#HES MEAN FALLS TO FLOOR SLASH POSITIVE

[daydreams-after-dark]

What's your fanfic fantasy? part 1

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Chapter Contents.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11 // Part 12 // Part 13 // Part 14 //

Pairing: fem reader + Chan + Jisung

This is an AU story about Chan bringing your fantasies to life... but what happens when boyfriends Chan and Han fall in love with you?

Chapter Summary: You're enjoying a drink with Chan until he starts asking about the smut you read.

Warnings: This first installment has no sex (but the next is fully sex including a threesome!) but talks about sexually explicit content, fantasies, references to sex and masturbation, explicit language, eventual threesome in next installment.

You sit on the leather lounge really confused about how the conversation ended up here.

“So… “ Chan starts, “do you enjoy reading them?” he smirks as he asks this.

He is such a cheeky bastard.

He isn't talking about stories in the media, or news articles, or interviews. Nope. He is talking about erotic fan fiction. Smut. About him. About him and his rock band SKZ. And that you've been reading it.

You have known Chan for a long time. Years now. You'd met on a creative project. You're musicians, and have often worked creatively together on and off for a few years. You were so excited when Chan invited you to his holiday/work retreat to work on a new project with him and a few of the guys from the band for a couple of weeks.

You're staying in a beautiful holiday home, more like a mansion really, on the coast overlooking the ocean. It’s a sight to die for.

Chan loved to work. He worked all day. He worked well into the night. He worked all the time actually. A workaholic. You wonder if you would get to let your hair down, and just hang out, which usually ends up with you bantering and laughing together for hours.

You didn’t have to wonder for long. It's your first day here, and it hasn’t taken long before you've hit “banter territory”. In fact it has now moved beyond “banter territory” and into some unknown, and quite frankly scary, uncharted territory, and you don’t have a map for this particular terrain.

Even though nothing has ever happened between you and Chan, and likely never will, you often seem to end up flirting. Hinting at things in a fun, non serious way. But never taking it further (although your mind has drifted much further than you'd ever admit).

Chan’s a safe flirt. Which means he makes you feel safe enough to push the envelope without a sense of awkwardness or feeling a need to take action or follow through. You seem to just prick tease really.

It’s just fun and games right? Right? It was always… cheeky and lighthearted and absolutely never serious.

Until now.

You feel flustered and a little sweaty. You try to shift in your seat to get more comfortable and to ease the sense of your legs feeling like your circulation has been cut off, but the leather couch is sticking to your legs. You shouldn’t have worn a mini skirt. A uneasiness builds up inside of you.

You pick up your sparkling water from the leather upholstered chaise-slash-coffee table and take a big sip, biding your time before you answer.

You're sitting in one of the living areas that that has a big floor to ceiling window that takes advantage of the ocean view. It’s getting dark out there now.

Chan sits on a second leather coach to your right where he is waiting for you to speak. You bring your attention back to his question “do you enjoy reading them?”

You'd been talking about the fandom and some of the thirst tweets and naughty edits that are out there about his rock band SKZ, and somehow the conversation escalated into how you had read some of the fan made fiction about the group.

You wish you hadn’t even mentioned that you read smut. Why did you do that? You were only going to tease him about the situations, positions and activities that he and his band members have been involved in, fictitiously of course.

Unfortunately for you the teasing hasn’t had the desired effect, and the tables have been turned on you. Instead of making him go red, or teasing him about it, and having a giggle - in the safe zone of “banter territory” - you were the one blushing while his expression had turned dark and devious.

You look him in the eyes to see if you can read his thoughts.

He is still waiting for your answer.

He is still smirking at you. Fuck. This is so awkward.

“Well …?” he raises an eyebow. “do you enjoy reading them?” he repeats himself. You actually have to answer him then? What the fuck do you say?

You're not quite sure whether to give a lighthearted response and shift the conversation to something more… vanilla, or match him with the dark, sinister vibe. Or, you could just be honest and nonchalant, and act like it’s no big deal. Yeah you might go with that. You're an adult after all.

“Well, yeah I do actually.” you say matter-of-factly, completely disregarding the dark look in his eyes. You think you've come off calm and unaffected by his energy, but on the inside you're burning up with embarrassment, or is it shame? Or something else?

You want to hide. You realise you're holding your breath and you do your best to exhale gently and calmly.

Chan puts his drink down, a simple coke, on the coffee table-chaise and sits back on the leather couch. His skinny ripped jeans are so very tight and his legs are parted a little bit too wide for polite chit chat. How fucking rude! He’s playing games with you.

It surprises you when you a feel dull ache in your core. You want to be pissed off at his confidence, not turned on. Why does this dark energy seem so alluring? This isn’t the Chan you're used to, and you have a feeling this situation is going to become less polite by the minute. You're not sure how it’s going to pan out, but you're terrified. Or are you? You can’t quite tell if this is terror or anticipation, or - arousal?

He brings a hand to his chin as though deep in thought, rubbing his fingers against his lips, and not taking his eyes off you for even a second. Then he nods his head as if he has just made a decision with himself. Is he is having as much inner dialogue as you are right now?

“Tell me more?” He coaxes, his voice is low and deep.

Tell him more? Shit. What are you supposed to say? That you lay in bed reading about how he and his best friends suck each other off and rail each other in the ass? And then you touch yourself over it as you imagine you're there actually watching it? Or that you imagine each of them inside of you while the others watch?

Is that what he wants to hear?

You cross your legs hoping the tension will go away, but all it does is intensify the feeling.

No, absolutely not. This is too far. You can’t tell him more. You won’t tell him. It’d be too… vulnerable. Intimate. You shake your head.

“No,” you start. “I don’t think we should keep talking about this.” You sigh and look at him pleadingly. But the look in his eyes tell you he isn’t going to let this slide. And part of you doesn’t want him to either. If you're honest, you're scared, embarrassed and want to run and hide, but part of you does want to tell him, to confess to him, see his reaction. What would he say? What would he do? You wanted to know. You needed to know.

Despite your resolve to say nothing, you open your mouth ready to blurt it all out anyway.

“You’re right.” Chan cuts you off, and some of that darkness shifts from his eyes. He grins his cheeky fucking grin at you and you feel that sense of kindness and friendliness he has return just a little bit.

But..

Your heart sinks. Why do you feel disappointed?

“It’s none of my business what you enjoy reading”. He chuckles filling his glass up with more coke. “I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward. We can change the subject.” Chan leans forward to peer closer to you, the room has gotten so dark and only a few lamp lights are illuminating the room in a soft glow.

“I’m sorry.” he says with pleading eyes. “I was just curious, you know?” He leans back again. “This is kind of an area that I don’t know anything about you in”.

“Chan,” you exasperate, “It’s normal for people to not know other people’s fantasies!”

You clasp your hand over your mouth. You've said too much.

“Fantasies? No one mentioned fantasies.” He’s caught you out. Chan’s devious eyes are back but it’s coupled with a devious grin too. Doubly dangerous. “Hmm..” he pretends to ponder “so let me get this straight. You read the dirty fiction and then fantasize about it happening to you? Or,” he takes a sip of his drink. “you make up your own little scenarios of my boys filling you up and fucking you senseless?”

“Chan!” You're shocked at how accurate his accusation actually is. And equally shocked how your body is responding. You're thankful it’s dark because you're pretty sure your nipples are rock hard. You're also thankful he is hasn’t outrightly asked if you fantasize about him.

So much for changing the subject.

“Do you?” he knows he almost has you admitting everything to him.

You tip your head back and let out a sigh.

“Fine. I’ll tell you more. Then you can fucking stop being so pushy and move on.”

Chan claps his hands together excitedly. “Right then”, he says and excitedly shuffles over a little closer to you. You feel like you should get him some god damned popcorn.

“You’re right. I read the stories, I touch myself, and I imagine my own scenarios.” You flail your hand around in some weird gesture and try to keep the explanation as minimal as possible, surely he doesn’t need to know actual details.

Chan waits for you to elaborate. Apparently he does need to know more details.

You roll your eyes. “And yes, I imagine them filling me up and fucking me senseless." you finish.

He looks satisfied that you've admitted it, and proud too, like his boys had actually had sex with you and that it was somehow thanks to him. “Except..” you start. What are you doing?

Chan looks at you curiously. “Except? Except what?”

You hesitate but decide to continue. “Except, even though he is so fucking hot and he’s the best drummer I’ve seen, and so very sexy, and his lips are just delicious, no matter how hard I try, and even though I want to so badly, I can’t seem to envision Jisung inside of me!” you confess.

Oh my god, what did you just say?

You look to Chan to see what his reaction is. He looks amused but mildly distracted. His gaze keeps shifting over your shoulder ever so slightly even though his attention and words are directed at you.

“So what you are saying is,” he focuses his eyes back on you. “that you can’t picture Jisung fucking you?” He smirks and leans back against the back of the couch resuming the confident lazy posture he had earlier.

You swear he’s hard, his pants seem a little too tight and you can see a bulge protruding, fighting against his pants. But it’s too dark to really tell, and perhaps your imagination is getting the better of you. You wonder what it would feel like to straddle his lap and grind against him, to make him harder and to relieve this tension building up in your body.

“Do you want to?” Chan jolts you back to reality, his attention is one hundred percent back on you, but something feels off.

“Huh?” You stare blankly, taking your eyes off the bulge in his pants.

“Do you want to be able to imagine Jisung fucking you?” he repeats casually, but dead serious.

Do you want to imagine Jisung fucking you? You consider what might be the thing getting in the way of you being able to picture it. Is it that he seems so young and fun that you can’t see him taking charge and being aggressive, and maybe that’s what you're into? You can’t really put your finger on it. All you know is you do want to imagine Jisung inside of you, fucking you. Well yeah, of course. Who wouldn’t? How was admitting it to Chan going to help?

“Yes,” you declare anyway. Really! What are you doing?  “and it’s so fucking annoying.” you add. Your throat is so dry, but elsewhere you're beginning to feel a little wet.

Amusement washes over Chan’s face and his eyes dart over your shoulder again.

You swallow hard even though your throat feels like a hard lump, but before you can do or say anything, Chan leans in close to your ear. His breath is hot against your neck and cheek. Fuck he’s close. Fuck he smells good.

You hold your breath waiting for Chan to speak. He lingers for what feels like forever.

“Jisung thinks that’s so fucking annoying too.” It was barely a whisper. He pulls away from your ear and gestures behind you. “Don’t you, Jisung?”

Your heart suddenly pounds so hard you think it’s going to fling out of your chest. Your jaw drops and dread begins to take over you. You feel hot and dizzy. You snap your head in the direction of Chan’s gaze only to be met with Jisung standing in the doorway. The dread intensifies and you're filled with shame. You want to hide.

Fuck.

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@rylea08 @channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @kangnina @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @wolfennracha @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @rixenluv sorry if you’ve been tagged again, I am having issues to tagging again.

[clonemando]

@blackat-t7t Here is your Fox/Thorn H/C with a cuddle pile at the end. Enjoy.

There was a ringing snap as the old rusted barrier along the walkway gave out under the weight of a fully armored trooper crashing into it and Thorn watched as Fox’s gaze met his own wide with fear before he was falling backward over the edge. Thorn dove for him with a scream but his fingers barely brushed over Fox’s chestplate before his partner was gone swallowed up by the dark depths of Coruscant’s seemingly endless levels the same way many cadets ended up swallowed by Kamino’s waves.

For a moment he just stared feeling a void echoing the one he was staring at being torn open in his chest. Then Rex’s voice broke him from his daze.

“I didn’t mean- I didn’t- Thorn I- Fox-” He struggled to get anything out, horror replacing the rage that had been on his expression just minutes earlier as he corned them on their patrol to yell at Fox for avoiding him.

“You didn’t mean to kill him? Like he meant to kill Fives you mean? Well, you did. Guess you’re the brother killer now, Rex. Congratulations on your revenge.” Thorn said, voice level and empty as he watched Rex flinch and step back.

“What- What do we do now? Do we call-” Rex started eyes flickering around as if looking for some sort of help.

“Call who Rex? The Guard? I am the Guard and there’s nothing I can do now. He’s gone. He’s not a person, there won’t be an investigation. He’s not the first we lost over an edge and he won’t be the last and there’s never anything to do. You just… finish your patrol. Report the lost republic property to the Chancellor and put a few troopers on double shifts until we can get a replacement from Kamino.” He said starting to walk again. He had to finish his patrol. He was already late now and Fox would be upset if Thorn got himself punished for being late.

“You can’t just… just keep working! Shouldn’t you call Thire or something? There’s bereavement leave. The Kaminoans even approved it to keep their products at their most effective. The Jedi-” Rex started as he followed Thorn and finally he snapped.

“If you have forgotten, the Guard doesn’t have a Jedi. We had Fox. That’s it! We had Fox and he could only get us so much because he’s not considered a person either! Now we don’t even have him and we will all need to take triple shifts to cover all the stuff he has been shouldering on our behalf! I don’t have anyone available to cover this patrol. That’s why Fox and I were doing it. We just lost three shinies to senators and a full team was wiped out in a gang raid the week before. We don’t get things like leave or whatever the kriff bereavement is. The Guard belongs to the Senate, the Jedi abandoned us, just like you GAR bucketheads. So kriff off and go cry to your jedi for your extra days off and let me take care of my family. You’ve done enough Rex.” He spat darkly before turning on his heel and continuing his patrol. Rex didn’t follow him this time.

He raised his wrist to access his coms after another ten minutes.

“This is Commander Thorn reporting a 9-12 slash D. Commander Fox was lost to faulty railing in Sector 12-A. We will discuss promotions and schedule changes at the dawn shift change. As his second the Marshal position falls to me now. Carry on with your duties.” He murmured numbly before letting his arm fall and continuing to move on autopilot almost hoping the Separatists would chose to attack now so he’d have an excuse to shoot something. But the rest of the patrol was quiet.

~

Fox was exhausted. He had spent the last two days slogging through filth and fighting off the weird pollution corrupted creatures that prowled the lowest levels just to make his way to the closest working lift. Then he had to sit on the floor listening to the worst possible sort of music as he slowly ascended out of the dark toward his family and home. His arm was definitely broken and Shark was going to shoot him up with every hypo they had with complaints about the bite wounds he had getting infected but Fox was pretty sure he had gotten off easy.

He couldn’t explain how he was alive. The concussion made it hard to think straight but even with that he knew he had to have fallen at least 100 levels if not more. But at the last minute something had caught him and slowed his fall enough the injuries were survivable. He didn’t really take stock in the Jedi’s fancy force shit but maybe there was something out there looking out for him.

Once he was above the com-cut line where they lost signal to their coms he immediately reached out. “This is Commander Fox. I am injured and will need a medic and pick up from the lift in Sector 12-D, could someone also bring me some caff? I’m kriffing tired.” He grumbled into the line and smiled when it immediately started blowing up, resting his head against the side of the lift and letting his family’s furies and delighted voices wash over him like a warm blanket.

“Cut the chatter! Fox, Shark and I will be waiting for you once you reach the top. I… It’s good to hear from you but you have a lot of explaining on how you’re alive.” Thorn’s voice finally cut in and Fox’s smile grew.

“You’re going to be waiting until the Senate turns for that answer my rose, I have no kriffing clue. Woke up at the bottom with a concussion, broken arm and some jostled ribs but I was able to drag myself up and start walking to the lift not too long after the fall.” He sighed not even realizing he had used his pet name for Thorn until the line filled with cooing from the rest of the guard.

Fox passed out not long after that and only woke up again when Thorn was lifting him out of the elevator and onto a hover-cot and Shark started cursing him out. He squeezed Thorn’s hand then passed out again.

He flickered in and out of consciousness a few more times before finally waking up feeling better than he had felt in years. Blinking open his arms he was unsurprised to find Thorn plastered to his side and Hound using his stomach as a pillow. Shark must have allowed them to take him to the barracks at some point because he was laid out in the middle of the three mattresses they had shoved together at the beginning of the war so they could all sleep together and he was buried under his Guard.

“I thought… I thought you were gone for good. I thought I lost you.” Thorn’s voice was soft with fear and sleep and Fox ran his fingers through the long blond curls.

“Told you I was too stubborn to die. Can’t get rid of me that easily. I still have to scare the Senate into giving us rights so I can marry you one day.” He said with a small smile and Thorn sighed.

“While you were gone I shot the Chancellor. We’ve been dressing up in his robes and pretending he’s got the cornellian flu until we figure out what else to do but now you’re back it’s your problem. I’m taking a thing Rex told me was called bereavement.” Thorn said and Fox’s eyes opened fully from where he had started drifting off again.

“YOU DID WHAT?! THORN! I was gone two days!” He shrieked.

“He implied you were better off dead and I was in mourning. There’s scientific data proving making people work through grief lowers productivity. It’s not my fault!” Thorn whined and nuzzled his face in Fox’s neck while Fox tried to wiggle free but he couldn’t move from how he was buried under so many siblings.

“I’m going to kill you once I’m free. I’m going to kill all of you!” He growled but they all ignored him in favor of continuing their nap.

[contentloadingandstuff]

Mortuarius - Chapter V

Watcher's eyes flicker with both anticipation and nerves as he carefully attaches the necessary wires, fastening the small, unmarked gemstone to the host body’s spine. He slowly wraps the belts around the column, making sure to tighten them between the vertebrae for the most stability. The polished Shivada Jade shines with promise in the yellowish light of his workshop. 

“I have secured the Delusion to the vessel. Inserting core module, now.” He opens a small belt pouch with his off hand and draws a small, purple crystal from within. 

The skeleton can sense the restlessness of his subordinate’s soul secured within. With a smooth movement he inserts it into the metal frame of the core, stapled to the solar plexus from within. Almost instantly upon unlocking the safety lock it spasms, its eyes blazing with white light. 

Watcher takes a step back, allowing the other liche to slowly rise into a sitting position, and then stand up. 

“I report the mobility to be in order, master.” She flicks her wrists, jumps up and continues to perform test stretches as she speaks. 

“Good.” Within the corner of his eye Watcher spots his assistant, diligently noting every occurrence and procedure. He takes a step back for safety, giving the experiment more area. “Testing Necro conduction.” The female liche stretches out her arm and snaps her fingers. Where a part of the room was once visible, now, in her palm, was a small void - a spot of necrotic energy. She extinguishes it and summons it once more before slashing her hand at an empty wall. A thin, blade-like wave of Necro shoots out and clashes harmlessly against the thick stone. “Necro conduction - check.” 

The assistant notes, and Watcher nods. “Proceed.” “Testing elemental conduction of the Delusion.” She focuses again, only showing with a light flicker of her irises. Slowly, Cryo energy starts to cover her hand with white frost.

Suddenly, a loud crack and a white flash fill the room. Everybody steps back as the researcher’s hand violently cracks, sending arcs of Necro flying through her vessel, sending it into spasms. After a few blinks of their long-gone eyes the skeleton falls limp on the floor, its right arm thoroughly fried by the energy. 

Disappointment is thick in the air. 

“Test failed.” Watcher approaches the remains and, using his ivory cane, turns it over to get a better angle on the limb. It’s cracked all over, the radius is broken, the wires holding the hand in shape have all but melted, scattering the smaller bones all across the floor. The entire construct is a mass of charred bone and melted copper wires. There is no light in the eye sockets of the skeleton. “It appears that, no matter the materials, wiring cannot be used to transfer main elements.” He aims his cane at the left side of the burnt ribcage and strikes it, continuing until the bones give out. Gently, Watcher turns the remnants to uncover the core which, much to his positive surprise, is still intact. The undamaged soul stone within shines with purple light. Watcher leans down and, making sure to avoid contact with anything but the lid, cracks it open. The isolation wires within have melted, protecting the gemstone.  “It seems that the core survived. As stated the wiring has melted, closing the conduit. Congratulations to the Engineering Board.” Watcher stands up and turns back towards his human assistant. Their face is almost as pale as his polished bones. “However this failure concludes our tests.” The mortal scribbles it down, and then looks back up at him. “What should I write in the commentary, master?” Watcher gathers his thoughts and answers in a cold, almost resigned tone. “Write verbatim: With our current means and considering the necessities of a combat-ready design, I conclude that Delusions cannot be adapted to be utilized by vessels at the moment.” The man nods and Watcher turns around to the other members of his team. “Clean the chamber and return Daria to her original vessel. We are done here.” Without another word, he heads for the exit, his subordinates parting before him. Watcher wastes no time and upon leaving the test chamber he turns right and takes off towards the storage room. There was work waiting for him. He requested the quartermasters responsible for managing looted Delusions to provide him with a selection of those that seemed to be altered. Perhaps, he hoped, they could trace those back to their owners who would know how to modify them, and to know how to modify them they would have to know how they worked in the first place. 

But the Fatui were tight-fisted with their secrets. The ordinary soldier had no idea how his regular equipment functioned - Umbra had to search for technicians specifically to simply know what kind of gunpowder they were using. Finding someone who took part in manufacturing Delusions - true Delusions, not the rudimentary trash that is being sold to Watatsumi Island - would be a greater challenge for certain, but one that must be tackled. These fake Visions, although inferior to their natural counterparts, were an immense asset for the Fatui. Their holders didn’t have to be granted the Gods’ favor, research for decades or bind their soul to a Bearer and risk oblivion to become elemental wielders. Such a feat could, for the moment, only be achieved by a handful of liches that have devoted their afterlives to just that goal. Their numbers were miniscule and the amount of elemental affinity they possessed was only on-par with basic Delusions, making them a little more than worthless. 

However long it took, however many Fatui they had to kill, torture, bribe or imprison, The Great One would one day be presented with the schematics, thoroughly soaked in blood of Tsarica’s marionettes. 

The sight of his destination takes him out of his thoughts and back to the task at hand. The guard by the door salutes Watcher as he enters, placing his right arm on his chestplate with the fist tightened. The liche doesn’t bother to acknowledge this gesture - the sentry is not sentient anyway. 

The room is well lit with the yellow light customary for Umbra. Along the smooth stone brick walls are many shelves, heavy with various boxes and crates. Within them was everything that has been recently looted during operations in the mainland or acquired in another way and brought to Umbra on demand. He rummages around his pockets and retrieves a slip of paper, the symbols “E43” written on it with black ink. He quickly looks over the numbers on the shelf labeled with the matching letter and soon finds a medium, wooden box numbered forty-three. Watcher carries it over to the work desk, currently vacant, cracks the container open and gets to work. 

Inside the box are more boxes, this time made of cardboard. Watcher picks one at random and pulls it out. He draws a cutter from the nearby rack and makes quick work of the tape keeping it closed. A handwritten note is revealed to him - authored by the undead he asked to obtain these Delusions. 

This particular one, as stated in the tag, contains unusual colorations on the gemstone. Watcher reaches inside the storage and picks up the stone in question, bringing it up towards the lamps on the ceiling. The light shining through the purple rock does indeed reveal a shimmering, soft green spot within. He turns it around on various sides and, much to his disappointment, finds the shape to be round - perfectly natural. Such gemstones are those that happen to become polluted with the energy of another element, thus becoming an eye-catching-but-useless crafting material.

He tosses it back into the box and reaches for the next package. 

The note states the Delusion contained within gives off unusual readings. 

Very helpful, he thinks as he discards the tag and takes the contents of the box into his hand. Watcher focuses, the world around him soon becoming vibrant with elemental marks of the objects around him. On the gray backdrop of his iron table, the Delusion’s Varunada Lazurite shines a deep blue color… except for one, small line within. 

If his eyebrows were still there, one would certainly be raised now. 

A closer examination reveals the line to resemble a spike - it is thin towards the middle, getting progressively wider as it nears the stone’s outer layer. The decorative casing blocks it from sight, so it is quickly removed as curiosity pulses through his core. 

Indeed, there is a small dot of Electro on the outside. It’s unnaturally blocky for simple pollution to be the case. He clears his mind to return his sight to normal. There is no color gradient around the Electro intrusion, proving that it was everything but natural. 

A modification. A different gemstone has been inserted into the Delusion. The intrusion would surely result in the wielder being electrocuted upon usage, but the effects of the change matter not - he has a lead, something he desired for a time longer than he would like. 

The Watcher turns his attention back to the paper. He skims over the various technical data down to the reported owner of the stone. 

“Alnico Snezhevich.” He mutters with satisfaction. 

Not a moment passes until the name is penned on an order sheet and placed into an envelope. Watcher rips off the protective seal and presses it together, securing the order inside. He calls an assistant. 

The liche taps his skeletal fingers on the desk as he awaits response. Now that moments have passed, his rare excitement gives way to his usual, sad realism. After all, the majority of these Delusions were orphaned after their owners’ untimely and assisted demise. Sending out whole teams specifically to capture these items would be a waste of resources. Besides, killing and capturing were two different matters entirely, with the latter carrying significantly higher risk. They tried it before, only to find that the average user has as much idea about how it works as a flash-risen skeleton has about necromancy. The Fatui kept their secret in a tight fist. 

But if The Great One demands so, then his will shall be done, even if it means breaking that fist and prying the designs from Fatui's cold, dead hands. 

The skeleton comes in and Watcher passes him the note without sparing a glance. That pawn was only one of many potential leads.

As he turns back to his desk, the order leaves the room in the envoy's hand. 

It travels through the brightly lit, cold corridors of the Department of Engineering. It passes between rushing secretaries, strolling officers and various members of the general staff manning the polished stone walls of the building. It is left on a desk when it will be passed down the command chain to the grim undertakers in the field. The journey is interrupted, however, by an unfamiliar, solid hand. A glance at the signature on the envelope decides its fate. On quick feet, the officer makes his way further down the corridor and knocks on a heavy, mahogany door. 

“Come in.” The voice from within beckons. 

The officer straightens out his bandages and opens the door. Through the choking gauze covering his redundant eyes he can see the set up of cards that occupies the dark desk, the centerpiece of his superior's office. Three figures clad in Adarian uniforms stare up at him with palpable irritation at the sudden interruption of their game, each holding their hand of cards. The soldier turns back to the black-clad skeleton before him. The letter is discreetly exchanged for a small pouch without delay, followed by a salute and the younger undead’s departure. 

Waltz closes the door and turns around to face the room. 

“Forgive me, gentlemen, for the disruption.” Waltz reads the signature on the order and takes his place back by the table. “But it seems that somebody's working overtime today.” 

He shows his colleagues the sender. The name sends murmurs of curiosity through the room. Waltz requests a blade with a motion of the hand, and is soon thrown a dedicated letter opener. 

The officer takes a moment to examine the item. The blade has recently been sharpened, evident by the small, black dust still sticking to the edge. On the metal, bright silver from careful polishing, Waltz can see his expressionless skull. Golden lining guides the metal into a hilt crafted out of some animal’s horn. 

Waltz hums in approval. It's almost a shame to use such a fine item for something as mundane as cutting paper, but alas - it is its function. After a theatrical clearing of his long-gone throat, he reads out loud. 

“Institute order. High priority. Capture of Alnico Snezhevich. Effective immediately.”

His card partner, an elder liche by the name of Radny, scoffs. “Does The Librarian have nothing better to do nowadays than chasing orphans?”

An unliving contradiction - that's what he was. Radny, unlike many of his peers, somehow managed to hold off the inevitable erosion that plagued the older castes of Umbra. Liches of his age usually preferred to retreat to their study and read - or simply meditate to pass time, but he was different. One could say that his death was his second youth, filled with risk, betting, bowling, cards and other forms of entertainment unfitting his veterancy. It was Radny that organized these evenings of whist and gossip, and it was he who allowed Waltz to comfortably weave his own web of connections in the Commission. 

For that, he was grateful. Or he would be if these weren't as frequent and as necessary for paving his path up the chain of command. Yet, as they say, you ought to hate the game, not the player. 

Titus, the bandage wrapped Head of Ground Operations, chimes in. “Perhaps he ran out of whims of the Fly Lord to attend to, like the pusher he is. Too bad daddy can't get him any higher.”

Waltz nods his head in approval. Unlike in the favoriting Sunqian Institute of Progress, The Adarian State Commission valued those whose skills and value went beyond that of mere entertainment for its patron. Unlike Adarū, the Fly Lord seemed to care more for amusement than any major development for the cause as a whole - aside from the projects that he personally took an interest in. Those at the top were either used in forwarding his current interests or were nothing more than playthings - after all, Sunqū was known to be a capricious entity, giving out his favor to only those that could beg pathetically enough to make his ancient spirit flicker with an imperceivable smile.

This corruption - if befitting the patron of disease - made a mockery of the Institute in his eyes. Logically, the higher the rank, the bigger the competences of the individual. But unlike his own patron, Sunqū was egotistically focused on his vision of history. The Commission was gathering resources which the Institute was wasting. 

Whatever value this Alnico had, it would certainly be better utilized by Adarū to actually forward the Dethroning instead of being used on a whim and discarded afterwards. 

“And why would Watcher even need this mortal for?” Titus continues. “There's nothing they can do that we can't.”

“Except for Delusions, that is.” Radny adds. 

Titus nods. Quartermaster Sobek, occupying the fourth seat by the table, shakes his head and scoffs.

“And tell me would we even need those in the first place, why don't you?” Sobek collects the cards scattered on the table and begins shuffling them with a gambler’s agility. “We could invest our time and resources into something more worthwhile. Portal technology to name just one.” “If, my friends, the command wants Delusions, then it is reason enough for us to seek them out.” Waltz twirls the letter opener in his hand. “You do not bite the hand that pays.” “Yeah. I suppose so.” Sobek mutters. Waltz’s hand closes around the knife a little tighter as he hears the approval. 

A slacker - that’s who Sobek was. But it wasn’t surprising considering that he was a Sumerian - a man of the desert. What a shame he was good at managing the corps. If Waltz was in charge, he’d certainly dispose of the camel jockey - simply for having been a mercenary. He didn’t quite understand how so much trust and responsibility can be placed into such greedy and visionless hands. His destiny was coin, his deity - the employer. Even despite Sobek’s multi-decade service, Waltz never pushed past his suspicions. 

Partly because he was disgusting - in the physical sense. As many former Sumerians, and especially followers of Deshret (a lesser, desert dwelling idol as Waltz would come to learn), he too decided on preserving his body in a traditional way, thus becoming a mummy. Not really a fan of being a walking museum exhibit, Waltz did appreciate the decency of his Commission peers to cover their disgusting, shriveled features with tight bindings - a kindness that the likes of Sobek did not grant him. Whenever he looked at the undead, Waltz would feel the habitual memory of his lips twisting into a frown of contempt. 

These creatures really did deserve the nickname of “dirty”. 

“Anyway, does the name ring any bells?” Waltz asks, making sure to keep his features sympathetic - even towards the Quartermaster. 

Sobek, having finished shuffling the deck, begins dealing the cards. 

“It does. Recently the Liyue units of Fatui were ordered to capture an individual of the same name, alive. He’s a deserter.” Titus explains, taking his thirteen-card hand. “He made quite a fuss when he left. Almost every order from Liyue contains some mention of him.” The trump card is placed on the table. Three of hearts. “And what’s the reason behind this interest in him? It’s not often you see them so hellbent on recovering a deserter of all people.” Radny plays an ace of hearts. Responding, Titus draws two of clovers. “Allegedly he served under a different Harbinger. From the documents we have we learned that he doesn’t have Tartaglia’s number on his identification. Instead, he has that of the Marionette.”

“Maybe he’s an engineer then?” Sobek plays four of diamonds. “As far as I remember, the seventh has an obsession with electronic junk. If he is a high ranking one at that, then it would make sense for him to be this important.” Seeing as the trick has already been won by his partner, Waltz places down two of hearts. Radny reaches out and scoops up the set, placing it in a neat pile on his left. Another trick begins. “Titus, do you happen to have any leftover paperwork regarding Alnico that I could review?” Waltz asks. 

The other undead nods in agreement. “Yes, but we have only a few raw reports back at the archives. I will have a compilation delivered to you in a few hours. Alnico has been mentioned a few times in order notes, so we can make a solid timeline of where he was at the time of these being sent out.” “Wonderful.” The general’s head tilts in curiosity. “And where did you get them from?”

“See, Felix...” Radny chimes in. “The Fatui have a tendency to, shall we say, keep less than ideal stock of the stuff they deem unimportant. So much so that an original can get accidentally picked up by a random archives worker who accidentally loses it the next day in a previously set location for someone else to accidentally stumble upon.” 

Not surprising, Waltz thinks, considering rank-and-file Fatui belong to one of the most corrupt mortals to walk Teyvat. Even a small amount of Mora can convince them to work with Umbra’s proxy agents. And so the Fatui leak information like a sinking boat, feeding the Commission’s ever swelling archives. 

“I’ll send out the order. As soon as we finish, of course.” Titus smiles. 

“That’s right!” Sobek slaps Titus on the back in a friendly, yet brutish gesture. “Might as well get your money out now boys. You’ve got no chance.”

Radny chuckles in condescending amusement, effectively hiding Waltz’s scoff. His eyes gleam with a gambler’s thrill. 

“You wish, meatbag.”

—

The door is opened by an attendant. A tall figure clad in black marches into the room, his tall boots clicking rhythmically on the marble floor. 

“Ah. There you are, brother.” The ethereal presence of Sunqū greets him. Now back in his usual wear, he makes a wide gesture with his skeletal hand. “Make yourself at home. The show will begin momentarily.”

Pain makes his way deeper into the surgical theater, taking the form of a ring-like structure, snaking around the tall walls of the operation room. Through a thick Venetian mirror, hiding the tribune, nearly a hundred students and professors could observe as the procedure unfolds, both the patient and the surgeons unable to escape their scrutiny. Even the smallest incision and the thinnest of blood vessels would be visible, even from this distance. 

Yet, despite the white-clad surgeons preparing their tools, the audience’s seats were empty. Only Plague and Pain stood above the good doctors. This would be no mere operation, no - it would be a proof of concept. 

Adarū takes off his hat and puts it up on one of the empty clothes hangers. A brief moment of silence passes as he gathers his thoughts. 

Standing over the auditorium, he crosses his arms over his chest. “Any news from Inazuma?” 

“No, not really.” Plague responds plainly, his empty eyes still fixed on the table below. “How so? Have you not just sent an expedition there?” 

“How foolish of you” - he turns his beaked head to face Adarū - “to think I would risk him just for an opportunity to get you an update.”

“Don’t you care for this chance?” Their empty gazes meet. “Or has your wisdom already fallen victim to your folly?”

Plague scoffs. “I do. But we have time. Don’t you know the saying ‘haste makes waste’?”

“Brother, we do not have the time you’re thinking of here.” Pain’s voice raises up in volume, heavy with sternness. “If I were to share your laid back perception of time, the war would have come and gone without us knowing.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic, you.” 

The condescending look of his older colleague sends a wave of sharp, ripping pain through Adarū’s soul. His figure remains as still as stone, yet the energy within threatens to lash out in every moment. His bandaged hand trembles as the only sign of the internal battle for self control, his unwilling host wild with emotion and eager to express it. Yet his inhuman resolve remains and before long he stomps out the resistance. 

“Problems with your symbiote, Adarū?” His crooked, bloody teeth show, a mimicry of the human smile.  

“She serves her purpose. Now,” the uniform clad Bearer clicks his heels firmly, “if you do not bear news, why have you called me here? My time is limited. Do not jest, get to the point.”

“The reason I have called you here, brother” - he stretches the word mockingly - “is to prove to you that my creation is immaculate. That it is exactly what you need for a breakthrough on the islands. He will be an extension of your will, and you shall soon see that his design is a proof of perfection.”

Plague snaps his fingers, and right then, the doors to the room beneath swing open and a young man is brought in. His anger sizzles down, souls stabilizing as he shifts his attention to the newcomer. 

Accompanied by The Watcher is a tall human, seemingly Umbrian of origin, his skin barely warmer in color than snow. The sharp, youthful features of his face stand out from the uninteresting set of clothing adorning his body. A well defined jawline accentuates the high cheekbones, giving the immortal the pleasant sight of objective symmetry. One of his eyes is wrapped tightly in pristine bandages, just barely starting to leak blood from the plainly recent injury, the other’s gray iris betraying a certain sense of distrust towards the doctors. For a man as young as him, the graying brown of his hair strikes Adarū as unusual. 

“Sakurai Denki.” Pain mutters quietly, appraising his recruit-to-be. “His vessel appears young.”

Plague nods. “Yes, and so is his soul - merely two decades old. But do not think that his age results in naivete or foolishness. He has seen the worst of fate and perished at its hand. The perfect candidate. But, dear brother, observe now the primary advantage Denki will net us.”

Below, the experiment is now presented with a set of new clothes. Watcher gestures at him, imploring Pain to listen in to the whispers of his soul. 

Do change your clothes before we begin, he says. Hygiene is important. 

In response, Denki glances around nervously. Watcher shows him to a curtained off area of the theater - one shielded from the doctor’s sight, but not from the audience’s. As expected, his body is fittingly flawless underneath the fabric - the image of the perfect man, likely derived from some fresco or painting. The image is disturbed by a series of thin, white scars littering his back.

Plague hums to himself. “I don’t remember them being here before.”

However something else catches Adarū’s eye. He focuses his sight, piercing through the room with Elemental Vision. The figures of undead pulse with darkness radiating through their wires, formind strange, humanoid patterns against their gray silhouettes with a concentrated point in their chest - the core. Denki, however, remains as colorless as the tiles and the walls of the room, perfectly sterile of the Necro traces present in undead. 

“Well done.” A nod of approval. “If my eyes don’t deceive me, it seems that the boy is undetectable.”

The other turns his head proudly. “That he is. But there is more.”

The Watcher guides Denki to the operating table. Unlike most of those housed in buildings of the Institute, this one was padded, appearing comfortable even. The only thing corrupting the image were the leather straps hanging loosely off the device, which Denki is promptly assured won’t be necessary. 

Silence fills the room, allowing Pain’s attention to drift fully towards the scene underneath him. The liche continues speaking as the doctors hustle and bustle about, exchanging hands for sterilized ones and carrying out every other, mundane procedure. The operation ahead will help Denki, Watcher assures, will let him see again. 

The black clad figure doesn’t leave the mortal’s side as another walks up and cuts through the bandage with slow, careful movements. They remove the fabric, revealing a mess of raw flesh and blood diluted with tears. A lengthy, clean cut goes through his eyehole, leaving the skin somewhat uninjured but mangling what was once the man’s eye. The white is completely turned crimson red, swollen with blood that’s hastily dripping from the canyon separating his eye in half. The cut went straight through the iris, which was now leaking into the sclera like egg yolk. More blood and clear fluid seeped from the jagged cornea.  

 Denki hisses as it’s pulled off, hands instinctively locking over the armrests. As he blinks on reflex, he whines in agony. Curiously, the eyelid has, too, been separated in half, a significant part of it hanging on by a mere thread of flesh. Each closing of the eye seems to force sharp breaths out of the man. 

We will need to remove the eye. Watcher’s words make Denki’s remaining eye shoot open in concern. A few nervous questions fly towards the liche - will it hurt, does it have to be this way, why… A surgeon draws a small pair of forceps. 

Adarū’s soul pulses with anticipation as they are drawn closer to the eye. Bone fingers force Denki’s eyelids open. His perfect sigh marvels at the instrument’s reflection in the remnants of the separated pupil, the tool just seconds away from being forced into his skull and-

The tool clatters to the floor along with the hand holding it as sparks of Necro energy fly across the room. Before the surgeon can back away and out of range, Denki slashes his hand across their torso, letting out elemental energy that vaporizes bone and cloth. The remnants clutter to the floor, no longer held together by the fragmented core. With gritted teeth stained by blood pouring from his eye, Denki turns his attention to the other skeletons. Watcher backs away, looking puzzled towards the two bearers, awaiting orders. Plague’s face remains, smiling as the subject raises his hand, blocking the black fire thrown at him by another undead. It burns his skin, chewing through the delicate meat and revealing the muscle below. Denki howls with pain but retaliates still with a devastating kick to the knee. Before the undead can land on the ground Denki snatches his head and, using it to hold the skeleton in place, stomps repeatedly on his chest until the bones turn lifeless. As the last doctor flees the room, only Watcher and Denki remain, face to face. 

The man turns towards the door, but a burst of Cryo flies right by his ear, impacting the handle and freezing the lock in place. Denki stumbles back on reflex and turns his face sharply towards Watcher. 

Get back! He commands, rage twisting his features as he sends a colorless lightning flying towards Watcher who instantly summons an ice shield. The energy bounces off and strikes the wall, sending tile shards flying as it violently explodes on contact. Watcher dashes forward, gathering ice in his off hand as he uses the shield to its fullest. With a deafening crack, Denki sends another lightning, and another, and another, each bouncing in different directions, shattering stone and melting metal where they hit. Unaffected, Watcher steps forward, speaking calming words to no effect. Denki’s attacks grow fiercer and more desperate by the second to no effect as he keeps backing up towards the wall, knocking over equipment trays and vials, trying to get as far from the liche as he can. Watcher remains stone cold and measured in his movements. When he finally stands in the clear, he sends a surge of Cryo at the man’s feet, freezing them to the ceramic floor. Denki shouts in pain and, instead of continuing his attack, fires the lightning at his feet, only to find it bounces off the ice. His attention turns back to Watcher, now standing still before him, shield still in hand. 

Stand down. We need to heal you. Do you want to remain half blind? The questions, although flung with sternness, seem to affect the man. Gradually his rage turns into panic. He starts muttering ‘no’ in a pain-stricken voice, panicking as he tries to free himself. Please. Leave me alone. Please. 

A gloved hand locks onto the pillar before him as Adarū watches, reveling in Denki’s begging. It won’t get him nowhere, he knows that. It’s all the more entertaining, seeing him hold his hands over his throat as grenadiers finally burst through the locked door and move to seize him. With little effort Watcher pries Denki’s hands away from himself, letting the lightning strike harmlessly into the ceiling. The Guardian breaks the ice, releasing Denki’s frosted and raw feet from their confinement. Unable to hold him up, they give in, sending Denki tumbling to the ground. Before his face meets the stone, Watcher catches the man in his grasp. Denki clings to his robes, blood and tears mixing on his face as he begs for the final time. 

Please. 

The guards grab Denki under the shoulders and pull him back. In response to his sobbing, Watcher shakes his head. 

No. 

New doctors arrive through the door as Denki is forced onto the chair. One by one, his wrists and ankles are bound with leather straps, the undead completely indifferent to his distress. A pair of scissors and pliers is selected from the spare instruments. Skeletal hands hold Denki’s head as Watcher places a strap over his neck and forehead, tightening both without a word of consolation. The only thing the mortal can do is plead as surgical hooks are drawn towards him, and wail as they are hooked into his eyelid, pulling the tattered flaps of skin apart. His eye is ripe for the picking. As the metal clamps are forced under and over his eye, the sensitive organ is squished, sending a mix of blood and tears rushing out of the wound. With a firm pull, the eye is dislodged from its socket, connected to his body only by the thick strand of the ocular nerve. 

The doctors pour something into his hollow eye socket. Denki’s breathing is sharp, irregular, his mind barely comprehending the events around him. His screaming grows gradually weaker as his throat fills with blood, raw and torn. He coughs up some of it, the fluid coming out pitch black, barely a tint of red in each droplet. The sharpness of pain radiating from his face has now started to turn into a dull ache, his nerves overwhelmed, white hot with agony. 

Adarū sighs in pleasure as he feels Denki’s soul writhe and twist, the tortured wailing filling his ears feeding his very being.  

A snap of scissors. Denki spits black blood all over his gown. His body rises with convulsions, the fluid now leaking from his nose and his healthy eye. It feels his mouth, throat and lungs, robbing him of breath. Watcher shouts out to his colleagues, immediately lowering the table and unbuckling Denki’s neck. As he is tilted to the side, the contents of his lungs spill out onto the floor. Adarū takes in the vibrant darkness of Necro contained within the stain. 

After that, the boy’s tremors die down. The doctors watch on, anxiously as he simply stops. He goes limp. The strong pulses of excruciating sensation cease emanating from Denki’s soul. 

Pain scoffs in disappointment. “He’s gone into shock... What a shame.”

He takes a deep breath. The host’s memory of a heart throbs senselessly, wild with excitement and pleasure. What a feeling, he thinks. Mortal emotion, experienced with the vessel, not just the soul. He senses something, as if his body was soaked in hot water. Unsure he touches his uniform and bandaged body, finding no trace of either.  He is cold and dry to the touch. 

Adarū lets go of the pillar and takes a stumbling step back.

Plague chuckles, looking at his fellow deity with a smug gaze. “Riveting, I’m sure. It’s been a while since you’ve enjoyed unrequited and genuine agony, has it not?”

He spoke true. Pain wasn’t really interested in pursuing the pleasure of his element, hence his vessel was rarely a physical one. It was undeniable. “The boy suffered greatly.”

“He is strong, brother.” Sunqū replies. “He will think nothing of it, I assure you.” Plague gestures towards the lower ring of the auditorium again. “Observe now, for you’re about to witness the second marvel of his body.”

Adarū turns his attention back to the operating table. The old, battered eye is tossed into a bin as a small box is drawn from a Cryo box. As it is opened, a new, green eye with an ocular nerve is revealed. A surgeon halves the length of the new implant to match the leftover stump, before taking the eye and placing its nerve right against the other. Another applies a few drops of a translucent fluid. Right away, the flesh writhes like tendrils as it grows outwards from the cut, extending itself and latching onto the other. The eye is then placed back into the socket. 

“His body can be repaired. There is no injury, safe for total destruction of the vessel, that we would not be able to revert. Brain, eyes, organs, and entire limbs can be replaced, just like a machine’s parts.” 

Pain, having fixed up his uniform, asks as he continues observing the finishing touches. “And in case of annihilation, can his soul be recovered?”

The doctors dislodge the hooks from Denki’s skull, allowing them to be lifted up alongside the damaged eyelid. With a few careful movements of scissors they are removed. They don’t bleed anymore, much to Adarū’s amusement. From the same box, two fresh eyelids of healthy, peachy skin color are drawn. Just as the nerve, they are quickly fused to the eye using the identical compound. 

“I have a few replacement bodies stored in the freezer. But as for his soul…”

Sunqū reaches into his robe and under his armor, scaring a few roaches out of hiding. He draws a small crystal, stored within a glass tube. 

“Out of all of us, you have the best chance at controlling him. Pain is all he’s known for years.” Pain takes the vial into his hand. Beneath the thin walls of the Soul Crystal floats a tiny point of light. “And I will make sure it remains so, don’t you worry.” Without further ado, Pain crushes the vial and the crystal inside within his grip. The spark flies through his fingers, making soundless spirals in the air as it reaches upwards towards the skies, trapped behind tonnes of stone and iron of Castra. Invisible tendrils of his power encase it in their grasp and pull them towards him. He feels a pulse of sounds, smells, images - memories as his soul absorbs yet another into his collection. 

He can sense his presence. 

“He is mine.” He drops the crystal and glass, scattering it all over the ground. “I appreciate your talents, and promise to use your creation for only fitting purposes.”

“Gladly.” Plague nods, eagerly soaking in the praise. “Do not forget that he is still mine. But rest assured, I won’t hog his time.”

“Of course.”

With that, Adarū turns to retrieve his headpiece from its resting place. He affixes it to his bandage-bound head, pushing the two soft protrusions on its side underneath the cap.” “Have you prepared everything I asked for?” He questions.  “No need to worry. Denki will be ready in two, three months.” “How daring of you. Very well. Just don’t break him this quickly.”

Before Adarū leaves, he casts one last glance at the mortal. His unresponsive body, moved to a stretcher, is carried out of the room.

“Fortune favors the bold, Adarū.”

Thank you for reading.

[pixyys]

thou shalt not be sad!

making corny jokes and pick up lines for them

ft. the flags + chuuya + verlaine + adam

warnings. possible storm bringer spoilers; fluff/humor + hurt/comfort

notes. romantic/ platonic; huuuuge thank you to @silverbladexyz for these wonderful pick up lines ♡; reposting bc oh god, tumblr was in a silly mood

art by @/shan_zeze (twt)

❝you have a little bit of some loose screws in your head. everyone knows this well enough. but seriously, every person in your vicinity are just so depressed and gloomy! surely, that's nothing some some good ol' one liners can't solve. ❞

LIPPMANN

Our little story starts during a time when The Flags have the pleasure of gathering together. Everyone has been busy with their businesses for quite a while. But they finally get the time to relax and act like normal young men without the burdens and horrors of their line of work.

Of course, you are there too! For.. whatever reason you have. No one minds nor questions your presence, so you sit there, simply observing; grinning with a dumbstruck smile at how everyone is happy and enjoying their time.

Especially lippmann. You saw his recent movie, the one that blew up on the internet, yeah. He's been flying all over the world for premiers and promotions. Even now, he just got back from one of his world tours.

"Lippmann," you make your way towards the end of the billiard table. "How was Europe?"

"Europe?" he recovers from his hunched position, the billiard cue still in his hand. "It was quite nice. Do you want me to take you when I go on another tour in the future?"

Whoa. Traveling Europe with 'the' Lippmann?

"Yes please," the response comes a bit too eager than you intended. "But won't it be a hassle? Was there any quarantine during your latest travel?"

"Well, for safety measures-"

"-Because you can't spell quarantine without U R A Q T."

The room falls silent as those words leave your mouth, save for the ticking of the clock and someone's pool ball falling on the floor.

"Ah.. well," Lippmann laughs nervously. For a flit moment, burying yourself six feet under sounds like a very tempting escape. But the thought dissipates as the charming actor chuckles, with a very lilting voice and a cute-looking smile that could've made you keel over right there and then.

"I suppose there will still be momentary quarantines since the virus is still around," he continues. "After all, you can't spell virus without U and I."

Well.

"Oh hell no! Not this again!"

Something cracks with a horrible crunch, probably Chuuya breaking his billiard cue. Not sure didn't care. You're too busy gaping at the actor slash mafioso like some dying fish. Either way, this dying fish got that world tour free pass! yeah!

‎

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PIANO MAN

Looking back, you have no idea how you managed to crawl out from that pit of embarrassment and continue life as usual. Maybe your sense of dignity just dried out. Maybe you're the kind of person who just rolls with everything. You pulled through, either way.

As it goes, your existence and role in The Flags is a peculiar one, as peculiar as your personality. A wildcard, if you will. Again, maybe that's why you find yourself helping Piano Man with those 'supernotes' of his.

"Say, Piano Man, do you play the piano?" you ask, mind drifting wistfully as you watch him send away some of his underlings. Some others are still waiting for their next order, standing by within the vicinity—you included.

"I don't," he regards your curious question.

"I think you'll be a great pianist."

Piano Man offers a raise on his brow, "On what ground?" he said.

"I mean, better yet, you can be Bae-thoven."

To put it in the most less-heartbreaking sense, his response is both something you definitely expected but nevertheless didn't prepare for. The silence that follows is reminiscent of that time you landed a free Europe tour pass with Lippmann, so is the forced laugh that grows from Piano Man's mouth.

Another, painfully awkward silence that comes after it, however; you can't help but reel from it.

"Piano Man, please. That's the worst possible response," you half-whispered.

"Ah, apologies. I suppose.. thank you?"

THAT IS THE WORST POSSIBLE RESPONSE.

The room is dead silent, and it doesn't look like it's because Piano Man's underlings are too afraid to laugh in his presence. No, at this rate, your sense of dignity will really dry out, dissipating out of existence. That is until you saw a glimpse of Piano Man's subtle smug face.

Ah, right. It is Piano Man you're up against.

[name]: i showed you my best pickup line pls respond

piano man: no <3

In bitter shame of such pitiful defeat, you toned down your puns ever since. But one time, when you cross paths with your arch nemesis once again, Piano Man strikes up a conversation.

"About that thing about not being able to play the piano, [Name]. I think I'll start learning it."

"Really?" you turn to him.

But what did he do? he, in turn, closes the distance, leaning his face to your ears, "How about you give me some piano lessons?" he whispers, and you can almost, almost feel his breath lingering on your earlobe.

"We can play all night and make sweet music." you can feel his smile.

You ascended; jaws dropped, eyes popped out, cheeks hot. You didn't remember if you passed out or dropped dead.

Really, it's best to only pick battles you can win.

‎

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ICEMAN

"Iceman is it? You seem like a cool guy. I hope we can get along."

Iceman knew you're a walking embodiment of a headache the moment you exchange names and shake each other's hands.

He still wonders why he still puts up with your shenanigans. Or why he still agreed on helping you do combat practice and friendly spars. All the while trying to not accidentally stab or decapitate you, probably.

He watches you pat down your light bruises, making use of the momentary rest. Objectively speaking, you are no weak opponent. Sure, he can likely kill you in your sleep. But at least not without some struggle in your part.

"This place is pretty neat for sparring, like a very comfy practice room," you comment, still holding the shoulder that might have a nasty bruise- or a sprain? He hopes not. Iceman wonders if he threw you too hard just now.

"Oh! Speaking of," you suddenly turn to him, "Are you a practice room? Because I want you and I hope you're not taken."

Yeah, No. he really should've thrown you harder.

Iceman, once again, questions why he puts up with you. You both are not even musicians and you manage to force that line into this context, and for what?

"..Iceman?"

He remains passive.

"Uh, please laugh?..At least?"

You made it a mental note to not mess with Iceman again. Poor guy. He still helps you patch up those sparing bruises though, so you should be good👍

‎

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DOC

"Sorry, can you help me? I think something's wrong with my eyes."

Being sent to the battlefront is tough. Guns and fists and knives don't exactly line up with an unscathed body. But you're tougher! And you have your reliable good friend, Doc. Iceman's training retinue polished you like a coarse diamond grinder, so Doc didn't have to do much than patch up minor cuts and scratches.

Doc decides to hold back further questions at your remark. Instead, choosing to appraise your face- the eye you claim to be 'wrong'. There's a subtle crease on his brow as his hands frame your cheek, trying to observe visible damage on your eye.

Of course. Even the most skilled doctor won't find anything. your eyes are fine.

"I think I just can't take them off you." you wink.

Doc tilts his head, then blinks.

Cute! Yet, the silence is starting to trigger the PTSD you got from Piano Man and Iceman. You hope it won't be the same case for this 'Doctor-Man.'

He finally nods, as if making up a decision. "Does it feel numb? Or painful?"

"No, I mean-"

"Maybe something is wrong with your extraocular muscles. I can open them up and-"

"You know what? Don't worry about it," you cut him off, rushing to swat away the current topic. "I think it just healed! That's amazing! I knew you're the best doctor one could ever ask for!"

Yeah.. better be careful next time. Getting your eyes dissected and cut open must not be fun.

‎

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ALBATROSS

You're not saying you have a favorite in The Flags, but you're saying you have a favorite in The Flags, and that might or might not be Albatross. (It's definitely Albatross).

He is your true partner in crime, aiding you in your eternal quest to annoy every single living existence (especially Chuuya, but don't tell him that). Albatross isn't very keen on puns or pickup lines, but he picks up the habit as soon as you start greeting him with those daily doses of corniness.

"Morning!" you send the energetic wheelman a lighthearted smile, waving as you pass by the hallways of the headquarters.

"Oh, mornin' [Name]-"

"-Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"

By normal standards, a perfectly normal person normally does not start their morning with a badly-placed and badly-formed, relatively corny pickup line. But abiding by the normal standards isn't exactly how you roll, and neither does Albatross. That moment marked the day The Flags must put up with a brand new headache.

"I'm confused… I thought happiness started with an H, but mine seems to start with U."

"Life without you is like a broken pencil... totally pointless."

"Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you, I smile."

"Are you a loan? 'Cause you've got my interest-"

"Alright. i believe that's enough, you two."

It takes Piano Man a lot to get him to lose his patience, and apparently, you've done abundant. Don't worry about Chuuya, the little precious bundle of rage is long gone. He knows better than to risk exhausting his voice or accidentally ransacking the whole hideout (lmao).

‎

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ADAM FRANKENSTEIN

You are suffering from success. Or winning from failure? These jokes and pickup lines became something of a second nature to your tongue. You can't even remember what you said to this robot- er, supercomputer agent Adam Frankenstein.

"Oh. This is what humans call as puns, also known as paronomasia, a form of wordplay that exploits multiple meanings of a term, or of similar-sounding words, for an intended humorous effect."

"Yeah-"

"But yours wasn't funny."

>:0

"W-well," you cough, recovering yourself. "Funny isn't the only intended effect. It was a punny pick-up line."

Adam nods.

"A pick-up line or chat-up line is a conversation opener with the intent of engaging a person for romance or dating. Are you trying to woo me?"

:0

"W-wwwhat?"

So, a literal robot just pulled an uno reverse card on you. Yet still, that's a good question. Are you really trying to woo him?

"I- I thought you'll start making one of those android jokes." you make an unsteady smile.

"My android jokes? Of course. They are not made with the intention of expressing romantic expression, so I can make one for you if you wish so."

Well. This tin man just indirectly reject your yet-to-exist confession.

"Either way, I am flattered by your attempts. However, I'm afraid that it will be impossible. You are a human and I am an autonomous humanoid supercomputer, the first to be used for law enforcement use-"

Yep. the tin man just directly rejected your yet-to-exist confession. Adam woke up and chose violence. At this point, you're better off going home and curling up in your blanket with some sad love song playlist. You think Chuuya winced and made a very pitiful expression for you. But you choose to mark that off as your imagination.

‎

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PAUL VERLAINE

For a reason you can't fathom, you somehow end up in Verlaine's, Chuuya's, and Adam's theater of bloodshed.

Right here, right now, you're a vanguard of the battlefront. You shouldn't be thinking 'this'. Your chest hurts so bad from dodging Verlaine's attacks, your limbs are aching from bruises and cuts, your head is spinning with adrenaline, and this French man is trying to kill you and kidnap your ginger friend.

But darn, he's fine- You slap yourself.

"You good?" Chuuya rasps, struggling to make his step as he flanks your side.

"No, but-" another flying car flings towards your direction, and muscle memory forces you both to flee from your position, escaping death by a grasp.

Well.

This man is merciless, and *cough* attractive. Had he not currently trying to throw cars at you, you'd take him to some nice cafe and start serenading him with, uh, 'sweet' words.

Might as well.

"Whoa sir, you have some killer moves!" you roar heartily, uncaring by the way chuuya is eyeing you like an incredulous mother daring her child to do something stupid. "I'd simply die to have you." you wink.

"[NAME], WHAT THE HELL?!"

In that split second, your words seem to catch Verlaine in a trance. Adam's fancy iron man laser beam almost grazes the French man's shoulder..somehow.

Hey, that worked! :D

[name] : chuuya, i think he's french.

chuuya : no shi-

[name] : i think eiffel for him.

chuuya:

‎

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NAKAHARA CHUUYA

This is it. The curtain calls, and it's time to face the final boss; it's time to unleash the ultimate torment to this poor boy.

"Ooh! Don't you look dapper? I always liked your fashion sense. You look good in that suit."

Chuuya doesn't immediately answer, opting to silently trace the paved sidewalk you both are treading on. By all means, both of you have no trouble with resources that a personal car, or even a whole limousine won't be impossible. It's just that the moon shines beautifully that night, so you drag your grumpy friend for a breath of fresh air.

"But you know what you'll look better in?" you chuckle, following his steps. "My arms."

Nothing. Mo reaction. No swatting your finger guns, no annoyed and incessant curses. Chuuya treats you like a nonexistent ghost, until he halts and simply stares at you with an inexplicable expression.

"Chuuya?" you falter, "Did- I go too far? Or did it finally get you? my jokes..?"

Oh, it did get him. No, you got him.

He shifts closer to you, like he finally loses it and is about to choke you to death. But this feels different. There is no malice or raw anger in his movements. They feel.. heavy, tired. Wordlessly, he leans his weight on your body, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

His breath is warm against your collarbone; the slight shudder from his long exhale stripped the corny jokes off your tongue.

"Oh, Chuuya.." you mirror him, putting your arms around him in a reassuring embrace. He is now here, in where you both want him to be: Your arms.

Some things come, and some things simply go. But some other things just don't change. Chuuya is grateful he can still hear your annoying jokes and lines, and that you are still by his side.

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.17

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

By the time the instructor has given us the go, my enemy is already on his way. He's fast. I have to concede to him that. But I only wait, holding my position until he is closer. As soon as he is almost before me, I move, leave my left foot behind, raise my sword to the left side of my body, and strike at the right moment, where I would either block his attack with more force or end the fight immediately.

I move my arms up to slash, my face contorted in concentration. My eyes never left my sword or my opponent. Not even when the blade slips past him. Almost immediately, my eyes widen in panic. And my opponent's face became smug. But we are both amazed when I suddenly fly to the side and land on the ground with a loud bang.

There was no sound for the first few seconds of me lying on the floor until the laughter started and comments I would never say to anyone, so derogatory I wanted to kill them all.

I breathe in and out, trying to swallow my anger and disappointment at everyone else. But at this point, it's tough not to explode in their faces. Before I can even get up, I suddenly feel pressure on my back.

“Just as much of a sore loser as everyone believed. Which also means you’re just as perverted as we all thought.”

Okay, that's it! With a quick movement, I slam my right foot into him. It didn't matter where I hit him. I only have to hit him. The moment I feel an impact, I roll onto my back. I can see he's startled, but that's it. But that's more than enough. After all, I only needed enough time to get back on my feet. I glare at him the second I finally stand back on my feet.

“This weapon is nonsense!” I shout loudly. "How in the name of the Dark Sun can you use these cheaply made weapons for anything?"

I angrily throw the deactivated weapon away from me. Before I can continue, a loud crash echoes across the square, and shortly afterward, a tree falls over. I didn't even notice and stare straight at the purple-haired idiot. But his eyes almost bulge out of his head. He swallows loudly and becomes uncertain right in front of me. I lick my lips, grin, and say, "I didn't even use magic for that."

He looks over at Saladin in shock, but when he nods, it only makes him even more nervous.

Since the fight never ended or paused, it's still going on, but he didn't seem fully aware of that fact. At least, that's what I conclude from how stupidly he looks at me as I run towards him at lightning speed. He even dares to look surprised when I smash my arm against his, knocking the dagger out of his hand. But before I could land a second hit, he put distance between us with an acrobatic jump back.

Smiling, I barely acknowledge his little trick, but he's lost a weapon, and I don't even need one.

Just as I move again to end this pointless fight, something grabs my ankle, a pressure that creates an ominous feeling within me. I didn't need to look down as the green thread is visible. My enemy's smug look reveals the rest.

I let the mana flow through my body to calm myself down, to not smash that stupid idiot into the ground where he belongs. Instead, I bend down and take the thread in my hands. Looking up, I can see him staring at me in confusion. I slightly tug at the thread. He seems to understand what I'm trying to do. At least he thought he knew what I would do. I could have easily pulled him towards me, but I just broke free and threw the gun in his direction.

The second he catches it, I'm already standing before him, my fist ready to strike. He could barely block it with his freshly caught weapon, but I hit him anyway with my left fist. Even though it's not as hard as my right hand, it's enough to knock the air out of his lungs. 

Using the thread between his daggers, I press it against his throat and quickly wrap it around his neck. While never breaking eye contact with him. I wink at him as I trip him over because his stance is as weak as it has been for the whole fight.

He falls to the ground like a sack of flour, and I go with him, not because I had to, but because I want to teach him one last lesson. He looks at me with wide eyes. Apparently, he can't fully understand what just happened. He almost looks cute as he stares at me with his narrow indigo eyes. If he wasn't such an idiot, I might have seen him differently, but the way he is with me, I can't see him any differently.

I could see his left arm moving, certainly trying to attack me, even if this means he tightens the thread around his neck. Does he still not get it? At this point, completely annoyed, I slam my fist on the ground next to his head. The entire ground shakes under the weight of my strength, and the cracking of stone can be heard throughout the training area.

His wide eyes closed. Finally, I'm able to relax for a second. But I didn't take any more than this second.

“Your footwork is sloppy, almost pathetic, your grip on your weapons is too tight, your back is too straight, and there is so much tension in your body that I can't believe you haven't ripped every muscle. You should probably try a different weapon. You may be quick and agile but not relaxed enough to be a double dagger wielder.”

I straighten myself out and sit on the guy's midsection for a second, only to breathe in the air of yet another victory. With my eyes closed, I enjoy the moment because I know that he wouldn't be the only opponent I have to fight, and even though it was over quickly, it was still somewhat fun.

I move a little, stand up, brush the dust off my clothes, and look down at the guy. A bright red blush can be seen on his bronze skin.

Looking over at the instructor, I could tell he is more than shocked. I have heard rumors that this purple-haired guy is one of the prodigies of this time. Honestly, I actually expected more. But what could I hope for? That someone who had clearly just started learning to fight would be an obstacle?

“Do you have a metal sword?”

People look stunned. Nobody could say a word, especially not the specialists and the instructor. Meanwhile, Saladin looks at me as if I just had killed his treasured prodigy.

“We don’t have any because we don’t even use them for training anymore.”

Were his words true? Could people who choose to live their lives by the blade really stray so far from true weapon mastery? But just one look over them told the whole story. The instructor's words were most likely not untrue because their bodies seem weak, even smaller than my own. They may have quite a lot of endurance, but a person who walked the same path as them, with weapons and armor made of iron, could still easily overcome their speed and agility with brute force like all of them just witnessed.

“I see,” I murmur, assessing the instructor closely. "How far out of knighthood has this academy fallen? Perhaps it is time to open a new school to train those willing in the ways of war instead of what you people are doing now."

The intent of my words quickly penetrated the consciousness of those around me, whose eyes show growing anger and contempt for me. Nothing I couldn't live with.

After another silence, during which many specialists grit their teeth at my disrespect for their training, I clear my throat and break the spell of anger, even if it is just for a moment.

"So if you don't have a metal weapon, I can't continue because these inferior weapons you use are simply not compatible with me."

For a second, the instructor seems to think. Just as he opens his mouth, another voice suddenly sounds.

"I found this sword while cleaning one of the many rooms," said the butler who opened the mansion, holding an old, rusted metal sword in his hand.

Even from the distance I stand, I could tell that this sword is something different. An artifact long forgotten by my family, remaining only in the legend of Arengeld, about the second son of our family's first ruler, who defeated Horograd and founded the ancient city of Arengeld. Since the city had been lost for a long time, everyone thought the weapon, which was covered in the blood of the ancient beast, was also lost.

It's strange enough to see this sword here in this old school building, but that the butler seemed to know it was there or found it by accident is almost impossible. I couldn't move because the presence of this sword alone is too strong. But then I heard a quiet whisper out of nowhere. I couldn't understand the words, but somehow I feel the urge to walk closer.

My gaze is focused solely on the sword, blocking out almost everything around me except for the butler's gloves. His sleeves are slightly pulled up. For a second, I can see cracks all over his arms, as if his body was made of something other than flesh. But he quickly pulls down his sleeve, making me look him in the eyes. They look so sad, unlike the dull eyes I've seen on others like him.

Instead of saying anything, I reach for the hilt of the masterfully crafted sword. It may have been full of rust and nicks, but it's still beautiful. As soon as my hand wraps around the handle, a strange feeling runs through me. The whispers disappeared, but that was it. I slowly lift it from the hands that had been holding it. I hold it up and raise it higher against the bright sun. It doesn't shine like in the legends, but I don't care because it's beautiful. I only take a step back and swing it down and then around me, right before the butler. I swung it so hard that the wind tore open the earth and cut a tree in half.

“It feels good,” I murmur quietly.

"If it's not to your liking, I can look for another-"

“Don’t you dare!” I tell him sharply but with a warm, genuine smile. "The sword sits in my hand as if it was meant to be there, and it's the perfect weight." I look back at the sword before gazing again into the shimmering eyes of the man before me. "Thank you very much."

“As you wish, sir,” he whispered as he bows.

For a second, I think he's about to cry because his eyes fill with water, which only confuses me even more. But I'll leave it for now as there are too many people, most of whom don't know my true identity, hopefully for a while, as that would only add to the problems here. Especially my anger at those who I and my people thought were friends.

The butler leaves, but before I turn away, I look after him to ensure he is no longer near the training grounds.

I turn around, holding my new sword in front of me, the tip pointing toward the people around me, and ask, "So, who's next?"

[Masterlist]

[signedeclipse]

hi dear, i saw your requests are open so here i am ✨ can i get some Mitsuri x fem!reader (nsfw) in where reader is mitsuri's tsuguko, when the two of them train together there is a bit of tension since reader can't stop watching her (how her boobs bounce about to slip out of his shirt and how her skirts flies) kanroji notices her partner's nervousness and decides to heat things up. I was thinking about a quicky sx scene cause im not feel very comfortable if they are totally naked so could you make them just lift their skirts for touching and unbutton their uniforms? I have made this request before but nobody has written it 😭 so if you write it I would be very grateful to you. Also, both of them are adults.

Ilysm im so happy you're back ❤

Blossoms [Mitsuri X Reader]

Reader is Human Female | NSFW

Recomended Song - Into You by Ariana Grande

The sun poured down on the shinzō estate’s courtyard garden, the very center of it forming a rocky platform where the love hashira and her tsukugo often trained against one another. Throughout the early morning, laughs and the sound of a sword cutting through the air was audible, filling the estate with life that matched the rows of flowers blooming around every corner in different shades of pink. 

You and Mitsuri started your days at home before the sun rose, delving into breakfast and then instant running to the yard to get at your training. When you initially started under her, it was harsh, but now you saw the fun in it as much as he had. When you start your day early and get your blood pumping fast, the rest of the day, you feel energized and prepared for whatever mission is bestowed upon you. 

Like any other day, you were down to just your hakama and typical slayer corps top with a sarashi under in case it tore, slashing towards the love hashira as she blocked every attack, applying force back, so you had to continue pushing. 

“Just like that!” She cheered you on anytime you got things right and giggled when you stumbled over. 

You were much better than when you had first met, having grown from Kanoto to your current rank at Kinoto, with only one more position to climb before you’d be trialing as a hashira. Even then, you always mentioned that you were happy where you were, primarily because if you were to become a hashira, it either meant Mitsuri was dead or demoted. 

Thoughts like that were easy to expel from your head when around the enthusiastic girl, who seemed to make the heat of the sun hotter when she was around, especially during your private training when she was flashing you with practically every move. 

‘Should have listened to me about a new uniform,’ you sighed both from exhaustion and from the memory of telling a bunch of new corps members off because it was a little too windy that day, and Mitsuri’s skirt was acting up. 

Not only did you have to tell them off, but yourself included. If anyone caught you- if SHE caught you staring like that, you’d surely be in trouble for a lifetime. 

“Blossom, are you paying attention?” She asked the question before she tripped you onto your back, already knowing you weren’t in the right mind to save yourself from the fall. She instantly grabbed your wrist, keeping you just inches from the floor. 

“You’re more distracted than usual! Did you eat well enough?” Her strength always outmatched yours, pulling you up into her chest and hugging you to ensure you wouldn’t fall again. 

“Oh! Yes- I mean, of course, I’m okay, Kanroji! Sorry if I worried you!” Compared to her calm care, you were much more of an anxious mess, which only made the hashira laugh more. Of course, you were okay, but she found it funny how you struggled with remaining convincing, even if it was the truth. 

Of course, Mitsuri knew the truth; she didn’t have to look to feel how your eyes practically undressed her every second, how it made her heart flutter knowing you wouldn’t dare lay a finger on her even if you wanted to. The flat of her palm held you against her from between your shoulder blades, her free hand poking the tip of your nose playfully. 

“I think we could use some shade; all this heat must be exhausting!” Without much protest, she was able to walk you back against a sakura tree, enveloped by the shade its beautiful petals provided the two of you, to which you finally looked up and met her eyes. 

“W…what are we doing, Kanroji?” Your voice was a whisper from the fact her face was so close to yours, with barely any room left to share words. 

“Please, my Blossom, let me take care of you…?” Her words dripped with an emotion you could barely read, mixes of love and passion that sent a fluttering feeling into your heart, hands clinging to her uniform and hoping this was not a joke. 

But it wasn’t a joke; Mitsuri would never do this to you for fun. She left a quick kiss on your nose, followed by your cheeks and all over your face until you melted into her arms, sheepishly kissing back when her lips finally locked with your own. Your body was sandwiched between hers and the tree, feeling every way hers moved against yours in the heat of the moment. 

Your breath was shaky when she parted, a deep red having brushed over your cheeks, nodding when Kanroji tilted her head in a questioning glance. 

Her leg snaked between yours, pushing up against your heat ever so slightly through the thick fabric of the pants, hitching your breath at the pleasuring feeling. With her head tilted, she could close in to kiss all along your neck, leaving pink lip gloss marks you likely wouldn’t notice until much later paired with love bites. 

As she listened to your heavy breaths, she enjoyed how your hands moved along her skin, pulling her closer from the small of her back with one hand. At the same time, the other slowly stroked up and down her thigh, wrist pushing the skirt up when your hand ventured higher, circling over her panties right near her clit, sweeping over it once in a while just to feel her tense up. 

The worse your teasing became, the more frequently she would grind her leg into your pussy, the fabric between only worsening the pleasurable feeling to make it all more subtle. The heat grew and blossomed with every second until you couldn’t help slipping a hand into her underwear, dipping the tips of your fingers along the wet of her heat until your fingers were nice and slick, flicking over her clit. 

In what felt like a tangle of love, Mitsuri shakily unbuttoned the uniform top you were wearing, pressing closer with the fabric away as one hand greedily massaged your tits through the sarashi, pushing some of the bandages apart, so she had more access to teasing you. 

“Mitsuri…!” Your shaking voice only persuaded her to keep going, following the rhythm of your fingers against her with her thigh that pushed into your pussy over and over. Your heat started to soak through the fabric until she felt it against her leg, encouraging her advances. The love hashira barely noticed how she needily bucked her hips into your fingers.

As the heat climbed and your touches became more desperate, you pushed your lips back into Mitsuri’s for one last kiss as you each fell apart in the other's arms, overwhelmed moans muffled by the kiss. 

When you moved apart to catch your breath, a string of saliva connected to you until it snapped, each side falling onto each of your half-exposed chests. 

“Mhh~ I think training is over, Blossom! Good work~” Her voice was breathy, angelic as it always has been despite her legs shaking. This time a smile broke on your face, lifting the girl into your arms as one might their bride. 

“I’ll run us a bath, Miss Kanroji.” 

Author Note -  Thank you so much for requesting! I loved the request a lot and hope I captured what you had in mind. Just be sure next time to mention if you would like a oneshot or headcanons! <3

Word Count - 1,218

Art Credit - ばん

[ashecampos]

WEB HEAD SEVEN

(TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU STRUGGLE WITH SELF HARM, PTSD, DRUG MISUSE, FLASHBACKS⚠️you have been warned)

Sweat and blood stains my suit as the rugged man drags the knife across my skin again. All I can think of in this moment is my family, tessa, Emily and Kate. Thankfully Tessa is with me in the room. Yet unthankfully she isn’t responsive at all. Through all of my screams and pleading all I can see is the man’s face. Black slicked hair with a taper fade, a few strands falling onto his cold face. Thick eyebrows, one with a scar running through it much like my own. His piercing black eyes, his defined cheek bones and large nose. His small lips and his tidy beard. The tattoo that runs up his neck and the uniform that reads HYDRA. He swings the hammer to my face as I scream once again. Darkness.

-

My body shoots up. Sweat covering my body, a cold feeling lingering as I take in my surroundings, assessing the potential dangers. With heavy sharp breaths my eyes dart around the room, a mixture of dark purples and blacks decorate the walls.

A warm hand reaches for my shoulder as a light is flicked on. I prepare myself for another slash to the face but it doesn’t come.

The person instead positions themself in front of my face. One of their hands fall onto my waist as the other reaches up to caress my cheek. I wince in pain as their finger traces the newly stitched cut on my jawline. A lavender scent fills my senses and it hits me. It’s just Kate. Looking up at her she gives me a lopsided smile. Concern evident on her face.

She speaks but I cannot hear what she says, her lips move but I cannot listen. I’m zoned out completely.

I try to concentrate on her face. The raven haired girl, comforting blue eyes, full lips, a cute nose and shaped eyebrows. Her hair is down and wavy. She is wearing my purple sweater. One of her favourites of mine.

Once again she speaks but this time I listen “Milo, I swear to god if your high again I will murder you in your sleep with a pillow. I mean I’m not saying you’re not allowed to get high of course, but you are completely out of it right now. It’s getting bad, Nat and Wanda are staring to ques…” she pauses suddenly as my arms wrap around her waist and my head falls into her shoulder. I let out a small sigh which is a mixture of relief and pain. I can’t let her know that I’m having nightmares, I need to ‘be a man’. I need to ‘man up’ as Tessa’s father would tell me when Tessa and me where playing with one of his guns and she accidentally shot my in the arm.

I take deep breaths, breathing in as much of Kate’s lavender scent as I can to calm me. She strokes her fingers through my hair, slowly to not trigger anything but fast enough for me to count how many times she’s done it without getting distracted by something.

“time?” I mumble not knowing if Kate even heard or understood what I was asking. Without missing a beat she turns her head and replies “it’s 6am Milo, remember you have to go meet your brother at eight, then you have training with Natasha at ten.” She starts to list off things in my new/forced to do by the avengers daily routine.

-

I grab a pair of black chucks, I make quick work of lacing them up and webbing one of Kate’s many bracelets onto my wrist for safe keeping. She had left for training with Clint half an hour ago now. I check the clock on my phone and it is half seven. Fuck. I stumble out of the room putting my phone in my pocket and walking straight into someone.

Just as their body moves to hit the floor I web their waist and pull them up to their feet. “Fuck shit I’m so so sorry I wasn’t looking at what I was doing I’m sorry” I say flustered and rushed, I look up toward the victim of my clumsiness and it’s none other than Wanda. A sigh of relief escapes my lungs, Wanda lets out a laugh at my actions before shaking her head and telling me to run along.

-

Luckily my brother Brogan had a first class pass into Tony Starks school for the future geniuses of the world. Is my little brother a genius, absolutely not, however his big brother is and got him a scholarship to the school, he is safely accommodated in a private mansion built specifically for the students who attend the facility, meaning he is no longer than a five minute stroll away.

Walking across the hallways of the building I hear gasps and chattering, students gawking at me like I’m iron man or something better. The next thing I know a weight is rested on my shoulders, looking down I see legs dangling from my shoulders, a pair of black and white high top Jordan’s on those legs. I don’t even need to look up to know that brogan has safely planted himself on my shoulders. A low laugh escapes his throat as he jumps off of me. We walk around campus for a few hours, I help him improve on a new mode of weaponry for hero’s he’s been working on. Before I leave I give him a long needed hug which weirdly he reciprocates, wrapping his arms around my nearly healed shoulder blade.

-

Now for the worst part of this travel. The walk home, yes I know I can just web my way back to the compound but why do so when walking is so much more fun.

Reaching into my pockets I search for my favourite thing. Eventually finding it, my weed pen. I know Kate said I have training in like 20 minutes but just a few little drags won’t hurt. It helps with everything, the pain, the anxiety, the flashbacks. Everything.

A tall brown haired man walks into me, brushing past my shoulder, he has a beard, slicked back hair and is wearing black work out gear. I don’t take another breath before taking off, my legs taking me as fast as I can. Before I know it I’m back at the compound. Running up the stairs and collapsing into my room I don’t even turn back to greet Tony or cap who both say their hellos to me.

Once in my room I see Tessa. Thank god it wasn’t Kate. “Milo” Tessa screams while looking up from her phone as she throws something at me, before my mind can comprehend what she threw I catch the it, looking down at a pillow. I look up giving her the ‘seriously’ face before we both burst out laughing. “Your tingle is getting better” she says between laughs. Groaning I throw the pillow at her, not looking at where I aimed, the pillow goes flying into her face, earning another laugh from the both of us. “you wanna come train with Natasha?” I ask knowing either way I’m going to make her take self defence classes now that hydra knows she is associated with me.

My brain fuzzy and my vision fuzzier, Nat lands another punch to me. Sparring was never my strong suit in the first place. “Seriously Milo you have to try” she shouts as she goes for another punch, I swerve my body so she barley misses my ribs, then i sweep her off of her feet before walking over to my water bottle. Tessa sits there observing me and fangirling over Nat.

I pour some water into my hands then rub my face with the ice cold liquid. A hand grips my shoulder and spins me around. It’s Nat, I can sense it is but why is she attacking me? I’m out of the ring. She pushes me back to the ring.

We go a few more rounds before she stops randomly midway through a segment. “Milo” she says using her intimidating voice. “Look at me milo” she demands. Fuck. I keep my head down, avoiding eye contact with the older widow. She takes a few steps towards me and grips my chin moving my face so I have no choice but to look her in the eyes. “for fuck sake milo” she mutters before letting my chin go and stepping out of the ring, grabbing her phone and typing something. “Sit down right now” she orders, I follow her order like an obedient puppy. I stare at the clock on the wall trying to act normal. Nat and Tessa converse for a few minutes before someone else storms into the gym. Probably the hulk. A hand grabs my arm and guides me out of the gym, leaving Tessa and Nat to talk or train. looking around I see who the culprit is, Wanda looks at me, sadness in her eyes. Panic engulfs my brain as I think the worst. She takes me into her own room and sits us both down.

“When I was younger, around your age actually, me and my brother joined this family, fresh out of HYDRA’s torment. My brother struggled with his new found powers and the new environment” she says in one breath, confused I nod allowing her to carry on, she takes a deep breath before starting again. “He started associating with the wrong people. Started taking substances, he was suicidal. He died on a mission while he was high, tried to grab Thor’s hammer while it was flying through the air” she finished before holding my hand. “I’m so sorry Wanda” I say genuinely, she shakes her head. “Milo me and Natasha have noticed you’re acting weird, coming home later than curfew and Kate has informed me that you have been struggling with sleep” she looks me dead in the eyes. Shit. “Wanda I’m fine, nothings weird about my behaviour. Even ask Tessa” I say praying she won’t ask Tessa. I’ve just got this avenger job and I can’t loose it now, I need to protect everyone.

Wanda stays silent and nods letting me off with a warning, I leave her room and head back to my own, not risking going to Kate’s as Nat has probably already told everyone now.

-

(TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU STRUGGLE WITH SELF HARM)

I run straight to my bathroom, my back hitting the cold tiles of the wall, I slowly slide down it and press my knees up to my chest, trying to take deep breaths. Without thinking or even hesitating my right hand shoots a web onto a set of draws attached to a vanity, I open the drawer and pull out a small metal box with my ‘shaving’ tools in it. I make quick work of grabbing my chosen weapon. A small razor blade, the silver glistens against the harsh light coming through the windows from the suns rays. I pull my hoodies sleeves up to my biceps and look at where to start. Angry red lines mock me as I stare at them. Ignoring the pain I slowly and harshly drag the blade across my wrist making a multitude of lines ranging from my wrist to my inner elbow. Then the same on my other arm. It’s only when my vision starts to become blurry that I realise how much shit I’m in. My eyes start to close and darkness.

A knock on my bedroom door startles me awake, with spotty vision I manage to make out that I am on the bathroom floor, not sure why though. I hear the bedroom door click open then a few seconds later I hear it click closed. That was a close call. “Hey Milo I noticed you haven’t been out of your room in hours I decided to bring you some food” I hear a woman’s voice, a hint of sokovian dripping off of the American accent. Footsteps come closer to the bathroom door and then another knock. “Milo? I can see you have to light on in there, please let me know your okay” she says quietly. Another few seconds passes and for some reason I can’t bring myself to answer. Maybe it’s because I know if I speak my shakey voice will give it away or maybe I’m frozen in fear and confusion. “Milo I’ll give you three seconds to either come out or say something or I’m coming in” she says a little louder. “One” fuck she must be bluffing she wouldn’t actually come in, right? “Two” say something Milo or she is going to find out, I grab a towel and press it to my arm, grabbing another and doing the same to the other arm. The once white towels turning red. “Three” she twists the door knob and starts to open the door, fuck she wasn’t bluffing.

Once the door is fully open she scans the room before lowering her eyes to meet my own. Not even a second passes before she is running over and knelt down beside me gripping the towels to my arms. “Fuck fuck fuck what the fuck Milo” she whispers while caressing my cheek with one hand “bandages, where do you keep them” she mumbles while standing up and opening all of my drawers. Without needing an answer from me she finds a first aid box, one that every room has, kneeling back down and opening the box she starts placing things on the floor, alcohol wipes, bandages, and scissors. She opens the wipes and takes the towel off of my left arm, looking me in the eyes, her own turning a hint of red, she’s using her powers. She quickly disinfects my wounds and wraps both of my arms before letting me out of her mind control.

She does as she intended and escorted me to Kate’s room, first making sure I pulled the sleeves of my hoodie down and had eaten some food so I didn’t end up loosing consciousness on the way to the room next door to my own. Kate is none the wiser to what had happened. Me and her cuddle until we both end up asleep.

-

Kate wakes me up with breakfast in bed while informing me that tonight we are attending a stark party. I eat a little bit of the breakfast before giving her the majority of it, I then make my way to hang out with Tessa, kissing Kate on the cheek before I leave of course.

-

Me and Tessa stay in her room most of the day gossiping about our time and what we have seen in the compound, she scolds me for showing up to a training session high before realising we need outfits for the party tonight. We always match for these things, this will not be an exception.

After searching for what seems like forever, Natasha agreed to let Tessa borrow one of her dresses and Tony handed me one of his vintage suits a simple yet elegant black suit with a black dress shirt, I pair these with my favourite pair of doc martens, then to complete the outfit I tie my hair up into a slick man bun, combing down any loose hairs. I get pushed into the bathroom by Kate and Tessa to put it on while they put theirs on. I stumble out of the bathroom before straightening my posture and looking at the two most beautiful girls in the multiverse.

Tessa is in a floor length satin gown, a modest yet revealing slit runs down the front of the dress revealing a glimpse of her legs. Her hair and makeup is done, not too much but the perfect amount.

Alike to Tessa, Kate picked out a Lilac coloured satin dress with a lavender glitter on the top of the sweetheart neckline. Kate’s hair is half up, half down, she has mascara and a winged liner on. Both of their dresses are paired with heels making them a little taller than me.

While walking into the party me and Kate loose Tessa on the way in while we greet people, Tessa probably just went to the bathroom to freshen up Kate reassures me.

Looking into my eyes as a slow dance song plays, she wraps her arms around my neck, mine take their respective place on her waist, she smiles. A gentle, genuine smile. You don’t see many of those these days. I smile back a goofy one, earning a chuckle and a slap on the shoulder from her.

As if on que a loud bang is heard throughout the party hall. I wasn’t planning on this type of workout tonight but I guess it’ll have to be done. All of the avengers look between one another and sigh, running to the noise. A few of us are commanded to stay behind and keep the guests safe and entertained. Those people being me, Kate, yelena, Clint and some woman named Jennifer, she has some relation to Bruce but I haven’t really met the whole extended team yet. What better time than in the present though I guess.

[yellowcry]

How can you keep everything together?

For @zuuz-dot-chr-exe promt: Giftless members of the family reflect and try to make sence of the whole thing

Things weren't supposed to go this way. In a split second the candle just flickered and something strange happened. The fact that some people don't have gifts doesn't mean they weren't affected

She remembered that day as if it were a nightmare.

Mirabel didn't mean the words, "The miracle is dying because of you!" They just went out of her throat before she could even realize it. For a moment, there was a sound of breaking, as if the biggest crack was about to destroy them. The floor shook, the old stonework of the floor was running over each other, and Mirabel was wholly sure that Casita would just fall apart within a second.

It stopped as suddenly as it began. Mirabel stared up into the window where the magic candle stood proudly, and a black, impenetrable smoke was coming up from it. 

And there was yelling. Mirabel winced in panic and looked around. The first thing she realized is that her mom hunched over, leaning on Agustin with the blood running down her face; her arms were covered in red cuts, tears, and slashes. And Mirabel could see how the bruises appeared out of nowhere. 

"Mama!" She screamed in horror, but as she ran to Julieta, the latter suddenly felt better, injuries had quickly healed, just like they always had with the magic food.

"Mi Amor?" Agustin breathed out in panic, supporting his wife as Mirabel peeked, scared over what just happened. It wasn't normal. And on her eyes, her mom's skin got irritated as if from the injury, and the blood ran down again. Just out of nowhere. And Mirabel could see how Mama's azure dress was getting wet and strained with blood. 

"What the hell?" Mirabel winced, her hands trembling as she touched Mama's dress at this moment, before looking away, now staring at her older sister. Agustin looked like he wanted to scold her for a moment, but the words got stuck inside of him. Isabela grabbed the vine that was growing exactly from her palm, as if she were the ground. In a split movement, a young woman ripped off the plant, and fresh blood dripped down her cut. The whole cold family stared at this with visible worry and horror.

The wind around was so strong that Mirabel got really scared that instead of breaking, Casita would just fly away in Tía's hurricane, who was shaking from cold, and small flashes of lightning were running all over her like a peel. Felix tried to take her arm but immediately winced in pain, reflexively pulling away.

Mirabel's gaze was jumping from one family member to another, not making any sense of what was going on right now. She saw how Isabela ripped off another sprout, and Luisa rubbed her face and stared down at herself worriedly. Tío Felix rushed to Dolores, who seemed to fall unconscious on the floor, while Bruno, with the face of Señora Pezmuerto (Camilo?) fell after his sister because he couldn't balance properly without a second leg.

After a moment, a teenager turned to see Abuela. Her grandma clenched her hands together; for the first time in Mirabel's life, she could see fear, pure terror, in her strong and resilient Abuela's eyes. Her face twisted from horror, brows arched in panic. The candle continued to smoke.

***

Days were passing pretty slowly, at least in Felix's opinion. He couldn't tell that he didn't wish to get everything back to how it was before, but his motto in life was to keep going forward, despite the life obstacles, not losing faith that tomorrow will be even better. He would call himself a glue person who was smoothing the corners. His positive outlook on life was probably the reason why he didn't seem to fall into as much despair as everyone else. Still, he wasn't naive. Their condition really seemed desperate, and his usual optimism could never do anything to fix it.

He was pretty used to bearing through Pepa's storms. When you spend more than twenty years sharing the same bedroom, you get used to all those temperature changes or hurricanes. But even Felix had to admit that it was nothing compared to what was. going on near his wife now. Just walking from the door of their room to bed would take a good two hours with all those crazy gusts of hurricane wind all around. Don't get him wrong; he loved it when Pepita was allowing all her feelings out, causing the weather around her to go crazy. But Felix also hated it when she was upset, which was usually the cause of 'troubling' weather. And, according to the constant storm that threatened to just break down the door, Pepa was upset literally all the time. But what concerned Felix the most was how hard it was now to get Pepa's mood in a lighter condition. Everyone knew that she was quick to rage, but people often forgot that she was quick to calm down and even switch to happiness. But now getting Pepa into even a neutral condition felt like the eighth wonder of the world; leaving alone actually made her get any positive feelings no matter how hard Felix tried. It was like Pepa's ability to feel happiness dissipated in the smoke of a twisted candle. 

Not only hers, actually. Felix hadn't told anyone, but it just seemed like all gifted Madrigals now were way more snappish or depressed than before. He could blame curses for it; he wouldn't keep his optimism if he was affected either, but with how impossible it was to make Pepa stop thundering, Felix really thought that gifted members just couldn't feel anything but rage or despair. And it hurt way more than he wanted to admit. In this way, Felix was just like Camilo, wishing nothing more than to keep everyone happy.

The mentioned boy wasn't any better than his mother or sister, who currently isolates herself from any sound. When Felix first saw how Shapeshifter was jumping between random people, mixing some really incompatible traits, he got really worried. But it was really nothing compared to when Camilo took a form with his skin inside out, showing his organs. 

But it wasn't like Felix could actually do anything to fix this. The only thing he was able to do was run from his wife to his son, trying to give them at least a tiny shred of happiness.

*** Alma had no idea what to do now. Everything was out of control when most of the family suffered, and those little amount without gifts tried to help everyone. Crying howls could be heard from every room at night. Pain and despair hung over the whole Casita, as nothing seemed to help stop the suffering. The candle dripped with wax, and the once beautiful pattern has blurred. Alma couldn't say she wasn't afraid of what might come next out of this now-twisted in some dark way miracle, but she didn't know how to stop this. Agustin's idea of putting out the candle might be good at first sight, but there was no way to actually know if it would stop the devilry in this house. 

Alma walked down the stairs, mentally marking blood stains to clean them later. Who's blood was it? Maybe Isabela destroyed the plants in her body again, tearing her own skin for the sake of freedom. Maybe Camilo shapeshifted into something abnormal again. Alma could never know. The fact that her mind reacted so calmly made her guts twist.

It was nothing like Pedro. If he disappeared in a slit of a second without letting Alma even understand what was happening properly, then her descendants stayed like this for a long time to become something not so strange. Everyone just wanted for this to stop. 

While other giftless members tried to comfort the exhausted tortured Madrigals, Alma was way more focused on keeping the village in line, leaving problem feelings inside Casita. 

And, oh boy, she never realized how much everyone used the magic gifts. For a couple of weeks, the whole village got into chaos. In those forty-five years, Alma had forgotten how wild the weather was without control. Donkeys were walking all over the village, and no one actually knew how to deal with injuries. 

This heavy smoke exposed the worst parts of the family, piercing through the skin with the sharp fangs, and Alma did her best to keep everything in order, just like always. Except for the fact that this time there was no way to say that everything was fine, pretending that all the cracks were a part of imagination. No matter how hard Alma tried to pretend that everything was fine, her family kept suffering.

Her eldest, Julieta, could barely move from bed with all those injuries that were appearing as fast as they were disappearing. No one actually could see Pepa properly because coming into her room was dangerous with the endless hurricane she caused, and Alma could only admire Felix, who kept coming to his wife despite how dangerous it was. And Bruno, her poor boy, who just disappeared one night without a trace, was now surrounded by spinning sand all the time. Grains painfully hit her skin when Alma tried to come closer, just like those lights all over Pepa's body. There were nights—many nights—when Alma imagined how her missing son returned home, even if she was completely sure that he was dead. This reunion wasn't as sweet as she had hoped it to be, no. It was painful and heartbreaking. She'd rather never see him again instead of this madness that took over him. 

Then there were her grandchildren. Primary four oldest of them. For some heavenly grace, Antonio didn't suffer like the others; even if Alma could see some disappointment in his eyes when he lost his gift that he got just a day ago, it was better than seeing him crying in pain without anyone around to comfort him properly. And Mirabel... Well, she looked completely fine. But, again, the curse seemed to affect only gifted Madrigals, so Alma left her be; there were enough problems already. The other grandkids, however, weren't so good. Starting with Isabela, who kept having plants growing inside of her, the red blood was running down her arms so often when she kept ripping the flowers off her. Dolores just stayed in her room, just like her mother, not for everyone's safety but for her own. For a couple of days, she had an extremely large number of heart attacks, until Mirabel connected the dots and said that her prima's heart usually gives out when there are loud noises. So Dolores went into her room to never come out. Luisa even looked fine for some time, only saying about some strange itching under her skin, that's until the first gray spots came on the surface, slowly growing, replacing her body with rock, just like plants replaced Isabela's. Camilo kept shapeshifting rapidly, seemingly not having any control over it; his body didn't care if his limbs were switched, not even taking into concern anything else.

Agustin greatly blamed her for this entire situation. And Alma just couldn't get it. She didn't try, she never wanted for something like this to happen. Dios, she wouldn't wish this even for her enemy. There was no way she actually did something to cause this; she was only protecting the family, and she didn't know how she would live with herself if she was to blame. 

[philtstone]

Anne/Gilbert, 13

#13 - You say my name for the first time and I fall in love in an empty bar

two days ago i accidentally stumbled upon an ancient half-written opening scene to an anne of green gables psych au in the depths of my wip folder, and it struck me that whatever this concept was, the world deserved to see it. so i decided to pummel it into a coherent prompt fill and here we are. the prompt is ... interpretive, but i think it works. if it isn't clear, anne is shawn, diana is gus, and gilbert is juliette. i don't actually know if there's a lassiter in this universe; suggestions are, of course, welcome

for @foolgobi65, because as one might expect, the title of the google doc read, "for maya"

Anne’s day ends with her spitting out a large gulp of no-brand hallucinogenic instant coffee onto the potted azalea in their lobby. 

Well. That is not wholly accurate. One could argue that Anne’s day ends with the gasping splutter that follows, and the wide-eyed stare she bestows upon her sheepish colleague slash long-time childhood friend slash former sworn enemy, slash --

Well. That, too, leaves some points unaddressed. 

The most accurate account capitulates that Anne’s day -- an all-around uneventful, if emotionally complicated affair -- ends with the soft, butterfly-wing laugh shared by two friends who have acknowledged the known truth of a secret badly kept and ultimately harmless in practice.

But that’s where Anne’s day ends; it begins quite monotonously, with a tip-off about Mrs. Blewitt’s peevish cat having gone missing (it had run away and good riddance, Anne insists, a conclusion she comes to without any collection of evidence nor erstwhile psychic episode), and the spilled bowl of coco puffs that heralds the complicated emotions of the day’s middle.

And so, without further ado, the middle:

Gilbert is starfished on the floor, t-shirt clad back against cheap laminate. 

Gilbert has been starfished on the floor (t-shirt clad back against cheap laminate) all afternoon. Anne does not know if this is his natural mourning position or something unique to this particular lamentation. Either option is pitiable on principle, and saddening in the more subjective sense; he is a dear friend, and this a sticky situation. 

But the fact of the matter is that his limbs are simply too long to be starfishing in the Lady C’s Psychic Detective Agency lobby. Specifically, they don’t actually have a lobby, as the entire space is just one dinky office and a houseplant.

“Oh, Gilbert,” says Diana, placatingly, as she’s said at least twelve times in varying tones of commiseration in the last hour.

“I’m a fool,” Gilbert tells the ceiling. Anne can acquiesce that the ceiling is a very good listener; she and that ceiling have had many a despondent heart-to-heart in the past year alone. “A prized idiot, Anne.” 

Anne scowls. 

She does so enjoy being right -- it has to be said -- but that doesn’t mean she would pull an I told you so after someone’s job has been lost. Jobs are livelihoods. Livelihoods mean being able to do things like actually afford groceries, or own a car that does not make horrible rattling noises every time one turns on the left-hand blinker. 

She got the “I told you so” off her chest hours ago. 

“You’re not an idiot,” says Anne, more snappishly than she intends it. “You’re a good person, Gilbert Blythe. That is not an idiot.”

“I am,” insists Gilbert. “This was a terrible idea. Zero out of ten, would not do again. Why didn’t I go into medicine? Remember Ms. Stacey from the seventh grade? She said I should go into medicine.”

At this, Diana throws Anne an aggrieved look from under the well-groomed fringe of her glossy dark hair. 

Diana -- when she isn’t saying “Oh, Gilbert” in commiserating tones -- is making coffee in the corner in what must be a noble attempt at offering a comforting hot drink during a time of trouble. Only, she’s using the last of their instant coffee mix, which Anne employs more in DIY home facial remedies (a desperate bid to reduce her stubbornly-enduring freckles) than she does in coffee. It generally tastes like putrified cardboard and has odd kernels of glittery orange stuff in it that Anne once insisted almost did give her an out of body hallucinogenic psychic experience.

Marilla had said “Fiddlesticks” and attributed that to sleep deprivation and a too-large cup of artificially caffeinated joe, but that is beside the point.

The point is: Anne’s not sure if the coffee is their best course of action, comfort-wise, and of course reminiscing about seventh grade is not going to get them anywhere good. Seventh grade involved terrible hair dye jobs, the distasteful entity that was Josie Pye, and that one time (read: the entirety of seventh grade) where Gilbert tugged Anne’s braid in a misguided attempt to get her attention and Anne vowed to hate him forever. 

Obviously, Anne did not keep good on that vow, else Gilbert would not be starfishing on the floor of her slightly-fraudulent psychic detective agency office, in the throes of misery. 

Anne sighs. She tries to telepathically communicate to Diana that it is indeed a go on the well-meaning offering of mediocre bean juice and taps her foot. 

“Here, Gilbert,” says Diana, kneeling down and offering the chipped mug to the general vicinity of Gilbert’s prone chin. Gilbert looks at her desolately, and then down his nose -- it’s a very fine nose, Anne thinks unhelpfully -- at the steaming cup. He goes a little cross-eyed.

“Oh,” says Gilbert. “Thanks, Diana.”

But he doesn’t make any move to get up. Anne taps her foot more insistently and crosses her plaid-clad arms, frowning.

“Drink the coffee,” says Anne, in a tone she hopes brooks no argument. Diana told her only yesterday that she’d quite excelled in recent weeks at achieving it. The wisdom of its application had been another matter entirely, tangled in an unfortunate case involving a missing Jersey cow and a classical opera singer’s heirloom willow-pattern serving platter -- but that was neither here nor there, and Diana’s faithful encouragement was greatly appreciated.

A Jersey cow in Toronto, Anne thinks now, huffing. Of all the things --

Gilbert has not taken his coffee. 

“Gilbert,” says Anne.

Perhaps the stuff’ll be so strong that Gilbert will be knocked right out cold, thus reprieving him of his woes for a short while. Or maybe it’ll give him that hallucinogenic experience Anne had, and, subsequently, he will realize that Anne herself is not the real thing, and merely an expert fake, and their carefully-built, much-cherished friendship will be over forever.

Fiddlesticks, says Marilla’s sensible voice in Anne’s head. 

Focus, Anne, thinks Anne.

“Gilbert,” Anne says again, in less theatrical tones, “you did absolutely nothing wrong. You are free of the corrupt institution of manufactured public justice now, and good riddance to that.”

This is the second time today Anne has said “and good riddance to that”. Gilbert says nothing, and continues frowning at the ceiling. 

“You pursued justice,” continues Anne -- and is it really her fault the theatrics are creeping back in? -- “and for that were dishonourably suspended. You followed protocol and reported disingenuous practices that were hurting an innocent family. That’s more than enough to ensure your relative moral standing in an ethically complex situation. So, really, who is the dishonourable party here? The --”

“The Toronto police department,” offers Diana helpfully.

“The Toronto police department!” finishes Anne. 

“Yes,” says Diana.

“Yes,” repeats Anne, then flounders, realizing her point has already been made. “And – well – good riddance to them!”

There is a beat; Gilbert turns his face, rather muppet-like, across the floor, to look at her with marginally-less miserable eyes; the top of his curly dark head flops against the floor. They stare at each other awkwardly for a long moment.

“Well?” Anne says, finally. “Drink that poisonous coffee and up and at ‘em.”

Finally, Gilbert sighs, and pushes himself up onto his elbows. This is good. One brown-fingered hand grasps the death liquid in a sort of fumbled grapple for balance and prevented spillage. He says,

“Thank you, Diana -- Anne. I -- I know.”

“Well, good,” says Anne.

“I’m just -- I’d be perfectly happy figuring out a new life, on principle, but this case -- I can’t just leave it.”

“Well that’s a given. Obviously, you’ll figure it out. Bring those clowns to justice.” 

This is Anne speaking.

“Right,” says Gilbert. There is a furrow remaining between his frustratingly nice brows. “But Anne -- I don’t have any resources anymore. I got fired, remember? I had to turn in my badge and gun and even my car.”

“We have a car,” Diana says helpfully. Anne nods, not quite realizing the end goal her bosom friend and psychic detective partner is building up to here; she is more caught on the fact that Gil’s department issued vehicle was a sleek Volvo, and Diana’s car is her mother’s ancient fire engine red Toyota and outside of ongoing engine troubles also smells eternally of the family kimchi recipe. “We have food in our fridge, too –” (that kimchi) “and we have pens, and pencils, and lots of paper, and a printer – Anne’s got a taser, even –”

“Diana,” Anne hisses, instinct overriding any higher brain function that would catch on to Diana’s burgeoning Point.

“You know that’s illegal, right?” says Gil, unhelpfully,

“What I’m trying to say,” says Diana, “is sure, you have resources, Gilbert Blythe. You’ve got us, haven’t you? Actually, well, I’ve had a really great idea. You could just work here!”

It is here that the heroines of this daytime drama begin their journey towards the spluttering end-of-day outlined at the beginning, because at this cheerful declaration Anne turns, and blinks rapidly at her colleague. Gilbert, in turn, blinks at Anne.

“You’ll be an official part of Lady C’s Psychic Detective Agency!” continues Diana, all dimpled smiles, and even claps her hands together – so enthusiastically that the puffy cold shoulder sleeves of her powder blue top bounce. “I think that solves all of our problems, don’t you, Anne?” 

The late afternoon sun shining through the half-covered office window is making Diana’s Wednesday work-day highlight pop quite extraordinarily; perhaps this is what distracts Anne enough that she does not take her by the well-manicured hand and say, with awkward comedic timing, a word? like people do in humorous television shows. Rather, realizing that there really is nothing else she can say: 

“Oh, erm, sure.” 

Only then, somewhat immediately, does the reality of the statement barrel into her like that damnable Jersey cow. 

“Diana,” Anne hisses, a second time.

“Oh, don’t be a sourpuss, Anne,” Diana says breezily. “I think Gil’ll get on just fine here. And anyway, Marilla gave us, like, four days’ worth of leftovers to keep in the fridge. We need a man to help us eat through it.”

Amidst all of this, Gilbert’s expression has been slowly evolving from an understandable bewilderment to a perhaps more expected bemusement. By the time Anne has gathered enough of her wits to a), ignore him, and b), say, “No one says sourpuss anymore, Diana,” (because she is feeling acutely uncharitable in that exact moment), Gilbert has properly pulled himself up into a sitting position, rested his elbows loosely upon his knees, and said,

“That sounds fine to me.”

Anne whirls around to face him. She has lost words. How could Diana do this to her? This great betrayal of her deepest trust? Absolutely, Gilbert cannot work with them. Gilbert, who she has finally made peace with. Gilbert, who is one of her most valued friends. Gilbert, who trusts Anne, but does not at all know her process. Gilbert does not know the minutiae of her talents. Gilbert does not know that she is, in fact, lying through her teeth to the law, for money and also the greater good of the Greater Toronto Area. Well, perhaps it’s more like bending some truths – but Gilbert is an innocent in this equation, is the point! Of course, he is innocent in a manner that makes him utterly guilty and culpable in every respect, as Anne never hesitates to blame him for her many personal ills – but the fact of the matter is that she, Anne, will not be able to keep her fraudulent clairvoyant claims safe if Gilbert is living in her detective office.

“It’s not like I need a place to crash or anything,” Gilbert says, as though reading Anne’s very unhelpful and resoundingly mute train of thought. “But what I’d give to beat the bastards who did this at their own game.”

… Oh. The case. Which they have still not solved.

Anne, with herculean effort, unsticks her voice.

“No,” she says. “Absolutely not. This is a terrible idea, Gilbert Blythe. I won’t have it.” 

Gilbert eyes her very carefully, like she is a puzzle he cannot quite crack. Diana, on the other hand – who has been collecting her coffeemaking supplies with efficiency – whirls around on her way to the kitchenette and offers Anne a terribly pointed, knowing look. 

“I think it’ll be good for all of us, actually.”

“No,” Anne says. Really, she almost clasps her hands together in prayer. “No, no no no no, Di-ana –”

But Diana is gone, and Anne finds herself suddenly mute again: Gilbert has abandoned his laminate lamentations and stood to his full height.

He’s right in front of her and everything, too. She is struck by an awful earth-shattering vision of the same unfairly broad, football player’s chest now directly in her eyeline walking away from her, broken and defeated by the soul-destroying betrayal that will follow his inevitable realization that Anne is a lying liar who lied. 

“C’mon, Anne,” Gil says, as he steps forward to follow Diana out. His whole person is too close, his voice too chummy, just by her ear but oh so casual, and then, in the most infuriatingly possible way he could say it – “what’s the worst that could happen?”

And he leaves her standing in the empty Lady C’s lobby, wishing that she really did have psychic abilities after all. 

Maybe then, she could have seen this total disaster of a development coming.

[unorthodoxsavvy]

The Philver Scream

Thank God It's Friday

Chapter 2

Word Count: 75k

Rated: R

Genre: Horror

Phil bolted upright with a gasp. His breathing was heavy and he was drenched in sweat. The nightmare he’d just had was still fresh in his mind. Throwing the bed sheet off the upper part of his body he grabbed an errant notebook and pen on his night stand he used to write the things down that he’d remember while trying to fall asleep and started jotting down his whole dream. It took him about five pages and twenty minutes to recount everything he’d remembered. Sighing, he flipped through everything he’d just written before closing up the spiral notebook and placing it back on the nightstand with the pen. He picked his phone up and checked the time. It was a little after seven.

The nightmare certainly hadn’t left him feeling refreshed in any way, but more pressing was his bladder. Phil rubbed his eyes, trying to psych himself up to get out of bed and head down the hall to the bathroom.

He pulled the bed sheet of the rest of his lower body and swung his feet to the floor. He had a moment of deja vu, remembering almost a year ago when he’d woken up in this very same bed to the voice of what he now knew was his older brother’s ghost in his head. He took a moment to reflect on that moment and how much his life had changed since. First of all, he’d learned his brother was in fact dead and murdered. He’d learned about what his brother had been working on for years, a project that entailed compiling information on a malicious corporation of philanthropists and scientists looking to profit off a cure for cancer by any means necessary, including testing their experimental drugs on people in a trial-and-error method. Phil knew this would have gone on, leaving a trail of bodies behind, if Martyn hadn’t reached out to him in death and Phil hadn’t reported his murder to the local police, where he met Detective Howell, who he now knew as Dan. He knew they would have continued on like this if he and Dan hadn’t traveled all across southern-central and eastern North America tracking down leads like Dan’s missing, and now dead, father, who’d been kidnapped from the hospital where the company ran their first drug trial. In fact, the FBI had felt like the both of them had done such a bang-up job in uncovering this plot and bringing it to the attention of everyone, including being boots-down at ground zero when the siege took place that they’d offered Dan a position as an FBI agent and Phil an official position as an FBI psychic consultant, both stationed out of the Boston field office. And both had said yes.

As Phil stumbled blearily out the bedroom and down the hall towards the bathroom, he remembered he’d made lunch plans with Dan that afternoon. Dan, who had been in his dream. In fact, Dan was the only person he’d recognized in his dream. He was mildly impressed that he’d been able to make such a compelling dream narrative. The characters were engaging, the plot was fit for a movie, and the whole thing just felt so… real. 

By the time Phil made it to the bathroom he was able to smile at himself in the mirror, though, he still felt and looked like shit. And his throat was sore, and his chest hurt. But other than that, and being exhausted, he felt fine. Certainly not like someone who had just been brutally murdered.

The fear he’d felt had been real and palpable, though. Phil still had residual emotions floating around inside him as he exited the bathroom and crawled back into bed.

A year ago he’d have been up and baking for the coming week for his psychic-slash-bakery business, but since starting an official FBI consulting positon, he’d had to allocate some of that time to taking proper courses and training. Nothing to the level Dan had, though. The bureau had sent him to Quantico for training, where he’d been for the past six months. In fact, this lunch was the first time that Phil would see Dan since he left.

Before Dan had left for Quantico he’d been over at Phil’s apartment when he’d received the call of his mother finally passing. Phil had driven down and back with Dan for the funeral. Things had been emotionally fraught during that time. They got along well enough, but there was tension reminiscent of when they’d first met that hung between them. Phil wasn’t really sure what to expect over lunch, but whatever it was he expected to feel it two-fold. Compliments of his psychic nature.

Phil flopped back into his bed and pulled his phone towards him once more. He set an alarm for ten before placing the phone back on top of the notebook containing all the details of his dream and rolling over to go back to sleep.

*-*-*-*-*

Phil’s alarm lulled him into consciousness. Gone was the heavy breathing and beads of sweat running down the back of his neck, and instead he felt rested, awake, and ready for the day. 

Phil was meeting Dan for lunch at exactly noon at a chain cafe restaurant a few towns over. He was aiming to leave by 11:30, which gave him an hour and a half to get ready. By the time he was showered and dressed it was a little past 10:30, leaving him almost an hour to read the latest book he’d borrowed from the local library, where he was a regular. He settled down on the armchair in his crowded living room, which was still filled with a large fireplace, a table for seances, shelves filled with books and spiritual memorabilia, and so much more. The kitchen lurked behind an island counter that separated the two areas by the front door. It felt strange not to be in there with the lights on and the oven going, but Phil was slowly getting used to it.

Phil shifted his attention back to the book in his hands, trying his best to immerse himself in a fantasy world for just a short time before he’d have to drag himself out into the real world, where the consequences of his feelings and actions mattered, much like the characters in the novel he was reading’s world did. The book was something about a prince that’d been lost during a raid on the castle and a servant boy who’d helped him escape long ago, and when the servant boy grew up he started looking for the prince he’d helped escaped long ago. It was a much more pleasant story than his nightmare had been.

After a few chapters Phil glanced at the clock and with a sigh and a small smile, closing the book and setting it down on the nightstand by the large armchair. He gripped the sides of the chair to help pull himself up from the depths of the cushions. Once on his feet, he padded quietly across the carpet until he reached where the floor turned into hardwood. His shoes were on a small mat next to the door and, balancing on one leg, then the other, he slipped them on. He grabbed his car keys and wallet from a shelf with hooks hanging above the shoe mat and headed outside, locking the front door behind him.

The sun was strong and bright in Phil’s eyes, and he threw a hand up in front of his face as he navigated his way over to the car. He gave the key fob in his hand a double-click and heard his car unlock with a little electronic chirp and pulled the door open. He threw his keys on the passenger seat to climb down in, closing the driver’s side door once he was inside. He grabbed the keys off the seat and pushed the key into it’s ignition, and, with his foot on the break, started up the car.

The ride over to the cafe was a nice enough drive, and one Phil was rather familiar with at this point. He left the windows open as he drove, catching the fresh August breeze as it whipped his hair into a bit of a frenzy. He didn’t mind though. The rush of warm air felt good on his face.

When he exited the car, he felt the sun kiss the exposed skin of his face and arms. He flexed his fingers outwards almost instinctively, as if trying to maximize his surface area to soak as much of the sun up as he could before winter would come all too soon, or as if he were about to reach up towards the heavens themselves. He paused for a moment and closed his eyes, taking everything in. Then he started walking across the street towards the cafe.

Phil looked around the outdoor seating before heading in. He hadn’t spotted Dan outside.

Once inside, the greeter took Phil towards a table that faced a wall with a TV that played the news quietly. Phil glanced up at it briefly before shifting his attention to those around him. Phil could never help but to wonder what people in a restaurant around him were doing. He had a better idea than most. It was easy to see families and client meetings and things of that nature. And reading their facial expressions, even from a distance, was easy enough. But it was more than that.

He could see a couple two tables over that looked like they were on a first date. He could feel their nervous attraction when he focused in on them. 

He could see a child eating a plate of pasta, and feel the enthusiasm that oozed from her at having such a delicious meal.

He could see a girl just a few years younger than him nervously meeting with an older man in a more formal attire than most here, and he figured she was perhaps interviewing for a job.

Phil’s abilities had gotten stronger while trying to hunt down the people who had killed his brother, but so had Phil. When it came to the every day things, like sitting in a restaurant, or going shopping at the grocery store, Phil finally, for the first time in his life, felt like he had a handle on things. And, he noticed, now that he wasn’t put in as many life-threatening or emotionally harrowing situations, his outburst of energy were nonexistent. Eventually Phil wanted to work on trying to draw from that well deep within him and use his newfound abilities in a casual, day-to-day setting. He wondered if he could, perhaps, do the dishes with just his mind, or something. He’d tried, here and there, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to put the full effort in yet. He had all the time in the world, he figured, to figure himself out. There was no rush.

Lost in his thoughts, making a lazy attempt to raise the fork by his plate without his hands, he hardly noticed Dan walk into his vision and take the seat in front of him. What he did notice, however, was the fork just slightly off-center. He casually moved it back into place like nothing had happened.

“Hey,” Dan grinned. He seemed… happy.

“Hey,” Phil smiled back nervously.

“How’ve you been?”

Phi; shrugged, still smiling. “‘Bout the same as last time we saw each other. How’re you doing?”

“Great,” Dan nodded, that grin still plastered across his face. Phil had never seen Dan like this. It was a nice change.

“I can tell,” Phil observed.

Dan seem to pick up on the open-ended question Phil left in the air,but ignored it, instead gesturing to his menu.

“Have you taken a look?”

Phil waved a hand in the air. “No, I haven’t, but I already really know what I like here. Just a matter of deciding what I want.”

Dan grabbed his menu and held it at an angle he could read it and still talk to Phil over the top.

“How’s the business been?” He asked.

Phil glanced down at his own menu, picking it up and opening up the front cover.

“Good, actually, all things considered with cutting my days down and such.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Dan asked.

Phil nodded as he spoke, as if reaffirming with himself. “It’s going fine. It’s nice to have more free time, but I do miss being kept as busy as I used to be.”

“How’s the FBI training going?” Dan asked. 

“Pretty well, thanks. Don’t really know if what I’m learning will be of any use, but it’s something different at any rate. How about you?”

Dan put down his menu as if he’d been waiting to talk about this very thing.

“It’s going great. My instructor is amazing. He says I have real potential.”

Phil nodded enthusiastically.

“He’s so awesome. It’s honestly an honor to be working with him. I think I’m on track to being the top student in my class.”

“That’s great, Dan!” He looked back down at the menu, but it seemed as if Dan wasn’t finished.

“He’s done a lot of cool stuff already and he’s only a bit older than me.”

Phil tilted his head a bit. He was a bit older than Dan. Had he not done a lot of cool stuff? I mean, he literally had magic powers or whatever. Superpowers. He was like. A superhero. 

Phil’s smile tightened just a bit and he nodded again to show support.

“It’s great, it’s just really great…” Dan trailed off and looked back down at his menu. Phil shuffled his feet under the table as he stared at the menu. He felt the waiter approaching their table before he saw her.

“Can I get you guys any drinks to start off with today?” she asked, pulling out two cups and pouring them each a glass of water.

“I’ll have a strawberry lemonade,” Phil smiled politely up at her as she placed his glass in front of him.

The waitress turned to Dan as she filled his glass.

“I’ll have a coffee, black, please,” He replied politely but curtly. 

She gave a nod as she scribbled in her little book, placing the pitcher down on the table to do so.

“Aaaalright, and have we had time to look at the menu?”

No, because Dan was talking the whole time, Phil thought to himself instantly. He pushed that thought away immediately, though. It was nice to have Dan happy and chipper. And they weren’t fighting. He was glad that Dan was happy. Maybe some of that happiness would be directed at Phil.

“I’ll have a plain cheese pizza, small, please,” Phil ordered without really thinking about it.

The waitress turned to Dan.

“I’ll have a small pizza with mushrooms and peppers,” Dan smiled.

“Alright, I’ll have those drinks out to you shortly,” the waitress collected the menus from them as Phil glanced at Dan.

“I thought you didn’t like peppers?”

“I don’t, but Jake had me try some on pizza one night, and it was actually pretty good.”

“Whose Jake?” Phil tried to ignore whatever pang of jealousy he was feeling in his chest.

“My instructor.”

“You and him seem really close,” Phil probed, hating himself for it. What did it matter? It’s not like he and Dan were partners or anything. They just both knew each other from a case they had worked on together before and were now both in the FBI because of it. They weren’t really friends. Dan had only really invited Phil to his mom’s funeral because Phil was there when Dan had gotten the call that she had passed, and Dan’s mom had liked him. Maybe it was because Phil didn’t feel like he had any other friends.

“I wouldn’t say we’re like, super close or anything, but we hang out outside of class sometimes,” Dan explained, oblivious to how Phil was feeling. For once Phil wished the roles were reversed and Dan could feel how much he was hurting. Being able to feel how Dan felt about his instructor made it all the worse for Phil. He wished he could just shut it off.

“And not everyone in your class does that,” Phil clarified, pushing himself deeper and deeper into the hole he was digging himself.

“Well, no, it’s just me. So, I don’t know, maybe we are close.”

Phil’s grip on his glass tightened as he drank. At least I haven’t shattered it,” Phil thought to himself. Yet, added the negative voice in his head.

Phil ignored what looked like cracks in the glass.

Thankfully at that moment the waitress returned with Phil’s lemonade and Dan’s coffee.

Phil could smell the richness coming off Dan’s coffee and it reminded him of long drives in the car with Dan over last year. He yearned for that now. A part of him wanted to ask Dan if they could run away from all of this together, start over in a new town, make new friends they had together and shared, and maybe found someone they could fall in love with…

Or maybe Dan had already found someone like that for himself and Phil was the one left standing holding the bouquet at the end of the wedding, waiting to find his own Prince Charming.

“What’s the matter?”

Phil looked up from his glass.

“Hmm?”

Dan smirked, cocking his head. 

“I know that look. What’s on your mind?”

“My own thoughts, for once, instead of other people’s.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been wanting?” Dan asked.

Phil tilted his head from side to side in contemplation.

“Yes, it is. I didn’t realize how loud and painful my own thoughts and emotions could be, though.”

Dan reached over and grabbed Phil’s hand, something he never would have done a year ago. Phil nearly recoiled in shock.

“Tell me, Phil, what’s wrong.”

Phil opened his mouth to start saying something, anything, when the TV news caught his attention.

“Thanks, Gene. It happened here late last night: seven mutilated bodies found strewn about the 300 acre Texas campground behind me. An idyllic summer setting turned to tragedy a mere 24 hours after children went home for the season. Authorities are baffled by the lack of leads, having recovered only a machete with no discernable finger prints. Reporting live from San Antonio, I’m Roy Merkin. Back to you, Gene.”

The camera panned to blurred out images of dead bodies in a forest Phil recognized all too well.

Phil yanked his hand back.

“Oh my god.”

“Phil?”

Dan turned to look at the television screen behind him.

“What is it Phil?”

“Those kids…”

Dan turned back to look at Phil.

“I think I killed them.”

[ceph-the-ghost-writer]

Happy WBW! One of your OCs is tasked with telling bedtime stories for some children tonight. What story do they tell? Where did that story come from?

Thanks for the ask! Now that I've survived the semester, I think we'll visit Arasind and one of my oldest OCs for this very belated answer.

Zephyr knows he isn't going down in history as Mortigany's greatest Outsider (a term for a certain political position within his homeland's governing body), but he's much more confident in his ability as a parent. He credits this to the love and support he received from his own late mother and father, and he strives to pass the gift on to his three children. In this case, that takes the form of a bedtime game all young nightborn learn growing up.

It starts with the children waiting in their room, huddled on the bed, their cat-like pupils blown wide in the dark. They squirm with excitement when warm light from an oil lamp becomes visible through the crack under the door. Three heavy knocks come from the other side.

"Little nightborn," their father calls, "won't you let me in?"

"No, no, no!" the children shout in unison, bouncing on the down-stuffed mattress.

The door creaks open, a diagonal slash of light cutting a swath across the floor and wall. With shrieks of equal horror and delight, the children throw a thick blanket over themselves.

"Little nightborn." Their father's voice is right beside them now. "Won't you come out? I only want to play."

Again, they thrice-deny the request. The blanket's edge begins to lift, light threatening to invade their sanctuary. Giggling, the children take turns yanking the blanket back down and trying not to get tangled up in the fabric or fall to the floor.

The point of this almost daily ritual is much more serious than the tone might suggest, as is common with many childhood games. Zephyr is teaching his children the necessity of avoiding the sun, which means death to nightborn (humans on Earth would know them as vampires). Showing them how light can creep in through cracks in doors, or gaps in curtains, can prevent serious injury and accidents later on. The game also lets the children test out ways and places to hide should they ever need to.

After the lamp is blown out, and the children have settled down some, Zephyr might tell them a story about Shadyrus, the gentle god of darkness and death who created nightborn. How stars were born from Shadyrus's tears, or how they became friends with the deities of wind and earth are some favorites. He speaks in the nightborn tongue, which is forbidden from being used in front of or taught to humans. (Though Zephyr broke this rule with Tiên, his wife and mother of their children. He's broken many rules where she's concerned, and will continue to do so.)

And there you have it. Some pre-bedtime hide-and-seek followed by a little mythology to unwind.

[sangopearls]

-them with a royal s/o

CW: reader is said to wear a dress in some prompts, but is still gender-neutral. suggestive phrases used in kaeya’s segment.

based on this request:

“Hi! hi! may I request thoma with an s/o who is a kamisato?”

💌 @melkxsh

thoma omg <33333 yes absolutely! just titled this more broadly to fit some other of our fave boys in!!!! in thoma’s case, of course, your royal position will be a member of the kamisato clan!

the kaeya segment………. whew i’ll be thinking about royal reader x knight kaeya for a While

characters featured: thoma, kaeya, kazuha

(first time without childe! this is wildly out of character for me…)

thoma ✧˖*࿐

like thoma is to ayaka, he awaits your every need and accompanies you wherever you go. his favorite pastimes as your attendant-slash-boyfriend are to go out on the town to shop or to practice your combat skills with one another.

although it’s just mock fighting, a certain flame ignites within your stomach as you swing your blade. thoma means well, he’d never so much as lay a scratch upon you, but he’s certainly a formidable sparring partner.

for every jab and slash you attempt, thoma expertly blocks your blade with his polearm, a smirk flashing on his face every time you try.

“you’re certainly improving, your majesty,” thoma praises.

“it’s easy to do so—-“ you block his attempt at a sneak jab, “—-when you have such a great teacher.”

“really?” he challenges, switching his spear’s angles to counter your sword, “i’m not too charming and handsome to distract you?”

you bark out a laugh, narrowing your eyes, “you wish.”

the young man then changes his tactics to go on the offensive. you quickly dodge and reset your stance. in a flurry of metal, you manage to block his swings and get the tip of your blade pointed under his chin. thoma drops his spear in surrender and smiles.

“have i ever told you how hot you look when you have a blade to my neck?”

kaeya ✧˖*࿐

your ever-dutiful knight turned boyfriend :,)

long ago, you would gaze away from your etiquette classes to watch the knights train, your eyes glued to the charming man with the tousled blue hair, wondering what it would feel like for his strong arms to be wrapped around you and his lips feathering against your skin. a knight having an affair with the royal he was sworn to protect… it’s something out of those romance novels you would swipe from the palace libraries.

now that he’s your boyfriend, your wildest daydreams are better than you could ever imagine.

“almost ready to make your appearance, your majesty?” kaeya says, standing in the doorway of your dressing chambers, buttoning his sleeve cuffs.

“yes, it’s just this wretched corset,” you grumble.

“would you like my assistance?” he asks in that charming voice of his, approaching you. his tall figure appears behind you in the mirror, his eyes shamelessly drinking in the way the corset hugs your figure.

“the way you’re looking at me so deviously is just about sacrilegious,” you tease, watching in the reflection as kaeya laces the threads in the back.

“hm? are you going to have me punished for that, your highness?” he slurs, pulling on the strings in the back of the garment, “banished, beaten… or perhaps a consequence of your own devious creation?”

you feel yourself run warm and have to remind yourself that you’re about to appear at a formal event. this is no time to be hot and bothered.

with a final pull, kaeya finishes cinching the waist.

“what a beautiful dress, angel,” kaeya whispers, lightly pressing his lips to your neck, “although i’d like it much better if it were cast away on the floor.”

kazuha ✧˖*࿐

your knights had warned you to stay on the lookout for a dangerous runaway from a foreign nation, but you never expected to fall in love with the young fugitive.

you long exchanged secret letters with the mysterious man you had seen on one of your solo expeditions outside of the palace, and every night, the daring samurai would clamber up the palace walls and meet you at your windowsill.

“kazuha, you’ve made it safely,” you cheer softly, running to the window to help him in, “i always worry about what could happen should you fall or get caught.”

“[Y/N], i’ve been a man of the shadows for years, i don’t think some drunken guards would be the ones to finally do me in,” he assures you, kissing you softly.

“i know, i know,” you sigh, grabbing the sides of his face to keep his lips within an inch from your own, “it’s just so dangerous. your life underground, our secret meetings… i can’t help but be worried.”

“you mustn’t worry about me,” he whispers, peppering another kiss to your lips, “if they capture me or send me away, i’ll always find you again. always.”

[pixyys]

thou shalt not be sad!

making corny jokes and pick up lines for them

ft. the flags + chuuya + verlaine + adam

notes. romantic/ platonic; possible storm bringer spoilers; huuge thanks to @silverbladexyz for these wonderful pick up lines ♡

art by @/shan_zeze (twt)

❝you have a little bit of some loose screws in your head. everyone knows this well enough. but seriously, every person in your vicinity are just so depressed and gloomy! surely, that's nothing some some good ol' one liners can't solve. ❞

LIPPMANN

our little story starts during a time when the flags have the pleasure of gathering together. everyone has been busy with their businesses for quite a while. but they finally get the time to relax and act like normal young men without the burdens and horrors of their line of work.

of course, you are there too! for.. whatever reason you have. no one minds nor questions your presence, so you sit there, simply observing; grinning with a dumbstruck smile at how everyone is happy and enjoying their time.

especially lippmann. you saw his recent movie, the one that blew up on the internet, yeah. he's been flying all over the world for premiers and promotions. even now, he just got back from one of his tours.

"lippmann," you make your way towards the end of the billiard table. "how was europe?"

"europe?" he recovers from his hunched position, the billiard cue still in his hand. "it was quite nice. do you want me to take you when i go on another tour in the future?"

whoa. traveling europe with the lippmann?

"yes please," the response come a bit too eager than you intended. "but won't it be a hassle? was there any quarantine during your latest travel?"

"well, for safety measures-"

"because you can't spell quarantine without U R A Q T."

the room falls silent as those words leave your mouth, save for the ticking of the clock and someone's pool ball falling on the floor.

"ah.. well," lippmann laughs nervously. for a flit moment, burying yourself six feet under sounds like a very tempting escape. but the thought dissipates as the charming actor chuckles, with a very lilting voice and a cute-looking smile that could've made you keel over right there and then.

well, it's lippmann for you.

"i suppose there will still be momentary quarantines since the virus is still around," he continues," after all, you can't spell virus without U and I."

damn.

"oh hell no! not this again!"

something cracks with a horrible crunch, probably chuuya breaking his billiard cue. not sure didn't care. you're too busy gaping at the actor slash mafioso like some dying fish. either way, this dying fish got that world tour free pass! yeah!

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

PIANO MAN

looking back, you have no idea how you managed to crawl out from that pit of embarrassment and continue life as usual. maybe your sense of dignity just.. dried out. or you're the kind of person who just rolls with everything. you do you, champ.

your existence and role in the flags is a peculiar one, as peculiar as your personality. a wildcard, if you will. maybe that's why you find yourself helping piano man with those "supernotes" of his. 

"say, piano man, do you play the piano?" you ask, mind drifting wistfully as you watch him send away some of his underlings. some others are still waiting for their next order, standing by within the vicinity—you included.

"i don't," he regards your curious question.

"i think you'll be a great pianist."

piano man offers a raise on his brow, "on what ground?" he said.

"i mean, better yet, you can be bae-thoven."

to put it in the most less-heartbreaking sense, his response is both something you definitely expect but nevertheless didn't prepare for. the silence that follows was reminiscent of that time you landed a free tour pass with lippmann, so as the forced laugh that grows from piano man's mouth.

another, painfully awkward silence that comes after it, however; you can't help but reel from it.

"piano man, please, that's the worst possible response," you half-whispered.

"ah, apologies," he simpers, "i suppose.. thank you?"

THAT IS THE WORST POSSIBLE RESPONSE.

the room is dead silent, and it doesn't look like it's because piano man's underlings are too afraid to laugh because of him. no, at this rate, your sense of dignity will really dry out, dissipating out of existence. that is until you saw a glimpse of piano man's subtle smug face.

ah, right. you forgot it was piano man you're up against.

[name]: i showed you my best pickup line pls respond

piano man: no &lt;3

in bitter shame of such pitiful defeat, you toned down your puns ever since. but one time, when you cross paths with your arch nemesis once again, piano man strikes up a conversation.

"about that thing about not being able to play the piano, [name]. i think i'll start learning it."

"oh really?" you turn to him. 

but what did he do? he, in turn, closes the distance, leaning his face to your ears, "how about you give me some piano lessons?" he whispers, and you can almost, almost feel his lips lingering on your earlobe. 

"we can play all night and make sweet music." you can feel his smile.

you ascended. jaws dropped, eyes popped out, cheeks blushed. you didn't remember if you passed out or dropped dead.

really, it's best to only pick battles you can win.

‎

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ICEMAN

"iceman is it? you seem like a cool guy. i hope we can get along."

iceman knew you're a walking embodiment of a headache the moment you exchange names and shake each other's hands.

he still wonders why he still puts up with your shenanigans. or why he still agreed on helping you do combat practice and friendly spars. all the while trying to not accidentally stab or decapitate you, probably.

he watches you pat down your light bruises, making use of the momentary rest. objectively speaking, you are no weak opponent. sure, he can most likely kill you in your sleep. but at least not without some struggle in your part.

"this place is pretty neat for sparring. like a very comfy practice room," you comment, still holding the shoulder that might have a nasty bruise- or a sprain? he hopes not. iceman wonders if he threw you too hard just now.

"oh! speaking of," you suddenly turn to him, "are you a practice room? because i want you and i hope you're not taken."

mm, no. he really should've thrown you harder.

iceman, once again, questions why he puts up with you. both of you aren't even musicians and you manage to force that line into this context, and for what?

"..iceman?"

he remains passive.

"uh, please laugh?..at least?"

you made it a mental note to not mess with iceman again. poor guy. he still helps you patch up those sparing bruises though, so you should be good👍

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DOC

"sorry, can you help me? i think something's wrong with my eyes."

being sent to the battlefront is tough. guns and fists and knives don't exactly line up with an unscathed body. but you're tougher! and you have your reliable good friend, doc. iceman's training retinue polished you like a coarse diamond grinder, so doc didn't have to do much than patch up minor cuts and scratches.

doc decides to hold back his questions at your remark. instead, choosing to appraise your face- the eye you claim to be 'wrong'. there's a subtle crease on his brow as his hands frame your cheek, trying to observe visible damage on your eye.

of course. even the most skilled doctor wouldn't find anything. your eyes are fine.

"i think, i just can't take them off you." you wink.

doc tilts his head, then blinks.

ha! cute! yet, the silence is starting to get you ptsd from piano man and iceman. you hope it won't be the same case for this doctor man.

he finally nods, as if making up a decision. "does it feel numb? or is it painful?"

"no, i mean-"

"maybe something is wrong with your extraocular muscles. i can open it up and-"

"you know what, don't worry about it," you cut him off, rushing to swat away the current topic. "i think it just healed! that's amazing! i knew you're the best doctor one could ever ask for!"

haha yeah.. better be careful next time. getting your eyes dissected and cut open must not be fun.

‎

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ALBATROSS

you're not saying you have a favorite in the flags, but you're saying you have a favorite in the flags, and that might or might not be albatross. (it's definitely albatross).

he is your true partner in crime, aiding you in your eternal quest to annoy every single living existence (especially chuuya, but don't tell him that). albatross isn't very keen on puns or pickup lines, but he picks up the habit as soon as you start greeting him with those daily doses of corniness.

"morning!" you send the energetic wheelman a lighthearted smile, waving as you pass by the hallways of the headquarters. 

"oh, mornin' [name]-"

"do you believe in love at first sight, or should i walk by again?" 

by normal standards, a person normally does not start their morning with a badly-placed and badly-formed, relatively corny pickup line. but abiding by normal standards isn't exactly how you roll, and neither does albatross. that moment marked the day the flags must put up with a brand new headache.

"i'm confused… i thought happiness started with an H, but mine seems to start with U."

"life without you is like a broken pencil... totally pointless."

"are you a camera? because every time I look at you, i smile."

"are you a loan? 'cause you've got my interest-"

"alright. i believe that's enough, you two." 

it takes piano man a lot to get him to lose his patience, and apparently, you've done abundant. don't worry about chuuya, the little precious bundle of rage is long gone. he knows better than to risk exhausting his voice or accidentally ransacking the whole hideout (lmao).

‎

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ADAM FRANKENSTEIN

you are suffering from success. or winning from failure? these jokes and pickup lines became something of a second nature to your tongue. you can't even remember what you said to this robot- er, supercomputer agent adam frankenstein.

"oh. this is what humans call as puns, also known as paronomasia, a form of wordplay that exploits multiple meanings of a term, or of similar-sounding words, for an intended humorous effect."

"yeah-"

"but yours wasn't funny."

>:0

"w-well," you cough, recovering yourself. "funny isn't the only intention for that pun. it's a punny pick-up line."

adam nods.

"a pick-up line or chat-up line is a conversation opener with the intent of engaging a person for romance or dating. are you trying to woo me?"

:0

"w-wwwhat?"

so, a literal robot just pulled an uno reverse card on you. yet still, that's a good question. are you really trying to woo him? 

"i- i thought you'll start making one of those android jokes." you make an unsteady smile.

"my android jokes? of course. they have no slightest intention of expressing romantic expression, so i can make one for you if you wish so."

well. did this tin man just indirectly reject your yet-to-exist confession? 

"either way, I am flattered by your attempts. however, i'm afraid that it will be impossible. you are human and i am an autonomous humanoid supercomputer, the first to be used for law enforcement use, adam frankenstein-"

yep. the tin man just directly rejected your yet-to-exist confession. adam just woke up and chose violence. at this point, you're better off going home and curling up in your blanket with some sad love song playlist. you think chuuya winced and made a very pitiful expression for you. but you choose to mark that off as your imagination.

you're here to flex occasional puns and linguistic adeptness. you didn't come here to get yourself absolutely decimated. when life gives you lemons, well, try to not cry too hard..?

‎

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PAUL VERLAINE

for a reason you can't fathom, you somehow end up in verlaine's, chuuya's, and adam's theater of bloodshed.

right here, right now, you're a vanguard on the battlefront. you shouldn't be thinking this. your chest hurts so bad from dodging verlaine's attacks, your limbs are aching from bruises and cuts, your head is spinning with adrenaline, and this french man right here is trying to kill you and kidnap your ginger friend.

but darn, he's fine- you slap yourself.

"you good?" chuuya rasps, struggling to make his step as he flanks your side.

"no, but-" verlaine flings another flying car at you, and muscle memory forces you both to flee from your position, escaping death by a grasp.

well.

this man is merciless, and *cough* attractive. had he not currently trying to throw cars at you, you'd take him to some nice cafe and start serenading him with, uh, sweet words. 

huh. might as well.

"damn sir, you have some killer moves!" you roar heartily, uncaring by the way chuuya is eyeing you like an incredulous mother daring her child to do something stupid. "i'd simply die to have you." you wink.

"[NAME], WHAT THE HELL?!"

in that split second, your words seem to catch verlaine in a trance. adam's fancy iron man laser beam almost grazes the french man's shoulder..somehow.

hey, that worked! :D 

[name] : chuuya, i think he's french.

chuuya : no shit-

[name] : i think eiffel for him.

chuuya:

‎

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NAKAHARA CHUUYA

this is it. the curtain calls, and it's time to face the final boss. it's time to unleash the ultimate torment to this poor boy.

"woah, don't you look dapper? i always liked your fashion sense. it looks nice on you."

chuuya doesn't immediately answer, opting to silently trace the paved sidewalk you both are treading on. by all means, both of you have no trouble with resources that a personal car, or even a whole limousine won't be impossible. it's just that the moon shines beautifully that night, so you drag your grumpy friend for a breath of fresh air.

"but you know what you'll look better in?" you chuckle, following his steps. "my arms."

nothing. no reaction. no swatting your finger guns, no annoyed and incessant curses. chuuya treats you like a nonexistent ghost, until he halts and simply stares at you with an inexplicable expression.

"chuuya?" you falter, "did- did i go too far?- or did it finally get you? my jokes..?"

oh, it did get him. you got him.

he shifts closer to you, like he finally loses it and is about to choke you to death. but this feels different. there is no malice or raw anger in his movements. they feel.. heavy, tired. wordlessly, he leans his weight on your body, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

his breath is warm against your shoulder; the slight shudder from his long exhale stripped the corny jokes off your tongue.

"oh, chuuya.." you mirror him, putting your arms around him in a reassuring embrace. he is now here, in where you both want him to be: your arms.

some things come, and some things simply go. but some other things just don't change. chuuya is grateful that he can still hear your annoying jokes and lines, and that you are still by his side.

endnotes. man i wish I hadn't hit tumblr's 10 images cap. sorry adam, verlaine, and chuuya </3

(... sorry not sorry chuuya-)

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

Cheerleader Eddie AU, Uptown Girl

"So he locked you in here?"

"Yeah. He's kind of an asshole that way. No offense but your boyfriend's a douche."

Eddie now sat outside of the bathroom stall door on the floor. The shitty bathrooms doors had spaces between the latches and bottom allowing him to see Chrissy was on her knees, kneeling over the toilet. She'd stopped gagging at this point and was able to speak without heaving. Grabbing the bandana out of his back pocket, the young man reached under the stall door and held it out. Chrissy leaned over and took it.

"Thanks. Sorry if I get vomit on it."

"It's fine. That's seen far worse than a little puke."

"Really? Should I be worried?"

"Nah I've cleaned it." Eddie laughed. "So...you eat something bad or...?"

"Or something." Chrissy responded. The sound of the toilet flushing made him back away as the bathroom door opened. "Ew, why are you sitting on the ground? Do you know how dirty that is?"

"It's not nearly as bad as the boy's room. No piss on the floor and not nearly as many swastikas etched in the walls."

"Jesus," Chrissy walked over the sink and began to wash her hands, "sounds like a free for all."

"The urinals are more of a suggestion than anything." Chrissy snorted as she wiped her wet hands off with a paper towel. Going over to the door, she tried the handle again but it still refused to give.

"Damn it Jason." Chrissy muttered, giving the door a kick. Pacing for a moment before taking a seat on the counter next to the sink. "Looks like I'm missing trigonometry completely today."

"Yeah. Takes a while for the janitor to notice. Spent half a day in the locker before I was finally broken out."

"A locker? Does Jason do this to you regularly?" Eddie shrugged from his position on the floor.

"Nah it's not just him. But I'm used to it. Got thick skin."

"But you shouldn't get used to it." Chrissy protested. "People are always assholes around you."

"Hey, I'd rather they be assholes to my face than do it behind my back. That first practice, Ashley and some of the other girls were talking shit about you."

"Yeah but that's different. They don't slash my tires or lock me in a bathroom." Eddie watched Chrissy's face fall as she went on. "I mean, you're not even a Satanist!"

"As far as you know." Eddie winked. Chrissy rolled her eyes.

"I doubt Satanists wear scrunchies and babysit freshmen."

"Just recruiting for my army in the afterlife." They both giggled before falling into a silence. Eddie glancing at the door then the last stall. "Hey...not to be that guy but....why are you dating him?"

"Huh?"

''Jason. You've been with him for almost a year now and I almost never see you guys even hang out."

"What? So I have to spend every second with my boyfriend?"

"No but I'd think you guys would at least know what's going on in each other's lives. Or about..." He trailed off looking back at the toilet stall she'd come out of.

"About what Eddie?" Chrissy snapped. "I know what Ashley probably said to you. That I go to the bathroom after lunch every day? Well that's none of Jason or your business."

"I'm just worried about you. Can't friends worry about each other?" Eddie snapped back. The silence this time was much more awkward. The two looking away from each other as they waited for something, anything, to happen. Eddie pulling at his jacket's chains, stealing a glance at Chrissy from the corner of his eyes. She was tapping her hands on your counter rhythmically to a song he didn't recognize. The cheerleader noticed him staring and asked.

"What?"

"Nothing just wondering what song you're humming to."

"I doubt you'd like it Mr. The only real music has to have a guitar solo."

"Hey I can be open minded when it comes to music. I like Queen."

"Everyone likes Queen."

"Well what do you like?"

"Promise you won't laugh?" Chrissy but her lip. Eddie crossed his heart with his finger.

"Promise."

"It's Uptown Girl. By Billy Joel." Eddie grinned, face turning as he held back laughter. "Hey you said you wouldn't judge."

"No, I said I wouldn't laugh. Two very different things." The young man stood up and opened his mouth. "Uptown Girl, she's been living in her uptown world!"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm singing." Eddie laughed. "I bet she's never had a backstreet guy. I bet her momma's never told her why."

"You know the song?"

"I worked in a record store the last two summers to pay for my car. Kind of hard to avoid." He held his hand out to her. Chrissy stared at it as he continued. "I'm gonna try for an uptown girl. She's been living in her white bread world."

"As long as anyone can." Chrissy joined in on the singing, taking his hand and letting him pull her up. "And now she's looking for a downtown man."

"That's what I am." Eddie's voice picked up on the line as they began to dance in time to the rhythm of their voices. Eddie following her lead as Chrissy spun him around.

"And when she knows what she wants from her ti-i-ime." He grabbed her hands in his, the two swaying on the prolonged time.

"And when she wakes up, and makes up her mi-i-i-nd." Chrissy teased the lyrics out before falling back and giggling. "You know Munson, you're getting better at this."

"What can I say, I'm a fast learner."

"He said, taking senior year for the fourth time." Chrissy practically cackled.

"I'll have you know it's only my third time, thank you very much." Eddie was quick to reply. Looking Chrissy in the eyes they both flushed red when they realized how close they were. Quickly pulling away when the door handle began to jiggle. The door opened and the janitor looked in, confusedly holding a belt in his left hand.

"Hey Mr. Browning." Eddie waved at the older man.

"Again Munson?"

"Not like I do it on purpose."

"I know," the man sighed, "you kids get to class." The two teens rushed out in opposite directions. The man grunted and began to hum to himself. "...she'll see I'm not so tough..."

[bonky-n-steeb]

𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗽𝘀 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘃𝗲

𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙑𝙀 𝙍𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙭 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || Steve’s life takes a quantum leap when he finds you unconscious on the beach.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || ANGST (with a happy ending)

This is the second part of six feet under.

I know I broke your hearts, so here comes the second part to mend it! I hope you love this!

“You are my mission.”

Steve felt as if the walls of his heart were pricked by a thousand needles. It ached too much for him to bear. Unable to look in your eyes, he cried in his own palms.

The Asset wasn’t built to show emotions, but you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at the picture in front of you; your mission had just dropped down on his knees and was pathetically sobbing.

Why wasn’t your target fighting. You were informed that he was great at hand combat but not really outstanding with guns. So why wasn’t he attacking you as expected. Why was he showing you his back in surrender?

You were told what to do if the mission fought. But you weren’t informed what to do if he just... surrendered.

Walking close to your mission where he was crouching down, you stared at him for a moment. You weren’t wearing your combat gear, and neither was he. You both were instead dressed in far from modest clothes.

You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t bring yourself to harm him in any way. With the way he was trusting you, you could’ve killed him within seconds. But yet your heart somehow ached at his situation.

When he didn’t even look up, you nudged his thigh with your left foot. When your mission finally looked up, his eyes were bloodshot and he was incessantly crying.

“Fight me.” You said as he just stared at you. Your blank gaze terrified Steve more than any alien or villain ever had. You didn’t know why, but you wanted him to fight you. You weren’t able to attack him if he just gave up.

Steve blinked his eyes as he took in your words. Why weren’t you killing him? He had surrendered to you and yet you were just looking back at him instead of fighting. Why did you want him to fight you?

“No.” Steve had never thought love would be his weakness. Or maybe he had never truly realised it. Steve loved Bucky as a friend and had rained hell when his friend was in danger.

And here he had signed off his soul in your name. He would literally bring you the moon and stars if you asked to. And he would bare his throat for you to slash through. But he couldn’t possibly ever hurt you.

“I said fight me.” Steve Rogers, your mission was supposed to fight you. Not just sit down and take whatever you gave him. You didn’t know why you were angry at his lack of self preservation.

What happened next was within the blink of an eye. Steve’s arm shot up and curled around your wrist. And with a quick pull, he pulled your entire body down.

His agility took you by shock and before you could react, you were down on the ground pressed against the floor with him straddling you. Taking both of your hands in his, he pinned them above your head, making sure you were immobile.

You were royally fucked. Your handlers wouldn’t take it lightly if you messed up. And that was if you reached them in one piece. Chances were you were gonna die here, right under Steve Rogers.

You opened your mouth to bite and hiss and Steve took the opportunity and dove right in. You stilled with surprise when you felt the captain’s plump lips right against yours. This man was super insane.

You mercilessly but his lower lip and ended up drawing blood. But as soon as he started licking in your mouth with his tongue, you melted right on the spot.

The warmth of his mouth slowly brought back the warmth of your memories. Steve felt you go pliant under him for some moments before you started fiercely kissing him back.

You entwined your fingers with his and gently pressed your tongue against the bite mark on his lips. You didn’t notice the tears that slipped through your eyes and how they mixed with Steve’s own tears falling against your face.

“Steve.” You called his name just like you always did. With love and belonging. He opened his eyes to see you staring right back at him with your lively eyes.

Steve had never been happier before. Pressing his forehead against yours, he just breathed you in for a moment. “Steve.” Your hand was now caressing his face.

Your eyes peering into each other were enough to convey the million thoughts you had and the thousand things you wanted to say. Pressing a loving kiss to your forehead, he got up and you followed him.

You both sat on the floor with your legs crossed, you kept some space between you two. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Steve repeated as he broke down once again.

You hushed him and held him in your arms until he calmed down. “I shouldn’t have done that, but… but I wanted to know.” Steve couldn’t ever forget how your face had morphed into that of betrayal as he recited the words.

“But I want to know one thing. Do you love me? Or… or is it some tactic of hydra to ruin me?” You wanted to slap Steve for asking this stupid ass question. Of course you loved him!

But then you realised where he was emotionally. If you were in his position then maybe even you would fear the same. “It’s real Steve. It’s definitely real.”

You framed his face with your hands and caressed your thumb over his cheeks. “Steve, I love you. And by ‘I’, I mean Y/N and Soldat. My soul belongs to you, no matter it’s name.

How can you doubt our love when it was the only thing that brought me back?” It was true, you wouldn’t have remembered anything if Steve hadn’t kissed you.

You could see the colour fill in Steve’s face. He pulled you in a bear hug and held you tight. “I love you. I love you.” Steve chanted in your ear just like before.

Once you were both calm enough to think straight, you decided to go out on the beach. You sat in the sand with your head tilted on Steve’s shoulder as the sea breeze kissed your wet cheeks.

“I barely remember who I was before all this Steve. I can only remember glimpses of the shield and the avengers. I’m no more the Y/N you once saw.”

Steve was silent as he listened to each and every word of yours. He wanted to say so many things back, but he knew he had to listen to you first.

“But I remember how they took me Steve. It was probably my third official shield mission and we had all thought that base was not active. But when we broke in, the operatives were waiting just for us.

It was trap and we fell willingly into it. The others managed to escape, but… but I couldn’t. And they took me Steve. I… I waited for you people.

I still remember shivering in that cold cell all alone, praying for you to find me. But you never came. And with time I just kept forgetting until I couldn’t remember anymore.” Your voice cracked yet you kept going.

“Even after you retired, you still were hydra’s number one target. It’s almost personal now. It took them some time, but they finally traced you and they knew you were alone.

I was supposed to use a boat as long as I was out of visibility and then swim till the shore so that you wouldn’t notice me. But I miscalculated the current and the rocks on the shore.

After I abandoned my boat, I jumped into the water and got caught in the water currents. It was a terrifying experience, just spinning wildly underwater as the water took you.

But I was oddly at peace as I thought finally I would be free. But then I hit my head on the rocks and got washed up. And I woke up remembering absolutely nothing in your warm bed.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve couldn’t ever forgive himself for all that had happened to you. He was sure shield must have tried their best, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. I’m sure they must’ve tried.” You both sat quietly staring at the calm ocean which reflected the night sky.

“Do you still love me?” You asked with a dejected sigh. “I’ll always love you.” Steve replied pulling you closer. “Even after knowing who I am and what I was here for?”

“You could’ve easily completed your mission. I know you are capable enough of doing that. But, you did not. You couldn’t harm me even when I openly surrendered to you.

So yes, I still very much love you and I’ll stay by your side forever.” The last word pierced through your heart like a knife. You couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Steve, I… I have to go.” Steve looked at you quizzically. “Where?” You gulped audibly before meekly replying, “Hydra.” You could feel his body tense.

“You aren’t going back there, no matter what.” You wanted to believe Steve’s words, but you knew that couldn’t happen.

“I’ve tried to run away. So many times. But they always find me. They’ll find me this time too. And if they find me, they’ll find you too and I can’t let that happen.

I won’t be able to live if something happened to you. I’ll never forgive myself. And that’s why I need to go.” If this sacrifice was going to keep Steve safe, then so be it.

“Nothing will happen to me. And if they come, we will fight them. Together. And nothing and no one can stop us if we are with each other. Stay with me, please!”

You kissed his cheek to stop him from pleading anymore. You couldn’t tolerate the man you loved begging you. “I’ll… I’ll stay with you. I promise.”

Steve hugged you so tight, you wondered if you broke some bones. But being in the arms of the man who loved you, felt better than heaven itself. It was a different kind of a feeling, one that no words could ever describe.

“Steve, what do you think about Paris? I’ve always wanted to go there.” You asked as you both sat silently on the beach, basking in each other’s presence.

“I’ve always thought about visiting Louvre too. But I never really got the chance.” Even as a sickly kid, Steve wanted to get mesmerised by the art in the famous museum.

“And what about Sydney? Or Amsterdam? Or Barcelona?” Your eyes lit up like an excited kid. “What about all of them?” Steve jested.

Steve wanted to travel the world too. In a sense he already had, but it was always for some mission and never for the sake of relaxation. “Yeah, we could do that!” You exclaimed as if the thought hadn’t occurred to you.

It would be a new beginning for both of you. A new life away from your tainted past. A fresh canvas to paint with the colours of your own choice. A much needed restart that both you and Steve needed.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s pack our bags!”

[imkylotrash]

On The Edge

Pairing: Riven x reader

Request: Reader is a water fairy & gets infected by a burned one and riven’s scared that the reader dies. Anonymous

“You know what? I’m done.” People lie when they tell you heartbreak doesn’t kill. You lift your hand to your chest convinced there’ll be a hole from where he ripped your heart out but somehow there’s no injury. 

“You’re done?” It’s masochistic to ask him to repeat it but you just don’t understand how an argument turned into a breakup. You’d mentioned that you were worried about his day drinking which you still are and he’d just lost it. Accused you of wanting to change him and being like everyone else. Clearly, you’d touched a nerve, but you never thought he’d break up with you. 

“I’m just over you always trying to change me. I am who I am.” He grabs his stuff before running out the door. Your feet seem glued to the floor because every time you try to follow him, your feet refuses to move. Maybe it’s the shock holding you in place. 

“What just happened?” Sky asks. Of course, he heard everything. He’s probably been waiting out in the hallway waiting for the fight to be over with. 

“We should get going.” You’re not ready to say it out loud. 

“I thought you said it was a bad idea?” 

“I changed my mind.” You grab his sword and hands it to him. Yesterday, Sky asked you if you were up for a little hunting in the woods to help Silva. You’d told him it was a bad idea and to let the adults handle it, but now you’d do anything to just get out of here. 

“Hey,” he says grabbing your arm, “no distractions. We have to focus when we go out there.” You squash the small voice in your head telling you not to go. 

“I’m fine, really.” You even plaster on a smile to convince him and poor Sky, who is desperate to help Silva, believes you. As you head out, you leave a note for Riven in case he comes back to tell him where you’ve gone and that you want to talk when you get back. It’s just that you don’t return in any condition to talk to him. You don’t remember Sky carrying you back to school or Mr. Harvey treating your wounds. For a while all you feel is pain. Your body is on fire and you’re screaming for someone to help you but it’s no use.

“Baby, I’m right here.” You try to locate the voice but it seems so far away. He keeps talking but you’re in and out of consciousness. 

“Please just open your eyes. I’m so sorry.” He keeps talking but you can’t hear him. The next time you’re conscious, you manage to open your eyes. Even in his sleep, Riven is clutching your hand. You try to feel out in the room but you can’t get a sense of water anywhere. Panic settles in your body. You’ve never been without water in your entire life, even just a glass of water would be enough for you to feel calm. Being in touch with your element keeps you calm but now you can’t feel it at all. 

Riven,” you croak trying to move despite the pain. Immediately, he’s awake asking what you need. 

“Water.” He runs out the door and returns with a glass of water. Just the feeling of it entering the room calms you down. 

“We had to remove everything with water in it while Ben treated the wounds. Your powers were all over the place,” Riven explains grabbing your hand once again. Silence settles in the small room as you drink the water but you don’t need Riven to say it out loud for you to know; you’re not healing. 

“Is Sky okay?” you ask and Riven nods. 

“He brought you back to school. He saved your life,” Riven says in a bitter tone.

“I’m so sorry for what I said,” he whispers finally looking at you. He’s seconds from crying and miles from how he normally acts in situations like these. 

“I didn’t mean any of it. I was angry and I took it out on you. When I came back, you were gone. I kept thinking if something happened to you, it’d be my fault.” 

“Riven, no one is at fault here except me. It was my decision to go out there. I’m sorry I scared you but I’ll be fine.” He keeps quiet and you realise there’s something he’s not telling you. 

“What is it?” you ask wondering if you’re even ready to hear what he’s about to say. Judging by the grim look on his face, it’s not going to be pleasant. 

“They were hunting in groups. Sky managed to kill one but the other got you. Silva’s out hunting for the one who hurt you.” 

“But that’s good news. Sky got the one who injured Silva,” you say not understanding why Riven looks ready to cry. If anyone can find the Burned One, Silva is the one for the job. He used to hunt these during the dark years. 

“We’re running out of time,” Riven says and it hits you like a brick. Sure, Silva is good at hunting these things - maybe even the best - but there’s only so much time before Mr. Harvey can’t keep the infection from spreading. You might die and all you can think about is how much it’ll destroy Riven. 

“There’s hope until the very end, Riven. If you don’t give up, I won’t.”

“Never.” He leans in and kisses your forehead. He’s being as gentle as possible but your entire skin is on fire. You smile promising yourself that as soon as you get a second alone, you’ll get to shed a tear. But right now you remain strong as you look at Riven who’s turned into a complete mess. Your heart breaks for the boy he truly is at heart and how scared he is of people leaving him. 

“Hey,” you say grabbing his chin to make him look at you, “I’m not going anywhere. We have to trust that Silva knows what he’s doing.” You take a deep breath signalling for Riven to do the same. Every breath adds to your pain but it’s worth it if it helps Riven cheer up. What hurts you more than anything is the pain in his eyes. For a moment, it looks like it actually helps then Sky enters. 

“You’re awake,” he states in a surprised tone. 

“I hear you saved my ass out there,” you say hoping to keep the conversation light, “thank you.” 

“Wasn’t easy. Had to drag your ass all the way through the forest. I’ll send you the check from my chiropractor.” You start laughing but it turns into a cough and immediately Riven’s frown makes a return. 

“You should take a shower, handsome. You smell.” Sky laughs locking eyes with you for a brief moment before helping Riven to his feet. 

“I’ll help you to our room, but you gotta handle the shower part on your own,” Sky teases and you’re forever thankful that your hunting partner knows you this well. Although, Riven protests it only takes Sky minutes to drag him out of the room. You finally allow yourself to feel the pain from your wounds. Trying to seem fine is taking its toll on you. Five minutes of self-pity and you’re done. You tell yourself over and over as you try to face the fact that you might not make it through this time. When Sky returns, you’re not quick enough to dry away the tears. 

“He’s showering, you still have a few minutes,” he says quickly and you fall back against the pillows. 

“I don’t want to die,” you whisper admitting the one thing you’ll never be able to admit to Riven. He needs you to be strong but there’s no shame in falling apart in front of Sky. 

“Don’t talk like that. Silva will find the Burned One and kill it.” Ever the fixer trying to see the positive. 

“He doesn’t have much time. I feel it in my bones. It’s spreading and soon Harvey won’t be able to stop it.” Sky tugs a strand of hair behind your ear with a pitiful look in his eyes. He knows you’re right and he knows it’ll destroy Riven. 

“There’s still time. Saul sent word that they were tracking one up North. It might be the one,” Sky offers with a smile. He’s giving you hope when there is none. You know you won’t make it through another night with these wounds. Your fever is too high for your body to keep up. 

“There’s a letter in a shoebox under my bed in case I don’t make it. Please give it to Riven.” You’ve always known that being a fairy comes with certain dangers so you didn’t want to leave unprepared. 

“What are you talking about?” Riven is standing by the door looking like he might break something. “What letter?”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” you say trying to sit up straight. 

“Give us a minute, Sky.” He sends you an apologetic look as he leaves the room. Riven sits down next to you awfully calm. It’s the calm right before he explodes and you’re not sure you’re ready for it. 

“What letter?” he asks again making it clear that he’s not going to drop this. 

“I wrote you a letter in case I was ever injured and didn’t...” 

“In case you didn’t make it? But you said there was hope!” His voice is shaking but you’re not sure if it’s from anger or heartbreak. 

“Sweetheart, I’m just trying to prepare for every outcome. I-” 

“There’s one outcome and that’s you staying alive. Do you hear me?” You bite your tongue and nod. The last thing you need is for the two of you to argue when you might not wake up tomorrow. Instead you pat the empty space next to you and smile. 

“Just be careful,” you whisper as he gently crawls into bed with you. He falls asleep there and at some point, even you fall asleep despite the pain getting worse. You don’t expect to wake up the next day but you do. The fever broke at some point during the night and the foul smell of your wounds have gone away. Not daring to hope you slowly lift up your shirt to find beautiful, pink skin rather than ugly slashes. 

“Riven!” you yell out in excitement. 

“What?” He’s awake in seconds looking for the danger. 

“Saul did it. He found the right one,” you exclaim lifting up your shirt to show him the healing wounds. Your hands are shaking as you cup his cheeks and kiss him. You’re going to be alright. 

“As soon as Mr. Harvey clears you, we’re burning that letter. You don’t get do die on me, alright? Not before we’re old and grey.” You can’t help but smile at the thought of growing old with Riven. 

“Okay.”