parents, they can’t be saved” you’re like “fuck these guys”

But by episode [redacted] of meeting david in animorphs pov, youre like “DAVID YOU MORON THEYRE LOST TO US GET IN THE FUCKING CAR”

And Jake goes from episode one “David, face reality, shit’s bad and your parents are a loss” to episode two Jake “of course i can save Tom”.

I love this, because it's a great way to throw the viewers right into the story. In the original series, it was necessary to give us some kind of origin for the Animorphs — it's a superhero story convention, it's important in a kids' series, it gives out exposition nice and slow, and it sets the tone of the books. However, there are a lot of things like "touching this box lets you turn into animals" and "the enemy are sea slugs who live in brains and eat in a cavern under the school" that you can simply show on TV without having to tell anyone. Concepts like "andalite navy" and "kandrona" can be conveyed with a few shots, so there's no need to have a scene where Elfangor explains them to Jake or brain-dumps them to Tobias.

This adaptation would probably lean more toward YA than middle grade, because it'd require trapping and/or killing the focal character, but I think YA would make sense for an Animorphs adaptation. YA series are more able to depict violence and body horror than children's shows, and Animorphs isn't Animorphs without realistic violence and body horror. There's also a lot of potential for making the conflict between David and Jake even more complex than it is in canon, if we don't see why Jake is the leader, only a bunch of his close friends insisting that it's for the best.

[wistfulwatcher]

one of the most complex and delicious choices they made with misty is that she genuinely understands what kind of attention is valuable. they crafted this character who is so desperate for love, so hungry for attention and companionship and recognition, a woman who would doom her entire team to a life in the wilds just to hear one more nice thing said about her, and then they put her in a position to grab at fame. when the team is rescued, misty would have been barraged with offers to tell her story. media appearances, interviews, book deals. people would be able to recognize her on the streets, she would have been (at the very least) a local celebrity for the rest of her life. she smiles when she sees the flash of the cameras getting off the plane; she wants to be seen, and the offer is right there in her lap.

instead, she stays silent. she stays out of the limelight, she says as little as possible, just like they all made a pact to do. can you imagine just how difficult it was for her to say no? for her to see that people would be falling over themselves just to talk to her, that she could have used what happened to make connections, make friends, be famous and lauded, sympathized with, talked to, complimented. she could have told the world how SHE was the one who saved them, who got them through the worst moments of their lives when the plane crashed.

and the price for all of that is to admit to some cannibalism? she has no shame about what happened. she eats jerky and wears heart necklaces and remembers the wilderness with open fondness. besides, she knows how to sell herself, how to spin what happened. when she pretends with jessica, she paints the perfect portrait of a victim, the perfectly sympathetic survivor wracked with guilt for what she had to do.

all of that is right there within her grasp. so why doesn't she go public? she displays absolutely zero guilt over breaking the black box, or anything else she did in the wilderness. literally the only reason she never breaks the silence is to protect her team. her friends. to honor whatever pact they made. a pact she makes in '98, when they're still together. when she thinks their lives are all so deeply entangled and their bond is so permanent and unshakeable that it would be easy to choose this family over public attention. it makes sense that she keeps quiet in the beginning.

but the team breaks up, and as far as misty knows they all go their separate ways. still, misty stays quiet. years pass and no one calls her, no one visits. so she goes on unsuccessful dates and works a job where her co-workers seem to barely tolerate her. she gives socks to gross men who still don't call and lives alone and gets a parrot who never talks to her.

she spends her adult life living with her loneliness because the people she loves asked her to, and then forgot she existed.

25 years of this deep sense of loneliness and she never wavers. never tries to tell her story or make a grab for the fame she knows she could still get when she looks at "25th anniversary" splashed over the tabloids. in a world that has grown up around her to create social media and influencers and viral posts. every single day it would have gotten easier for misty to reach out and take even a small slice of the attention she so badly wanted her whole life.

instead, she quietly follows her actual friends. she tracks weddings she's not invited to and the birth of children she'll never meet. she registers to vote for a woman who might not even know she's still alive, and decides that it's enough. that 25-year-old memories of true connection are better than acknowledgement from a million strangers. she collects all of these little details and files them neatly, an umbilical cord of connection that she is the only one supporting. like this information will be important again, relevant again. she sustains herself for twenty-five years off of the mere possibility that maybe, somehow, someday, she will be part of her team again.

and then, like finding the flashing red light of a black box while she's all alone, the universe rewards her.

[strangeshoepatrolbandit]

Brother's best friend

Summary: You go to spend the summer at your grandparents, along with your family and the Wayne's. Will something rise between you and Damian?

Warnings: Reader is half kryptonian, meaning they can hear heartbeats.

Gender Neutral

Series Masterlist

~☆~

It was quiet. There was no sound of cars in a busy street, voices of pedestrians that became too much as they all overlapped, no musty smell of used up air. It was quiet, only the sound of the TV, animals outside, and the heartbeats of your loved ones could he heard.

Your grandparent's farm was your escape. It was where you could go when you wanted to get away from the city that you and your family lived in. Apparently, everyone agreed, because now you're spending the summer on the farm, along with your mother, father, and brothers.

Your mother was helping your grandmother clean up after breakfast. Your father was helping your grandfather with the animals, you and Jon were watching a cartoon, and Kon was still sleeping.

Despite your grandparents being two lonely farmers, more people were still going to be joining you. Everyone had decided that it would be nice to invite Bruce Wayne and his children to join in on your short vacation. You had barely gotten Jon to sleep the night he found out that they said yes, he was far too excited about what was to come. Eventually, your mother had to come in and scold him for still being up.

If you listened close enough, you could hear their plane, and if you listened even closer, you could hear their hearts and words. Which Jon had been doing the entire time he had been awake, anxiously waiting for his best friend and his family to arrive, your father and Kon doing the same. Was it a little weird that Clark, Kon, and Jon were all best friends with members of the Wayne family? Yeah, a little bit. But did you care? No.

Jon had been going on for years now about his best friend, Damian Wayne. Apparently, the two of them met due to being Robin and Superboy. Jon had told you about the many adventures the two of them had, the times they would hang out at Wayne Manor, and how much he adored Damian. You've heard similar stories about Bruce, and Tim aswell, your father and Kon sharing the same excitement as Jon over their best-friends.

Almost all of the Wayne family has heard about you, too, but not as much as Damian has. Jon is always talking about his older sibling, born just two years before himself, and a year after Damian. Jon is always talking about the things the two of you have done, what you like, any new changes you've made to your appearance. To some extent, Damian feels as if he already knows you. You also feel the same.

"I can't wait for you to meet him." Jon excitedly tells you, taking his eyes away from the small TV and looking at you. You turn to meet his gaze and offer a small smile, hoping it will get him to stop gushing about this family you've never met. Maybe you're excited about meeting a certain older brother, one that your family said came back from the dead. It's not that you don't want to meet them, it's just that you don't want to spend your summer with some strangers.

~☆~

It was about lunchtime when you could hear the plane getting closer to the farm, your family raced outside to greet their friends.

A grown man was the first to jump out of the plane, his hair wavy and black, eyes blue and skin tan. He had one of those Hollywood smiles that instantly got you plastered on a magazine. He ran up to your father and welcomed him into an embrace. He was far too young to be Bruce Wayne, but also too old to be Damian.

Another boy hopped out and jogged over to Kon. Obviously, that's Tim. His pale skin and shaggy black hair gave it away.

Who you assume was Bruce emerged next, the wrinkle between his eyebrows and his strong physique being a sign. You could hear your father whisper his name as he went up to hug the man.

An even younger boy walked out, instantly earning a yell from Jon. He looked almost identical to Bruce. Only his skin was tan, and his nose was stronger. His eyes were green, a strong contrast from the three blue-eyed men that he had traveled with. His hair was black and clean cut, styled upwards. He was gorgeous. His description could only mean that he was the one and only Damian.

Another man walked into the light. He was tall and muscular. His wavy hair was black with a stripe of white and out of his face. He was wearing sunglasses, blocking his eyes from your view. Even from the distance, you could see the scars that adorned the side of his face. Jason Todd.

You watched as your family exchanged their hellos, obviously excited about the entire situation. Just as you were about to turn and go back inside, you heard your father introducing your grandparents. That could only mean that you were next.

His arms gestured around your family before finally landing on you, "And that's, Y/N." He spoke.

The first man(whom you overheard the name of) started walking towards you, his flashy smile on display.

"Hi, I'm Dick!" He introduced himself, offering you a handshake. After you reciprocated the gesture, he put his arm over your shoulders, holding you to his side. His hand rose up to point at the other people he arrived with. "That's Bruce," he stated, pointing at the man next to your father. "That's Jason," His finger was now pointed at the man with the white streak in his hair, "Tim" was all he said as he gestured to the boy conversing with Kon. "And that's Damian." He said, pointing at the boy that was being bombarded with questions by Jon. To your surprise, he was staring right at you. His gaze was sharp and felt like he was seeing right through you.

Your eye contact was interrupted as your grandmother came rushing past you with a pitcher of tea and some cups.

~☆~

New series alert!!!

Update's will be slow.

[anotherandomcollection]

[prologue] Dear Diary...

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────── ≻─ ⋆✩ pairings: arlecchino x gn!reader ≻─ ⋆✩ warnings: some angst?, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, canon typical violence, mentions of death, slowburn - not beta read ≻─ ⋆✩ spoilers?: 4.6 (Arlecchino's story quest) ≻─ ⋆✩ synopsis: this is a series I'm writing - its in the form of dairy entries written from the reader's POV through the years.

this is just the prologue of how it all begins and provides insight on the background (on the reader) I made up :) There's no date for the diary entries but they progress forward.

≻─ ⋆✩ author's note: this was an idea that came to me in a dream (shower thoughts) /j I'm not too sure if this is a format that would be enjoyed, but I hope it is <3

≻─ ⋆✩ word count: 1.4K

[prologue]

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

Dear Diary,

I'm leaving. I'm leaving this godforsaken house - I'm probably going to sneak off during my next mission. It's a solo mission, though I think it's just a ploy from "Mother" to get rid of me. My left leg is still injured and the Doctor says I may never fully recover, I have a barely noticeable limp, but anything short of perfection is frowned upon in the House of the Hearth (of course it is; the "Marelle" games should be enough of an indicator).

I don't know why either, I've been good - though perhaps she doesn't approve of the friendship Clervie and I have forged (not that she has any motherly rights to decide that). Or perhaps with Peruere - she is probably the next "King", with the highest potential or whatnot.

I'm scared to leave as well, just the idea of leaving is heavily frowned upon and is punishable with death. Even if I don't die on the mission, if I am caught, I will die. I'm not sure if even Archon's can tell me what happened to the other's who tried to leave. "Mother" keeps a strict tab on everyone and who knows what in the house. Any secrets being spilled… I pray for them. I pray for mercy, because I know the Doctor has none.

I'm scared to leave, scared about the future too. I don't know how to leave when this house is almost all that I remember. "Mother" clothed me, fed me and has given me a roof over my head. No matter how hard I had to work for it, I was given a shelter. It scares me that I don't hate this place as much as you would expect me to… It scares me to leave everything I know and all the people I cherish for this.

The battle for "King" starts soon, I probably won't be around for it. I'll either be long gone or dead, if the mission from mother goes according to my plan, I'll be on my way to Sumeru. If it doesn't… then I suppose mother's plan to get rid of me would have succeeded (archon's know I am not in mission ready condition).

I know its selfish to leave Clervie and Peruere but I cannot stay. I will die. Perhaps I could have stayed in another time or another universe where this "orphanage" didn't exist.

I'm leaving them a letter, but I have planned to make it look like I have died, or imply it, at least then I won't be the villain in their eyes for abandoning them here to suffer at the hands of "Mother". Painfully Hopefully, we will never cross paths and I will never have to explain myself. I'm not sure if they would understand.

I don't know how to live with myself anymore, not with the things the house has made us do. We are children and… I miss my family. I see glimpses of them in my dreams and memories - it was so warm. It had actually felt like a home. I think I had an older sister and a younger brother but I cannot clearly remember. I wonder what happened to them (if they even exist). I hope that I could have had that in another universe, but alas, I cannot in this one.

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

[there is a letter left to Clervie and Peruere, hidden in a spot only the three of you know about]

Hi Clervie and Peruere,

It's me, I'm sure you know my writing by now and I'm sorry that I cannot see both of you one last time. I'm leaving on my mission and I will likely not return. "Mother" plans for me to die - I know it so because I am not currently mission ready and she's been sending me on so many. I'm barely pulling through as it is and I don't think I will make it back from this one.

I will miss both of you and I'm sorry it will end this way.

I will miss watching the sunrise with you, Clervie, and I hope that you see the aurora you so wish to see one day. I'm… sorry that it has come to this and I hope you continue going to watch the sun bleed orange-red in the sky and turn the horizon into a mix of orange and purple and pink (like your hair!).

Peruere… I will miss our shared love for insects. I left you some sketches I made of Bambi. I will miss our walks in the garden trying to insect-watch and then having to hide when our caretakers come looking for us. I really did enjoy them.

[in the same envelope, there are some old sketches of the spider - several sheets of the insect in several positions and all carefully drawn and the pages carefully preserved]

I'm sorry. [next to it is a scribbled out line, too scribbled to even make out what the words mean]

[the letter is only read by one of the people its addressed to before it is thrown into the fireplace and turns to ash]

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

[the writing in this entry is shaky, tear drops are splattered on the page]

Dear Diary,

I heard Clervie died through the grapevine. I don't know what happened and I hope Peruere is doing alright. I only know she died in the battle for "King".

I don't know how to unpack this yet.

I'm scared

I thought I could maybe see them in the future. I don't know how to live knowing one of us will never get to grow up. It hurts so much. It hurts so much more than I thought this would...

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

Dear Diary,

I got into the Sumeru Akademiya - under the Darshan Amurta and it specialises in biology. Particularly, I'm going to study insects! Which is probably more accurately called Entomology.

There's a new harbinger, Arlecchino. I don't know who that is, but I hear they are the new head of the House. "Mother" is dead. I hear the house has been taken over by a new "Father". I pray for the children each night. I hope the "Father" is nicer but the archon's know that is a stretch too far past reality. "Mother"… The Doctor… All the harbingers do is hurt and hurt.

I know first hand what both "Mother" and the Doctor does. Sometimes I wonder how they live with themselves. Perhaps both of them are crazy.

Perhaps it should satisfy me, that the person who tormented me and all the children is gone but there is none. It feels hollow and as terrible as it sounds, I… miss the house. It wasn't home, no, but there was some semblance of family, forged through sheer fear and understanding. I suppose it stops no one in the battle for King, it stops no one for the battle of recognition and the sheer desperation to survive.

But we all know why we do it.

I suppose we all understand. Understand enough to die without hatred. I wonder if Clervie felt the same. I hope her death was swift and as painless as possible. Archon's have mercy on her soul.

I've changed since the last time, I've changed my hairstyle and hopefully no one will recognise me. My injuries have been progressing well as well and my limp is almost gone. There's still the stress that weighs on me that someone will recognise me. I fear that someone from the Fatui recognises me - especially when they have their claws in every nation.

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

[years later...]

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

Dear Diary,

I'm going back to Fontaine. There has been an exchange in between both the Akademiya and the Fontaine Research Institute so I'll be going to study the Subdetection Units. They are these small units created by the Institute that monitors all sorts of environment data. It is extremely interesting and I wonder exactly what the units can record. Not only that but they are in the shape of insects!

I think these units are interesting and with some tweaking, it could be possible to track even more data from them. Particularly, underwater. These could also possibly monitor the area by the Fortress Meropide for escapees- The possibilities feel rather endless and I am probably being too ambitious, especially with little knowledge in the engineering behind these specific units.

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

Dear Diary,

I think I saw her again today.

[the writing is shaky on the page and this entry is startlingly short.]

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Of Truths & Dreams; Malleus Draconia

Dreams can tell you a lot about a person. Their wants, their fears. But sometimes they can tell you the truth, and sometimes it isn't pretty.

Supporting Characters; Lilia Vanrouge & Malenoa Draconia

Content; Soulmate AU (I call them soul matches), gender-neutral reader, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic, Chapter 7 spoilers, canon divergence, hurt/comfort

Content Warnings; Chapter 7 spoilers, overblot stuff, swearing

Word Count; 5 K

Don't put my work into AI, I will hunt you for sport.

Prologue & Lilia's Story | Sebek's Story

Malleus was born into this world alone. His mother, dead, and his father, missing. It was a miracle that he even hatched, as Draconia eggs required love to hatch. And his grandmother was ridden with grief, over losing her only child. It was no wonder why he was delayed by several centuries. And despite everything, he hatched. But despite his hatching, the love and adoration that people gave him, he was alone. Malleus didn’t feel loved, not in the way that mattered.

His subjects, his guards, his teachers, even his own grandmother loved the idea of him. And he was raised away from the outside world, within the dark halls of Briar Castle. Malleus was an idea, and the hope for the future rather than his own person. It was a lot for a child to handle. So, of course, he would sneak out when he thought no one was looking. The guards would realize rather quickly that the sole heir to Briar Valley, their most treasured royal, was missing. But Malleus didn’t care.

“Good evening,” he greeted the raven gargoyle that was at the westernmost turret of the outside wall. Malleus looked in the direction that the raven did, looking out into the moors. A dense fog had rolled in, covering everything in a white haze. “Do you ever wonder what’s out there?”

He knew that the stone wouldn’t answer him, but he asked anyways. “Grandmother tells me stories you know,” he sighed, taking a seat in one of the carved-out alcoves in the ancient stone. “That Briar Valley will one day be mine to keep. But I cannot rule without a soul match.”

Soul matches were quintessential for the Draconias, after all, it was their own ancestor the Thorn Fairy, who had gifted the fae the blessing. But Malleus had yet to find any trace of them in his dreams. Typically, members of his family were born with their soul match already in their dreams, but Malleus had yet to meet them, his dreams still being black and white, and no blurry stranger to speak of in sight. It was distressing, and he heard the whispered concerns of his grandmother when she thought he was in bed.

And those whispers played in his head. “Is there something the matter with me?” All the young prince got for an answer though was the distant cawing of ravens, and the approaching sounds of footsteps. “Did I do something wrong?”

It felt like he did something wrong. Why else would the Thorn Fairy withhold his birthright to a soul match? Why would she punish him? Had he already not been punished enough?

“So that’s where you were hiding,” the familiar voice of Lilia pulled Malleus from his thoughts. “Come now, young prince, you can’t hide away forever.” Lilia offered his hand for the young boy to take. 

Malleus looked at his outstretched hand to his face, and placed his hand in Lilia’s. “Did I upset everyone again?” His voice was quiet as the two of them walked hand and hand down the uneven steps of the turret’s staircase.

Lilia hummed, “Upset? No. Worry? A little bit.” He was used to barking out orders in the battlefield, not looking after children, let alone one so precious to the Valley. But Lilia felt that he needed to, for both his Queen, and the late princess. He had a duty to keep, an oath that he lived by; to protect the royal line.

Malleus frowned, giving the moors a final look before he and his keeper descended into the heart of the castle. “I just wanted to find them.”

“And you will,” Lilia gave the prince a practised smile, as it was still something he was getting used to. “It may just take some time is all.”

“But mother and grandmother both were born with their soul matches already in their dreams. Why is mine not with me now?” Malleus was starting to spit a bit of fire, clearly becoming upset with his own frustration. “Why must they keep me waiting?”

Lilia took a knee, and gently placed his hands on Malleus’s shoulders, looking into his eyes. “Good things come to those who wait. It must mean that the Thorn Fairy is taking her time in finding the best match for you.” Lilia’s eyes searched Malleus’s and he propped himself back up. “So since it is taking a while, they must be very special.”

Malleus was still upset, but that put him at ease. Good things come to those who wait. So the longer he had to wait, the better his soul match should be, and that put his turbulent mind at ease… for now.

…

…

Malleus was standing in the thick fog of the moors. And it was deathly silent, not even the crickets or the throaty calls of frogs filled in the silent din. “Another dream,” he sighed to himself. 

Of course it was a dream, which was obvious due to everything being in various shades of grey, white, and black, but also because he wasn’t allowed past the castle’s outer walls without someone else accompanying him.

“Why have you brought me here,” Malleus quietly asked the fog.

It is said that the Thorn Fairy lived in the moors, that she protected the moors. She put up an impenetrable wall of thorns, to protect her people from those who wished to destroy them. But the moors remained silent, and barren of colour or life. Malleus hummed to himself the lullaby that his grandmother sang to him while he was still a baby, and still in his egg. He has heard this song over the centuries as he lay dormant. Permanently etched into the deepest recesses of his mind. The lullaby was crafted solely for the fae to learn of soul matches.

Malleus stopped humming. He hadn’t met them yet, so it didn’t feel right to hum the original lyrics. “I’ll know you. I will walk with you once upon a dream,” he sang slowly, walking to nowhere in particular, the fog moving gently with his movements. “I’ll know you, that look in your eyes will be so a familiar a gleam.” 

He started dancing by himself, making the fog swirl around him. “And I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I’ll know you, I know what you’ll do.” Malleus made one large twirl, and all the emotions he had were summoned as fire, setting the dry grass of the moors ablaze, yet he was untouched as his dream was slowly being reduced to ashes.

“You’ll love me at once,” he whispered quietly, “the way you did once upon a dream.” Smoke filled the air, and where there was once light, white fog, there was now heavy, black smoke.

It was simply a dream though, nothing more. But dreams reveal truths, even if we don’t want to confront them.

…

…

…

Malleus had missed the entrance ceremony… again, at least Lilia was all over it, but it still rubbed Malleus in all of the wrong ways. But was it really his fault? He had never received an invitation… due to his electronics acting up again due to his own magic, so maybe it was his fault. Maybe next year! … Oh right, he would be a fourth year and not studying within the confines of Night Raven College, so in actuality, there was no next year.

At least there was a familiar face that was new to the dorm, and Sebek was overjoyed and followed Malleus dutifully. But that didn’t really change his own inner turmoil; he is next in line to be king, and yet he wasn’t able to attend something as simple as an annual recurring event? It troubled him, even as he was preparing himself for bed, adjusting his custom pillow just so.

I just wish I were invited? A proper letter. He mused in his own head, before finding himself back in the moors. It was always the moors. By this point he had traversed the entirety of it, and seen everything it had to offer, all of its little secrets. Not hard when he’s had nearly a century of time to do so.

He started humming his version of the lullaby, as he mindlessly floated along a path that he had made with his own footsteps, well trodden. Good things come to those who wait. That’s what he’s told himself, night after night. That’s what he told himself every morning when he woke up. He was getting tired of waiting. He was supposed to have been born with his soul match already in his dreams, but no one had ever appeared in Malleus’s dreams. He was always alone in the moors, with not even animals to keep him company. He was not only isolated in his waking world, the real world, but he was also isolated in his dreams.

Malleus was all alone, he had been alone for a while. Yes, he may have guards, and loyal servants, but above all else, they saw him as their next king, not Malleus; they didn’t see him for him. So maybe it was fitting that he didn’t have a soul match either. Maybe the Thorn Fairy wanted him alone.

Right as those feelings surfaced though, his dream changed. Malleus was very much still in the moors, but the silence was gone. The soft chirping of crickets filled the void. There was life, and it was all at once. The fog was still there, but Malleus could also see the faint lights of fireflies, glowing softly. This, this was new, and he didn’t know what to make of it. The once still moor was now gently rustling, breathing.

In front of him, the fog became dense, and a figure slowly emerged from it, looking around in a confused state. But they then turned their full attention to Malleus, and everything became saturated in violet.

Good things come to those who wait. They were here, they were finally here. Malleus was finally not alone.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” he greeted with a slight bow of his head. He did not know who they were, did not know of their upbringing or social status, but none of that mattered. They were his soul match, which usurped everything else. 

He watched curiously as his words floated in front of him, a harsh, neon green. His soul match did the same, watching as the words faded away.

“Uh, nice to meet you too?” Their words, your words, floated in front of Malleus, the same shade of green as his. “Who are you? Where am I?”

Malleus hummed, intrigued by their reaction. Perhaps they were not taught of soul match bonds, which would be understandable, as not all families knew of the bonds the Thorn Fairy had gifted them. “I will explain all in time, for now though, let us walk together, and enjoy this moment. Shall we?”

He extended his hand, waiting for you to take it, but right as your hands were about to meet, your form turned back into mist, leaving Malleus alone yet again in his dream. “Hmm, they must have woken up suddenly… perhaps tomorrow night then…” He murmured to himself, and continued down his footpath, watching the fireflies blink in the distance.

…

…

That was a weird ass dream, and you were kinda thankful that Grim had rudely woken you up. Kinda being the key word. And you couldn’t really get back to sleep, instead just staring up at the decaying ceiling above you, just wishing that you could go back to sleep. But what was up with the formal-speaking stranger? Why were you in some sort of swamp? Why was everything purple? And why were your words floating in front of you and a bright ass neon green? It was only your first night too… maybe this was just your brain coming up with weird scenarios to distract you from the weirdness you experience while awake? Maybe some inter-dimensional travel side effects? Like some form of jet lag that messed with your dreams? Sure, let’s pin it on that.

“Ughhhh, I hate it here,” you groaned. It would be a few hours before classes even began, so you had plenty of time for utter boredom, how fun. At least you had borrowed some books from the library, a mix of general information — since that ‘headmage’ hadn’t given you a proper welcome or a lowdown on how this world functioned — and just some interesting looking cover. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Sure, but when the book was a deep violet leather-bound book, with green metallic filigree? How could you not be curious about it? It was stunning.

“Of Truths and Dreams,” you whispered to yourself, that was the title of the book, the font in the style of calligraphy from medieval texts. How old was it? Were you actually allowed to touch it, let alone read it? It looked like it belonged in a museum.

You carefully undid the metal clasp, in the shape of a dragon’s claw. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. And you began reading.

Dreams can reveal much about a person; their wants, their fears, their memories. Dreams also hold power, and such power has been bestowed to the Draconia family. And this power comes from our ancestor, the Thorn Fairy.

You snapped the book shut. This wasn’t just a book, it was a diary. You shouldn’t be reading this… but this was a chance to learn more about this world. Learn about it from… You open up the diary again, and find the owner’s name written in the same calligraphy as the title. Maleficia Draconia. 

-

As with all fae, our family too is blessed with soul matches who enter our dreams as we sleep. Our family is different though, as we are born with them already in our minds; our dreams tinted in a colour that represents both of us. They are of utmost importance to us. Without them, we cannot rule. They may become an advisor, a confidant, and in some cases, a lover. That is for both parties to decide though, we cannot use our power or status to influence their decision, no matter how we feel about them, Malenoa. Do not let our draconic greed dictate the relationship. It surfaces as a song. I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, that look in your eye is so familiar a gleam. And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom what they seem. But if I know you, I’ll know what you’ll do. You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream. Ignore that song, my love, for that is the greed speaking, and not the truth. Ignore it at all costs, for it will stain the heart…

The rest of the diary was left blank, the edges of the paper charred. Turning it back over, you noticed that the entire back of the book was blackened, blackened by fire. And even though you didn’t know who Maleficia was, she had helped you a great lot. Whatever that dream was, that was no ordinary stranger. They were your… soul match? Yeah, whatever that meant.

…

…

Malleus found himself walking outside of his old haunting grounds, Ramshackle dorm. He was surprised to find it now occupied, but his sadness had morphed into something far more pleasant. He had gained a friend. He had gained you.

“Good evening, Child of Man,” he greeted you, taking notice of the large yawn that escaped your mouth. “More tired than usual I see. You do not need to walk with me tonight if rest is what you need.”

Malleus meant well, in his own odd and formal way. “Eh, it’s nothing, Tsunotarou. I’ll get some shut eye in a bit,” you waved off his concern, and shot him a small smile.

He gave you back a tiny smile, remembering the last time that he gave someone a full smile, they were left scared, not happy. He didn’t want to scare you off. That’s why he let you decide on a nickname for him, that but also names hold power… but he trusted you, he just didn’t know how to bring it up. He didn’t want your friendship to change just because you found out he was the Malleus Draconia, but he also knew that you wouldn’t really care. You didn’t seem like the type to treat him any differently just because of his title. He didn’t want to risk it though.

So the two of you walked around the outskirts of Ramshackle, fireflies lighting the way. Something about them felt familiar though, and it wasn’t from just your nightly walks with your horned friend. You could have sworn you saw them in a dream… now wasn’t the time for that, now was the time to enjoy what time you could get with your friend.

“Hey, Tsunotarou,” you asked him, turning a bit so you faced him. “Do you have a soul match?”

Malleus’s pupils dilated outwards, becoming more rounded rather than harsh slits. “Yes I do, Child of Man. I am rather surprised that you know of the subject,” he breathed out. You really were full of surprises, weren’t you?

Surprised? “How so?”

Malleus hummed to himself, a melody that sounded familiar, but it evaded you. “The bonds of soul matches of fae are only known by fae, which is why I was caught by surprise of you knowing of the term. That is all.” Do you have one, Child of Man? But why does the thought make my tongue go bitter?

“Found it in a book in the library,” you mused. You mentally kicked yourself, you could have given it to him, he may know the family of the previous owner. Maybe you could go hunting for it the next time you found yourself in the cramped halls of the library. A rather large yawn escaped from you, and that was your, and Malleus’s, queue that it was time for you to head off to the land of dreams. “Any who, night, Tsunotarou! Sweet dreams!” You waved him goodbye as he vanished into a puff of fireflies, off into the night.

…

…

And they were both asleep again, but something felt off. Like there was something dark tainting the dream. It was a familiar sensation, one that made the hairs on your neck stand on end; blot. There was blot in the dream.

“Are you alright,” you asked your soul match, carefully watching their reaction.

They hummed, and turned to look at you curiously, green eyes practically glowing in the dark violet lighting, pupils relaxing from their tight slits into more relaxed ovals. “I am alright, just thinking is all,” their words floated in front of them, still the neon green they were in the beginning.

But the alarm bells were screaming in your head. Screaming at you that everything was definitely not alright. This, this was being calculated, being considered. “You just seem preoccupied… like your mind is elsewhere is all.”

They tilted their head, “I am right here with you.” Their words were blunt, as they typically were. “However,” the lighting darkened, being tainted with more hints of blot, “are you planning on going anywhere?” Are you planning on leaving me, like everyone else?

The words hang heavily in the air. It was no use lying to them, as it would only worsen the situation to lie. “Eventually I have to… I have to go back,” you said carefully, gauging their reaction.

Malleus’s pupils turned into slits again, but he remained calm on the outside. “Go back to what? Do you not like it here?” Do you not like me?

You looked around the bog, “That’s not the case. I have responsibilities back home. I need to go back. I’m …” Sorry. But the word didn’t come out of your mouth. What did you have to apologise for? It was not your fault that you came here, but why did it feel like it?

“I too have responsibilities,” Malleus said quietly, words barely visible. “You cannot go back.” All of the pleasantries were gone, this was a command. “You are staying here with me.”

The blot thickened. Could someone overblot in their dreams? And they started singing, and it was the tune that they’ve been humming since their first shared dream.

“I know you, that look in your eye is so familiar a gleam,” they cupped your face, looking softly into your eyes. “And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I know you, I know what you’ll do…” The violet lighting of the dream had turned almost black, the only lighting being the neon green words dancing around you. “You’ll love me at once, they way you did once-”

You shot up awake, heart beating so fast that you could feel and hear it. You didn’t need your soul match to finish the lyric, for you knew it already… for you had read it in that fire-charred diary. “… upon a dream,” you breathed out.

Your soul match is Malleus Draconia, Tsunotarou, and this was bad. The greed had taken over… alongside the blot. 

…

…

Malleus looked over the forms of his sleeping classmates, singing the lullaby again. He could see everybody’s dreams, except for yours, and it was equally as annoying as it was endearing. Of course his Child of Man would be filled with surprises. Malleus only wished that his soul match was here, for he wished to see their deepest desires, to see how they would be the hero of their own tale. But when he closed his eyes, and tried to teleport to their dreams, he saw nothing. It distressed him too, he knew they were asleep, but he couldn’t see anything.

“Where are you,” he chuckled darkly, a mix of anger but also fear. He should be able to see them, but he saw nothing, nothing except for the moors now engulfed in ink. Devoid of colour and life. 

Soul match bonds cannot break, at least not easily. Either they were no longer of this world — which they were not, Malleus could sense that much — or they were underneath a sleeping spell, a Draconia’s sleeping spell.

It meant that they were on the island. They have been so close this entire time. “Now, wherever could you be hiding,” Malleus sighed, looking into every single person’s dreams, looking for his soul match. Their dream should be tinted violet, singling them out to him. And as Malleus hopped from dream to dream, not once did he find the familiar colour. But they were here… he just couldn’t see them. He couldn’t see their dreams.

That left one option. There was only one person who he couldn’t see the dreams of. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you,” he floated over to your sleeping form, coming to sit next to you with a fond look in his eyes, “my dear Child of Man.” And he started humming that song of his, trying to pry into your mind, trying to get back into your dreams, where he could keep a diligent eye on you. “Looks like we have indeed met once upon a dream… that must be why your eyes are so familiar a gleam.”

…

“Yeah, this, this is beyond bad,” you muttered to yourself. You were back in the swamp, up to your chest in thick ink. The once pleasant dream was now, effectively, a trap; a giant glue trap if you will. 

A boom of thunder overhead underscored your statement and brilliant flashes of bright purple and green lightning provided the only light for you, everything else was shrouded in darkness caused by the blot. Caused by Malleus. But why, why did he overblot?

“They found a way for me to go back home.” Oh. You're leaving, and add onto that, Lilia coming out from nowhere and saying that he was also leaving because his magic had dried out… That’s why.

“TSUNOTAROU!” You yelled out into the swamp, but all you got as an answer was your own voice causing ripples in the ink. “TSUNOTAROU?!” You tried again. Nothing.

Names hold power, Child of Man, do remember that. You took in a deep breath, steeling yourself for when he manifested himself here. “MALLEUS DRACONIA?!”

A bolt of lightning hit a few metres in front of you, morphing into bright green fire, and then Malleus was standing in front of you, or rather, a part of him. “You called?”  He glided easily over the ink, and looked down at you, assessing you.

“What have you done, Malleus,” you refused to tilt your head upwards, instead looking up with your eyes, head remaining level.

Malleus knelt down in front of you, despite him being vastly stronger and of higher status, he still viewed you as his equal. “I did what needed to be done.” He said it so matter of factly, like it made perfect sense. “Now everyone will be happy.”

“You can’t force people to be happy,” you said back, looking into his eyes, searching for the Malleus you knew, searching for your friend. “That’s not for you to decide, Malleus.” 

Malleus just hummed at your comment, and he tried to change your dream to something more pleasant, but you remained stuck in the ink. Why can I not change it? I should be able to change it. “They deserve to be happy… You deserve to be happy. Do you not?”

I mean, yeah it would be nice, but I would rather it be because of something other than an overblot, but ya know how it is. “Yes, but not like this… Let me help you, Malleus.”

“I do not need help,” he hissed, tilting your chin up. “Let me make you happy.” 

The ink rose, and it was now up to your neck, and you were floating in it. You spared a quick glance down and saw a gentle lilac light shining down from the bottom. This may just be a crazy idea, but it was one worth taking.

You looked back into Malleus’s eyes. “Do you promise?”

Malleus smiled at you, “Of course I do.”

You grabbed him by the arm and pulled the both of you under the surface of the ink, making your eye towards the lilac light.

…

You crawled out of the ink and found yourself, and Malleus, on the outside walls of a grand castle, roses vining their way up the facade in full bloom. Everything was in a gentle lilac light, and fireflies glowed green despite it being daytime. It was idyllic, it was peaceful, the only thing out of place being the blot that dripped off Malleus. Yet it was contained to him, disappearing into a gentle puff of green sparkles when it hit the ground.

“How,” Malleus whispered, his words now a light green, no longer a harsh neon. “How are we here?”

You didn’t know, all you did was follow the light from the bottom of the inky depths. “Do you know this place?” You had no idea where you were, but you weren’t complaining, since you were no longer up to your neck in blot.

Malleus looked up, and there was the familiar raven gargoyle from his childhood. “This is my home,” he turned to look at you curiously. “How did you bring us here, Child of Man?”

“They didn’t,” a velvety voice said. And coming down the stairs was a woman, who looked like Malleus except older, looking like she was probably in her thirties. “I did, my love.”

She gracefully walked over, and cupped his face, looking over his features. And you could have sworn that you saw her absorb some of the blot. “You have grown into a fine young man. But you have let greed overshadow you.”

Malleus looked like he had seen a ghost, and he was frozen in place. “Mother?” His voice was quiet, barely even coming out. “But how?”

The woman, Malleus’s mother, hummed gently, combing her fingers through her son’s hair, slowly absorbing the blot from him. “You can thank them,” she turned to you and gave you a mischievous smile, “all thanks to your soul match.”

She turned back to her son, her face shifting into a more solemn expression. “My love, let me bestow a gift on you… but you won’t see me again. This is the last thing I can do for you. Let me do this though; for you and everyone you love.”

You can’t force people to be happy. 

Keep everyone you love close to you, guard them, hoard them.

You’re my friend, I’ll always be with you, even if we’re far apart!

You’ll love me at once-

This was wrong, and Malleus choked on his own blot. The greed, the dark parts of the dragon had won. “Please,” he coughed. 

His mother embraced him into a hug, “Spinning wheel of fate, undo this thread of darkness. As Queen of Briar, I shall bestow upon you this gift.” She placed a kiss on his forehead, and all of the blot was gone. “I love you,” she whispered, before her form vanished gently into green and lilac sparkles.

“I’m sorry,” the words floated over to you. Malleus looked tired, exhausted. How much magic had the blot taken from him? He opened his mouth again, but closed it, at a loss for words. “And I understand if… if you want nothing to do with me.”

From your times dealing with overblot, you knew this wasn’t his fault. Overblots are due to trauma, from bottling it all up until someone broke. “Why would I not want anything to do with you? I’m still friends with the others.”

Malleus looked into your eyes, but all he found was honesty… and love, love for a friend. A genuine love. 

You extended your hand, “So come on, Tsunotarou. Let’s move forward together.”

And he took your hand. The path forward was sure to be bumpy, but he knew that you would stick by his side, even after this.

Fin!

Author's Note; And this concludes the Soul Match AU! I know in my poll people voted for a fluffy ending, but uhhh, I was possessed by a vision. I might continue this AU for other characters in the future, but for now this is where I've leave it. Thank you for reading!

Tags; @xxoomiii @eynnwwyjth @twistwonderlanddevotee @savanaclaw1996 @krenenbaker

If you like my work, please check out my masterlist [there are 9 other Soul Match works btw]

[tshortik]

My random comic Recs #1

I've been reading more comics lately, so I wanted to share my love for them in the hopes that someone might give this medium a chance!

Note: I am not a fan of superhero comics, because I simply don't like that genre, so don't expect superheroes below. Gonna make these posts every now and then and they will always include 4 recs. 1.) The Many Deaths of Laila Starr

Death got demoted and sent to earth as a mortal! Some boy is going to figure out how to cheat death in the future, and our girl Death really doesn't appreciate that. The entire graphic novel is only 5 issues long, so it's VERY digestible and easy to get through.There is something so light and playful about the art style, and the vibrant colors really sell it.

For people that are completely new to comics as a medium, I imagine that this is actually an A+ book to start with for the reasons I just mentioned. The way paneling and the flow of time is done in here, is a great example as to why comics are so unique as a medium and why they should be looked at as its own art from, separate from movies or books.

2) Mécanique Céleste (Or "Mechanica Calaestium" in the German translation, or "Aster Of Pan" in the English translation)

An absolutely breathtaking French comic. Aster lives in Pan, a post-apocalyptic France where she scavenges for wreckage with her friend Wallis. After their people come under a threat by the Federation of Fortuna, they are given a choice —submit to Fortuna’s rule or beat them in a weird Hunger Games-esque version of Dodge, called “Celestial Mechanics”.

The detailed art pieces in each panel, the careful line work, the lively way the characters move and the stunning watercolors captivated me from the first page. This graphic novel (now 2 volumes) is one of a kind and truly unique!

3) Something Is Killing the Children

Note: Comic contains a lot of gore and violence!

Children are starting to disappear in Archer's Peak. The ones that come back tell impossible stories that no one seems to believe. Only one stranger trusts these tales - a mysterious girl named Erica Slaughter who seems to be able to see these creatures too. And she's here for business.

I loooove Something is Killing the Children. I haven't finished reading the ongoing volumes yet, but I am super fascinated at how well the pacing goes in this story. The rough art style with Erica's freaky large eyes is SO fun, and you start appreciating it even more the longer you read.

4) Mon Ami Pierrot ("Mein Freund Pierrot" in German, "My friend Pierrot" in English)

Another fabulous French comic! Cléa is to marry soon - a young man name of Berthier. Right before the wedding she meets the fascinating magician Pierrot though, who completely changes the course of her life. Entranced by his whimsical nature that makes her feel "free" for the first time in her life, she follows him and leaves her previous life behind. During her stay with Pierrot, questions arise, though. Who is he really? All the while her betrothed sets out to find her again.

The Ghibli influence both art- and storywise is easy to make out, and I personally really enjoyed that. I particularly love the colors and the facial expressions the characters are drawn with. Everything feels very whimsical and playful and I had a good time going through this chonker of a graphic novel!

No spoilers, but I expected toothrottingly-sweet wholesome stuff, and ended up surprised on several occasions. I think the colours and art style really help give those moments wham, because you don't expect it.

[anaargent]

Ok but like... Five in Harry Potter PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE i know it's very unlikely but like just imagine him and his siblings in Harry Potter, with reader please 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

You caught my favorite hyperfocuses, I wrote something simple, but I would like to go into more depth in the future.

FIVE HARGREEVES X READER

You were sitting in the shade of a large willow tree, making the most of the small moment of respite with the Hargreeves siblings. You weren’t sure when or how you had gotten pulled into their mess, but you were more than grateful for it. You smiled, watching Klaus and Ben at the edge of the lake playing with a frog, levitating it back and forth.

“This is disgusting, you idiots.” Allison threw the frog away as she pulled Viktor, who was resting his feet in the icy water, away from the mischievous siblings. “Will we have to put up with this until we grow up?”

“Don’t be so optimistic, we’ll have to live with them until the grave,” Viktor said, smiling, as he hugged his sister, who was whimpering in frustration.

Not far away, Diego and Luther were in the act of interacting with what you charitably called Luego’s fan club, a medium-sized group of girls and a few boys, who seemed enchanted by the Gryffindor bigwigs. They posed and flexed their muscles while their fans sighed in amazement "this is all natural babe, you can squeeze it" Luther said showing his biceps.

It was a funny fact, as much as the grumpy old Reginald Hargreeves was a perfect example of a Slytherin, almost all of his children went to different houses. Viktor and Ben went to Hufflepuff, they were kind souls, usually the first to offer help to their brothers and friends. Diego and Luther went to Gryffindor, the hat barely touched their heads, it was quite obvious to you that the two hotheads went to the house of the impulsive and courageous. Klaus was a stranger, after about ten minutes the hat left him in Ravenclaw, along with you to your great pleasure, there was never a dull moment with someone like Klaus around. Allison had gone to Slytherin, always standing out in the class, the girl was a perfect example of talent and discipline mixed with a rebellious and independent spirit. Finally… "There you are, I've been looking for you everywhere" Five says, pulling you out of your contemplative moment, shoving a chocolate cupcake into your hand and plopping down on the grass next to you "What are you doing here alone? Don't tell me you finally realized I'm the best of them and now you just want to hang out with me" he smirks as he looks at you.

You just laugh, shaking your head "If you were any bigger your ego would fill the common room, you know that, right?" Then you stop for a moment and take in the view. Five was still wearing his Quidditch uniform, just like you, his moss green t-shirt was worn and wet from intense training, his hair was a messy wave of strands slightly damp with sweat, giving him a wild look, which perfectly matched the playful and challenging eyes of its owner.

You sighed and shook your head, not wanting to be caught dissecting every part of Five, he already had a lot of self-confidence.

"Just watching?" Five smiles, leaning closer, his breathing still labored from the tiring workout, the light puffs of air hitting your cheeks.

You contemplate for a moment, pouting as you bite into the cupcake, Five's eyes darting between your eyes and lips, he wasn't good at disguising his intentions, maybe he wasn't even trying to "wanna taste?"

Five looks at you hopefully, his mind racing with the question - what were you trying to insinuate? "I will."

You move closer to him, your shoulders touching under the cool grass, the light wind carrying Five's scent from him and intoxicating you with the mix of moss, parchment, sweat and something that was only his. Then you place the cupcake on your parted lips and quickly stand up laughing and heading over to where Klaus and Ben were still playing with floating things "Forget this loser, come here and levitate worms on Allison" Ben waves with a cute smile at you.

"We're not done here yet, sweetie, I'll see you at the Quidditch game this Saturday," you hear Five shout in the distance, and you fight the blush that rises to your cheeks.

[vasito-de-leche]

;R1999 - "this suitcase, livelier than it ever was"

Timekeeper Team x Reader 1.4k words fluff, comfort, found family Day or night. In the morning, in the evening, in the afternoon. Inside, where it's warm, or outside, where it's cold. Home is wherever your newfound, little family is.

this is something that started on the r1999 roleplay server, a little collaborative writing moment we had. I wanted to expand on it with this slightly new format because it makes me. so deranged to think about the domesticity of living in vertin's suitcase with everyone else, all of your friends <3

this is just the early morning version! but we also talked about the afternoon and night time hehehoho. shoutout to everyone who was there for the nuclear bombs that were dropped that day, we did it we survived!!!

It's early in the morning, and you smell the scent of warm food before the sun hits your eyes.

Despite the voices, you know who is in the kitchen just by smell alone; this is Bunny Bunny's special pancake recipe, the one she learned from her grandmother. Those are the two, maybe three pots of coffee being brewed at once for Horropedia, Bette, Kaalaa Baunaa and more. There are footsteps echoing all over the building, they come from above on the up and down, from left and right.

You don't feel the need to get dressed and be presentable before leaving your room, your pajamas work just as well. Right away, you see Blonney, her long, blonde hair tangled up in knots, ushering Jessica into one of the bathrooms, the cleanest one in this floor; they do this all the time, this is their routine. You know it'll be an hour or two before they finish, but if you're nice, they will let you join them. Jessica notices you right away and waves with an endearingly big smile across her face. She tells you that Blonney is going to groom her fur today, since they have a photoshoot for one of her projects.

Blonney follows her gaze, she gestures for you to "hurry and get your ass in here with them if you want her to do your hair" in a way that a stranger would perceive as hostile. But you're no stranger, you know of the hidden, sisterly affection in her words. And you also know better than to intrude whenever one of her movie projects is involved. The door shuts behind them after you politely decline. The last thing you hear is Jessica's muffled voice bidding you goodbye.

It's early in the morning, and your hair is a mess. There's another bathroom down the hall, but that's usually where the children of the suitcase go to see who is the fastest at brushing their teeth and washing their face--you'd rather not come out of there, wet and covered in toothpaste. Your other option is an even bigger gamble; there is a mirror in Pavia's room, but catching him in a good mood is the tricky part. For all you know, he's not even there, and he's one of the very few people who still lock their doors. Even so, he has no issue barging into your room unannounced every so often.

Regulus it is, then. You know she's awake because of the shrill sound of her music, a permanent vibration in the walls that all of her neighbors have grown used to. The smile on her face is big and welcoming once she opens the door to greet you, she says you look like shit and lends you her hair brush. Mr APPLe is not with her this time, but you know that he's the one making sure that Regulus wakes up in time for breakfast--a pirate needs to be quick to eat, he would say, and she would then repeat this to you.

You walk with Regulus towards the kitchen. You have to step over many of the forgotten toys scattered throughout the hallways. You nod in greeting to Zima, who always walks nearest to the wall, as if to avoid being in anyone's personal space. In his hands, he holds a small plate of pastries and a cup, his companion Zima--the bird-- pecks away at the small crumbs. It chirps at you and the two return to their room.

It's early in the morning, and you sit down with all the friends from all over the world that you've made ever since Vertin took you in. The Timekeeper herself sits across from your spot, discussing the puzzles in today's newspaper with Sonetto. A plate of pancakes is set down on the table, just for you, with the toppings that you love and the perfect amount that you usually eat. When you look up, you see Tooth Fairy smiling down at you; today, she's the one helping Bunny Bunny, tomorrow it will be someone else as the schedule pinned on the fridge indicates. Your turn won't come in a while, but you know that tonight you're in charge of doing the dishes with Leilani.

Something touches your leg, and you lean down to see the twins, Luisa and Louise, attempting to feed gummy bears to Pickles, who solemnly looks away each and every time the sweet candy nears his mouth. Eventually, he trots off and they chase after him, surprising and almost knocking Oliver out of his chair. Some laugh, some call out to the kids, some point out the sudden flushed look on the boy's face.

Regulus asks for seconds, and she fights with Centurion over the biggest, tastiest looking pancake in the batch; this is a contest Regulus knows she can't win, yet she tries anyway. The pancake ends on Centurion's plate before anyone can even understand how, luck always on the gambler's side--but she still goes out of her way to cut it in half and share with the pirate. When she catches your eye, she offers you some, she even suggests that you add hot sauce to enhance the flavor. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume she was joking, but she isn't.

You decline, and someone else takes your place. Shamane rests a hand on the back of your chair, leaning forward from behind you to reach out and take a small piece of hot sauce covered pancake from Centurion's plate. His voice is booming, happy and energetic, and it remains so even after the combination renders his taste buds useless. You quickly offer your own glass of water and he takes it gladly as another round of laughter begins around the table.

Now that Shamane has indulged in the shenanigans, the children follow suit; Kanjira stands on her chair, offering to try the food as well, but Matilda pulls her down by the arm, shaking her head in both disappointment and genuine concern. Erick is next, then Eagle. It's only when Bunny Bunny threatens to hold off dessert that the table calms down.

On your left, Druvis III sits quietly, enjoying the atmosphere. When you first met her, you assumed her to be the solitary type, preferring the comfort of her trees than a room full of people. But now you understand her a little better. She notices you glancing her way and asks if you slept well, falling into a pleasant conversation with you. She mentions an outing with Sotheby, a small excursion to the wilderness to search for ingredients; if you'd like, you're welcome to join them. This is a genuine sentiment, not an invitation that she extends out of politeness, having been raised among other nobles and aristocrats, an environment in which every little detail came with hidden, ulterior motives. You tell her that you will, if you have time--Spathodea has asked you to spot her while she trains, since Desert Flannel is too busy with her many, many jobs today.

Right! And after that, you might have a mission with Charlie and The Fool! And then, after that, you want to rest before Baby Blue's tea party. Druvis III listens attentively, praising you for having the energy to do so much in so little time. A small voice jumps in, Cristallo informs you that Baby Blue's tea party has been moved--it will happen in two days from now on, after an accident involving Diggers and his bubbles rendered greenhouse unusable, covered in foam and his special bubble solution.

Tooth Fairy gasps ever so gently, like she just remembered something small, like her keys on the table; but she comments on how her instructions, paired with Horropedia's ideas, might have pushed Diggers down the wrong path. Gossip runs fast, and everyone quickly wants to know what sort of shenanigans Tooth Fairy would even entertain in the first place.

There is much on your mind, so many things to notice and look forward to, that you don't notice Erick stealing a strawberry from your plate. When you look out the window, you see the silhouettes of your other friends in the fields or perched by the trees.

A pair of curious eyes land on you.

You look healthier, happier even--a strong contrast to the state you were in when she found you. Vertin smiles, she knows exactly how you feel. It's the same for her, after all.

[whereserpentswalk]

Having fae blood is weird. Being any time of human effected by extra planer beings is weird, but with the fae you have a very specifically odd place in society. You don't even have the privilege of having it been an accident strangers can feel sorry about, you reached out to the faeries, let them play with your body and make it something more than human, it feels better this way, like you were always meant to have become this. You've heard yourself referred to as a changling a lot, but you're not sure you like that term for people touched by the fae, mabye you don't want there to be a term at all.

You're not treated exactly like other people who've been effected by other types of entities, it's not like you've been touched by eldritch magic, or by demonic or divine forces, or made undead, where you're likely to be dehumanized as a monster. People think of you as being cute in a gross way, mabye tragic, like you were a misguided soul who should have been stopped from becoming this way, and now you have to be taken care of. It's hard for people to accept that you should even be allowed to live a normal life. Every time you look up how to deal with aspects of being fae blooded you always see articles for parents dealing with their fae touched children, like they forgot those children will grow up.

People underestimate you in weird ways. People are suprised to learn that you live on your own, that you have an actual job, that you date. People are so willing to help you or to do things for you even when you explicitly tell them not to. The way people talk to every freind your with like they're your handler. Anyone who has power over you will debate weather to let you do things, or do things on your own, it's gotten to the point where your boss and half your professors act like you're a child whose behavior has to be corrected, they don't treat anyone else that way. You've had to explain to people so many times that you're fine handling your weakness to cold iron on your own.

You know that your body and your behavior is a big part of it. You like how you look, but there are so many traits that make people think of you like something small and cute, the flowers that grow in your hair, your big golden eyes, your pointed ears and little goblinoid fangs, the simple fact that your short and slender and androgynous, it all makes people think of you as less of an adult. Not to mention all those little fae quirks that make your behavior so much less human, that make people want to correct you like a misbehaving child. Sometimes you wish you had become creepier, wish you looked like the type of fae creature people need to be afraid of... You would have hated the body you have if it wasn't so euphoric to inhabit it.

Dealing with other demihumans sucks. A lot of them are nice, but it's hard to get some to understand how you're uniquely effected as a fae touched. Like, you understand that there's just some things that you don't go through, like you know someone whose been effected by demons, whose form is something that most people find incredibly scary, the type of creature that some people want to kill. And how can you explain to him that what you go through is just as much of a problem. You were told by an undead once that you were taking away attention from "real" demihumans, just for existing, just for wanting rights.

You've half given up on dating at this point. Your last boyfriend was a fellow demihuman, but he was eldirch touched, twice your hight and with a massive complex mouth filled with sharp teeth, he kept being called a pervert or a predator for dating you, he had to stop just because of that type of judgment. He was a year older than you. A fully human girlfriend you had before him kept treating you like she was your mother. Most people you meet on dating apps think of you as a kink, like a cute submissive little creature they want to dominate, they're so surprised when you don't have the type of fetish that they think is inherent to your being, when you don't think being called slurs is hot. And than there's the fact that people think you shouldn't be allowed to date, if certain laws had passed in your state you wouldn't legally be allowed to consent to sex. You can barely understand how you'd exist with something like that.

You're entire existing is on shaky legal grounds. It's only because of the state that you live in that you can live on your own, in others you would not be granted such privilege. Even still, wizards, the ones that are supposed to help people like you, have so much power over you. If the mage your supposed to visit for potions, someone you're technically paying to see, decides you aren't fit to live alone you lose that right, if they think you need a spell cast on you or a potion given to to "help" with your fae traits there's little you can do to resist. And if they decide you're enough of a harm to yourself, or to someone else (but in your case it's always yourself) they could send you somewhere very dark, somewhere you would only leave if they took mercy on you.

You've been dressing in a stereotypically fae manner more, and using more accommodations. You don't know why but it makes you feel good. You went to a protest the other day, dressed in traditional faerie robes, you got to actually use your magic to fend off a group of counterprotesters, mesmerizing them with illusions, and sending the crows and hornets to your aid. They looked afraid of you and it made you euphoric, you've been seen as a victim for so long, it feels so euphoric to be a monster for once...

[dyns33]

The Big Nice Punisher

I never gave love to Frank and Frank only in a story so I decided to change that

Y/N should have gotten used to it, now that she was friends with Matt, Foggy and Karen.

It had happened several times that the devil of Hell's Kitchen had knocked on her window to ask for a medical kit since she knew his secret, even if the fool preferred to die in a trash rather than ask his friends for help.

It had taken everyone's intervention to force him to admit that he had a problem, and that he could count on them if he wasn't being chased by an army of ninjas.

More than stubborn, his priority was above all to ensure that he did not bring any danger into their home.

Karen wasn't Matt.

She didn't want her friends to be in danger either, but her moral compass was visibly broader, and allowed her to do more things.

Like coming to Y/N with the Punisher losing a lot of blood, asking if she could hide him for a few days and make sure he was still breathing.

Y/N had followed Frank Castle's trial on television, like the whole city. She had heard about all the people he had killed, but also the people he had saved. She had heard what happened to his wife and children. And above all, she had read in all the newspapers that he was dead.

“Can you explain to me or are you going to tell me it’s better if I know as little as possible ?” she asked as she helped Karen place him on her couch.

"Actually, I don't know. I found him like this when I came home from work. Your apartment was closer, excuse me. He doesn't want a hospital, for obvious reasons, and I was afraid he wouldn't manage to get to my place."

"Okay. Just promise me he won't jump on me when he wakes up."

“Frank is very nice, don’t worry.”

'Nice' probably wouldn't have been the first word Y/N, or anyone, would have used when talking about the Punisher, but Karen was pretty good at judging people, and that was out of the question to leave him to die anyway.

Even if she managed to see the good in him, it still seemed a bit exaggerated and even very optimistic that Karen would decide to leave Frank Castle unconscious in a stranger's house. She took the time to write a little note, telling Y/N that she could show him if he didn't trust her, but repeating that everything would be fine.

If he didn't have a reason to hurt her, he wouldn't hurt her. Really very reassuring.

Sure enough, the Punisher woke up in a panic as Y/N was making dinner, looking around with wary eyes and grimacing when he saw her. His first instinct was not to attack her but to try to flee, but his injury did not allow him to reach the door, his path ending in the middle of the living room.

“Karen warned me this would happen.” Y/N sighed, hesitating to put down her knife.

"Who are you ? Where am I ? Where is Karen ?"

“In order, I'm Y/N, you're at my house, and Karen had a job emergency so I'm babysitting for her.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” he groaned, holding his leg.

"Look, you don't want to be here, I'm not really happy about it either, but if you let me help you, you can leave quickly."

"I'm leaving now."

"Oh, no way ! I promised Karen I wouldn't let you die and I feel like you're just as stupid as Matt, so you're going to rest your ass on the couch, you're going to eat, then I'll see if you haven't reopened your wound !'

"… Yes Ma'am."

The terrible Punisher then began to look like a little lost dog, speaking little and accepting the plate that Y/N offered him, thanking her with a nod, his big black eyes following her as soon as she moved in the room.

He insisted that he could take care of his leg, but just one look made him shut up again, letting Y/N do what she wanted, since he obviously had no choice.

"I'm not a doctor, but between your broken ribs, the bullet that was in your leg, and the other marks on your body, I will say that it would be best for you to rest for a few days before you start punishing people again."

“No time to wait.”

"That wasn't a suggestion, doctor's orders."

“You just said you’re not a doctor.” he said with a smirk.

“I’ll tie you to the bed if I have to.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

In the end, his leg was causing him too much pain and Karen had forbidden him to move over the phone, it was decided that Frank Castle would stay with Y/N ​​for at least a week. He seemed to be the most annoyed by the situation.

Both women were right about him : he was nice, and he was like Matt. He didn't like asking for help, and he was afraid of putting innocent people in danger by his mere presence.

Yes, he had tried to find Karen when he was injured, but Karen knew how to defend herself, and he would have found a way to convince her to let him go. He didn’t know Y/N. He didn't like the idea of ​​intruding into her home, into her life, into her world, even if Red wasn't far away.

"I also know how to defend myself if necessary, Mr. Castle."

"Of course Miss. And it's Frank."

“I can do the dishes by myself too, Frank.”

“I have no doubt about that, but I’m squatting on your couch, it’s the least I can do.”

A week might not seem like much, but aside from her colleagues and the trio, Y/N didn't see many people. This daily proximity to Frank made the atmosphere strange.

He always spoke little, almost never about himself, hiding his wounds like a proud animal, but being interested in her, not missing an opportunity to help her around the apartment as a sign of gratitude, and listening to her talk about her days with patience and sympathy.

It was almost difficult when his condition allowed him to leave. They had gotten used to each other and the separation gave them as much pleasure as their meeting.

Still looking like a puppy who didn't know how to behave, Frank gave her his number, just in case, taking hers if he needed to check on her. He wouldn't call her for a favor, it wasn't like him.

Obviously, his style was to stop giving any news at all and to completely disappear from people's lives.

Y/N could try to understand. He was dead in the eyes of society, he had a complicated past, his main occupation was murdering criminals… But all the same, a little message from time to time wasn't complicated.

The worst part was that he was in contact with Karen. Her friend seemed surprised that he hadn't contacted her. According to her, Frank loved her very much.

"He's shy, that stupid man. I'll tell him to call you."

"No, that's not necessary. I'm glad to know he's okay."

"Don't be ridiculous, you want to talk. He also asked me about you, I should have known he would do that."

Y/N probably should have too, but because in hindsight she didn't see why someone like Frank Castle would want to keep in touch with her. She had been useful, nothing more. Next to Karen, beautiful, intelligent Karen who he had known for a long time, Y/N didn't stand a chance.

There was also his family, for whom he had sacrificed everything. If he was only "friends" with Karen, there had to be a reason and that was because he refused to betray his dead wife.

This enchanted parenthesis of a week had been nothing other than a parenthesis.

It was stupid to be so sad for a man she had only seen for a week. And yet, Y/N was sad. So sad that she didn't pay attention to the time while having a drink at Josie's.

No doubt she forgot that despite the presence of Daredevil, Hell's Kitchen remained a dangerous place. Matt couldn't be everywhere.

So it wouldn't have been a surprise when she was followed by two guys, who cornered her in an alley and threatened her with a knife so that she would give them her bag. Then one of them looked at her with a funny look and licked his lips, and she tried to run away.

Before they could touch her, the first one had his head smashed against the wall. The other screamed, trying to defend himself with his knife, but the weapon ended up in his leg, and he was knocked out with a punch.

Slowly so as not to frighten her further, Frank helped her up, checking her for injuries and returning her things.

"Are you alright ?"

"Yes. I was careless."

“Not your fault, sweetheart.”

"I guess we're even now." she tried to joke, while sobbing. Y/N hoped he would think it was because of the shock, and not because she thought she wouldn't see him again afterwards.

This didn't make him laugh. He looked at her with his sad, worried eyes, shyly rubbing her shoulder as he listened to her breathing, waiting for her to calm down.

Then still without a word, he took out his coat to put it on her shoulders before walking her home.

There, he only left her when she was sitting on the sofa, to go get her a glass of water, letting go of it when he was sure she was holding it well, and remaining kneeling on the floor right next to her.

"… Karen said you were angry. Because I didn't call." he whispered, his eyes stopping from staring at her for a second.

"Karen is talking nonsense. I'm a big girl, and you owed me nothing. Nothing at all. I was happy to help you, and stupid to think that… Thanks for saving me. You don't have to stay."

Silence returned, but Frank didn't move. He stayed until she finished her glass, then until she was done shaking and crying, his hand never leaving hers.

But he still didn't move. And in that moment, Y/N wondered if he too had been disappointed when their week together was over.

Maybe Karen was right, he was shy, and he didn't want to put her in danger by staying in contact with her. As stubborn and insufferable as Matthew. And also nice. Why else would he have been there to protect her ?

"It's not a good idea." he suddenly muttered, closing his eyes.

"What ?"

Frank sighed, seeing that she might cry again. He could have left right away, because he didn't think his presence was a good idea, and probably he was right. No doubt it was ridiculous to love the Punisher.

But continuing to mutter, he stood up slightly, pressing his forehead against hers. Now he held both hers hands, looking desperate, opening pleading eyes.

He couldn't stay, but that didn't mean he didn't want to more than anything in the world.

"It's not a good idea." he repeated, however, as if to force himself to move, to remember his course of action, and he was quickly on his feet, ready to leave.

“Frank…”

"No."

“Frank…”

The door was closed as quickly as it had been opened and in an instant Frank was there again, kissing her like a thirsty man who had just found an oasis in the middle of the desert.

But the moment was furtive, almost a mirage, because the soldier quickly shook his head, swearing and saying again that it really wasn't a good idea, before fleeing the apartment.

Y/N could have been mad at him for that. But she was too busy touching hers lips, thinking that if he had kissed her against his principles, maybe Frank Castle loved her enough to come back.

This idea stayed with her, after she received a message just before going to sleep. Simple message, which made her smile.

"I was happy too. You're not stupid. Good night."

Yes, they would probably see each other again. In secret, at times when she wouldn't expect to find him in her apartment. But she was a bit used to Matt, Foggy and Karen. This wouldn't be a problem at all.